#because any time i take a half day or have some spare time im cleaning something and it is almost never a mess i am responsible for

[milkweedman]

Made some quick pickles with what I'm pretty sure is the last harvest of lemon cucumbers this year. Have to sit in the fridge for a few days first though.

Also made muffins. I have a banana muffin recipe from my mom that I ways use, which calls for 6 very ripe bananas and I only had 3, so instead of halving the recipe I tried substituting the other half for apple sauce. Cut back on the sugar but I think they're slightly too sweet. Probably good with tea or coffee though.

[styleslistic]

How It Turned Out - Harry Styles Fic Part 6

Harry and Y/N spend the morning after the Grammys together, deal with the fallout from a drunken decision and Harry makes Y/N an offer she can't refuse.

Masterlist

Taglist: @theekyliepage @sleutherclaw @b-reads-things @mxltifxnd0m @lovurryy (just reply or send an ask to be added)

Y/N woke up to her hotel bedroom strewn with the contents of her suitcase, a pounding headache and a slew of Instagram notifications. Beside her, Harry lay in her spare set of pink silk pyjamas. It was certainly quite a sight.

True to her word, there had been no funny business when they'd got back to the hotel, although it had admittedly been tempting. Instead, they had cracked into the minibar. And that had resulted in Harry trying on half of her clothes. Because, as Y/N had asserted, Harry was "due a leather wearing era". Embarassing, she thought now. Although he had looked unfairly good.

Then Harry had insisted they record evidence of the evening, and of how he looked in Y/N's clothes, something they were both maybe a little too excited about. Y/N propped her phone against the dressing table and found herself dragged into Harry's lap as the self-timer ticked down.

Harry had grabbed her phone before she could get to it and was halfway to posting it to her Instagram profile by the time she snatched it back.

She had vetoed the caption he'd written out: Popstars in Leather, Coming Soon to Theatres Near You. This was on the basis that a) it didn't make any sense b) it sounded like a bad porno and c) there was a very real possibility that their fans would actually believe that they were announcing a film and the fallout from that would've been such a headache that they probably would've had to actually make a film called Popstars in Leather.

The Y/Nfication of Harry Styles

Tagged: @/harrystyles

Comments:

@/user1 MY FAVES TOGWTHER AT LAST

@/user2 this is gonna inspire a new wave of bisexual crises

@/user3 im sorry is harry in her clothes, im not ok

@/user4 is this a relationship announcement or...

Y/N brought up Twitter, knowing that wpuld be the place to go to see what fans really thought. And sure enough both of their bames were trending. There were the inevitable accusations that one or other of them was too good for the other, or that one was leeching off the others fame, but mostly people's minds seemed to be breaking a little at the fact that they had finally shown evidence that the knew each other.

Y/N grinned to herself, she kind of loved messing with her fans, feeding them rumours that didnt quite make sense so that there was always something new for them to discuss, but they could never be sure enough of anything to make a solid guess about what was going on in her life. The chaos of it let her keep a bit of privacy, as she could hide the truth in plain sight.

She just hoped Harry felt similarly.

Now, Y/N chugged back some paracetomol and a pint of water, keen to stave of her hangover from developing further. She brushed her teeth, and started gathering her clothes from around the room, careful not to wake Harry.

Thankfully, she only had a few days worth of stuff with her, so it didn't take quite as long as it might have. Y/N found her last remaining set of clean clothes - she couldn't quite face the implications of putting on the clothes she had leant Harry last night - and hopped in the shower.

"Morning," Harry groaned when she returned. His face was still buried in Y/N's pillows. She planted a fresh glass of water and the same painkillers she'd taken half an hour before on the bedside table next to him.

"Morning handsome," she smirked. "I know we planned to go out for breakfast, but how does room service sound?" she said. "Not sure we would fair well moving very far after the amount we drank."

"Oh thank god," said Harry. "I don't think I'll be able to sit up at a table for a couple of hours." He gulped down half of his water.

Y/N tossed him the menu. He picked it up and studied it intensely.

"Pancakes, please," he said.

"Alrighty." Y/N picked up the phone and dialled the room service number. "Pancakes for two," she said. "Oh and coffee," she added. She turned to Harry. "You want coffee?"

"Please," he said gratefully.

"Yeah, and a massive pot of coffee, thanks. Just charge it to the room." Y/N hung up. She joined Harry back on the bed.

"Oh, I would've paid," Harry said with a frown. "You were kind enough to put me up for the night, after all."

"Don't be daft," Y/N laughed. "You might be a multi-millionaire, but so am I. This is hardly going to bankrupt me," she said. "You can pay next time," she added cheekily.

Harry chuckled. "I think I can manage that." He stretched. "Mind if I take a shower?"

Minutes later, he emerges from the shower damp and rosy cheeked.

"I've not thought this through at all," he said. " I don't have any new clothes to change into. This is gonna look like such a walk of shame, I can't leave the hotel wearing a feather boa, its the morning! Feather boas are a strictly nightime accessory." He scrubbed his hands over his face.

Y/N reached into her suitcase and plucked out the leather outfit of hers he'd worn in the photo last night. She chucked it at him.

"You're already all over Instagram in my clothes, you might as well lean into it, don'tcha think?"

Harry stared at the clothes for a moment, as if weighing up his options. "People will talk," he said.

"They're already talking," Y/N pointed out. She flashed him her Twitter feed. "It's totally your call. But I reckon this'd reduce walk of shame accusations by at least ten whole percent. At least in my clothes there is an argument that you're just borrowing cloth3s from a friend. Which ironically is exactly what would be happening."

"At least ten percent, hey? Hard to turn down an offer like that," Harry laughed. "And you're sure this isn't just an excuse to get me in your clothes again?"

"Can't it be both?" she said.

Flirting felt as easy as breathing with Harry. So much so that she sometimes worried she was laying it on a bit thick. Harry, though, gave as good as he got.

Y/N excused hersle fto the bathroom under the pretense of brushing her hair in order to allow Harry a little privacy to change.

She returned to him fussing with his hair in the mirror.

"You were right," he said when he spotted her. "I do look good in leather." He lets the implication hang in the air, and it's all Y/N can do to summon a good humoured grin onto her face and hope that the totaly brain malfunction he had just caused isn't entirely obvious.

Luckily, she is saved by a knock at the door and the call of "room service".

"Wait in the bathroom, yeah?" Y/N asks. "I know I just made you put on my clothes, but the last thing we actually need is visual confirmation that you stayed over. Hotel porters are notorious snitches."

"Fair point," Harry nods, doing as she'd asked.

It was just as well too, the person delivering their breakfast was, it turned out, a fan of hers and asked for a selfie together. Y/N agreed, on the promise that they wouldn't post it anywhere until after checkout time. The last thing they needed this morning was their location being leaked.

"Alright, you can come out now," she said once the person had gone.

"Thank God they hadn't checked their social media this morning, or that could've been a disaster.

Then he nodded.

"Like you said, they're already talking about us, right?"

"You can give these clothes back next time you see me," Y/N suggests with a fiendish smile.

"Well if I knew it meant I got to see you again, I would've agreed to wear your clothes much quicker."

They bypassed the perfectly good table and chairs and brought their breakfast to the bed, settling themselves against the headboard.

"I would've expected you to being having toast," said Harry plainly.

"Toast?"

"Yeah, because your album is called Morning Toast," he spelt out.

"Oh. Yeah I'm actually pretty much pro all breakfast foods to be honest. It's the best bit of the day," Y/N explained.

"How come?"

"Well you know how this life is, we're always moving from one place to another, sometimes you've got no idea where you'll end up by the end of the day, or when you'll next end up having a decent meal because you're so busy. But there's always breakfast, and I think its pretty easy to get a decent breakfast in most places."

"So breakfast is the one constant in life is that it?" asked Harry.

"Got it in one," Y/N grinned.

They continued to chat trivially as the ate their breakfast and sipped at their steaming mugs of coffee. Until, Y/N got a call from her assistant telling her they were due to leave for the airport in 45 mins.

"Ah shit," she said. "Alright, I'll be ready then." She hung up. "I'm really sorry, I'm gonna have to kick you out so I can finish packing and get checked out," she said regretfully.

"That's ok," said Harry. "We probably shouldn't be seen leaving at the same time anyway. I'll let my driver know."

Y/N nodded, and rose to start gathering the last of her things.

"Driver's nearly here," Harry said a few minutes later.

"Ok," Y/N nodded. Harry put his suit from the night before in a suit bag Y/N offered him and slipped on his shoes.

"Guess this is goodbye for now then?" he said at the door.

"Yeah, for now," she replied.

Harry lingered in the doorway, then he leant down and kissed her on the cheek. As he pulled away, Y/N could've sworn that she caught his eyes dart to her lips, but neither of them did anything about it.

And with that, Harry turned away and walked to the lift.

She closed the door behind him and went back to packing. About two minutes later however, she received a text from Harry.

Harry: When can I see you again? ...to give back your clothes no other reason of course.

Y/N: of course, no other reason...

Harry: I wish I'd kissed you just now

Y/N: I wish you'd kissed me too. Next time

Harry: Yes, I promise. When?!

Harry: I don't really have a free moment for the next two months. There's week when I have nothing on, but my agent is threatening to book me in on a couple of talk shows.

Harry: I can't wait two months I'll go insane. When is that week off?

Y/N gave him the dates.

Harry: What if I booked you in that week?

Y/N: Harry we dont exactly get annual leave in this industry

Harry: No, what if I booked you in for work reasons!

Y/N: I feel like I'm getting deja vu...

Harry: its a different offer I swear! And you can say no, but it just sounded like you very much didnt want to go on those talk shows!

Harry: I'm filming a music video for Treat People With Kindness, and I'd love you to be in it.

Y/N: Shit I love that song. Ok, I'm listening.

Harry: Really! I was fully expecting you to shut me down again.

Y/N: Depends on the premise. It better be good.

Harry: It is, I promise. It's gonna be a fifties style concert hall thing, all shot in black and white. And the idea is that I'm performing and there's a person in the audience who is kind of a mirror image of me

Y/N: I see where you're going with this

Harry: And you would basically get to vibe around, drink some cocktails then we'd dance on stage together at the end

Harry: Not like swing dancing or anything, it's more a double act than anything else.

Y/N:... that does sound fun.

Y/N considered the offer.

Y/N: Have your people talk to my people, I want to see a storyboard before I commit to this. And!! I want to sign of on my outfits for this, I don't wanna look like a twat.

Harry: YES

Y/N: I can't believed you're inviting me to be in your music video just so you can kiss me. Thats crazy energy

Harry: Hey! You can't agree to it and then say I'm crazy, that's not fair.

Y/N: Technically I haven't said yes yet.

Harry: I'd say I'm at least pencilled in

Y/N: I'll allow that. Putting it in my diary now. "Provisional plan: Kiss Harry Styles."

[wildheadtendsherhair]

2023/02/02

Skin Picking

Havent been on here a while since ive been picking so little, its hard to remember to post! Ill take that as a partial win. But anyway, can you guess why im back? Yep, its day 0 again. And surprise surprise, my skin is bumpy and red again. When i was still on my streak, its amazing, i could use however much lotion i wanted and not breakout. It truly wasnt any products, it was just me touching my face all the time. I still got blackheads, but they were so hard to see because they werent red. I was disappointed to to figure out that acne pads arent enough to get rid of blackheads. I think i have to at least scratch off the top layer? I dont know. Grr! Honestly tho when blackheads arent angry i find i dont mind them much. Hardly at all, actually.

Hair

Great. Still so short! I still look like a fairy pixie, but sometimes by nightfall i just look like an oily unkempt person, and its not because of sebum. Just something about the uneven ends and the short length. Tempted to get it cut, but theres not really any good options? Cutting off and inch would probably dramatically decrease the frazzledness, but not comletely eliminate it, *and* it would be an inch shorter. I only have four inches! I wish i kept more track of how fast my hair grows. Ive heard half an inch is average. See heres the thing people dont think about when trimming hair—its inherently temporary. If you trim half an inch, thats one months worth of growth. By the end of the next month, you'll have grown another half inch. But, the growth will be uneven. So youre back to where youve started, right? No wonder it felt like i could not grow my hair out past a certain amount once my mom started making me get "the split ends cut off". Itll probably all be worth it when it gets long. Unkempt but cool & cute wild animal [insert pic of Power]. That said, i do wonder how long itd need to be to get the dorky but clean Queen's Gambit haircut…

Diet

Still doing Weight Watchers. I hecked up this week, ate under. Ended up binging last night. But it was the first time in a long while, so im proud of what ive accomplished. Silver lining, i mean. It was a very sucky experience being that full. Painful, even. But ive recovered! And im gonna be more liberal with my points earlier in the day. No point in being cautious if i can always eat 0-point foods at the end of the day, and it becomes an imperative to not if im regularly hitting the end of the day with spare points. It was a bit of a successful experiment, because i wanted to see if me eating under naturally would hurt me later, and, well… But im a little worried, because me eating whatever and "lots" this morning has only led to a normal breatfast of ten points. And ive been eating until about an hour ago, so i may not be hungry for a timely lunch. :( But i am feeling peckish for a sub, so maybe soon ill order one and not shy away from the sauce. My point target isnt a minimum, its a, well, *target*! Wow! What a riddle!

Mood

Ive been on edge this week, after a week of feeling phenomenally well. I blamed it on work, but, maybe it was my eating? Or its a factor? Hard to say. I do have quite a few things started that i havent finished, and i think those are hanging on my mind; go long enough and it become tiring but you forget why. Its a hypothesis. Other than that, its been a great week. Started a cool playthru with some friends (and its a japanese project too), checked out warhammer for the first time and had a blast, study group has been great, i got back into DDR, and might go with a cool girl this weekend, i drew for the first time in forever and it turned out great (oh man i love my apple pencil). Fruitful month, january was. I might just need to remind myself to and practice relaxing. Worked for my sleep!

[from-a-reckless-writer]

They were fighting.

In the DEO.

Again.

“Moms fighting again?” Nia casually leans on the desk next to Brainy, who is currently hunched over some screen. 

“It appears so,” He answers, not really paying attention. In the distance you can hear yelling and the tell-tale woosh of a cape. 

Nia had removed her comms the moment Supergirl spotted Lena Luthor on the field. She’s pretty sure half of the agents did the same. They all knew what was coming. 

And well, if the approaching bickering were any indication... 

“I had it covered!”

“Yes, because an on-coming missile with your name on it was you having it covered, clearly.”

“I saved ten lives today, Supergirl. Jealous you only saved three?”

“It isn’t about that and you know it.”

Nia sees Alex stride in, obviously going in for an attempt to pacify Supergirl. 

And also because it was partly Alex’s idea to send Lena with the Alpha team, in her defense Lena was the only person she could trust enough not to tamper with the device.

“Come on, Supergirl, Lena is more than capable in the field and she volunteered. She saved the day, you kno—”

“Butt out of this, Alex.” Supergirl grits out, too busy staring Lena down to even spare her sister a glance. 

“Sorry?” Alex scoffs, shocked at how easy she was brushed aside. She was tempted to pull rank and use the ‘I’m the Director, here.’ card, if she was being honest.

“No, Alex is right,” Lena points out, “I did save the day. Time for you to acknowledge that the both of us are just as capable as the other. And if saving the day means getting in the line of fire, then so be it.”

“This isn’t about you being incapable-”

“Then tell me what exactly is it about?”

Supergirl licks her lips, swallows and Lena braces herself for another retort but instead she fixes her with a stare that only Supergirl reserves for the bad guys and coolly states, “You are not to go out in the field and that’s final.”

She turns to walk out but Lena’s temper just skyrocketed tenfold. 

“Wow. You did not just say that to my face.” There was something in the way that Lena Luthor’s voice dropped that made Supergirl turn around. DEO agents are openly watching on now, not even bothering at subtlety anymore. The two women fighting in front of the whole agency certainly haven’t tried subtle at all. 

“Let’s make something clear here, Supergirl,” Lena fumed,  “This is my life and I get to call the shots. You don’t get a say in what I decide to do or not to do. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I don’t have a say? Rao, sorry my mistake! Forgive me for thinking that my sharing a last name with you means a cent to you as much as it does to me. You’re right, who the hell am I anyway? Sorry for wanting to keep you alive.”

Supergirl is breathing heavily two inches away from Lena’s face. Heat and anger rolling off the both of them in waves. They’re in a world of their own now. A world in which Lena is having trouble deciding on whether she should scream some more or pull Supergirl’s lips into her own. 

“Im sorry- Last name?” 

The voice wakes them to reality. A reality that makes both of them sober up and realize they’re in the middle of a very exposed DEO headquarters; makes them aware of the collective gasp that has just happened. 

Supergirl backs away. 

“Please, fucking tell me that I heard you wrong. Or I swear to God-”

Alex heads straight for Supergirl and Lena quickly realizes the implications of what Supergirl had just said. She essentially confirmed to the entire place that they’re— 

“Alex, I can—”

“Yes or no, are you or are you not married?”

So, this is how Alex Danvers makes criminals confess. Lena had never seen Supergirl cower before, but by the looks of it, if Lena had been the one in the hero’s boots she’d also be shaking. 

“Yes.”

Oh, no. 

“Alex, listen,” Lena starts and Supergirl looks at her—no, not Supergirl, Kara—Kara looks at her and Lena sends her a reassuring gaze that screams, ‘I’m with you.’

In that instant it must’ve looked like a switch had been flipped. From Lena attacking Kara to Lena defending Kara in a split second. 

“Listen, we were going to tell you. It isn’t like what you think—“

“Oh, no no,” Alex quickly dismisses Lena, “I’m not going to listen to you. This is between me and you,” Alex hissed not even looking at her, directly glaring at Supergirl instead. 

“Alex, just—” Lena tries but she does the mistake of moving her shoulder in an attempt to put an arm on Alex and she cuts off with a, “Fuck.”

The Danvers sisters look up at her yelp of pain, concern flickering through their faces. Supergirl swiftly speeding to her side, and the shoulder wound she was so trying so hard to keep Kara from seeing, is now out in the open, bleeding profusely. 

“You’re hurt.”

“Fuck,” Lena says again as she tries to take in a breath, pain shooting down her entire right side. 

“Take her to the Med Bay,” Alex orders, eyes briefly tracing Lena’s shoulder before turning to Supergirl again, “If you think this discussion is over, you’re sorely mistaken. You and I have a lot to talk about. And I fucking mean it.”

Lena watches as Supergirl swallows in fear at the sight of the DEO director walking out. 

“Everybody, back to work! Show’s over, morons!”

As if somebody had hit the play button, a buzz resumes almost exaggeratedly; DEO agents immediately flailing to get back to work, embarrassed at being called out so blatantly. 

Lena tunes back in to Kara, “C’mon, hold on to me,” she mumbles, quickly bending down to put an arm around Lena’s knees and pulls her to a bridal carry. 

She doesn’t point out that it’s her shoulder that was injured, not her legs; doesn’t point out that she can walk absolutely fine. Lena can clearly see how Supergirl needs to be as close to her as possible right now. 

So, she clings tightly and presses harder back against her chest.

*** 

Lena’s mind is running a mile a minute right now, she needs to know what’s going in her wife’s mind and she needs a plan on how the both of them are going to do damage control. 

Kara lays her down softly on a Med bed and without a word Lena strips herself off. 

Both of them silent as Kara gets supplies on a nearby table. She sits behind Lena and cleans the wound wordlessly. She’s patched Nia up in secret, way too many times, to know how many stitches Lena needs.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Are the first words that Kara utters.

“Good. I’m still mad at you too.”

She hears Kara sigh and she doesn’t need to turn around to know that Kara’s face is scrunched up in a pout and a crinkle. 

“But...that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you against Alex.”

“I don’t need protection from Alex.”

“Really?”

“Okay, fine she scared me a bit.”

Before Lena can reply she hisses in pain and Kara brings her lips near the wound and “Sorry,” she whispers. 

