#came up with the fic by being like ''they should get smoothies together :)'' with the bestie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chemicalpink · 3 years

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Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader

Words: 4.7k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff if you squint really hard, childhood friends to lovers AU

Warnings: unprotected sex, bathroom sex, infidelity, JK is a heartthrob that is bad at feelings, YN realises she’s been in love with JK all along.

A/N: this is me trying to write longer fics, I liked how this one came out yayyy. This goes out to the @thebtswritersclub monthly prompt _____ to lovers, in this case it’s childhood friends to lovers. I just- I really liked how it came out, I’m so excited to know what you guys think of it.

Summary: Falling in love is such a curious thing in life, Jungkook would know best, after pinning over you for years on end, only to have his best friend take away his opportunity, or does he?

The sun was shining brightly over the park as you made your way down the slide, hot skin scorching at the contact with the yellow plastic, although you couldn’t bring yourself to care as much as your mother would, meeting Sungho at the end of it, who was covering his eyes as best as his arms would allow him to do, summer was almost coming to an end and you two had decided to spend every single second of it together, much to both of your mothers’ dismay who had long decided to take turns to tire both of you out by the neighbourhood park, nothing too exciting, if it weren’t for your young imaginative minds combined, which turned you into the closest a six year old could get to being a menace.

As you smiled brightly at your friend, you couldn’t help but turn your head towards an almost inaudible whimper coming from the shaded side of the park, finding a kid around your age plopped down by the tree, desperately drying his eyes with the back of his hand, small sobs coming out of his lips as three other kids, which you knew to be a little older than you and quite disrespectful at that, kept laughing at the boy, so really, what else were you supposed to do if not come in to save the day. “Come on Y/N they’ll make fun of us too” Sungho said as he tried to tug you away, only to have you stand your ground firmly

“If they make fun of me, I won’t cry” you crossed your arms stubbornly over your chest

“Y/N let’s just go”

“You go, Sungho” Sungho was always the type of kid that your mother kept reminding you to be more like, always righteous, never picking fights like you were known to do, but you really couldn’t stand watching the mysterious kid crying by himself while no one else did anything in the slightest. So you stood between him and the three kids that were still making fun of him, head high, fists up by your sides in a superhero pose “You shouldn’t make fun of others”

“Why don’t we make fun of both of you then, Y/N?”

“At least I can put my shirt shirt when I’m dressing myself, Areum” the girl looked down for half a second before staring you down, full of rage before huffing and turning around in true mean girl fashion.

You turn back to find a pair of bambi eyes staring at you, sobs silenced, although his chest still showed him trying to fully catch his breath. You extend your hand for him to take it so that he could stand up “I’m Y/N what’s your name?”

“I’m Jungkook” you were quick to grab his arm and pull him to where Sungho had watched the whole scene with Areum, now staring at the way you dragged the slightly shorter boy towards him

“Well Jungkook, this is Sungho and I just decided that all of us three are going to be best friends forever” the small boy smiled at that, bunny teeth showing in the process, eyes sparkly with wonder and pure appreciation, contrasting the look on Sungho’s face.

“Y/N I think you need to have girl friends to have these sleepovers with, Jungkook and I are boys” Sungho says as soon as you pass him the mirror and he is left staring at his reflection with a ton of glitter eyeshadow on his face, you turn to look at Jungkook, who is currently sprawled out playing with his nintendo, a set of pigtails adoring his head along with the hottest pink lipstick you could find

“I don’t mind it” he stuffed his mouth with chips as he continued to play on his console, not sparing any of you a look, although you smiled at him fondly, grateful to have him play along whenever Sungho didn’t feel like it, which seemed to be more and more as all of you grew older.

“Well I’m going to take this off” he said as he ran into the bathroom to wash his face. Good luck trying to get rid of glitter.

You huffed out a sigh at how boring it was getting if Sungho didn’t like to play your games, along with Jungkook being stuck inside his own little world. “This is so boriiiing”

“It was your idea Y/N”

“Yeah but you guys are no fun”

Jungkook pauses his game to turn to look at you “We can watch a movie if you’d like”

If someone were to tell 6 year old you that twelve years later, the kid that used to make fun of you would turn into your best friend, you would have probably laughed in their face, although as years went by, Areum had finally gotten better in terms of personality, up to the point where she had a full on talk with you before you decided to give it a try, even more so as she now took it as her job to protect you in high school, seeing as she was a year older than you.