“We have to talk about this don’t we?” Kara sighs out, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

“Yes, darling, we do.”

“We also have to reach a compromise about this, don’t we?”

“Yeah, Kara, yeah we do.”

Lena hears another sigh and she can guess what Kara would say next.

“Just so you know, I hate this. I hate this very much. If I could have my way, we’re not having this discussion and you’re staying put and staying safe and not running off to danger. Hell if I can have it my way you won’t even be stepping inside the DEO. But...I can’t have my way can’t I?”

“No, darling, I’m sorry.”

Kara sounds so helpless and Lena just wants to make all the complications in their relationship go away. But that’s not how real life relationships work. Relationships are hard and messy and work. God, they are so much work, but being with Kara is worth all the work in the world. They’ve come a long, long way for this. 

If this had happened two years ago, the both of them would not even think about compromise. Kara would just push through with what she believes is the best way to keep Lena safe and would have insisted on keeping Lena locked in a safe house somewhere. And she guesses past Lena wouldn’t even consider the merits of communication with Kara, either.

“I just want you safe.”

“I know.”

“Never want to see you hurt.”

“I know, baby. But Kara you can’t always keep me safe, do you understand that?” Lena says carefully, she wishes she could turn around right now and cup Kara’s face.

“I know it’s hard for you, but this is what the both of us signed up for. Do you think I’m happy whenever you fly off to God knows where, when I see getting shot at in the news, when you leave in the middle of the night? I’m just as scared as you are, Kara.”

But that’s the price the both of them have to pay for falling in love when one is a super hero and the other is a world saving genius.

Kara bandages her neatly and Lena turns around to face her, moving a bit up in the bed and pulls gently at Kara’s wrist to join her.

“I know,” Kara breathes into Lena’s hair as she positions herself,  “I’m sorry. For fighting, for yelling, for...accidentally telling everyone that we’re married.”

Lena tries not to laugh at how Kara pouts at the last one. 

“Forgiven already. I’m sorry too.”

“I love you, you know that?”

She feels more that hears as she fits herself underneath Kara’s chin, tucked tight beside her. 

“I love you too, so, so much. So much that I agreed to a secret wedding,” Lena tells her, “And as much as I would love to continue our little heart to heart, I really think you should go to your sister now.”

“Nooo, Lena noo,” Kara groans out, “Come on, we can just stay here and cuddle and I can kiss your shoulder better and maybe you can give me a kiss too and I don’t have to talk to Alex.”

“Oh, but you do.”

“Have I mentioned I also hate when you’re right?”

“Once or twice.”

“Mmph. Fine. But half an hour of cuddles first and then I go talk to Alex, deal?” 

“Deal.” 

Lena agrees, greedy for Kara’s warmth and also thinking that Alex certainly needs more than half an hour to cool off. Kara certainly needs more than that to think about the words she’s going to tell her sister. She’ll probably die by the end of their conversation but at least she died knowing that the whole world knows Lena Luthor is her wife, right?

***

“Alex, I know you’re mad-”

“Oh, I’m not mad, I’m livid, Kara. Livid.”

Maybe it was a bad idea to talk to Alex in an empty DEO training room where her sister could easily turn on red sunlamps and deck her for keeping things secret.

“What, did it not occur to that, oh I don’t know? ‘Oh I’m having a wedding maybe I should text my sister an update? Leave her a note maybe? Dear Alex I’m getting married today!’” Alex roars and Kara flinches. Rao how could she be this stupid?

“Anything would have been fucking nice, than to hear about it in the middle of a heated fight. Tell me, if you didn’t slip up just now were you even going to tell me?” Alex tries to coat the words in anger but she doesn’t miss the way it wavers on fear and insecurity.

“Rao, yes of course I was going to Alex! I- we-” Kara tries.

“Save it.”

“Alex please,” She begs her to listen as she steps in front of her and reaches to hold Alex’s hands.

“When?” Alex snarls and Kara gulps because her sister definitely would not like the answer.

“Remember that time that Lena and I broke up? Then we ran to each other in the rain, made up? And then two weeks later she got assassinated by those CADMUS wanna-be’s and we had to use the Fortress’s tech to track her down?”

Alex remembers that one so clearly. It was funny at the time, how Jess had caught them making out in the middle of an ‘interview’. How Kara was so happy that she won Lena back.

“Yes and?” Alex quips, eager to know the answer.

“And well, remember how I asked to have some time alone with Lena once we rescued her? And made all of you guys leave?” Kara croaks out, fear apparent and Alex just stares at her clearly impatient at how Kara rambles.

“Well, I uh-kinda suggested we get married on the spot because I didn’t want to spend another day not being married to her when people want to kill both of us, every day.”

Alex lets out a heavy, shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“You know this is the part where I say, ‘Not even surprised.’” She states dryly, “Of fucking course you’re the kind of people who would pull this kind of shit.”

 Kara tries to get a word in but, “You fucking owe me a wedding and Mom and J’onn and Alura-”

“Oh my god! Kara! Your Mom deserves to see the daughter she whisked off to another planet, get married! You fucking owe Clark a wedding-”

“Actually…” Kara starts off sheepishly, knowing full well Alex will explode from what she’s about to say.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! Clark knows doesn’t he?!”

Kara flinches again. Good thing her superhearing is dampened here. 

“Well, uh,” Kara wrings her fingers when she realizes there are no glasses to fiddle with.

“Lena said she wanted a Kryptonian wedding so we had Kelex call Kal and uhm he officiated…”

Alex doesn’t say anything to that, just clenches and unclenches fists at her side. 

“I’m sorry!! Okay! I was going to tell you immediately but we kinda got carried away sneaking around and then it just completely slipped my mind because you guys keep pointing out how we’re an old married couple anyway! And and and—“ Kara is grasping for words, anything just to make this all better. 

“Damn it, I messed up haven’t I?” She whispers, realizing  now that the only thing to make this better would be them admitting their mistake and going for amends. 

“Yeah, you did, Kara.”

Kara feels shame course through her.

“I am so mad at you right now for denying me the privilege of seeing you walk down the aisle.  You know I don’t even want that, I just wanted to see you have your dreams come true and see you have what I have with Kelly, god damn it Kara, I love you and I wanted to be there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hate your pout. I hate your stupid pouty face. Your billionaire wife better pay for a grand wedding for all of us.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Mom’s not going to let you down easy though.”

Her sister doesn’t really need to point out the obvious.

“I know. Could you maybe be the-”

“Nuh-uh. No. You tell her yourself or have Lena tell her. I’m not doing that shit for you.”

“Fine.”

Kara will take what she can get. 

“I love you, Alex.” She breathes in relief when she sees Alex affectionately roll her eyes at her.

“I love you too, you stupid alien.”

***

“It’s official then? We guys get to call you Moms now?”

Lena never really expected that to be the first words Nia says to her when she enters the Med Bay.

“Yes, Nia. And also, yes, you’re a bridesmaid,” She answers immediately knowing that Nia was going to ask.

Nia lights up and Lena shakes her head at how similar she and Kara beams. 

Yeah, ‘Moms’ really is a fitting term.

“Alex making you do another wedding huh?”

“Yes, she is.”

Nia snorts, “You say that as if you don’t want the world to know Kara Danvers is wholly and solely yours.”

Well, she isn’t wrong, not that Lena is ever going to admit that though.

“Can I please plan your wedding? I have prophetic dreams. I can totally tell you what would look perfect on that day oh, oh, oh! I can even tell you if it’s going to rain, if you want an outdoor wedding that is. Oooh, maybe I could even see who’d catch your bouquet— “

“Nia, slow down,” Lena mutters before Nia plans out the whole wedding then and there.

“Kara and I will talk about it, but I think she’ll agree, you don’t really need to convince us.”

“Yes-yeah uh right sorry, you should definitely do that. Sorry it’s just I’ve been shipping you and oh my this is so exciting!” 

Trust Nia to say ship is now endgame in regards to their marriage.

Nia jabbers on as Kara walks in and gives the both of them a big grin, Alex trailing behind her. 

“I guess, congratulations are in order, Danvers.” Alex rolls her eyes and it takes Lena a moment to realize that she was referring to her.

She tries to calm down the happy flutter in her heart and the emotions bubbling out of her as she utters a weak, “Th-thank you, Alex.”

“Actually, Luthor-Danvers, we hyphenated,” Kara clarifies, which really doesn’t help the happy flutter at all, just adds to it. 

Alex just sighs and mumbles an ‘Of course you did.’

Before walking towards the bed and surprising Lena with a tight embrace.

“You do know, now you have two Danvers worrying for you every time you walk out in the field now, right?”

 And Lena just laughs. Because for the first time in forever she’s got people genuinely wanting her to exist. To the point that they’d do anything to keep her safe. 

She’s got family now and if it means overprotective Kryptonians and fierce blaster wielding older sisters, she really wouldn’t have it any other way. 

***

They’re fighting. 

In the DEO.

Again. 

“Moms fighting again?” Nia doesn’t really know why she keeps asking, this is like a daily occurrence now. Agents don’t even bat an eye when bickering echoes off the halls, nowadays. Apparently, this is what happens in the CatCo bullpen and L-Corp offices too. 

Alex appears next to her. 

“You know you really should stop calling them that, especially since—“

“WE ARE NOT NAMING OUR KID, POTSTICKERS!”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[kaijurakunsobs]

The Beauty in Empathy

master list

ya boi took all the time in the world writing this but here we go baby! also...yall get soft!Heisenberg content

⚠ Trigger: Panic Attack, PTSD

Summary: the travel to the village has left you shaken up and unsure of what to do with your life. You lack direction, an objective, something to anchor you give the sense of control, it doesn't matter what, you just need something to control.

It, almost, feels nice to come back to the factory, not carrying for the ache in your limbs or the blisters on your feet, you need to feel safe in any way shape or form, and the closest thing to a safe heaven...is the factory. Where no one can touch you, where Heisenberg's sole presence is enough to ward off unwanted visits, where you could run through the maze of corridors and find refuge in some empty room.

There was so much going on, the euphoria you got that morning over the small win against Heisenberg was gone now, replaced by uneasiness, fear of what you don't understand, of what you had gotten yourself into. But you don't let panic subdue you again, taking deep breaths, you run to the living quarters, crates creaking with the movement, fresh vegetables, and cans making so much noise, you were sure the Lord would come and yell at you, he never comes, not even when you almost throw down the door and begin to scream, he's not there.

It takes you a bit to calm down and regulate your breathing, you feel disoriented, suddenly everything is too much and you begin to get rid of the rope wound around your shoulders and hands, wincing when the crates and sacks do so much noise.

And there you stay with your head pressed against the door and eyes shut, remembering how your mother used to cook and clean when stressed, she said cleaning your living space clears the mind and keeps us sane, cooking fills the soul and your stomach with the warmth of your home.

That makes you get up slowly, moving to the kitchen to clean it and the fridge thoroughly, ignoring your aching and shaking limbs in favor of putting everything away and leaving out some ingredients to make a simple vegetable soup. Taking a cutting board and knife you start chopping and cutting vegetables, casting a glance at the clock in the wall and wondering, when will Heisenberg come back and if you should leave him something to eat.

You are done cooking, letting the soup boil, and slowly make the room smell deliciously, remembering how your mom used to cook this soup when you were distraught or sick, you are distraught indeed, but getting lost in memories of people that don't exist anymore feels...useless, painful, stupid.

All of your attention is brought back to the mess on the table and coffee table, all those blueprints and papers just laying around, feels wrong. Picking up every single one you do quick work of rolling it and placing it upright in one of the crates the Duke used to pack your groceries, carefully stashing papers and placing them with the prints, dropping the crate over the kitchen table, grabbing the broom and sweeping the small living room.

With a prideful smile, you stare at the much cleaner area, serving yourself a generous portion of soup and taking a seat at the table, it tastes just as good as your last meal last night, you feel pleasure by eating something this warm, feeling the heat go down your throat and radiate through your entire chest and bleeding down your body, it's nice a feeling. But the heat doesn't linger long and the cold of the world beyond the factory hunts you.

You lost it all so fast, everything stole away by Miranda and the creatures that attacked you, yes, you have a "home" here and a room, and Heisenberg's presence seems to guard off against anyone coming close to this place, but you have no control over anything anymore, and that's what scares you, the lack of control over something.

Routine...that's a way to control your life, something so easy yet so valuable right now, that you don't fight off the prospect of binding yourself to something as monotonous as routine. You were adventurous and brave, now you are scared and ready to find some resemblance of normality, it might be hard, seeing how Heisenberg seems to be more on the chaotic side, but, starting tomorrow you will need to work on that, you need to reclaim a bit of your life.

For now, the best you can do is rest, tame your emotions, abide by the contract you made this morning, maybe...if you play your cards well, you get more perks or small liberties.

Heisenberg drags you out the next day to finally help him with the ventilation, barely giving you time to eat anything and forcing you to chug your coffee, running after him to not be left behind.

The Lord can see you, scribbling something on one of his old note pads, stopping outside of certain rooms to scan the place and write down more notes, mumbling to yourself about what you will need to fix the room. So you are a planner, he likes that, you could also be faking it in favor of getting on his good side, let's see how well you do.

"Let me get this clear" you sigh putting on a pair of his gloves, looking at the rather shabby board connecting the railway and the hole in the wall where the ventilation duct is visible "I have to go across this, get inside and then find the problem?"

"Yeah, basically" he's looking at you, judging your reaction, half expecting you to back off and run away "Is there a problem, sweetheart?" he leans close to you, blowing smoke in your face

With a huff, you take the cigar from his hand and take a drag and puffing the smoke back on his face, jumping over the railing and swiftly balancing over the board towards the hole "You better find a way to pass me whatever I need, cuz im not doing the trave back and forth every fucking time!"

Karl grins at your boldness, smoking his Cuban cigar like it's nothing, raising a brow when you finish it "Will find a way, don't worry about it"

"You better do, Karl!" turning around you grimace looking at the duct, there's water and cobwebs "This is asinine..."

"You will do amazing, darling!" he screams with a lot of amusement when he sees you climb into the duct, enjoying the view of your ass "way better than I could do"

"Oh, bite me!" you yell back with a bit of humor, quickly crawling to the spot marked on the map he gave you the day prior, only stopping to wipe off the sweat from your forehead and assess the damage "Hey, Heisenberg! We have rats here...seems they been doing a number on the ventilators' wiring!"

"Fucking hell! again?!" there's a moment of silence and you use it to look around, definitely, there are rats here, he should think about acquiring some cats, "Think you can fix it?!" you hear him clearly as you make your way back

"If you have some electrical tape and new wires? I could do it today but the rats will come back and eat the new wiring!" he sees you come back, looking at him expectantly

He waves dismissively, turning around to dig through the toolbox, he swears he saw some spare wires here..."Oh don't worry about that, darling, you fix the wiring and I'll just let the lycans have a feast on the vermin" he says as if you knew what he's talking about.

"The WHAT now?" Heisenberg chuckles at your expression, smiling a bit when he tosses the tape and wire in your direction barely catching them.

"More fixing and less asking, you can meet the pack later after we are done with everything you need to work on!"

You hate the way he's smiling, it makes you shudder and feel weary for whatever he's planning.

And you are right in feeling apprehension, Heisenberg keeps dragging you around, helping you up when the repair it's too high, happily taunting you when he sees you stand on a piece of metal, watching your legs wobble and the slight terror when he screams for you to balance yourself because he's not going to save you if you fall, cackling when you tell him to shove it and balancing on the metal sheet.

At the end of the day, he's surprised at how unbothered you seem at being covered in grease and sweat, nonchalantly cleaning your face with your sleeve "And here I thought you were lying about being a mechanic, color me impressed"

"I told you, I'm a woman of my word, I would never lie to you Heisenberg~" something stirs inside him in the way you smile, cocking your hip to the side, he hates your guts but he gotta admit, you are a sight for sore eyes "This has been a beautiful day and everything, but! I'm in need of a shower and I wanna eat something"

"Not yet princess" you yelp when Karl grabs your shoulders and quickly pushes and guides you "You were curious about the lycans, yes? I think is only fair for you to meet them, seeing how you will be staying here for a long time, it's better if they understand that you aren't food"

"WHAT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?" you try so hard to hold onto the door frames, make him stop by refusing to walk, try to walk backwards, only making him grow annoyed and throw you over his shoulder "HEISENBERG I'LL DECK YOU AGAIN, PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!"

"I would LOVE to see you try that stunt again, girly. It's quite clear your daddy never showed you to be more respectful, I might need to teach you so manners" he has the good forsaken audacity of slapping your ass with his free hand

Heisenberg grunts and chuckles when you trash in his hold, trying so hard to run away from him "HOW DARE YOU?! IM BEATING YOUR DUMB FACE WHEN YOU PUT ME DOWN!" you make him laugh when a yelp scapes you the moment the cold air of the outside hits your skin and at least has the decency of softly putting you down, raising his hands as if ready for you to pounce "DON'T you dare to do that again, got it!?"

"We'll see if you mishave and threaten to punch me again, there must be some punishment, don't you think?" he's all smugness when he speaks, puffing up with pride when you blush and begin to frown, getting ready to tell him off only to get cut off when he whistles.

The sound is loud and fills the still air with a disturbance that feels disrespectful, making you wince when he keeps whistling rhythmically, that reminds you of how your grandfather used to have whistle based commands for the digs in his farm, which means...that the lycans are dogs, probably, and Heisenberg just lets them roam around, there's a small chance that the dogs are trained to chase or hunt vermin.

You both stay outside, waiting, getting a bit excited at the idea of seeing a dog after so long. Karl lifts a brow at the eager look on your face, wondering if you even know what's going to happen or if you are that stupid. He's ready to see your reaction, heard you scream in terror, or try to run back to the factory, although, he hopes you don't do that otherwise the lycans might give change and end up killing you.

The cocky smile on his face grows when he sees you pale in horror when the lycans come running, snarling and snapping their fangs at each other. Heisenberg was ready to hear you scream and see you escape, but he is not prepared for what you do next.

All that eagerness, the small hope you felt, all die when you see those beasts, all running to you like it happened that day, the phantom pain in your side makes you choke and freeze, these aren't the same beasts that...killed you...but the memory is still fresh, a part of you tells you to run, to hide, you scream or fight! but the rest of your body refuses to move. The closer they get, the louder the voice in your head becomes, so...you run and hide.

Last time you tried to run to your home and that got you almost mangled, this time? you let instinct guide you, pulling Heisenberg's coat up and hiding behind him, like a child would do, both arms winding around him with crushing strength.

In another situation, he would have made fun of you, laughing and asking where all that bravado of yours had gone to! But he can feel your chest rising and falling so fast, your entire body is shaking so hard it's making his necklaces clink and your teeth clack, you are muttering something but he can't tell what, more importantly...you are crying. He knows the signs of shell shock, oh he knows them too well, whatever happened to you, the lycans triggered a flight or fight response in you, a very strong one.

You can't hear anything over the ringing in your ears, so it's impossible to hear when Heisenberg whistles and makes the lycans scatter again. You do feel his hands peeling yours off him, the weight of his coat covering you and how, strangely, careful he is when picking you up, barely able to register his voice telling you to put your arms around his neck, the firm hold of his hands on your legs and what you guess, was a huff when you locked your legs behind him.

He's beyond surprised when you willingly allow him to pick you up like this, a million questions running through his head over your reaction. Guilt taking a hold of his heart knowing he made you THIS scared, to the point of sobbing on his shoulder and refusing to let him go even after making it into the living quarters but he manages to convince you to let him go, sitting you where you can see him cook and barely hear him talk...something about helping him with a reactor? you are not sure.

Karl watches you eat slowly, looking for any sight you might throw up or if the shaking in your hands gets so bad you might be unable to eat. He goes as far as to escort you to the bathroom, leaving you a new shirt and alone. There are no words to be exchanged but you know, he will come back to check on your jittery self and take you back to your room.

Once alone, you let shame eat you alive, wondering if he thinks less of you, if he will make fun of what just happened, or if tomorrow he will relegate you to some stupid minimal task thinking you are some weak damsel in distress. Dread crush you, not excited for the next day.

Waking up is torture and dressing up is suddenly the toughest task you have been saddled with, the smell of coffee fills the kitchen and, to your disgust, you see Heisenberg dump what might have been three spoonfuls of sugar on his cup. The man perks up when you get close to the table,

"Alright darling, let me start by saying..." here he goes, he's going to laugh and humiliate you "I'm NOT your fucking delivery man" Heisenberg throws a utility belt at you, the weight of the tools on it make you tip back and almost lose your footing "I went to the Duke to see if he got me some new stuff and he said your tools and boots arrived early, I only brought all this back so you won't lose time passing you anything"

"Eat something, we have time" He knows he shouldn't bring back up what happened yesterday, giving you time to process it all and think about what his next steps should be regarding the lycans and your fear of them.

The day is just like yesterday, but you pick on the subtle differences, Heisenberg seems more aware of any sounds that might startle you, steering you away from areas where he knows the lycans are chasing after rats and having a feast on some other things. You don't comment on it, smiling inwardly at his attempts to prevent you from going into another panic attack.

You are sitting in front of a broken generator, judging the damage and sighing when you come to the sad conclusion that you might need to rebuild the entire engine, Karl is close by, two rooms down from where you are. Getting up and stretching is a small pleasure, hearing your back crack loudly, groaning over the stiffness on your neck.

"I got you bad news, backup generator number eight? dead as fuck! I might need to rebuild it which means I'll be doing a list of what I need" you say while entering the room, his back is facing you and he seems to be deep in thought hunched over something.

Getting close you can see him pulling pieces towards him the metal listening to his command and coming his way, a screwdriver in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other, he seems to be struggling to assemble something.

Smiling a bit, you are careful when putting your head on his shoulder, effectively making him jump "Whatchu doing~?" Heisenberg curses under his breath, looking at you to the best of his abilities

"Reactor, damn thing keeps exploding whenever I do test runs" he feels you hum and see your hand get close to the project without touching

"Maybe it's the material or the lack of a cooling system, but that's my opinion" you straighten back "And like I said, the generator is dead, gone, either replace the whole unit or we rebuilt it"

You hear him grunt and pat his pockets looking for something, soon the smell of tobacco fills the air and he too gets up, looking at you, clearly thinking something or how to say it "Princess, about yesterday..." you go stiff, immediately looking away "I don't know what happened before you were brought here, but I do know that it's important for your safety that the lycans learn that you are a part of my..." at this he hesitates, chewing his cigar "family, so if you ever need it, they will come and help you"

He waits for you to say something or to see if you panic again when he sees no sight of terror he continues "There's a small group of lycans that are a bit more tamer, and I was thinking about introducing them to you, one by one"

"You want me to just do what, play fetch with them, scratch their bellies!?" there it is, your panic begins to raise and before it explodes, he grabs your shoulders making you look at him.

"You won't be alone, I'll be there and if the lycans try to EVEN bite you, I'll kill them on the spot! I will even teach you how to control them, that pack will be your...personal guard, but I'll be there"

You relish in the feeling of his gloves hands over you, thinking slowly about this. You need routine and maybe training the beasts to obey you might be good...having control over another being could be good and Heisenberg said he will be there the whole time, something about his voice makes you trust him. "If you leave me alone even ONCE, I'm destroying your knees with a wrench"

And there's that wolfish smile and hearty laughter, with renewed joy he pulls your hand telling you about how you will have the right to do that if he abandons you ever after this, he's staying with you throughout the whole process. Heisenberg catches you off guard when he takes off his coat and drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you outside, standing next to you.

"Let's start with whistling, ok?"

You must admit, you have a lot of fun learning how to do the right whistle command to call this particular pack, laughing a bit when Karl squishes your face whenever you fail to produce the right sound, once you get the sound right, he teaches small commands, how to make one sole lycan come to you, have them stop dead in their tracks, among others and how to make each whistle sound loud.

He does chuckle when you jump the moment the pack comes bolting from the woods towards you, the grip on your shoulders return and that anchors you, giving the stop command and smiling once the small group stops, Heisenberg all but smiles proudly when you take control and pick one lycan to get close and dismiss the others.

"Once it's close enough" Karl whispers low enough for you to hear "take off your gloves and let it smell the back and palm of your hands" he sees you nod and waits for the lycan to get near you, his hands sliding up and down your arms, he can feel you tremble a bit when you take off his gloves and let the beast smell you.

The lycan looks up to you, then at Heisenberg, opting for keeping its attention on you, you called it after all "It won't bite you, it can smell that you belong here, it knows better" Even with his reassurance you are weary of the beast, everything inside asking you to run away, yet you stay put, dogs can smell feat and react to it and that never ends well.

"What else can they do?" Karl can hear the terror in your voice but feels proud of your bravery, quickly teaching you what other tricks the thing can do.

By the end of the day, you are rather surprised when he cooks dinner again, he's actually pretty decent, his cooking lacks a bit of salt but it's good and he's doing his best to have you well fed.

"May I ask...why are you being so nice?" you ask him looking at his back "I've been a bit of a brat"

He laughs looking at you over his shoulder "I suppose...I understand what you are going through" he says, turning his attention back to the stove.

You want to ask him what happened to him, what made him so emphatic out of the blue but the tone of his voice and the stance of his body is enough indicator that this time is not the right moment to ask about it, perhaps one day, you two can share the pain that haunts you both.

[a-libra-writes]

Bathing With the RDR2 Gang

This is 150% self indulgent please forgive me. Im only in like chap 3 of the game haha but i cant resist. rockstar please cant i just give everyone a bath and nicer clothes??? let me give tilly lots of dresses i beg you

In this imagine, you’ll be warshin: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones

ARTHUR MORGAN

He’s bashful about it at first, even if you’ve been together before, but it doesn’t take long at all for him to relax. He really enjoys the closeness of it, and how intimate and calming something as simple as sitting in water can be. It’s a little cold, which just makes him want to hold you closer. If he’s had an exhausting day, he’ll lean on your shoulder and close his eyes, slowly dozing off as you run your fingers through his hair. You figure you should let him rest, and you wash the rest of him while he sighs contentedly against your wet skin. After a bath, regardless if it’s in a river or tub, he’s always worried you’ll catch cold. He packs an extra jacket or shirt of his for you to wear. If you had a warm bath at the saloon, he’ll be in such a snuggly, intimate mood that he’ll grin as he carries you to the room.

JOHN MARSTON

You’ve never met a man who gets as mangy as he does, and so quickly! You have to drag him to a river to properly wash, since he seems to just splash water on his face and arms and call it a day. John fusses with embarrassment at first and can’t believe you actually brought fancy soaps (any soap is fancy to him), but he quiets down once you strip. Once you’re in the water and lathering him up, he’s bashful from the attention but actually really likes it. He can’t help himself from getting handsy, almost clingy, but he stays obedient and rinses off when you tell him. He’s not so fond of the saloon tubs, even with the hot water, because it just feels too cramped. The openness of a lake or river, along with the bright sun and noise of nature, is just objectively better.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

While he loves sharing a bath with you, it’s definitely an indulgence and one you both don’t always have time for. So when there’s time, he makes sure it’s a cozy tub with plenty of hot water. He thinks it’s adorable if you want to wash him and care for him, because he’d rather do that to you. Sometimes he’s chatty and playful, other times he’s tired and thoughtful, but Dutch always likes to just hold you and soak for a bit. He’ll make sure you’re dried off and warm first, and he’ll want to keep touching you, so he’ll want to dress you and escort you to the room. Dutch really can’t get enough of your skin when it’s wet and smelling so nice, so you aren’t going to sleep anytime soon. 

HOSEA MATTHEWS

He enjoys bathing out in nature, even if there isn’t always time for a proper wash, so your suggestion to take a dip in the lake amuses him. He’d rather wash you first, enjoying the simplicity of doing something like that for someone he loves. You two often end up chatting and joking about this or that while you just take your time and enjoy the sunny day. Hosea doesn’t mind if the water is a little cold, it invigorates him better than a cup of coffee. He always urges you to dry off and dress quickly so you don’t catch cold, and he’s the one who double checks to make sure you both brought a spare change of clothes. Hosea doesn’t mind a hot  bath in the saloon, even if it is cramped. It makes him terribly sleepy, though, he’ll rest his head in the crook of your neck… but he’d rather not fall asleep in a giant porcelain bowl, so he’d urge you to head to bed with him. 

SADIE ADLER

Honestly, she’s a little too embarrassed to squeeze in a tub with you, so a quick wash in a river is preferable. Her first thought is to strip down and get it done quick, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you want to sit in the water and help wash her for a bit. Only a bit, she says, but she ends up enjoying the smalltalk and admiring you. She’d rather wash herself, but she wants to help you reach any spots you can’t get. If she’s feeling more relaxed and sentimental, she’ll want to take care of your hair, too. Sadie prefers bathing with you at night, half because it feels more private, half because it feels like you have all the time in the world and you both can just enjoy each other’s company and the stars. It always makes her feel less tense and helps her sleep a little better.

MICAH BELL

Good lord, it’s like wrangling a cat. Your chance of success is significantly higher if he’s drunk and you promise sex afterward. You all but push him into the river, he grumbles and swears the entire time, he can’t believe you have “soap and shit”, also he can’t keep his hands to himself and wants to drag you into his lap. You could’ve washed his hair in just a few minutes, but it takes longer because you keep swatting his hands away and scolding him for nipping at your neck and shoulders. He’d never admit how nice your fingers feel on his scalp, even if it relaxes him to the point where he’s quieter and less handsy. You don’t bother taking him to the saloon for a dip in the tub because there’s no way he’ll give a shit about bathing when you’re squeezed in such a tight spot with him.

CHARLES SMITH

He loves bathing in rivers and lakes with you; he’s the one to casually suggest it first. It’s just such a simple yet private and loving thing for him, he can’t keep the grin off his face as you strip down and join him in the water. He wants to spoil you first, really touch and enjoy every inch of you, but he melts in your hands when you start washing his hair and rubbing his broad back. His favorite time to do it is at night, since you look so beautiful under the glow of the moon and the stars. If you both are feeling more playful, he’ll definitely splash at you or drag you to the deep end to swim around. Once you both are thoroughly clean and tired, he’ll want to fetch your dry clothes for you, and he always packs a blanket in case you want to sit out and enjoy the night. 

BILL WILLIAMSON

Well, your offer embarrassed him at first, but then you teased him and playfully dared him and well, now you’re here at the riverbank and he’s stripping down in a huff. You were surprised how shy he was at first, since it wasn’t the first time you’d been naked together. Bill wasn’t sure where he should put his hands (or his eyes) and how deep in the water you wanted to go, but once you cuddled close and started washing him, that all melted away. It’s exciting and fun to him, and he likes the soaps you use on him. Even if they smell girly and flowery, it’s what you use, and it’s nice to have your hands on him. Maybe this is why they’re so soft? Afterward he’d really want you to wear one of his shirts back to camp, and he’s disappointed when the smell of your soap eventually fades off the flannel.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

He jumps at the suggestion when you first make it, and he’s the sort to prefer the saloons and their hot water. First of all, hot steaming water, often with bubbles because of the soaps you bring, and he gets to keep you as close as he pleases and “accidentally” brush against your body at all angles. No downsides here. He dislikes the cold water of lakes and rivers; the sun is rarely strong enough to warm them. He’s very weak to you washing his hair. He’ll lean into your touch and give you all sorts of kisses and praises as you run your fingers through it. He’s in such a giddy, warm mood afterward that he wants to dry you off himself and carry you to the room, grinning like you two are newlyweds. There’s no way he’s letting the night end with just a bath. 

SEAN MACGUIRE

Alright, he talks big game when you suggest it, grinning that of course he couldn’t turn down such an offer, and you two won’t be doing much bathing, if you get his point. You just roll your eyes and tell him to follow you. The thing is, once you start stripping down without a care, he starts getting a little red in the ears. By the time you’re both nude and you’re relaxing in the water, he’s flushed to his neck but still trying to make jokes. He’s startled that you actually want to help him wash, and when he does the same, he’s seriously conflicted on where to put his hands. Once he’s relaxed, the “accidental” touches are gonna happen all the time and a splash fight will break out. Once you’re all dried off and heading back to camp, he totally talks big game and wants to kiss on you and brag about your little dip, as if it’s something scandalous.

LENNY SUMMERS

He’s totally flustered at your suggestion but there’s no way he’s not doing it. He’d rather go to the river, especially at night, since it feels more private and something about a stuffy, heated saloon bathing room is a bit … much. Besides, this way you can see the stars and moon, and be as loud as you want. Lenny’s nerves all but melt away once you both start talking and washing, and he gets in a very content, cuddly mood. He makes a point to remember the soaps you like so he can get more if he comes across any, and he wants to help you dry off so he’s sure you won’t get too cold. He’ll probably suggest sitting by the campfire for a bit, just to be sure (and just because he wants to keep cuddling).

KIERAN DUFFY

This poor man, why are you teasing him like this? He’s so sure there’s some kind of punchline, but you walked with him all the way to the river, and now you’re stripping down … He’s so flushed with embarrassment, but there’s no way he’s not following you into the water. Once you joke around with him and talk to settle his nerves, the tension finally leaves his shoulders. He’ll be a little unsure about you touching and washing him, but he’s glad to do the same for you, trying very hard not to get distracted by the softness of your skin. Once you’re ready to get out, Kieran suddenly worries about you being cold, and he really insists on you wearing his jacket on top of your’s, and that you ought to sit by a fire to warm up. It’s cute how much he frets about this. 

TILLY JACKSON

Tilly will pick warm water and a cramped tub any day of the week, and really, it’s not so bad since you’re both ladies and she’s fairly short. She finds the cramped space comical if anything, and you both will be wiggling and giggling while you wash off and just leisurely enjoy the bath. She’s the type who doesn’t like to prune, but she won’t get out until you do. She has a nice collection of soaps and often finds ones you like, and helps you wash after you help her. Afterward she definitely wants to cuddle and probably apply some lotions; you think it’s cute how much she likes feeling so clean and pretty. All that plus the saloon’s mostly cozy bed makes you two feel like fancy ladies living in luxury, and you both grin and recall it for a least a week afterward. A dip in the river is so … unexciting by comparison, you both just sigh and wash quickly before you shiver to death. 

MARY-BETH GASKILL

Your offer made the color rise to her cheeks, even if you’d been intimate before. Why hadn’t this occurred to her? It seemed like a private thing, but she was too interested. She always thought a hot bath was the height of comfort, but when you took her to the river, she was in awe over how quiet and cozy it was as the sun set. The colors of the sky and stillness of the water was so romantic! She likes being the one to undo your hair and clothes, although she’s shy about you doing the same and wanting to wash her. Mary-Beth loves having nice soap to wash with and will admire you for having several on hand. She can’t help but be full of giggles and give you lots of kisses while you both sit and chat.

KAREN JONES

She’ll laugh at such a “saucy” suggestion, but she’s game for either a quick dip in the river or a trip to the saloon. When it comes to a warm tub, her usual jokes and fun will peter out as she gets sleepy and cuddles up to you. No matter where you two are, washing her hair and massaging her back makes her tired, and she’ll curl up in your arms and tease you about carrying a nice lady back to her bed. Once you two are dried off, she’ll wake up enough to help tie your hair up and dress for bed or for the day, depending on when you bathed. If it’s the morning, she’ll need just a few kisses and hugs to be energetic again. If she’s still chilly afterward, she’ll borrow one of your jackets and wear it well after she’s dried off.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“I know you, Harry Styles”

Summary: Your boss asks you to quarantine at his house to watch over the place and his dog. He then calls you let you know a friend of his has gotten stuck in Los Angeles and needs a place to stay, so he has offered his friend the home that you are also going to be staying at. His friend is Harry Styles. Harry and you get to know each other while you both navigate through this uncertain time. 

I’ve had this idea for awhile and im sorry if it’s a little late now, since strict quarantine has ended (lowkey might be coming back since california has been getting bad again), but still i really liked this and wanted to write it. Also look at how cute this sidelook from Harry is in this gif ^^ :) his nose is so slopey

It hasn’t been the easiest write so no worries if y’all hate it. I might do a part 2, but def no part 3 this time, unless it gets easier to write. 

Word Count: 4.5k | Warnings: mentions of quarantine and Coronavirus (pls take care if the situation is triggering to you), language, drinking 

Enjoy! (Feedback appreciated as always)

-

You weren’t sure what to say, you didn’t want to break that bliss of him not knowing you knew. “I,” you took a sip of wine, trying to gather a bit more courage, you then laugh meekly, “I, uh, know what you do.”

“Damn…” he said. Harry also took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the gulp. “I was still debating whether I’d say that I was a musician or an accountant, y’know, something random.” You smiled, Harry was funny, you decided. 

“You’d lie to me?” you said, a hint of flirtation behind your words.

“Oh no, never.”

-

You were living in Los Angeles when the Coronavirus outbreak first arrived in the United States and California went into quarantine. You lived in a pretty small apartment in Silver Lake and you weren’t excited to be cooped in there, alone for at least the two weeks they had just announced. The governor issued that everything would be shut down by morning and you had to admit you were a little stressed. Just as you were about to walk into your apartment and lock the door, ready to shelter in, your boss and friend of yours called.

“Hey Y/N,” David said quickly over the phone, “You know how I’ve just left for England two days ago and I’m already here. Well, since I’m not a U.S. citizen, I can’t come back. Which is fine, but I was just wondering if you’d mind quarantining at my house and just watching over it? Until I can get back?”

You sighed, “Oh my god, David. I’m so sorry.” “The U.S. announced their border closure so strangely, I couldn’t have known...But it’s fine, really, I’m actually kind of happy to be home.” You nodded as if he could see you.

“So do you think you can do it? I’ve been having my neighbor check in on my dog, daily, but I’d prefer a friend to be at the house with him right now.”

“Oh! Yeah of course, I’ll pack a bag and head over right now. I’m honestly relieved you’ve given me this offer. You’re house is fucking huge and my apartment is tiny.” David chuckled at your slow response but happy tone.

You were right, David did have a nice house. His place was up in the Los Angeles Hills, a place he’d inherited from a wealthy grandparent. It was definitely going to be an upgrade for quarantine. David’s place would make it easier to be alone because of his cute little dog around, a swimming pool, a beautiful kitchen, literally anything you could have asked for.  You drove up the long driveway, to the rustic house, David refused to call a classic 70’s mansion as much as you insisted upon it.

“Guess it doesn’t matter what I call it now, huh.” You said to no one. You pulled out your spare key, David had given to you for emergencies when you had started working directly under him. You opened the door and stepped inside to the empty mansion. Checkers, David’s dog came running up to you, pawing your legs and howling his tiny voice at your arrival. You smiled, setting down your bags and grabbing Checkers from the ground. “Hi, baby!” You swung him around and he licked your face adoringly. You ruffled his fur and then placed him back on the ground, he wasn’t more than eleven pounds.

Then you went to find your bedroom. You heard your footsteps echoing throughout the empty house and it definitely felt weird. Being alone, in this big house. You wondered why you had to keep convincing yourself it was so great. Then your phone rang for the second time today. David again. You threw your bags at the foot of the guest bed and walked back through the house to the main room adjoined to the kitchen, near the front door.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Y/N, thanks for picking up! And thank you for agreeing to watch the house -”

“Yeah, of course, I’m just settling in.”