“Jungkook has changed” the brunette said while taking a seat next to you inside the cozy smoothie shop, crumpling up her receipt inside her bag distractedly as you just stared at her, not knowing what had prompted her to talk about your best friend, Jungkook wasn’t exactly what one would consider popular, especially amongst the higher grades, especially not given the bickering grudge he held against Areum after all those years.

“What do you mean?”

“Just- seems like before summer he was this scrawny little thing, deer eyes, soft smiles” you looked at her intently, Jungkook had gone on vacation with his family for weeks as soon as finals were over, leaving with the promise of hanging out for the few days before school started again, similar to how you were now hanging out with Areum, her having arrived back a few hours before Jungkook “Now- well”

There were a million thoughts running inside your mind, some seemingly more plausible than others, tow hich yopu found yourself asking “Areum, did you fuck Jungkook?”

“I mean- we were both staying at the same hotel Y/N” Areum sipped on heir smoothie as a way to act coy about it, wide eyes turned the other way at the prospect of having said out loud that her latest conquest was none other than little Jungkook, the guy she had always made fun of for one or another reason

“Oh god you slept with Jungkookie” and you really tried to picture her, accepted into college, beautiful Areum, long lean legs, model faced Areum, flirt queen that always seemed to go for older guys Areum, paired up with sweet Jungkookie, sure, your best friend was cute, handsome even, there was no denying it, he was just not- Areum level handsome, Areum liked going out to party, let men shower her in drinks while Jungkook absolutely loved staying home battling Sungho in the newest video game that was around “I-I have no words”

“Y/N- Y/N don’t judge until you’ve tapped it” your friend seemed to space out for a second, as if looking back at her time with Jungkook, dreamily. “The guy got buff”

And sure he did, not only did Jungkook was now full of muscle, he also apparently had renewed his wardrobe, bought a motorcycle and apparently had even grown a few centimeters taller, or at least that much was said by Sungho as you three met up for lunch the day before classes started again, trying to catch up as you did every year when the three of you didn’t get a chance to hang out much.

“So are we getting that newly released game Kook?” Sungho mentioned in what appeared to be the background, your eyes completely fixated on whomever the man sitting in front of you was, definitely not your best friend Jungkook.

“Nah dude, I sold all my consoles and games to buy my bike” your eyes widened at the confession, probably mirroring the uttermost shocked look that Sunho was also sporting. Jeon Jungkook selling his videogames was definitely a sign of the apocalypse. You were about to make a comment before you heard a very familiar voice behind you, making you turn your head towards it.

“Jungkookie, you wanted me to come over?” her eyes had that sparkle in them which you have come to recognise as her being infatuated by someone, even if she didn’t really talked about it openly, you turned towards Jungkook in disbelief

“Yeah, Areum, lose my number”

You consciously close your mouth at the exchange as Areum backed away from the table muttering an ‘oh..okay’ as Jungkook smiled daily at her, your eyes lock in surprise with Sungho’s, both of you silently agreeing that this Jungkook was certainly a new side neither of you could yet guess whether or not you would continue to be able to befriend, although the history between the three of you spoke volumes.

And just like that, enough to get whiplash from it, Jungkook’s lazy uninterested eyes were replaced by the squinty smile you had learned to adore over the years, bunny teeth showing as his laugh resonated in the restaurant “Oh god you guys should have seen your faces!”

Your eyes travelled along the expanse of the space you three were in, looking at Sungho for a clue to pick up about what was happening, coming up empty handed as he spoke first “Dude I almost had a heart attack, I thought you had sold your games!”

“Oh no that I did” Jungkook took a sip out of his drink calmly

You tried not to show how nothing made sense in your mind “And that thing with...Areum?”