“That’s great! But, I hope you don’t mind, a friend of mine has similar luck to me. He was just supposed to be in Los Angeles for a couple days, but he’s gotten stranded there and has nowhere else to go. He’s a good friend of mine and the house is most definitely big enough for two…” He trailed off, slightly anxious to put you out, when you had already been generous enough to leave the comfort of your own place during this stressful time. “So, I told him he could stay at mine, if he didn’t mind living with a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger?” You asked, slightly confused from what David was saying.

“Yeah, yeah I mean, I told him you were a friend and that you worked with me, obviously.” You laughed with some relief, “Ok, I’ve got you. That’s fine, more than fine, he’s got nowhere to go, it’d be rude of me to say no to him joining me in this mansion,” You got a little excited and emphasized the mansion.

David groaned, but finished, “Well, great! Because I’m pretty sure he’s already on his way. Bye!” The line went dead.

You wouldn’t say you were unhappy that you were going to be sharing the house. The loneliness of the empty house had grown daunting the minute you heard your footsteps. But you realized David hadn’t even given you the name of the man you were going to be living with for supposedly the next two weeks. As well, what if you and the man didn’t get along and were at each other’s throats for two weeks.

You shook the thoughts from your mind, trying not to make any presumptions. Then, you began to put away the groceries you had brought with you from your apartment and refilled Checkers’ water bowl.

Maybe twenty minutes after your phone call with David, informing you of your quarantine housemate, the doorbell rang and you jogged lazily to the foyer with the grand front door.

In front of you stood, a man with mop of dark brown hair on his head, some large green eyes, a nice outfit, and an array of tattoos peeking out from under different parts of his clothing. Wait- you thought - this isn’t some random tall, good-looking white guy. And then it dawned on you. David would be close friends with Harry Styles. This is so typical of that man. And for him to never tell you that before. That is especially David, trying to keep this guy all to himself.

“Hi, I’m David’s friend, he said he’d call ahead and let you know, I’m ‘Arry,” he rested one of his bags on the ground and reached out to shake your hand. You blinked your eyes, still a little surprised at who your roommate was going to be, but determined to be chill about it. You then reached out your hand to meet his. You took note of the largeness of his hands and how soft they were. His hand slid perfectly in yours and his eyes intensely gazed at you in the hallway.

“Yeah, he called, I’m Y/N.” You released his hand after realizing you still had hold of it, just a touch too long. You stepped aside to let Harry bring his things into the house. “Do you need any help with your bags?” You asked quickly, not wanting to seem rude. Harry turned to you as he had just stepped into the house and was exactly beside you, he quirked his head, “Oh no, I’m alright, no need to worry about me.”

“Okay,” you simply responded and walked back into the kitchen. You had left your phone in there and still had some things to organize, David didn’t keep his house as clean or organized as you liked it. You always set to work around his house whenever you came by, no matter his protests. Music was playing from your phone over the bluetooth speakers David had in the house, a mix of random songs for the month that you had compiled a couple weeks ago. It was a mix of your favorite artists: oldies and some newer stuff. You turned it up as you got to work.

Your music played loud enough that you didn’t hear Harry walk into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said. Startled, you flipped yourself to face him, discarding the box of cereal you were moving to be with the other cereals.

“What’s up?”

“I know we don’t know each other,” Harry started. You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with this. “And I’m fine if you don’t want to really interact, but I was actually kind of excited to find out that I wasn’t going to have to be all alone in this house for two weeks.”

Your lips quirked up in about a half smile as a soft chuckle came out. You rested back on the countertop behind you, feeling more relaxed at the rest of Harry’s statement. Harry stared at your figure still taking in the stranger in front of him. You seemed fairly laid back and he liked the music he heard from the speakers, assuming it was your selection.

“Oh. Yeah,” you began, scratching your head, “I know, I was excited to not have to be in my apartment, but then when I got here I got lowkey scared of being here with just myself and Checkers.”

“Wait, Checkers is here?” Harry’s mood and tone immediately picked up, looking excitedly around for the little dog. “I think he’s outside,” you said, crossing to one of the many back doors. You called for David’s dog, you and Harry’s third roommate, and he came leaping through the door.

He ran to Harry and Harry knelt to grab the dog and pick him back up. He twirled Checkers around over his head and kept repeating “Who’s a good boy” before placing the dog on one of the couches. On the couch, Harry playfully flipped the dog on his back and scratched his belly. Checkers wiggled and opened his mouth trying to nip playfully at Harry. Harry in turn put his head right near Checkers’ and shook his own fluffy hair in the dog’s face. Checkers went wild, loving the attention he was receiving.

After a bit, Harry let Checkers go and stood up, you had been watching on amusedly, “God, I love this dog, so fucking cute,” he said. You were surprised Harry knew David well enough to know his dog, but you dismissed it. Then, you laughed and agreed with him.

“Well, do you want to get to know each other over dinner tonight?” Harry inquired as you walked back into the kitchen, still trying to finish your self-given task of cleaning it up. “Sure, why not?”

-

It was the dinner time you and Harry had agreed upon. You had showered and unpacked over the past few hours. Harry, from what you knew, had done the same. You two hadn’t talked much more since he had suggested the dinner. The guest room he had chosen was on the second floor, like yours, just down the hall. After checking the time on your phone, you left your room and went downstairs. You found Harry on the couch with Checkers, reading a book. You tapped his shoulder from behind the couch and he turned his head to look up at you. “We said 7, right?” He snapped his book shut after raising her brows, coming out of a reading trance. “Oh, yeah,” he responded, rising from his seat and heading to the kitchen. You followed after him, “So what do you want to eat. I brought some groceries with me so we could cook something or there’s always take out.”

Harry opened the fridge, “Let’s make something, yeah?” He leaned back from the inside of the fridge and threw a smile to you over his shoulder. He was very confident and charismatic in person you had noticed just from the few odd moments you had spent with him already. You liked his music and felt like you should tell him you knew who he was, but you also liked the feeling you got that you were just two normal people living together for a little.

“Alright,” you began, walking to his side to look into the fridge as well, “Any requests, Harry?”

You looked up at his face, he was quite tall, taller than you had really thought. He was a really big figure up close, slightly intimidating if you were being honest. He simply demanded attention just with his presence, something strong emanating from him. You could see that strength in the lines of his jaw, lined in stubble, his green eyes set deeper in his head, the sinews in his neck. In every part of his body, there was strength, yet he spoke with a kindness about him. You were extremely interested in getting to know more about him, for this very reason. How could such a big, intimidating man in size and presence be known for being so kindhearted and in touch with himself and the world? What was his secret?

Harry simply began to remove various items from the fridge, placing them down on the island behind the two of you. He only said in response to your previous question, “Like Mexican?” You nodded and laughed, you’d grown up on Mexican food.

“I was thinking fajitas would be good, what do you think?”

“Yeah, absolutely, how can I help?”

Harry grinned at your attitude, he could tell you were the really fun, easy-going type of person. He was glad you weren’t being weird with him, even if he was a stranger. He finished taking the ingredients from the fridge and then gave you instructions on what he needed help with. The two of you set to work, this time it was Harry’s music playing over the speakers.

-

You sat at the dining table in the next room over from the kitchen and seating area. Harry had told you to go ahead as he finished your plates of food. Moments later, he walked into the room holding the plates. “Ta-da!” He exclaimed while presenting the two plates of food, that looked admittedly, very tasty.

He had changed his outfit from earlier and you were just now noticing. Earlier, it had been a striped dress shirt that he had dressed down with rolled up sleeves and half of the buttons undone, revealing a nice string of pearls, with navy high waisted trousers that cinched at his slender waist. Now, he was in a simple purple knit sweater and brown corduroy flares, still wearing the pearls around his neck. Neither of you were wearing shoes, both wearing only socks. And while Harry might consider that to be a more casual outfit, you were in leggings and a hoodie with a sun on it that you had thrifted awhile ago.

He sat down across from you after placing one plate on the placemat in front of you. The dining table was huge, meant for dinner parties and entertaining, not a traveler and a young employee. You took a bite and hummed in appreciation, but then said, “Wait.”

Harry stopped eating and looked at you, concerned there was something wrong with his cooking. “Red wine,” you stated. Harry’s worried face grew into a grin. “Red wine,” he echoed in agreement and nodded his head. You hopped up from your seat and ran into the kitchen, looking for the cabinet David kept his wine in.

After finding a reasonable Malbec, a favorite red of yours, you grabbed an opener, two glasses, and went back into the dining room where the munching Harry awaited. He was happily chewing his food as he gazed at you as you placed the glasses between your plates, uncorked the bottle with ease, and grabbed the glasses once more to pour the wine.

Finally, you sat down and said, “To whatever the fuck we are about to get ourselves into.” Harry laughed and offered a “Salud” in response. The two of your glasses clinked and you both drank, afterwards setting off to eat your food.

As you ate, you began to talk. Harry started, “So, you work with David?” while taking his fork and stabbing at a cooked bell pepper slice. You finished chewing, “Ah, yeah, he’s my boss. But we work pretty closely, I’m kind of like a personal assistant, but I do more than just his scheduling and errands.” Harry nods.

You weren’t sure what to say, you didn’t want to break that bliss of him not knowing you knew. “I,” you took a sip of wine, trying to gather a bit more courage, you then laugh meekly, “I, uh, know what you do.”

“Damn…” he said. Harry also took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the gulp. “I was still debating whether I’d say that I was a musician or an accountant, y’know, something random.” You smiled, Harry was funny, you decided. “You’d lie to me?” you said, a hint of flirtation behind your words.

“Oh no, never. I would’ve definitely just told you who I was if you didn’t know, but it’s nice to pretend for a little.” He grinned as he said the words, his elbow resting on the table with his wine glass in hand. You ate some more, letting his words linger in the air. It’s nice to pretend for a little.

“Well,” you finally said, “I won’t give you any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a guy staying at the same house as me. Doesn’t matter to me what you do to pay your bills.”

Harry liked that. You were very intriguing, the way you spoke to him. Especially now that he was sure that you knew about his music and celebrity. “You make it sound like I’m a sex worker or something naughty!” he said, feeling more comfortable with you with the more time that passed and the more wine he had.

“It’s kind of the same thing...providing a service - that your body is an essential part of providing it properly.” You stated smugly, looking over at Harry from behind the rim of your glass. “And there’s nothing wrong with sex workers,” you added.

“You’re right,” he stopped, wanting to continue the conversation, but confused how to move on from sex workers. “So what do you think of my music?”

“I thought you wanted to be treated like you weren’t a celebrity,” you countered.

“That’s out the window, c’mon,” he said, leaning forward.

“You just want me to boost your ego,” you smirked, liking the banter that was coming so easily between you two, “Like I said, I know you, Harry Styles.”

He scoffed at your teasing and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t actually annoyed, he was enjoying this. “Then you’re a fan, huh?” Not letting it go without you saying how you felt about his music.

“Fine,” you sang slightly, shifting in your seat. “Your music,” you paused again, enjoying Harry eager to hear your opinion and you being in control, “is better than a lot of other modern stuff considered good by today’s standards.”

“So you like it?” He said slowly. That was probably the most roundabout, vague compliment he had ever heard. He picked at his almost empty plate, still staring at you.

You tilted your head and placed it on your palm, looking to the sky as if you were thinking about his question hard. Finally, you shifted your head in your palm so you were looking at Harry wearily. Then you shut one eye and said, “I guess,” before shrugging your shoulders as if you didn’t care at all. Harry let a single blow of air out of his nose, like a short laugh, before standing and taking both of your plates. As he walked out of the room he whistled lowly, “You are such a tease, Y/N.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and you heard him cleaning up. You were about to call out to him and say how he didn’t have to do the cleaning since he did the majority of the cooking, but then your eyes fell to the half drunk bottle of wine. Normally, you’d re-cork it and drink the rest at a later date, but it was still early in the evening and you and Harry literally had nowhere to go. Also, the two of you hadn’t gotten past the work question of getting to know you. There was still a bit more to learn about each other and you were happy to continue to discuss over wine.

Harry reemerged from the kitchen and you held up the wine bottle to him and waved it, “We need to finish this.”

“Have I told you yet that I like the way you think?” Harry walked over and grabbed the bottle from your hand. He quickly poured both your glasses much fuller than the usual standard glass of wine. When you eyed him curiously about the heavy pour, he only shrugged practically saying it’s just us drinking it who cares if we fill up our glasses extra full.

“No you haven’t, but I like the way I think too! I’m very smart you know,” you said with some play in your voice as you walked through a doorway that led to the sitting room. Harry trailed behind, bringing the now less than full bottle with him. You both sat yourselves on the couch, a fair amount of space between the two of you, not too close, but not too far apart either.

You both took long gulps of the wine. You were starting to feel a little warm from it, but you enjoyed where the wine was taking your conversation so you weren’t planning on stopping. Harry’s big green eyes squinted slightly at you from behind his wine glass, similar to how you had done earlier. He lowered it and licked his lips. There was definite tension between the two of you right now. Maybe you both had realized the implications of being alone with a stranger for two weeks with no interruptions and no distractions. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating because all you wanted to do was keep teasing Harry and have him keep baiting you.

Harry asked a question suddenly, breaking the silent staring that had been going on. And the tension was broken the two of you continuing your getting to know you for the rest of the night. By eleven, the bottle was empty and forgotten on the coffee table and you and Harry had scooted closer. You had similar likes and dislikes when it came to music. You talked about fashion and what it was like to get to wear top designers all the time - Harry being the wearer, not you sadly. You asked him what it was like to tour and he asked you more about your job and living in Los Angeles, how it was to not walk around the place and be bombarded with people. Then, you circled back to travel.

“I’ve been lucky enough to travel a lot in my life, too. I traveled with my family as a kid and I made sure my job would have me traveling around, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry took the last sip of his wine and set the glass down, readjusting himself to lean on his arm on the couch, looking at you.

“Was supposed to be with David in England, actually, but I got held up and was going to join him next week,” you mused, finishing your wine as well and leaning your body so your back was fully against the back cushion.

“No way, I was supposed to leave next week, too. Who knows, maybe we would have been on the same plane and crossed paths like that without even knowing,” Harry said excitedly.

You rolled your head to the right and looked at his face, how it had lit up at that unlikely prospect. “You probably wouldn’t have known, but I’m sure I would’ve been able to tell, probably have a whole crowd of fans there waiting for you, end up having to delay the plane for ya’. And I’d be sitting there like ‘which famous prick is holding us up?”

“Oi!” he swatted at your leg closest to him, “Has anyone told you you’re a bit mean.”

You raised your brows at his physical contact and his words. You shifted to your side again and slid your legs beneath you, looking directly at Harry. “Yes,” you said seriously.

Harry laughed at that. At least you were honest, and you were funny, too. You joined his laughter, it felt contagious, the way his voice was so loud, but so jovial. His eyes managed to twinkle even as he squinted, his smile taking over his entire face.

Without either of you noticing, the two of you had shifted extremely close to one another. You finally realized because you felt Harry’s breath fanning over your face. His breath smelled of Malbec, but his over scent mixed with it and turned it into something enticing. You wanted to lean in more, but the only place further to go was his lips.

Harry’s eyes flickered to meet yours, confused yet delighted about the situation he had somehow gotten himself in. The two of you breathing in each other, chests heaving from laughter, hearts beating from wine, and bodies ready to ignite the minute they touched. You remained there for a few moments more, basking in his glow.

And then you whispered, “I should go to bed.” You pulled away and retreated upstairs to your room. Harry was left there, sitting stunned at the whole situation. How had that happened? And what had you just stopped from happening?  You were thinking the very same things as you sat down on your bed and calmed your breathing.

This was going to be a long two weeks.

-

Part 2

taglist: @cronias13, @theresthingsthatwellneverknow, @harrys-cherrry, 

[kimnjss]

groupie love | jhs

⤑  series: groupie love

⤑ genre: angst, rapper!hoseok x youtuber!reader, idol au.

⤑ rating: pg13.

⤑ word count: 3.1K

⤑ warnings: unresolved problems with a very simple solution.

⤑ A/N: first, hi :( you guuys, there’s only one more update left until the end of this! (this was a mini series, idk if i said that) but oomg, i can’t believe it! im also a tad bit female sick (monthly) so my brain has been all over the place, so real sorry if this chapter follows that example :/ - either way, let me know what you think!! x

A full week had passed since you last spoke to Hoseok. To be completely honest, you had stopped being upset with him... all it really took was for Jimin to make you realize that you were being a tad bit irrational and should've given him a chance to speak. You couldn't see that at the moment, too wrapped in the thought of him leaving for six months right when things were starting to get good between the two of you.

 A relationship barely started and now you were going to put it to the long-distance test? A test that many couples... who have been together longer than the two of you have, did not survive. No matter how much fun he thought it would be, going along with him wasn't an option either.

 Joining him on tour meant abandoning your responsibilities here to trail behind some guy so he could achieve his dream. The fact that he even asked you to do something like that put a sour taste in your mouth... until you were quickly realizing that wasn't his intention at all.

 In realizing that you were quickly seeing that you didn't know him as much as you thought you did. Relationship still so new, there were many things that were left in the dark when it came to each other's personalities and thought processes. So whisking off behind him on a tour... for six months... when you barely knew him?? definitely off the table.

 Long-distance would have been your best bet because there was no way you were going to throw away the whole relationship. Hoseok was different from the other guys that approached you. He saw you in ways you had never imagined and made you feel comfortable being yourself... no way were you going to just give that up. You two haven't even got to the good part yet.

 So, yeah you weren't mad at him anymore... stopped being mad at him literally a few hours after hanging up the call. Why then did a whole week pass since the two of you had last spoken? You had expected him to call you back after you cut the call short, he didn't. And at the moment you didn't want him to.

 But when the anger was disappearing, you were kinda hoping he'd fall into the chase. Give you a call and try to calm you – not as you needed it. Good thing too, because it never came. Chopping it up to him being busy, you went to bed... hoping to wake up to a missed something from him. And when morning came, the only thing lighting up your screen were emails from past subscriptions you always ignored.

 The entire day passed without contact and you hoped that maybe in this hour he would message you, call you... check-in to see if you were alright!? Nothing, absolutely nothing and you felt like you were going insane checking your phone every fifteen minutes.

 Why not just contact him, right? That would be so much easier and save a bit of your sanity, but that's not how it was supposed to work. You were the one that was upset, therefore, he had to contact you and apologize that way you could tell him that it was okay and everything could go back to normal. That was how it should work, right? Right!?

 Wrong.

 To pile on to your many mistakes in the past seven days, you kept your dry phone stress from Jimin. Not intentionally, entirely... he was busy too (mostly with Yoongi) and it didn't really slide into conversation well. If you had told him sooner, he would've been able to explain to you why your theory was crazy and you should probably just call the man instead of waiting around for him to make the first move.

 It wasn't until you two were hanging out and he was able to notice your frantic glance each time your phone lit up. “He probably thinks you need space,” Jimin told you, the idea never dawning on you... was Hoseok waiting for you to call him? Checking his phone every fifteen minutes as you had been? Because he thought it was you that was supposed to make the call?

 So you called him, that night after Jimin was leaving. Hummed along to the dial tone as you waited to hear his soft voice on the other line. “Why are you calling?” It wasn't him, your heart sinking into the pits of your stomach at the sound of the woman's voice on the other line.

 Maybe, he wasn't waiting for your call... maybe he had followed your anger charged advice to find a different groupie to take on tour with him. Maybe you didn't mean anything to him at all.

 “Hello?” The woman repeated, growing impatient with your silence. Half a mind to hang up the phone and never talk to him again, but you needed answers. Needed to know who this lady was but refused to hear it from anyone but him.

 “I need to talk to Hoseok,” You replied plainly.

 “Obviously, this is his phone. What do you need?” Wow, this woman was rude. Did Hobi know that she was so sour? Surely, he couldn't be interested in someone with such a d-list personality, it didn't match his happy.

 “Excuse me, but I-,” Your words were being cut off by the words overlapping yours, a breathless Joon speaking into the phone. “Yn!?” Namjoon was there too!? What? And breathless? Were they... all three of them!? “Where's Hoseok?” Ignoring the surprise in his tone when he first answered the tone. Your patience was wearing thin.

 “Studio, he left his phone in the practice room. I'm walking there right now.” He let out a huff of breath and you heard some shuffling on the other end. “So... where you been? Haven't heard from you for a while,”

 Maybe he was waiting for you to contact him first. If he hadn't been, surely his best friend wouldn't be asking you where you've been... right? “Yeah...” You reply lamely not knowing what else to say. Not really feeling like you owe Joon much of an explanation, especially if your boyfriend hadn't even received on yet.

 There's more shuffling, a murmured conversation being had away from the phone so you can barely make out what they're saying – but you don't doubt that they're talking about you. A minute passes before the phone is being handed off and you're finally hearing Hoseok's voice.

 “Hey,” He did not sound happy to hear from you. “You good?”

 A little caught off guard you spare a moment to think over what he's asking you. Were you good? Had you been 'good' at all this week? Was it possible that you were so not good without hearing from him that just the sound of his voice instantly had-

 “If you're good then...” He's trailing off, obviously impatient with your silence. Wouldn't be the first one today. It was like you couldn't find the right words, only now realizing that this was all your fault and you had no idea how to fix it.

 “No, wait,” Your words are rushed with the fear that he's going to hang up the phone any second. “I...I should've called you. Like before now. But, I want to talk? Is it alright if we meet up to talk?” Maybe if you were able to see him in person, it would be easier to explain yourself... you always felt at ease when you were with him.

 “I'm a bit busy right now but-,”

 “Oh, right! Yeah, you probably have a whole bunch of things to do... I guess, then-” A laugh was slipping through his lips, a sound you had no idea you missed so much until this moment.

 “-But, we can meet up tonight. I'll be done around here at like nine.” So sure he had decided that he didn't want to talk and was using being busy as an excuse... you really had to stop interrupting people. Something to work on. Your heart was fluttering though, at the thought of seeing him again. Being able to touch him, kiss him, talk to him, and see that bright smile on his face.

 If you were able to make him smile... you had a lot of things to work through, but you were hopeful. “Okay, yeah. Tonight works, that's good.”

 “Great, I gotta go... working, you know? But I'll stop by tonight.” You're agreeing, saying goodbye quickly before ending the call.

 Not as horrible as you thought, you were going to get to see him and everything was going to work out. With a quick glance at the time, you were just now realizing that nine was only a few hours away. The need to speed clean your house, getting rid of the evidence of a week worth of moping as quickly as you can.

 You tried to think of all you wanted to say as you cleaned, no idea where to even start... all you knew was you missed him and couldn't wait to see him again.

 You tried to act natural, not put as much weight on seeing Hoseok again as you normally would. Wanted to act like you weren't nervous for his reaction, scared to tell him that you were sorry and the reason why... how childish he might think you after explaining you had ghosted him because you had been waiting for him to contact you first.

 Even despite you wanting to keep your cool, that didn't stop you for getting ready for his arrival as if you were about to be whisked away on some magic date night. After a quick cleaning of your house, you spent the rest of the time waiting for him making sure that you looked good for him.

 You had done your makeup the way you knew he liked, wore something that you were positive would grasp his attention. Your hair was even done to his liking, noting how he preferred when you wore it down more than anything. All of this, done in hopes that he'd be so mesmerized by you that he'd forget how stupid you've been acting for the past seven days. One could only hope.

 It wasn't until there was a sharp knock at your front door that you were putting the finishing touches on your look. Might've even stayed in the mirror longer if it wasn't for him showing up at exactly 9:18.

 With a deep breath, you're making your way to the front door. Hoseok stands on the other side, hands shoved in his pockets and teeth nibbling at his lower lip. Just seeing him and all you want to do is wrap your arms around him and pull him close, not realizing how much you had missed him until this moment.

 His eyes are on you the moment you're pulling the door open, a small smile spreading on his lips. “Hi,” His voice is soft and you return his greeting before moving to let him in. He turns to watch you push the door closed and you feel the awkwardness begins to settle in your chest.

 Were you supposed to talk first? Get out an apology before the time rattled on. How were you even supposed to start this? You knew exactly what you wanted to apologize for, wasting the little time the two of you had left with your petty thoughts. How were you to come out and say it, though? It was like the words were stuck in your throat.

 “Look, so... before you say anything,” His voice was breaking you from your thoughts, eyes lifting to look in his direction. He looked nervous like the roles had been reversed. “I wanted to apologize to you... I wasn't thinking when I asked you to come along with me, you know? I just thought it would be fun, but obviously, I offended you with the offer... so I'm sorry,”

 He was apologizing? He felt bad? There was nothing that he needed to apologize for and there he was because you had been too busy with your inner monologue to get on with your apology. Now you had this boy standing in front of you looking sheepish for no reason at all.

 You had to fix this.

 “No, you don't have to apologize, honestly. It bugged me at the moment, but only because I didn't properly think it over. I know why you asked... and I should've thought more about it instead of blowing up on you like that,” You took careful steps in his direction, taking your time with closing the space between the two of you.

 There was confusion riddled in his features as if he couldn't understand why you were the one that needed to say sorry. He had been so focused on how he had made you felt, he didn't even take the time to think that you might've been in the wrong. The blame game wasn't something he liked to play.

 “I'm also sorry for the way I ghosted you... I was ready to talk to you the day we got off of the phone but I had been waiting for you to contact me first... I know it's stupid, but I just felt like you should've? Since I was the one mad at you... I wanted you to check,” It sounded even more stupid when you were saying it out loud.

 Embarrassed tinted your cheeks pink, but Hoseok didn't seem to notice. Even if he had, he was ignoring it. “You wanted me to call you?” You nodded, avoiding his gaze. No doubt he was pinning you with the same furrowed brow look Jimin had given you when you first told him.

 You're caught off by the laugh that leaves his lips. Gaze lifting to find him shaking his head, shoulders shaking as he lets out laughs. Now it's your turn to look confused, face contorted as you stare at him. “What's funny?” You're asking as he takes deep breaths to calm his laughter.

 “I just... I had been waiting for you to call me. Wanted to give you space or whatever and figured you'd call when you weren't mad anymore... you weren't even mad to begin with, though? That's hilarious to me.” You didn't get it, but he was smiling that pretty smile of his so you had no choice but to agree. His laughter is slowly dying down and he's looking at you, reaching out to grasp your hand. “Come here,”

 Hoseok easily pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you in a warm hug. He tried to ignore it, but in the week that he couldn't see you – he had realized how much you started to mean to him. Simple things like holding you close, he was yearning for and not much could make up for it.

 “This fight was stupid,” He's declaring, leaning back so he could get a good look at your face. His hand lifts to push the hair from your forehead, pressing his lips against it afterward. “I'm leaving soon... we shouldn't waste time like this,”

 Arms lifting to wrap around his waist, you're nodding your head, cheek resting against his chest. “God, I missed you so much...” He's trailing off, fingers toying with the ends of your hair.

 You had missed him too, and you tell him. Not being able to mask the sadness in your voice. A whole week passed without seeing each other and you were like this. Would you be able to survive six whole months without him? It hadn't even been long, but he had become such a big part of your life.

 “I think I'm gonna miss you too much when you leave...” He's pulling back at the sound of your words, nodding his head as his hand cradle your face. Hoseok stands there looking at you for a while, taking in your sad eyes and tiny pout. The look squeezing his heart but only making him that much more determined to make things work for you.

 “Be my girlfriend,” The words tumble from his lips so smoothly, you're not even sure you hear him right. He's continuing before you have a chance to answer. “I like you a lot, Yn. And I know the next six months are going to be hard... but I think they might be a little easier if I know I have my girlfriend waiting up for me, don't you think?” He's smiling big and you're sure yours matches his.

 Girlfriend. Not fuck buddy. Sidepiece. Groupie. Hoseok's girlfriend. Which came with so much more. Pushed all your insecurities away, solidified things. Just a label, but it came with such security, something that you had no idea you needed so much until you were entering this situation-ship with this man.

 “I'd love to be your girlfriend,” You were grinning hard now, it is covered by his soft lips. His large hands slipping into your hand, tangling in the loose strands as he held your lips to his. Kissing you softly and slowly, as if you two had all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

 You really wished you did.

 He's pulling away all too quickly, but not before leaning down once more to press a gentle peck to your lips. “Things are going to be really hectic these past few days... but we'll make it work.” He sounded hopeful, you were too. “And I cleared my schedule for tomorrow... might set us back, but I wanted to spend the night with you.”

 Despite having zero knowledge of how this conversation would go, Hoseok held a lot of faith in you... in your blossoming relationship. Felt like things would work out for you if the two of you made sure to work together on things. It would be a bit of a learning process for you, he could tell but he was willing to work at it with you.

 “I'd really like that,” You say, leaning up on your toes to press your lips back onto his. Ready to make the most of tonight, no matter what you did. Just wanted to be with him and make up for lost time.

 Stock up on all the smiles, the hugs, the kisses that you could because in a few weeks. Your six-month challenge would be starting, you needed to memorize what his lips felt like while you still could. Ready to cherish every moment until he was getting on that plane.

– he’s ½ of the famous rap duo, the 94′s. when stumbling upon a pretty youtuber, he’s quick to decide he wants to have her. but one night with her just doesn’t seem like enough.

⬿ masterlist ⤳

taglist: @randomkoalablog @smoljams @dee-ehn @angjeon @moarmynation @diminieshoe @butterflylion @withlovestudyblr @uxwi @hazefilter @honeyoongles @flantasticpr @ratking101 @jinhitwhore @thisistrashperson @hehehehahahohohuhu @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hellotherehoneybee @bangtansonyeondayyyum @okaysoplshelpme @rather-not-sayy @betysotelo18​ @bluefaeriefury @tae165 @kookiesjoonies @bangtansbun​ @koostime​ @justastupidnick​ @ashleyjoyx​ @kooinluv​ @alpaca1612​ @sw33tnight​ @taefect94​ @houseofarmanto​ @flantasticpr​ @amoreguk​ @kim-ji-hyeons-world​ @mochibabycakes @beeeb05 @tommasauras @diorhobii @kimsouthjoon @korkanswers @samros95 @soulstaes @masterpiecejoonie @melonmochi @aizuwusho @marifujioka @elliemeetsevil @thesunisup-theskyisblue @thecityrain​ @alterlovess @leovaldezisfire @pastelpinksunflower​ @xctvme​ @itsrapmonstanotdancemonsta​

A/N: timestamps are important throughout the fic!! if you want to be added to the taglist, send me an ask! also if you asked to be on the taglist and aren’t on there, it’s because tumblr sometimes doesn’t let me tag ppl for some reason.

[scxrlettwxtches]

a marriage story pt. 2 | lee minho

Genre: fluff, angst, (to be totally honest I don’t even know what this is)

Warnings: some suggestive bits, swearing

Word Count: ~4.6k

Description: You were now truly the wife of Lee Minho, your best friend, your confidante, your number one bitch, but now you had to navigate through something much more challenging: becoming the heiress to Korea’s biggest tech company.

A/N: i’m back!!!! im so so sorry that i’ve been away for so long. the virus and with final exams, i just couldn’t bring myself to write at all. im still slowly coming out of my writing slump, and this fic really doesn’t meet my standards, so i feel really guilty putting this out. however, i’d feel even more guilty not putting this out at all, especially since so many people have been waiting! i really hope people enjoy this, and please look forward to my upcoming fics as well! <3 as always, my ask box is always open if anyone ever wants to be friends :) stay safe, love y’all!

i. 

It was always the same boring jargon. 

You could never understand your husband’s fascination with business, but you did know one thing for certain. He was damn good at it. As you sat by his side, listening to his managers report their latest updates, you could afford to tune them out. But from the corner of your eye, you watched Minho listen to every word, catch every little mistake, leaning forward on the desk to express his utmost interest. 

That must be the hardest part of running a business, you decided. You couldn’t imagine listening to old men drone on and on for 7 hours a day, and once again you wondered why Minho had dragged you to another one of his boring-ass company meetings for the second time that week. 

You could feel your eyes growing heavier and heavier as you struggled to look attentive. Almost everything was beginning to blend together; all the business rhetoric was flying over your head and you wanted nothing more than to go home.

Just as you were genuinely about to doze off, you felt a gentle, reassuring hand on your thigh. Sparing a glance to your left, Minho’s expression had not changed one bit, still listening to the presentation, but you could tell he was giving you some attention. Briefly, you wondered if he’d been keeping track of your mood since the meeting had begun.

After an eternity, the meeting adjourned and everyone filed out of the room to continue their work in their personal cubicles. Minho and you were the last to leave, and you went around the room fixing chairs and making sure the room was ready for its next use.

“You know you don’t need to do that, right?” Minho asked amusedly, but he helped you without complaint, pushing the projector back to the corner of the room.

“I can’t help it,” you shrugged, “Doesn’t it bother you when you leave the room and everything’s a mess?”

“I’m not going to listen to a word you say until you clean up the junkyard that is your work room.”

“That’s different,” you snapped with no bite in your voice, “That’s called organized clutter.”

“No, it’s just clutter.”

“You’re the worst.”

Minho laughed, finishing up with his side of the room and coming over to you. The meeting room had no windows to the rest of the building, and no one could see you, but it was still embarrassing when he leaned against the table beside you, tugging the hem of your shirt to pull you closer. 

“You know you can say things during the meeting, right?” he murmured, looking at you intently, “I don’t ask you to come just to doze off.”

“Talk, in front of those business sharks?” you laughed, “I’m not nearly qualified enough.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Minho retorted firmly, “And they’ll respect what you have to say.”

“How do you know that?”

“If they don’t...” Minho trailed off, a hungry gleam emerging in his eyes, making him look twice as handsome as usual, “I’ll make them regret it.”

“Oh, how terrifying, Mr. Lee!” you swooned dramatically, giving his tie a sharp tug so you could plant a chaste kiss on his lips, “Managing your business with an iron fist.” 

Minho gave your shirt a harsher tug, feeling cheated that the kiss had been so torturously brief. With an arm around your waist, he smirked, “Well, they know how whipped I am for you, darling.”

And if the two of you didn’t come out of that conference room for another half hour, it wasn’t anyone’s business.

ii.

Being married to the heir of one of the most promising tech companies came with a lot of obligations, one of the biggest being constant attendance at a plethora of sponsor parties and business events. As an introvert who’d rather stay at home and draw than go out with friends, parties weren’t exactly your thing, but you didn't hate them as much as you had originally thought you would. There were always interesting people present, and there’s always something to gravitate to. 

Tonight, you and Minho were heading to an event to honor one of the company’s most generous donors. It was going to be held at a large convention center, and you knew both Minho and the company had spared no expense when it came to funding this party. 

“We have to get going in five!” you called from the bathroom, completing the finishing touches to your makeup. Dressed in a Zuhair Murad Eugenia gown, the long shoulder straps of chiffon billowed down gracefully on your bare back, and the corset-like bodice covered in rhinestones accentuated your figure. You had tied up your hair in a loose, elegant bun to match the style of your dress, and your makeup was simple.

You could hear the rustling of clothes from your bedroom as your husband grumbled, “Why do I always take longer than you to get ready?”

“Because you’re far more of a peacock than I could ever dream to be,” you answered breezily, pushing one more bobby pin in your hair to keep it steady. 

“Oh, very funny,” the sarcasm oozed out of Minho’s voice as he walked towards the bathroom, stopping short as he took in your appearance in the mirror. You continued to fix your hair, a bobby pin in your mouth as you smoothed out the bumps, and you let out a surprised noise when you felt Minho press up behind you, his hands now roaming all over your body.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he whispered in your ear, tilting his head to kiss your neck. You couldn’t help but lean against him in desire, giving him a better angle to leave a trail of kisses, but before things could escalate, you spun around, taking his hands in yours to pull them off your body.

“None of that today,” you spoke firmly, putting his hands back to his side.

Minho still had that hungry gleam in his eyes as he asked with mild offense, “Why not?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” you gave him a pointed look in the mirror, “we’re going to be late.” 

Your husband let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair, but he backed off, understanding your point. Placing one last bobby pin, you grabbed the jar of hair gel and began slicking Minho’s hair back with practiced ease. 

“We’ll finish up later, okay?” you attempted to placate him gently. Minho smirked, wiggling his eyes suggestively at you in the mirror, and seeing the crafty look on his face, you let out a dramatic roll of your eyes.

Finishing up your styling of his hair, Minho pressed a quick kiss on your lips, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip before he spoke.

“I’ll look forward to it, then.”

iii.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee! Over here!” A chorus of voices shouted over one another as you walked into the convention center, your arm securely wrapped around Minho’s. The flashing lights blinded you, but you maintained a professional expression, acknowledging as many photographers as possible. 

The long segment of pictures continued (the two of you were the stars, after all), and as you slowly made your way into the building, your eyes caught sight of a familiar face exiting the car that had just arrived.

Feeling you tug at his jacket sleeve discreetly, Minho bent down slightly so your lips were near his ear as you muttered, “Your parents are here.”

“Hah?” Minho glanced at where you were looking, his expression dark, “I didn’t invite them.”

“They still officially own the company,” you sighed, “They can show up whenever they want to, with or without your invitation.”

“They’re going to make some sort of scene, I just know it,” your husband growled under his breath, before giving you a tense smile, “Let’s head inside before we have to interact with them in front of all these goddamn cameras.” 

You certainly agreed with that statement, and the two of you ducked into the entrance without so much of a glance back. It had been a while since you’d spoken to the Lee’s, and by speaking you meant them furiously yelling at you about how you had corrupted their son, and you just sitting there, not sure whether you should laugh or cry. When Minho had happened to come home early from work that very day to find his parents insulting every ounce of your existence, he was beyond furious.

“You do not, under any circumstance, get to waltz into my house and insult my wife like she is some piece of dirt that you walk over,” he had snarled, looking angrier than you’d ever seen him, “Don’t ever think of inviting yourself over unless you have something nice to say about our relationship, or I will find a way to legally keep you from coming to this house.”

Long story short, the last interaction was far from pretty. 

The decorations for the party were immaculate, with purple mood lighting illuminating the large hall and white satin cloth that draped the walls. It was all very beautiful, if you had to say so yourself, especially because you had suggested many of the features that were present. Minho had always deferred to your judgement with all things artistic, and even though you weren’t confident enough to share your ideas in the office, you were perfectly comfortable telling your husband what you thought of his plans.

“Damn, looks like Hyunjin came,” Minho waved his hand at a familiar figure, who walked over looking very dashing in his expensive black suit and his hand in his pockets.

“Well, if it isn’t the happy couple,” Hyunjin smirked, giving a slight bow as you rolled your eyes, “Love the venue, by the way. Definitely not Minho’s work, since he’s got the artistic talent of a slug.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” You agreed solemnly, while Minho glared at the both of you with a sort of tired resignation.

Behind you, the noises grew louder as Minho’s parents walked into the building, their faces smug as they greeted everyone with wide smiles, happy to be received well by their old employees. 

Minho let out a scoff, “Look at them,” he said, his temper already flaring again, but you gently ran your hand along his back.

“Let them have their fun,” you chastised him under your breath, “You don’t want to look ungrateful in front of all your guests.” 

Your husband looked like he didn’t quite care what the paparazzi thought, but he relaxed slightly, and you gave him a small smile, “I’m going to grab drinks for us, and you’re going to go find Mr. Kim standing over there and thank him for his generous donations, alright? Hyunjin, do you want anything?”

Hyunjin put his hands out and waved quickly, “No thanks. I’m gonna go find Felix.”

“Lix is here?” Minho looked around, his eyes brightening. 

“Yeah, but do what your wife said first,” Hyunjin tilted his head towards Mr. Kim with a sly smile.