He placed his cup down, looking at you with wide eyes humming softly “Yeah that was a thing too, she’s been texting me non stop after we hooked up. I’m just glad I’m back with you guys”

So Jungkook had changed, that much was true, just not as much as he let people believe. Sure enough, the guy was now pure muscle, rode a bike everywhere, and made it his lifeplan to conquer as many girls as his schedule allowed him too; he also made a few other friends outside of your friends' circle, enough for rumours to go around about him being involved in shady business, or him hooking up with somebody’s mum. Either way, if you were to turn a blind eye to his social persona, Jungkook was still your and Sungho’s little Jungkookie, bambi wide eyes that teared up whenever it was movie night and you picked some chick flick, bunny teeth and loud giggles as he played a prank on Sungho, even though you could tell his heart just wasn’t in it as it was before.

“I’m gonna ask Y/N out” Sungho has asked Jungkook to meet him outside of campus on the first weeks of college as all three of you decided to attend together, uninterested on whatever it was that he was about to tell him, but trying to keep up his fractured friendship with the man (and you) he had shown up, even so a little fashionably late to make his point clear.

“And you’re telling me this because..”

“I don’t want to make it awkward, Jeon” Jungkook scoffs before rolling his eyes at Sungho “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you little boy crush on her for years”

“What I think you haven’t noticed is that I don’t do feelings” Jungkook retorts as he approaches him “And although I find Y/N to be quite fuckable if you ask me, I appreciate her enough not to put her in a weird place like you’re about to do, asshole”

Once weeks rolled around, things kept on being as the were after that fateful summer where Jungkook completely reinvented himself, even as semesters came and went, Jungkook grew a bit more separate from both Sungho and yourself, although it became a little harder to discern whether it was because of Jungkook or due to the fact that Sungho and you had started dating during the first semester of college. Sungho had no real answer to give you when asked about it, saying that outside of the scheduled movie night you three kept on sharing, he barely even texted Jungkook on his own.

“I heard your girl is getting married” his friend said as he handed him an opened beer, taking his place back against his bike in the middle of the night after some race they had gone to near the outskirts of Seoul.

Jungkook took a swing out of the bottle, squinting at the questionable choice in alcohol “I don’t have a girl Jihoon”

“Oh? Then what’s Y/N?'' he felt the blood draining from his face, heart heavy, breath hitching inside his throat as soon as your name left his lips. Of fucking course Sungho would try to marry you before you graduated. That bastard.

It was quite funny really, Jungkook knew from the very start, back when all three of you had 6 years old and you had saved him from a set of mean kids in the park, that Sungho was never fond of him, or rather, of the relationship you had developed with him, sure, the two men had bonded over a few shared interests as they grew up, but the only thing that kept them together was you. Sometimes Jungkook guesses it could have been him instead of Sungho, asking you out, sharing nights together, even being about to get married. But those thoughts were only wishful thinking, he had long ago decided that you deserved so much more than what he could give you, what with his eternal fear and inability to give himself up to others. So he had let you go, never thinking about the possibility of Sungho taking a place he wasn't worthy of either.

"Good for her"

It wasn't long after learning that you were engaged, that the invitation arrived to his apartment, just a few days after graduation. It wasn't really a surprise anymore, even back when he first heard the news, it wasn't that surprising, he guessed it was the years of knowing both you and Sungho, learning your patterns, that he had somehow seen it coming. It didn't make it any less hard to wish you weren't about to walk down the aisle to a man that wasn't him though. But he kept repeating to himself to stop being selfish, he had lost his chance, not that he ever had one to begin with, but as long as you were happy, he would be too.

And you really did seem happy, so he was willing to just ignore the way that his chest seemed to constrict every time your eyes locked on his from across the room as the rehearsal dinner, you were sporting a gorgeous emerald dress, the same colour as when you two first met eighteen years back, his mind spinning with impossible scenarios as each minute that passed really just turned out to be a minute closer to watch you walk down the aisle to another man, one that was supposed to be his best friend at that.

“Bride’s or groom’s” A sweet female voice called him as he sipped on his fifth? sixth? champagne flute, finding a woman staring at him with what he has come to recognise as lust.

“Eh.. you could say both”

A glimpse of recognition could be seen in her eyes before she spoke again “You must be Jungkook then, the overseeked bachelor”

“In the flesh” He smirked at her as she took a hold of his hand, guiding him upstairs to where you and your soon to be husband had booked bridesmaids and groomsmen alike for the night. Not that the blonde had anything to do with how utterly horrible he was feeling about the whole wedding situation but perhaps fucking his frustrations out would help just a little.