Minho rolled his eyes, grumbling, “I swear you guys are just ganging up on me,” but he did as you asked, leaving with a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

You shared a knowing look with Hyunjin before walking to the bar, pulling out your credit card from your clutch as you made your way to the counter, ordering two cocktails. As you leaned against the table, waiting patiently, a deep voice interrupted your gentle daydreams.

“Good evening. Mrs. Lee, I presume?” 

It was still an unfamiliar way of address to you, but you whipped around as smoothly as possible, trying your best to look unflappable. Standing in front of you was a handsome, black-haired man, no doubt coming from one of the wealthy families that Minho had invited.

“Hello,” you smiled, before asking politely, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know—“

“Park Seonghwa,” he interrupted you curtly, “The Park’s and the Lee’s are old family friends. I’m surprised you don’t know who I am, since you are—unfortunately—a Lee as well.”

Okay, so he was that type of asshole. Your smile faltered as your brain repeated a constant mantra. 

Don’t screw up. Don’t screw this up for Minho. Smile, deflect, leave.

You put on a tentatively polite smile as you spoke, “I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong to upset you, but—”

“Don’t patronize me,” Seonghwa’s eyes flared, although his tone still decidedly curt, “You—a high school dropout, a nobody—shouldn’t even dare to walk beside the likes of Lee Minho, much less marry him.” 

Your blood boiled, and you wanted nothing more than to sock this asshole in the face. You gripped your clutch tightly, clenching your jaw as the bartender came back with your two drinks.

Seonghwa paused, looking at you up and down before smiling with mock pity, “Dressing up doesn’t suit you, Y/N. Maybe you should crawl back to the gutters where you belong and stop pretending to be something you’re not.”

At that moment, something in you snapped, and you no longer cared about your carefully crafted personality. Fuck that. Fuck the press. Fuck every careful step you’ve taken to maintain your reputation. 

“Park Seonghwa,” When you spoke again, your voice was colder than ice. Even Seonghwa could feel it, as surprise flashed in his eyes.

“Once again, I apologize for anything that I have done to upset you. However,” Your voice held an undercurrent of a growl as you took a step towards him, very subtly intruding in his personal space, “that does not give you the right to insult my character.” 

“Y/N—“

“It’s Mrs. Lee to you,” you interrupted him harshly, “Rather pathetic, waiting for a moment that I’m alone to speak to me in this manner. Tell me, if Minho were standing beside me, would you say everything that you just said right now?”

Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, as his cold, sultry voice grew nervous, “I-I—“

“Let me answer that for you, Mr. Park. You wouldn’t,” you snarled, letting the words sink in before smiling coldly, “Your company is an extension of Minho’s, am I right? What do you think will happen if I told him that you were an egocentric asshole who believes himself superior to others because of something as trivial as birth? Do you think you’ll be part of this elite circle that you hold so dear after he is through with you?”

Seonghwa was utterly speechless, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as you grab the two glasses from the table, turning away from him with an expression of utter disdain.

“I hope you spend some time to correct your mentality before you end up verbally assaulting someone who has less patience than me.”

You stalked away with your head held high and your anger still simmering under the surface as you walked over to Minho, who was conversing with Mr. Kim. The intense urge to hurl something at the wall waned slightly, and you couldn’t help but smile at your husband.

“Darling,” you purred sweetly as handing him his drink, snaking an arm around his waist in a gesture of comfort, but also a gesture of seeking his attention.

Your husband, your wonderful, perfect husband, could tell immediately from the sound of your voice and your actions that something had happened. In an act of courtesy, you introduce yourself to Mr. Kim, who treated you with far more grace and politeness than the person you’d just interacted with. Minho, holding your waist tightly, excused himself from Mr. Kim’s presence before pulling you to a less crowded corner.

“What’s happened? Are you alright?” He asked, the worry apparent in his features as he ran his hands up and down your side comfortingly. The act alone already soothed your earlier anger. 

Shaking your head, you gently tapped his forehead with your knuckles, “Don’t make that expression. You’ll get wrinkles,” you chastised him teasingly.

Minho’s grip on your waist tightened, “You didn’t answer the question,” he pointed out. 

You sighed tiredly, “It’s the usual. Some assholes think that I don’t deserve you.”

The reaction was immediate, his eyes darkening with cold, contained fury as he clenched his jaw, “Who?” He growled, already looking around the room as if he could sense who would dare insult his wife.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said breezily, putting your hand on his arm in an attempt to appease his anger, “He already regrets it.”

Minho froze, his angry frown molding into a cocky smirk, “You scared him, didn’t you?”

You winced, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I tried to stay cordial, but I got angry and—fuck, I think I ruined things for you—“

“Hey—hey, look at me, darling,” The anger in Minho’s voice had dissipated, leaving only gentle concern as his hands cup your cheeks delicately, his thumb brushing your face as you looked up at him.

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? You had every right to be angry and I’m so, so proud of you for standing up for yourself,” Minho’s voice didn’t hold a shred of anger, only a firmness as he looked you in the eye.

“But, the press—“

“The press won’t write anything, and if they do, I’ll shut it down the moment it appears,” Minho said soothingly as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “You did so well, and I love you so much.” 

A quiet, relieved sob choked out of your lips and Minho sighed, giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead, “I’m sorry, baby. I always hate putting you in situations like this.”

You leaned into his touch, gently holding his hand, “It’s alright, I knew what I signed up for,” you said, smiling reassuringly, “Besides, I know you’d destroy them if you ever saw it happen. If anything, I’m more worried about their lives.”

Your words had the intended effect, calming Minho’s anger, “Is that why you never give me names?” He asked with an almost resigned voice; he’d never understand your commitment to protecting people who didn’t deserve a moment of your attention. 

“I just don’t want to cause you trouble,” you answered with a smile, but instead of smiling back, Minho looked stricken, like a sudden thought had come into his head, something he’d never realized before. 

“Y/N, are you—”

“There you two are!” Hyunjin ran over, exasperation clear in his features, “You have to make the toast, Minho! Everyone’s waiting for you!”

“Fuck,” Your husband scowled as Hyunjin ran back to notify the staff. Turning to look at you with a determined expression on his face, he said firmly, “You’re coming onto the stage with me.” 

“W-what?” You let out an incredulous laugh, backing away from your husband and feeling as if the comfortable rug you’ve been sitting on had just been yanked out from under you. You’d never been in the spotlight at any galas, and you never wanted to. After all, more time on the stage meant more public scrutiny, and public scrutiny meant bad press for Minho, “Darling, you can’t. This is your party and your future company—”

“It’s going to be your company, too,” Minho retorted, looking deadly serious, “And don’t act like every single one of these decorations wasn’t your idea. You played just as big if not a bigger part in putting this together, even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

You shook your head frantically, trying to muster a believable smile, “I don’t want the credit, really. If your employees see you bringing me up there…” 

“Y/N,” Minho moved towards you, cupping your face with his hands as he stared you down, his eyes filled with nothing but absolute love and adoration, “There’s no time to have a genuine conversation on this topic right now, but I need you to at least know this. I will never be ashamed of you, Y/N. Never.”

“I know,” You said soothingly, but Minho didn’t look convinced, “I know you’d never be ashamed of me, love, but there’s a difference between not being ashamed and bringing your-high school-dropout wife up on stage in a large and very important gala.”

“They don’t know you,” Minho replied bluntly, “They don’t know that you dropped out to work and pay for your mom’s medical bills. They don’t know how you gave up everything to take care of her. They don’t know how your words pulled me away from the drugs and the alcohol that was working to consume me.” 

Stroking your cheek gently, he spoke, “I’m nothing without you, Y/N, and I’m perfectly alright with letting the world see that,” you choke on a sob as he kissed your lips, asking softly, “Is that alright with you, darling?”

You took a moment to collect yourself, staring up at your husband who owned the world in his hands but would drop it all in an instant if you merely said the word, and nodded, “Yes, of course.”

The whispers spread like wildfire as Minho walked onto the stage with you. The cameras flashed and you could hear the shutters clicking, drowning out the sound of your own heartbeat. You hated it. It felt suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe. You had to get out, or you’d ruin everything Minho built--

“Love, I’m right here,” Minho murmurs into your ear, holding onto your waist, and suddenly you felt grounded, brought back to reality with the sound of your husband’s voice, “Don’t look at them, look through them. Their opinion doesn’t matter.” 

As you looked out into the crowd, spotting the aghast expressions of Minho’s parents, the envy of the people who would kill to be Minho’s one and only, the venom in Seonghwa’s eyes with a hint of fear as your gazes locked onto each other, it was hard to believe Minho’s words. Opinions created fact in the eyes of the media, and the people that hated you could rewrite your entire identity with a snap of their fingers. 

But, as you felt Minho’s firm, reassuring hand on your waist and caught sight of Hyunjin and Felix snickering in the back, you couldn’t fight the smile threatening to appear on your face, your body relaxing and getting used to the spotlight. He was right. They didn’t know you, they didn’t know even a bit of you that really mattered, only seeing what they want to see. 

Minho’s lips quirked up into a smile, feeling your gradual shift in mentality as he continued to talk, and he gave your waist a subtle, but loving squeeze. 

epilogue.

It was always the same boring jargon. 

You sat at your husband’s side, as always, your legs crossed and your head resting against your hand, a perfect picture of relaxed passiveness as you watched grown men squabble at the conference table like young children over a pretty toy.

“The charity money should go to the academy!” One of the men said roughly, “ That’s where it’s gone for years. There’s no use in creating frivolous drama and gossip by changing the beneficiary now.” 

“The new school being built by the Park’s would benefit from the additional funding,” Another argued, and your gaze moved towards him, also keeping an eye on a particular Park Seonghwa, who had been decidedly quiet, “The students would be able to receive additional benefits from the donations.”

“The arts center that we have sponsored the construction of would also be a good candidate,” An employee interjected, “It would also bring good publicity for the company, showing our interest in supporting the arts--”

“No.” 

All eyes turned towards you, who had not shifted from your laid back position even after your curt interruption. If your husband was surprised, he didn’t so much as blink in surprise, although you could see the telltale glimmer in his eyes, telling you clearly that he was actually amused.

“We’re not going to use the charity money on any of those projects,” you continued, sitting up in your seat, “We’re going to use it for exactly what the definition implies. Charity.”

Seonghwa made a noise, a clear scoff in disguise as he glanced at you, “Mrs. Lee, the past 30 minutes of the meeting have been devoted to discussing the use of the money for--”

“Giving a couple million dollars to projects that already have billion dollar budgets is not charity, Mr. Park,” you interjected cooly, before finally sitting forward to open your laptop, “I’d suggest moving the funds to support the public schools in the city, which are all severely lacking in resources.”

Minho’s face remained impassive, but his eyes were smiling as he quietly observed you take over the room, handling every objection to your proposal with a lazy ease and snark that he’d fallen in love with after mere days of meeting you. After everyone had exhausted their attempts at trying to bring the money back to their own projects, he finally cleared his throat.

“When it comes to charity, the last argument that should be made is about the return profit,” Minho said, his voice low and commanding, “The Lee Company has more means to do good in the city than any other company, and it is perfectly capable of using its additional funds to support people without asking for anything in return.”

His employees are grew quiet with a chastised silence, one that he reveled in before continuing, “Now, if anyone has an opposition to my wife’s proposal that doesn’t revolve around a more financially beneficial option or better publicity, feel free to speak.”

The continued silence felt like a personal triumph for you as you sat back in your seat, once again assuming your relaxed, rather bored posture.

“Good,” Minho said firmly as his employees continued to sit in silence, “Y/N will lead with the execution of this charity. Thank you for a productive meeting, everyone.”

As the people filed out of the room, leaving you and your husband to lounge around the empty and secluded space, you let out a gasp as Minho stood up, loosening his tie before bending down and smashing his lips against yours in a deep, hungry kiss.

“Fuck, do you even know how hot that was?” He groaned, biting your lower lip as his hand gently tilted your head up to a better angle for him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, letting your husband have his fun as you bit his lip teasingly, “Did you really just get turned on by me scolding your employees?”

“Love, I get turned on by you doing practically anything,” Minho chuckles, pulling away slightly to gaze down at your red cheeks and swollen lips, “But you putting people in their place might take the cake.”

“Hmm, is that so?” You hummed, wrapping his tie around your hand and giving it a light yank, “Maybe I should put you in your place, too, darling.”

Minho smirked, his eyes darkening at your words, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna wish you didn’t say that,” he laughed, leaving a fleeting kiss on your lips before pulling away from you completely, moving to lock the door with a soft click. 

It was a godsend for the people outside that the conference rooms were built to be soundproof, because two of you walked out maybe half an hour later, your neck littered with marks, courtesy of Minho’s love and hunger, and your legs wobbly, relying on Minho’s firm grip around your waist as the two of you walked back to the parking lot.

And if Minho guided you down the path that would pass Park Seonghwa’s office, flashing him a smug smile, he swore it was nothing more than a simple accident.

[popatochisssp]

if/when you get the energy/time to- im really curious; what kinda fuzzy friends do the newer skeles have? does pitch have a seeing eye-dog version of princess? or does ell and/or nemo have a fuzzy buddy to help with their anxiety or anything similar or in-between? spare fuzzy friend hcs for the poor, ma'am????

Well, you asked for it!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): A cat named Annie (Ragdoll), adopted as an emotional support buddy! She picked him, really, just ambling right on up to him, and it was love at first flop-over-his feet. Having a little sweetheart like her to take care of has really helped to pull Ash out of the doldrums and he loves her a lot. She’s a big-time cuddlebug, just like he is, and they definitely spend a ton of time napping together, everywhere and anywhere.

Annie’s Quirks: Extra chunky (master of the ‘I haven’t been fed yet 🥺’ con), stockpiles socks and undies beneath the bed, shameless catnip junkie

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He feels like he’s not as active as he should be, lots of time spent indoors doing academic things, when there’s a whole beautiful world out there that he should be getting out to see at least sometimes... He has the idea that maybe an animal companion would be the right motivation to get up and out at least a couple times a day, and Cannoli (Pembroke Welsh Corgi) is the solution to the problem! They click pretty much immediately and are just very well-suited to each other, especially as exercise partners.

Cannoli’s Quirks: Loves (short) walks, rests his head on any feet that stay still long enough, must sleep in the same bed as the people and will hop/bark/cry if he can’t get up there himself

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):He doesn’t know too much of the story himself, he’s sure he was told in more detail but probably forgot. All he remembers is, a friend of a friend had a dog who had an accident...or maybe it got sick? Either way, it went deaf, and the dog was too big and unwieldy for them to try to retrain themselves. But they had a friend who was HoH, and that friend was active in the community with lots of other signing and HoH folks and could ask around about someone who might be up for the challenge of having and training a real big dog that couldn’t hear a word you said to it. That’s how Brick heard about it, anyway, and he’s not deaf but he’s big, and he figures he probably knows at least enough sign by now to train a dog. And that’s how Tiny (English Mastiff) comes to stay at his place. They clumsily work on understanding each other, it’s definitely a Process, but there’s plenty of fondness there to make any difficulty worth the trouble.

Tiny’s Quirks: Bit of a digging problem, gets very excited about balloons, likes to sit near people and lean his entire weight into them

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): This one may look familiar, but it’s fate-- Doomfanger (Persian) belongs with him and could find her way to him in any universe. ...But King was a little later getting to the Surface, and wasn’t there to pick her up when she was freshly on the streets. She spent awhile longer being an alleycat, a few years of living the rough life, and one day when she’s not quite fast enough to scurry out of the way of an oncoming car, it probably would’ve been the end for her... if not for the kind Samaritan skeleton who was just passing by that scooped her up off the pavement and brought her to a vet. King tried very hard not to get attached to her, especially when it was still looking like she wouldn’t make it, but he kept moving the goalpost of when he’d let himself care about her. ‘IF IT LIVES UNTIL MORNING,’ ‘IF IT MAKES IT TO THE VET,’ ‘IF SHE SURVIVES HER SURGERY,’ ‘IF--’ and then she looks at him, with her goofy drugged up face, freshly missing the foot of her back paw so that they even match now, and... And just like that, Doomfanger has a home and a devoted cat-dad owner and anything else she could possibly need.

Doomfanger’s Quirks: Likes to be raked, makes an incredible fuss when shut out of any room for any reason, very spooked by loud noises and immediately runs and hides under daddy’s bed

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He wanted a pet, especially when things were still a little strained with his brother and the nature of his...condition...made it difficult to make friends. He was lonely and a little pal would be very welcome in his home, but he’d also really hate to curse a furry friend with the ever-present threat of being dripped on and getting nasty bone-goop stuck in their fur... Ella (Sphynx) is the workaround to this unusual problem and makes herself right at home with Merc, happy to love on him whether he’s solid or sticky.

Ella’s Quirks: Has an extensive collection of sweaters that she adores (will sit by her dresser and meow until she is clothed), great sense for emotions and tends to appear whenever she’s needed, transfixed by mirrors

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He didn’t choose Ripley (Maine Coon), Ripley... well, he’s not even sure Ripley chose him. He definitely chose Ella, because that pretty little sweater-wearing vixen in the window is what drove him to bust into Ell and Merc’s house and start sauntering around like he owned the place. Ripley (named before they realized he was a boy-cat) was definitely feral, with a notched ear and a missing eye, but he just keeps coming around, breaking and entering, cuddling with Ella and sharing her food, and when he one day hops into Ell’s lap and curls his big fluffy body up there... Ell makes the (possibly bad) decision to just shut the doors and windows on this mean, fat bastard and make him commit to the self-domestication he’d started. Ripley’s fickle, anti-social, and nine times out of ten mean as hell, but despite it all, Ell’s attached to the fucker. Doesn’t stop him from talking mad shit about his demon-cat to anyone who’ll listen, but y’know, there’s a weird sort of love there, between them both.

Ripley’s Quirks: Hates other cats and people, with Ell and Ella as the only exceptions (Ell sometimes, Ella always), does truly heinous things to birds and rodents and even bugs if the opportunity presents itself, an escape artist who is not to be trusted around doors or windows

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Ms. Sandy Peaches (Golden Retriever) is a service dog, trained to assist people with visual impairments in a variety of tasks. Pitch, who’d long been mulling over the idea of getting one such dog, eventually follows through, and as soon as he hears her name, he’s decided-- Sandy Peaches is the one for him! He’s been blind awhile by the time he gets her and generally knows his way around things, but she’s very helpful in his day-to-day and some of the things that were moderately inconvenient to get through before are only mildly inconvenient now, and her value as a helper and a companion is much appreciated.

Sandy’s Quirks: Gets excited when it’s time to put her vest on and go work, thinks the appropriate amount of brushing time is probably about three hours, loves to go swimming

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He found Dizzy (American Shorthair) after an accidental click led him to a local shelter’s Instagram, where they had a video of her playing and a few hashtags that explained her condition. He learned a lot about cerebellar hypoplasia, aka ‘wobbly cat syndrome,’ and when he eventually made it back to her video and watched it again... it was too late, he was already half in love with her. He contacts the shelter and after a couple weeks making arrangements, purchasing necessities, and wobbly-cat-proofing the house, he braves the outdoors to go get her and bring her home. She’s probably 100% his baby within the first hour and he loves being able to take care of her and help a kitty that not everybody would have the time or dedication to take in. The love is very much mutual and Dizzy’s tail does the ‘omg it’s you, I love you!’ tail-quiver whenever she sees him and trots on over.

Dizzy’s Quirks: Sixth sense for when there’s clean laundry to be laid on, likes to hold extended warbling and yowling conversations with people, chews on anything that crinkles (keep plastic wrappers out of reach!)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): As soon as he knew he wanted a dog, he knew he wanted to pick up one of the less adoptable ones. Skipper (Beagle mutt) was certainly that, with only two legs--one in front and one in back. Sunny had a play session with the little guy and admired his energy and how enthusiastically he played, like his missing legs didn’t even phase him. Whatever happened in Skipper’s past, he’s not letting it be his problem now, and needless to say, he’s adopted and taken home in pretty short order. No holds barred fetch and spontaneous frolicking in open fields are a great bonding activity for these two, probably a match made in heaven.

Skipper’s Quirks: Tennis ball fiend (literally can never have enough), chews on unattended shoes, loves to sing (read: howl) along to music

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He wanted a guard dog, some big intimidating-looking thing that would look really, really cool guard the house. He finds Ace (Doberman/Great Dane), unfortunately with his ears already cropped (Aster wouldn’t have chosen the procedure himself), but otherwise a very handsome fellow and still definitely in need of love and a home, both of which Aster was willing and able to provide. He’s attentive with all the care and training his new pup needs, and when Ace grows up just as huge as predicted, looking like a cross between a panther and a hellhound, he’s become an extremely well-mannered and obedient dog, full to the tips of his pointy ears with love for Aster.

Ace’s Quirks: King of naps, the worst nightmare of any strangers at the door (but very affectionate and loving once they’re in!), will tell you if you’ve stopped petting him too soon, boofing and trying to put your hand back to make you resume

[p0gue420]

!Too Young To Feel Numb! (Kie x Reader)

ATTENTION!! There are a lot of trigger warnings in this one! Including: drinking, drugs, talks of feeling alone, depression.

Summary: Y/n started smoking weed at the age of 8, It’s all she’d known; She grew up around it so it was normal for her to start super young, she told herself that’s the farthest she’d go...only smoking weed..never any hard drugs. She thought she could learn from her parent's mistakes, guess not. 

pairing: Kie x female!reader, Rafe x Platonic! reader, JJ x Sister figure! reader

Warnings: Substance abuse, depression, suicidal thoughts, marijuana Underage drinking,(reader is 15),

A/N: Alot of grammar errors because i dont feel like checking it so sorry....not really,hehe

---------

I use to think people were crazy for even thinking about doing anything harder than weed. Yeah...I was like 7 so it doesn’t count.”Yo you gonna babysit that shit or pass it, I mean...I have all day but  would love to do something besides wait for you to pass the blunt.” I rolled my eyes waiting for JJ to hand it to me.”Chill, what’s up your ass today?”

He finally passes it, after what felt like hours. I take a long hit before seeing he’s actually wanting me to answer his question.”Nothin. man, I’ve just got places to be.” I mumbled out hoping he wouldn’t start asking any further questions. He stares blankly awaiting me to pass it back, knowing I don’t share my feelings so he simply lays off. “Hey. You trynna go surfing today….whenever you’re done with your….things..?”

“Uhh, yeah text me and-” I’m cut off by the sound of my phone vibrating...Barry.

Barry:

Meet in twenty? I got extra today

I look up from my phone stuttering my words, and fumbling.“Uhm, I gotta go do something, but I’ll text you later to surf, yeah?” I say nodding towards JJ as I began walking out.”Uhm yea sure, hey-” I was already out the door.”-be safe.” he muttered to himself left wondering why I left so fast. On the way to my bike, I ran into Kie and Pope laughing about something before Kie began to make her way over towards me.

“Hey, Y/n! Heading out so fast, are we?”Kie pouted her lip out mimicking a whimpering sound.” heh, yeah sorry bub. I gotta go handle some things and I’ll be back later.” I peck her lips in a swift movement as well as pull up the front of her crop top, covering her exposed cleavage.”Those are my love,keep them covered” I wink at her. She laughs and heads inside after blowing me a kiss,that I catch and pretend to place in my heart..Wow im so whipped.

My thoughts cut off by a loud vibrating noise.

Barry:

You coming?

Read: 46 sec.ago

Me:

Omw now!

Read: just now

I hop on my bike heading over to Barry’s place knowing a shortcut I found a few days ago.

It only takes 10 minutes before i’m in front of his house walking up the steps of the porch.My clean oxygen is immediately replaced by the smell of cigarettes,weed,and...Is that burnt hair?I scrunch my face in disgust at the awful smells.”Aye look who it is!” Barry calls out after seeing my face, He’s standing beside..Rafe cameron.

Now...I’m not friends with Rafe but i also don’t exactly despise him.I babysat wheezie all summer last year,most the time he’d join..keep me company;I don’t think he knew i was with Kie but he’s not all bad.He’s helped me more times than I can count,only because i've done the same for him though.

“Yo waddup.I didn’t expect to see you here.” I share a short handshake with Barry and side hug Rafe,he seems unprepared for it so he stumbles a bit but eventually hugs back quickly.”uh yeah.just doing some..business” Rafe says avoiding eye contact,looking everywhere except my face.”anyway i'm gonna head out, i'll catch you guys later.” Rafe walks towards,im guessing his bike;I head inside following barry so i didn’t really catch what he drove in.

“So like I said I've got your usual ,and then I got a little extra something I thought you may like.”He continues on but I'm so wrapped up in the fact that I want to consume something soon,anything;I don’t know exactly what he's saying.”Sound good?” He asked “Uh what?sorry I zoned out a bit.”I shook my head pushing my long hair out of my eyes.”Look,Usually altogether this would be alot of money but considering I stole the pills,I'll spare you the oxy,wadda yuh say?”, “Yeah sure,80$?”

He nods his head holding his hand out as i hand him the money.He hands you a bag full of coke in a plastic baggy, along with the pills in its original container it was prescribed. “Ight,thanks man.Ill see you later next week!” I wave goodbye as I show myself out, shoving the ‘things’ I had bought into my bag and swinging it back on my back.

~Incoming call from:Bubbs<3

I instantly pick up not wanting to worry her.

I instantly hear the boys laughing and playing in the background,but wait for her to say something.”Hey baby, you heading back yet?” Kie questioned sounding bored of the childish boys we spend our time with.”Not yet,i promise im almost done,ask the boys if there's drinks at the chateau please.”She turns her head away from the boys asking what there is to drink besides sink water.

I hear a chorus of “We just stocked up”,”All good momma bird.” and other sayings coming from the overly hyper boys.”Did you hear that,or need me to repeat?” She hesitantly says, making sure I’m still listening ”Gotcha,I'm headed your way now,see you there” I say quickly hanging up without giving her time to respond.

I hop on my bike and drive towards…...the opposite of the chateau,instead deciding to go to the Camerons.I drive,stuck in thought of what ill do when i get there,not quite sure why i decided to come.I had been so lost in thought I didn’t realise I was suddenly at the Cameron residence. I park my bike and began walking up to the door,but before I can knock,Rafe walks up behind me.

“Y/n?” I swiftly turn around being scared for a minute before realizing who it was.”Oh!uhm. yeah...hey” I ‘smoothly’ say”what are you doing here?” he asks..The whole conversation was a blur and before I knew it I was walking up to his room to hang out.I sit on the bed laying back asking about what he wants to do.”I don't know,you came here,what'd you have in mind?” He asked curiously.”I'm not sure.” I snorted at my inability to maintain a conversation.

I dig into my bag as he starts up about how he broke his bed frame the other day, because he put too many boxes on the bed while getting rid of some old things. I finally found what I was looking for,the baggy of white powder.I lifted it up smiling widely.”Can I do this here or no?”I question,feeling my body begin to sweat at the thought of getting to snort the white powder.

“Uh,I mean.. yea sure,didn't know you did that kind of thing.. but I mean go ahead.” He rambles. He stares into space as I do a few lines, my eyes opening wide at the sensation of sudden adrenaline;I look over to see him trying not to stare.”Oh my bad,You want some?” I ask holding up the dollar folded into a cylinder shape , gesturing to the lines of coke spread on the dresser.

---

Hours go by,giggling,cracking jokes with rafe as well as doing oxy and maybe overdoing it with the coke seeing as the bag was almost gone.Rafe hasn't done much.I on the other hand was feeling VERY shaky and everything was just so hilarious..until it wasnt.My high started to get bad and overall scary.I must've did too much in such a limited amount of time.I look at my phone .

17 missed calls from Bubbs<3

8 missed calls from John B:)

9 missed calls from Popey boi

11 missed calls from JJ

Incoming call from Bubbs<3

“He-h-hello ,hi,hey.”

“DON'T ‘HI’ ME!” Kie instantly began screaming into the phone making me move my face away from it as Rafe looked at me with a worried expression on his face.

“Y/n,Where have you been! I’ve been so worried! I’ve-” I Blanked out again not in the mood to be yelled at.”Yeah,hey I nee-need,will-can youcomeandpickme up” I say jumbling all my words together. “Are you okay?Why are you talking like that?''She ask worried about my state of mind.

“Yeah am- I fine,Yes” I say yet again struggling to sound normal. I guess I was on speaker because JJ immediately began yelling into the phone asking about where I was.”Rafes house” Rafe sat silently waiting for them to break out into hysterics about me being with him.The phone went silent for a moment before the call ended.”So does that mean they not-....Vodka” was all i said before heading downstairs Rafe was sober enough to be able to notice what i was doing.I quickly went downstair searching through the freezer.

“Yessss.”I exclaimed before chugging the vodka.”Rafe continuously asking me to give him the bottle.I chugg at least half the pint bottle before having to give it up because Sarah comes down the stairs.”Y/n what're you doing here?” She asks excitedly until she saw me tripping over my own feet walking towards her,”Woah!” she caught me just before I hit the floor.

She turned to the door hearing someone pull up.Kie.”Rafe what did you do to her?” Sarah asked, holding me up scared of how out of it I was.”SHE BROUGHT COKE HERE,i did a bit with her, but she did A LOT. I legit did nothing this time I swear on everything!”He trailed back up the stairs not caring about the situation now that Sarah was there to take care of you. 

I began to sweat, tears running down my face. scared of what's happening to me.John b and Kie rush through the front doors asking where I am.”IN HERE GUYS!” Sarah screamed for them to hear her.My eyes rolling to the back of my head as I went in and out of consciousness.

“BABYYYY!!!” i exclaimed making grabby hands at Kie as i started crying harder

Sarah helped me stand up shakingly as I tried to walk to my girlfriend,She came running towards me with a concerned look on her face. She grabs my face pecking my lips,”Bub. I need you to listen to me, okay?” I nodd in awe of the gorgeous girl in front of me.”John B is gonna take you to the van,we need you to tell us everything you took to get in this state, okay?” I drowsily  nodded,growing tired.

Just as she said,the tall boy picked me up bridal style carrying me out to the twinkie.

I take notice to seating arrangement so i can close my eyes and know whos talking ,JJ being in the passenger seat,Pope watching From the bench behind the driver's seat.Kie stepped up into the van sitting on the floor of the vehicle waiting for John B to place me down beside her.As he did I sat up enough to lean my back against her chest.

JJ was surprisingly silent.Too silent.Pope looked so worried at my sweating body and dripping wet hair from  sweat,tears,and vodka mixture.”Okay,Y/n,What did you take?” my girlfriend sits grabbing my face turning me to face her, my legs straddling her thighs on the floor as I nuzzle my head into the crook of her neck,but she pushes my head up making me pout but not being able to maintain due to the dizziness. “I took a few oxy,uhm when I -then i did a few lines of coke,and…..i chugged half a pint of vodka..” i said tears filling my eyes trying to not look into anyone's eyes,

Silent JJ was no more .”Are you fucking kidding me.Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.You’re not supposed to take oxy and drink alcohol together.much less do oxy or coke at all.ARE YOU DUMB!” JJ began turning around. A Quiet ‘im sorry’ came from my mouth.John B finally pulled into the chateau.

Kie carried me while my face stayed nuzzled in her neck still crying due to my,still,VERY high state.she sat me down on the couch out on the porch as everyone except her,went to get a few things.Pope came back with water and a wet rag to place on my head.JJ brought a blanket,John B came back empty handed because he only went inside to pee.

“Kie?” I whispered scared she was mad.”Yes baby?” 

“Are you mad at me?” I questioned hiding my face in her shoulder due to the amount of dizziness being insured. She leaned her head on mine with an unknown amount of emotions,not quite sure of how to fully answer. “No I- I just don’t know what you were thinking I just- Well I figured you wouldn’t ever do anything like this considering what we talked about-and -and what you went through with your parents..” 

“I know-I wanted to feel better tho..I just feel like i have no one-”

Shortly realising the guys were still in on the conversation as Pope cut in.

“Y/n, you have,and always will have us..” I lift my head from the girls shoulder  before slowly looking at Pope in his sad worried eyes.

“I guess, I like-I dont know guys what you want me to say..Im trying to be better for myself for everybody,but nothing was working and i ran into barry one day and we talked and he offered a way to help,of course i was hesitant but its really not that bad...Im actually fine!” I said standing up as John b followed me.

“y/n, you were just saying you need help,so what the fuck are we supposed to do ,one minute you need help and having to be ushered here so you dont die! And-and-the next thing you’re yelling at us about how your fine,you’re not fine and you know it!” I stopped as I watched the long haired boy fight back tears trying to explain how all of them feel.

“Fuck you guys honestly,Im not a child i know how i feel,this is all just bullshit!” I yelled at them all, I ran to the spare bedroom covered in sweat,tears,and vodka; I slowly sink into the bed as tears fall down my face crying myself to sleep,what i didn’t know was that my bestfriend’s and girlfriend were all huddled up outside the door awaiting me to fall asleep so that they could come in and cuddle me to make me feel better.Sometimes things get better, but i dont think this is one of those times atleast for now anyway..

[hermannsthumb]

I love your writing so so much!! Prompt: middle-aged husbands! Newt gets back from a work trip with some salt and pepper scruff he didn't have time to shave and Hermann goes a little weak in the knees

oh ho ho....also everything im writing this month and next must necessarily be set a snowy setting sry. as always thank u to k-sci-janitor for bouncing ideas w me over discord mild sexy stuff below cut!

--------

When Newton stumbles through the front door in a flurry of snow and clatter of suitcases two weeks after he left for a research trip, Hermann notices two things; the first, that the cliche about absence making the heart grow fonder really is true, the second, that Newton’s cheeks (when Hermann rushes to meet him in a rather embarrassingly fast fashion and allows himself to be scooped up into Newton’s arms, of all things) are distinctly...rougher than usual. Rougher, and pricklier. “How’s the hottest scientist in the world?” Newton says, after an entirely inappropriate amount of kissing. The neighbors could see, for goodness’ sake. “God, dude, I missed you so fucking much.”

“Close the door,” Hermann laughs. “You’re letting all the heat out, and the bloody snow in.”

But Newton merely kisses him again and again, cornering him against the wall and settling his hands low on Hermann’s hips. His cheeks scratch Hermann’s skin; Hermann shivers, not knowing whether from it or the chill of the air. “How much did you miss me?” Newton murmurs.

“Not enough to put on a show for the neighbors,” Hermann chides, though he shivers again when Newton nuzzles against him. He taps the end of his cane against the sodden laces of Newton’s boots. “Mm, ah, come on, I’ve lit a fire, and, and made us tea, take your—wet things off, and—”

Newton steps back with a grin. “You gonna warm me up, Hermann?”

“With a fire and tea,” Hermann says. He shuts the door before more snow can drift in to melt on the hardwood. “Er. For now, anyway. And do hang your jacket this time.”

Newton stumbles out of his winter things in record time, and then stumbles after Hermann the moment they’re tossed haphazardly onto the coat rack. “It’s so…neat in here,” he says, marveling as they pass through the tidy kitchen to get to the equally tidy sitting room, where the fireplace blazes away. “Did you do anything besides clean while I was gone?”

The truth of the matter is that Hermann (lost to mathematical abstraction, and lacking a partner to snap him out of it) let his clutter—half-finished tea, discarded notebook pages, broken pencils and chalk—pile up on every available surface throughout the two weeks of Newton’s absence, and only remembered the previous evening that this was not the usual state of their flat and he ought to see to it very quickly before Newton arrived home. He hopes Newton doesn’t take a peek inside their study any time soon. “Er, something like that,” Hermann says. “Clean, and miss you horrendously. How was the trip?”

“Long,” Newton says. He sits on the couch and drags Hermann down with him. There’s something different in his face Hermann can’t quite put his finger on—he’s changed somehow, Hermann is sure of it, but the question is how? Has he resorted to his spare pair of glasses? No—these are the ones he usually wears; Hermann can see the miniscule crack at the bottom of the left lens, sustained after a particularly energic round of lovemaking in which Hermann rolled right over on top of them. Not that any of that is at all relevant, of course. “Lonely. Fascinating, though, I wish you’d come with me.”

Newton was excited about his trip for weeks. Even the extinction of his object of study couldn’t make him any less one of the top k-biologists, and he was brought in to oversee the salvaging of some of the very last kaiju remains in existence—preserved all these years since the closure of the Breach by the ice of Alaska. Newton sent picture after picture of it, the snow, him bumbling around in the snow in Hermann’s borrowed winter parka, the team he led bundled up in parkas of their own. Hermann knows he ought to ask about it and ask how the salvage efforts went; he knows he ought to ask about the cold, and the snow, and whether or not the other remaining k-scientists were anyone they’d worked with before. Instead, he can’t seem to stop squinting at Newton. “Have you cut your hair?” Hermann says. “Or styled it differently, perhaps? Only there’s something so different about you, I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Different?” Newton says, frowning. “What do you—?" Then he laughs. “Oh! Yeah, I was wayyyy too busy to shave. You’re looking at, like, about as close as I ever get to a full-on beard.” He drags his hand over his jaw, and it rasps audibly. Of course—how did Hermann not realize that from Newton’s scratchy kisses? His stubble, usually so carefully maintained (even in the midst of the war), is overgrown enough to verge on thick, and for the first time Hermann notices the decent smattering of grey across it. It’s—well—it’s hardly a bad look on him. Rather, Hermann might say it’s the opposite. It makes him look older, a bit more…er, distinguished. “You like it?”

Hermann remembers the marvelous way it scratched across his skin. “Hmm,” he says.

Newton laughs again, and tugs at the front of Hermann’s sweater. “C’mon, take this off already. It’s been two weeks, dude.”

Hermann can’t argue with that logic.

Later, in bed, as Newton—having volunteered selflessly for the duty of big spoon—snores away happily at Hermann’s back, Hermann considers recent developments. He’s never been dissatisfied with Newton’s appearance before; he’s never looked at his husband and thought oh, I wish his hair was a bit different, or I could do without those glasses. Certainly never I want him to have a big, magnificent face of grey stubble that tickles my neck and my chest and my thighs and… Hermann presses his face into his pillow and groans in mortification. Oh, but God, it is an improvement. It’s an improvement Hermann never knew Newton needed. Not that he did need it—it’s just—Oh.

Newton mumbles something in his sleep and rolls away from Hermann. His stubble catches and drags on the back of Hermann’s neck, and Hermann stifles a moan into the pillow this time. Newton intends to shave it off, Hermann knows. Hermann watched him unpack his suitcase in the bedroom, watched him carefully tuck his shaving kit back into the medicine cabinet with a laugh and a reassurance of that very fact (take a picture while you can, it’s coming off tomorrow), all while he felt the tingle of irritated skin between his thighs that Newton had left behind on the couch. He snuck a glimpse at it when he changed into pyjamas—a faded red that matches that on his neck.

To explain to Newton why it is imperative he not proceed with his planned shave would be far too mortifying an experience for Hermann to undergo. And Newton would certainly never let him hear the end of it. No; it would be better to take matters into his own hands. Hermann swings two socked feet to the floor and reaches for his cane as quietly as he can manage.

Newton’s back-up disposable razors are snapped in two and buried in the bottom of the trashcan, beneath two weeks’ worth of dental floss and paper Dixie cups. His nice shaving kit proves a bit more of a challenge, not in the least because Hermann bought it for him as a birthday gift not long ago, and the thought of intentionally damaging it makes him cringe. He settles on simply stealing all the razor attachments and hiding them at the bottom of the spare hand towel basket. Hopefully, by the time they turn up, Newton will have long-since decided to grow out his stubble even further.

Newton stirs very lightly when Hermann tucks himself back beneath the bedspread and Newton’s arm. “’S the matter?” he mumbles.

“Had to use the loo,” Hermann whispers back.

“Mm,” Newton says, and presses his lips Hermann’s shoulder once before his breathing slowly evens out.

Hermann lazes in bed late the next morning. Late for them, anyway; pseudo-retirement hasn’t managed to knock a decade of strict routine out of him and Newton yet, and they still wake and dress before the sunrise like the war never ended. However, a soft, warm, and jetlagged Newton in his arms is hard to pull himself away from, especially with nothing but a foot of snow outside to look forward to, so he lets himself drift happily in and out of dreams for a good hour or so. Until Newton’s cell phone alarm startles them both up, that is. “Ugh,” Newton groans, smacking around on the bedside table for it. “Stupid thing. Where—”

He left it on Hermann’s bedside table. Hermann switches it off.

“Thanks, dude,” Newton says. He yawns. “Got a meeting this afternoon about the, uh, samples. Never get a break.”

Hermann hears him walk to the bathroom. He hears him open the medicine cabinet. He hears the zip of his shaving kit bag. “Uh,” Newton says. He pokes his head into the bedroom. “Hermann, do you know what happened to my razor?”

Hermann sits up and feigns a frown. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Like, all the parts are gone,” Newton says. He rifles through the kit again, as if to be sure, and shakes his head. “Yeah. They’re all gone. Shit, did I leave them at the base?”

“Oh, no,” Hermann says. “Your nice razor? The one I got you?”

Newton ducks back into the bathroom; Hermann hears him rattle around in the medicine cabinet again. “All my razors are missing. What the hell? I have a meeting in a few hours, I can’t show up looking like—” There’s a loud clatter, as if Newton knocked all their medication bottles over into the sink, and he swears. “Oh, well that’s fucking peachy.” He slams the cabinet door shut.

“Newton, come back to bed,” Hermann calls. He and Newton have limited time before they’re meant to start their responsibilities for the day, and he would like very much to enjoy that time to the fullest. “You’re making a mess of things. I’m sure you’ve just misplaced your razor—perhaps it’s in your suitcase.” When Newton doesn’t immediately bend to his command, Hermann rolls his eyes and lowers his voice. “Newton, darling,” he says, though this time in more of a purr. “Come back to bed.”

Newton is back and on Hermann in a flash. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says between kisses. His fingers creep up Hermann’s pajama shirt and graze over Hermann’s ribs before tugging the shirt off entirely. “Hermann, I missed having sex with you so bad. You have no idea. Ugh.” He grinds his prick, already hard, into Hermann’s clothed thigh, and nips at his ear. “I kept thinking about your stupid sexy face, and your stupid sexy dick, and your stupid hair—” He burrows himself into the crook of Hermann’s newly bared neck and shoulder and kisses his collarbone, and Hermann moans at the scratchy sensation of his stubble shadow before he can help himself.

“Newton,” he gasps, “oh, bugger—”

“Ha, yeah, you like when I talk about your sexy dick, babe?” Newton says. “It’s so awesome and sexy, I can’t wait to—"

“Not that,” Hermann says. “Kiss me there again.” Newton obliges; Hermann whimpers and shivers, and (before he can help himself) confesses aloud “Oh, that damn beard of yours… I want it all over me…”

Newton pulls away with a frown. “You do?” he says. “Wait. Hermann—did you do something to my razor?”

“No,” Hermann lies. He wiggles around in a desperate attempt to get Newton’s stubble back on his skin, but Newton only pulls back further. He sighs. “Er. Perhaps. They’re just hidden, is all.”

Newton’s frown flicks up into a grin, and he laughs. “Dude, you could’ve just told me. You’re so dumb. So you like when I do this, then?” He dips back down to kisses a trail along Hermann’s sternum, making sure to graze his cheeks over his skin at every inch. “Or this?” He ducks beneath the covers and nuzzles at Hermann’s abdomen.

“Yes,” Hermann moans to the Newton-shaped lump under the blanket. Newton’s fingers work open his drawstring and slowly inch his pajama trousers down. “Yes, Newton, ah—”

“Or—”

Suffice to say, Newton keeps the beard.

[aguagua]

here. have a Chunk of a danror thing I was doing because im stumped on writing dialogue for the second half. started just typing this in my notes when I was sick.

its about the comfort of a bacon egg and cheese sandwich but I didn’t even GET to the bacon egg and cheese sandwich part. so it’s also about post keene, like maybe a year after, Ror and Dan lol. I’m not good at writing so be nice to me. enjoy

Patrol drove into later hours than anticipated. Certain gangs needed handling. Certain people needed apprehending. Rorschach’s lost track of time more often than he wants to admit. Time isn’t that important to him anymore, and who wouldn’t put off the time that came to tear off his face and put on a disguise for the day? But, the nite hours give Rorschach the blanket of protection he needs to operate and exact the justice this city so desperately needs. The daylight seems to frighten a specific type of evil back into whatever holes they crawled out of for the evening. But Rorschach will soon be vulnerable to the curiosity from crowds of 9 to 5’ers making their morning commute. He needs to get away from prying eyes. Normally he’d take to the sewers, climb down the nearest manhole, but, the gash on his leg needs serious tending. Unfortunately, he can’t risk getting an infection, not when the responsibility of protecting New York has now fallen solely on Rorschach’s shoulders. Not a single costumed hero is left to care for this dying community. His kind is, in fact, a dying breed.

Canal Street, where his apartment is, too far. The alley he normally leaves his things, too exposed. Time was short as the sun lazily climbed up into the sky, soon it would be a spotlight all on Rorschach. He’s in Bryant Park now. Which means the brownstone is only a few streets away and Daniel isn’t normally awake yet. Rorschach can go down to the basement, fix himself up, and eat a bowl of cereal before Daniel would ever notice. Smart idea. He’ll be safe there. The vigilante begins his trek, limping slightly but he distracts himself from the pain he feels in his calf by digging his fingers into his palm.

************

Daniel and Rorschach have not spoken to each other since the night after the Keene Act was passed. When Daniel decided to quit. Maybe it was better that way. No words needed to be shared anymore. What would even be said? Some poor attempt at reminiscing about the good old days? Good old days that Daniel chose to end? Or maybe it would be some long lecture about how Rorschach should hang up the mask. “There’s still a chance to get out.” A lecture that would sound more like a desperate plea. Ridiculous.

Through their lack of conversation, raised an unspoken agreement. It’s an uncomfortable thought to Rorschach, to know someone is thinking of him. That Daniel still has his concerns and wants Rorschach to be safe. That he cares.

When Rorschach sneaks in through the kitchen window (He’ll save Daniel the humiliation of breaking his lock again. Ha ha.) and makes his way down to the Owl Nest, he finds just some of the terms of their agreements. Replenished first aid with plenty to spare, just begging Rorschach to take them with him. The cot, back by the super computers, with fresh sheets. Always fresh. Rorschach has rested his head there more than a few times.

And Rorschach knows when he goes upstairs to eat, he’ll find the surplus of canned foods he knows Daniel did not buy for himself. The leftovers in the fridge that are tucked in the fridge, in kitschy owl casserole dishes. The cherries that Daniel does not like eating. The sugary cereal. The occasional cola. Any and all of the foods in the Rorschach diet.

Rorschach initially thought this was a method for Daniel to catch Rorschach and sit him down for a long lecture, that all this stepping out of the way had an ulterior motive, it was bait. But, he’s heard a handful of times when Daniel was awake and about upstairs and he never came down the Owl Nest steps. He never hustled into the kitchen when Rorschach was there, scarfing down cold, canned soup. Rorschach would come here and take care of himself, with food, medical supplies, and rest that Daniel provided and will always provide. Daniel respected their silent agreement and Rorschach’s space. Perhaps, Daniel, too, didn’t know how they could hold a conversation. Maybe he felt conversation was worthless but still felt the need to provide his ex partner some kind of reparation for leaving. Maybe Rorschach scared him now. All avenues made sense.

He wishes Daniel would see him. No he didn’t. Yes he did. No he didn’t.

*******

Rorschach grabbed the first aid kit, took his place on the cot, rolled up his torn pant leg (will have to repair later) and went to work. In a skirmish with one too many Knot Tops, one of the few that remained standing managed to knock Rorschach down and dig into his calf with a knife. The perpetrator didn’t succeed in incapacitating Rorschach, to say the very least.

Rorschach bit his lip to hold back a hiss as he cleaned the injury with antiseptic. Such an outward expression of pain is a weakness (it’s human) and Rorschach isn’t weak (or human).

It frustrated Rorschach to no end that he had Walter’s limitations. He couldn’t just brush off an injury, ignore the hunger pains, stave off sleeping, at least not for so long. He always pushes his body to its absolute limits. But, avoidance to these Human needs (Walter’s needs) would lead to burn out, poor performance and he can’t allow that.

So, Rorschach properly cleans and stitches the cut, with a nice tight stitching. He sits back on the cot, letting the pain dully throb in his leg while he stares out at the Nest.

A layer of dust covered everything except Rorschach’s small corner. Archie was covered in a large tarp. A whole world was down here, locked away, covered up and left to rot. Rorschach could replay dozens of memories in this space, in every little corner. The back of the workshop where Daniel broke his arm in the exo armor. The workbench, where they sat and shared colas, strategizing for their takedown of King of Skin. By Nite Owl’s locker where Daniel found a rat chewing at his uniform and Rorschach chased it down the tunnel. Beside Archie, after taking down the Big Figure, celebrating a little too closely of each other. On the steps where Nite Owl revealed himself to be Daniel Dreiberg and opened the door to share his private life with Rorschach.

How was it so easy for Daniel to close out this part of his identity? Easy, maybe, considering Daniel had the privilege to turn away. He had another life. Rorschach did not.

Best to not harp on the past, he thinks. Rorschach permits himself a pause. Lets the thoughts stop racing, a period to sit in the silence, and rest his eyes.

The quiet is cut short by the sound of footsteps upstairs. Daniel’s awake early. Why? He’s never been an early riser. Rorschach walked over to the stairs, listened close to the footsteps. Sounds like he’s still on the second floor. Rorschach could take his chances, grabbing some canned food and run back down to the tunnel. No. Not a smart move. Will be caught. The footsteps are down in the kitchen now. Something is placed down on the table. Cabinets are being opened. The fridge. It’s time to leave.

But he doesn’t want to. Yes, he does. No, he doesn’t.

Maybe the pain and exhaustion loosened Rorschach’s restraint, could be the excuse he tells himself later. Body betraying his usual code, Rorschach walks up the steps and opens the door.

*****

“Rorschach?”

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried. 

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now. 

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung. 

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police. 

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact. 

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions. 

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.” 

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back. 

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either. 

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?” 

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing. 

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.” 

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure. 

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly. 

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.  

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos. 

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.” 

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan. 

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone. 

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly. 

“Well, do you know where she is?” 

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.” 

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers. 

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.” 

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!” 

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.” 

A victim? 

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.” 

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he? 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest. 

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up. 

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days. 

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?” 

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge. 

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.” 

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.” 

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—” 

“No.” 

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do. 

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand. 

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace. 

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home. 

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life? 

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went. 

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well. 

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands. 

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.” 

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.” 

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.” 

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it. 

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you. 

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you. 

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees. 

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.” 

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole. 

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.” 

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much. 

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.” 

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them. 

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”  

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.  

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.” 

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.” 

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.” 

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.” 

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.” 

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.” 

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out. 

“So does your Jungkook do film too?” 

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.” 

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—” 

“God this is so weird.” 

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?” 

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.” 

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?” 

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.” 

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.” 

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.” 

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch. 

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt. 

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly. 

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely. 

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.” 

“Done and done.” 

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast. 

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. 

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.” 

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.” 

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you. 

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection. 

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures. 

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?” 

“Will you… fall in love with me again?” 

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”  

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer. 

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.” 

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.” 

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.” 

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time. 

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face. 

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile. 

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.” 

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.” 

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

When you wake up, it’s loud. 

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals. 

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months. 

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand. 

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!” 

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice. 

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!” 

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that. 

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning. 

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.” 

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!” 

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion. 

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?” 

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.” 

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook. 

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed. 

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip. 

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.” 

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you. 

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you. 

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Yayy! Despite trying to fight off a monster of a cold, I’ve got a new chapter written! :D

As I mentioned yesterday, this one is written from Logan’s POV because I’ve been wanting to create a back story for him in this story :) 

I’ll post the chapter under a line on here, but please check it out on Ao3 too! I love reading comments and stuff to find out what people think :)

Hope you like it!

Taglist: @psychedelicships  @edupunkn00b  @jwillowwolf @kacklingisanart @look-ma-im-on-tv @stardustlv @lost-in-thought-20

Chapter 5. My Heart Was Made Of Stone. And You Broke It Twice.

“But the wind has changed. My walls are weakening. They’re gonna fall soon. And I’m gonna need you.”

Logan was a man who always kept his emotions in check. He never let himself get too consumed by any kind of feeling. Happiness, sadness, love, hate, anger… Ever since he was sixteen, he refused to be vulnerable ever again. If you’re vulnerable, you can be broken. He had been broken far too many times when he was growing up.

His parents were agreeable, he couldn’t deny that… but he was never enough for them. Even as a young child, nothing was quite good enough. He remembered when the class teacher told his parents that he was the first child to learn how to write his name… he stretched up to show them and they let the paper flutter to the floor saying it wasn’t neat enough. He was only four! It got worse as he got older. Every time he was proud of something he had achieved, like getting a high grade, he was always asked why it wasn’t full marks. The unattainable goals were never reached and it took a lot to even vaguely satisfy them. He worked himself into the ground for the entirety of his school life, it affected his health, but they still weren’t happy. He was never strong enough, creative enough, serious enough, smart enough… and it hurt so much to know that. His friends however were amazing, they would always encourage him and make him take breaks when they knew he was working way too hard. They could always cheer him up and he was eternally grateful for that. Logan clenched his fists… he hated how much it knocked him down when he would walk in smiling over something that happened at school, to be told they weren’t interested and to just go and study. He always set himself up for the fall almost every day… no wonder emotions became such a hinderance. Luckily, music was his salvation for about eight years.

Logan took his head out of his hands, readjusted his eyes to the light and felt how raw they were from crying before staring at the dusty piano in the house intently. He used to be pretty good at playing. He loved his classical music, and still does. Just not playing it anymore. When he still had lessons, he was always thrilled with the challenge of increasingly difficult pieces given to him by his teacher. It was funny, his music teacher was the only person who ever truly believed in him. He was also the one person who could convince Logan to perform. The last concert he ever played in was the day before his sixteenth birthday, he played his most difficult piece to date… Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu Op 66. They decided on that because it was originally a piece that no one was ever supposed to hear, Chopin never wanted it to be released after he died… but they did it anyway. His teacher said that he could then perform it however he wanted to, artistic interpretation and all that. He practiced and practiced at school so his parents wouldn’t hear it before. When it got to the concert, and his parents actually turned up, he was genuinely surprised. He walked out on the stage and sat down looking for his teacher who gave him a smile and a thumbs up, then the music began. He felt almost like he was watching himself play, he had never played with such determination before and as the final note rung out… there was silence. Before the room broke out into applause, his teacher was standing up clapping vigorously, then some of his classmates and other parents stood up too. His parents however were sat down, clapping politely with a neutral expression on their faces and Logan’s smile faltered. He gave a quick bow and walked quickly off the stage. His teacher followed him and gave him a hug while telling him how proud he was. Logan couldn’t stop the tears, he had never cried in front of another person, but no one had ever been proud of him before either. How embarrassing. The first time he had been shown positive interest by someone he respected, and he cried until the top of their shirt was damp with his tears. His teacher just held him and told him everything was okay. After he had calmed down and the tears had stopped, he went to go and join his parents for the second half of the concert, but their seats were empty.

In that moment, he didn’t get upset again and stayed unusually calm, and he knew that this was the final straw. He stayed at a hotel for the night at the insistence of his teacher, that way he could sort out his head and start looking up different apartment options. Which he did realise could be tricky as a sixteen-year-old… but he was smart, reliable, didn’t drink or smoke and had a substantial amount of money at his disposal. He waited until the morning and snuck back into his parent’s house to collect all of the things that he deemed necessary. Thankfully, the hotel manager was understanding and let him stay for the bare minimum price until he could find an apartment for himself. It took a few months, and the landlord had to be persuaded by his music teacher, but he found an apartment which was close to everything he needed and was affordable. One day, he would repay that teacher back for everything he had done for him.

He looked at the calendar, the picture of him and Virgil smiling and holding up their wedding ring hands was taunting him on the wall. He noticed the date. Wow, it had been ten years since he left without looking back, and he never heard a single word from them.

That was clearly for the best.

Ever since then, he never let emotions get the better of him ever again. However, as he looked around at the decimated living room, he had clearly broken and let all of those emotions consume him once again. Logan inspected the damage, as he traced the hole in the wall, the shattered photo frames and glass covering the floor, it caused his heart to fill up with regret. His heart was already full of pain, the regret was enough to make his heart quite literally tear in two. Virgil was the first person he felt like he could be vulnerable with again. When they first met, there was something about him, something that reminded him of himself. Maybe this guy was just as broken as he was, as he saw him hiding in the corner of the coffee shop trying to stay away from the world. He told Virgil this many times, but he had encased his heart in stone to keep it safe. As their relationship developed, as stupid as it sounds, he could feel the stone wall cracking and breaking off piece by piece, and he honestly didn’t mind in the slightest.

Now, he didn’t know what was going on with his heart. He was hurt, he was angry. It’s not every day you find out that the man you’ve been married to for the last five years spent most of his life as a well-trained and dangerous assassin. Going by Virgil’s words alone, the body count to his name is staggering and who knows how many people he’s hurt over the years. The argument they had earlier in the evening was playing on repeat in his mind.

“I couldn’t tell you!” Virgil shouted across the room.

“Why the hell not?! I’m your fucking HUSBAND Virgil, you are supposed to trust me. No matter what’s happened in your past!” Logan rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Okay, you want to know why I hid everything from you? I did it to PROTECT you! My past is something that can be used against me, it is still being used against me. If anyone from it came after you… I would never be able to forgive myself!” The tears wouldn’t stop rolling down Virgil’s face as he spluttered out the words while his body shook with sobs.

Despite the hurt of seeing Virgil in so much pain, Logan couldn’t contain his anger. “What makes you decide if I need protecting? I can handle myself, ever since I was sixteen I’ve been on my own… You know that!”

Virgil sighed, like he was debating whether or not to say his next sentence.

“Remember when we met all those years ago? You told me about how you were attacked and how scared you were after it? Well… it was me. I was the guy who saved you. Every day since that moment, I vowed that I would protect you no matter the cost. Then I fell in love with you along the way, and I’ll love you until the end of time. If you want to know the truth about me, I know he gave you something. Look at it, and I won’t blame you if you try to turn me in to the police afterwards. I have to go now though, otherwise you will get hurt… I’m sorry, Lo.” Logan was left dumbfounded, and Virgil ran out of the front door, slipping away into the night.

There had been so many lies and too many secrets. He remembered that USB stick he threw in a drawer months ago. He opened it up and stared at the blue object, the label that read ‘Virgil… ?’ taunted him mercilessly. He looked over at his open laptop that was spared from his destructive anger, should he look at it?

Logan shook that thought away instantly, he needed to clear up first before making any kind of decision. He crouched down on the floor and started to sweep the glass over towards the sofa with his hand, just so he could clean it properly soon. He got to the first photograph, him and Virgil sitting in a restaurant holding hands and smiling at the camera. That picture was taken by Thomas and Nico, their two closest friends… He thought he should text them and see if they could come over. Virgil left half an hour ago, and he already felt too alone.

He’d contact them later, but for now. He wanted to stare at photographs and revel in his memories.