Jeon Jungkook was never the one to stick around until morning, that much was true, and although he might be known for a varying of unspeakable things, nothing could have prepared him for what he had to witness at ungodly hours.

He picked up the rest of his clothing after half dressing himself, not even sparing a second glance at the woman that was laying on her bed peacefully, careful not to make more sounds than the inherently necessary, his curiosity is peaked as he hears faintly moaning and skin slapping skin coming from the room next door, seeing the door barely open, and against his better judgement he peeks inside only to feel his heart pounding against his chest, blood rushing inside his ears as he can’t seem to look away from the image presented to him. Sungho, your soon to be husband, the one that he used to consider his best friend for years on end, the oh so righteous Sungho, ever morally correct Sungho, bending your other so-called best friend and maid of honour, Areum, over the comforter as he fucked into her. A few hours before he got married to you. After everything that he had put him through, making him believe that it was in your best interest top let you go, that he should have handed you over to him, that he was the best option out of the two of you to build a life with.

Jungkook sees red and doesn’t quite remember anything other than Areum running out of the room as he punches Sungho in the face, receiving some punches back.

“You absolutely disgust me”

The bastard has the guts to laugh at him “You know, Jeon” he goes to inspect his face in the mirror “If you burst Y/N’s bubble, you’ll forever be remembered as the stupid little boy that was jealous enough on her wedding day to ruin her life”

Jungkook clenches his fists by his side before deciding to turn his heels and leave the room, vision still blurry in anger, breathing ragged, a small trickle of blood making its way down from his eyebrow as he almost automatically walked himself to the other side of the hostel where he knew you must have been resting, taking a few too many second to decide to knock on the door.

“Jungkook? What are you- oh god” sleep seems to leave you as soon as your eyes lock on his beat up face, him smiling at you in a futile attempt to have you not worry that much about his well being, but of course you were already searching for a first aid kit as he took a seat on your bed “Jungkookie, what happened?”

And perhaps he didn’t think it through that much, but he couldn’t let you walk yourself into a marriage blinded by the persona Sungho had always made you believe he was. “Y/N” he took your hands in his, stopping you from rubbing any more antiseptic into his cut “You’ll hear,a nd probably have already heard, too much shit about me”

His eyes beg you to stare at him intently, and although the whole scenario had you giggling out of nervousness, it soon died down “Kook, what are you talking about?”

“Y/N- Sungho is not the man he’s made us think he is” your eyes scan his face for any more clues on what he’s saying a syou feel a beeping sound closing in on your ears, overwhelmed by the situation “And he’ll probably say this is me just being a jealous asshole after being in love with you for more than half of my living years but-”

You stare at him in horror as your hands remove themselves from his hold as if he was burning, standing up from where you were seated next to him, feeling your whole world being crushed down a few hours before what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life “No” you take a step back as you hold your chest, feeling hot tears welling up in your eyes “Jungkook please don’t do this shit to me”

“Y/N just- don’t marry Sungho” somehow he had willed his voice to remain calm

Your head shook fervently at him, as if somehow the action would make him retreat his words “Sungho loves me, Jungkook”

His eyes were ice cold at your words “He loves you enough to fuck Areum a few hours before making you his wife”

He really didn’t mean the bite on his words as he said them, this had nothing to do with you and everything to do with that asshole you called finacé, so he could completely understand when through your tears, chest heavy with rage and head spinning you asked “Please leave”

And he did.

Everything seemed like a fever dream. The words that Jungkook had said, the implication that it had. And really, if it weren’t for the fact that Jungkook was gone from the whole ordeal, you could have sworn your life that it was nothing other than a nightmare, Areum was as bubbly as ever, helping you get ready. Sungho’s good morning text still found its way into your inbox. Jungkook had not only accused you fiancé of cheating, but had said he had always been in love with you, no further proof to his words, so you decided to go as planned, yet you found yourself hyper aware of every move Sungho made, especially when they involved Areum.

You stood in your pristine white dress in front of a couple dozens of guests as traditional words were spoken, your mind a thousand miles away as you kept on looking towards the door, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they would open up, Jungkook would show up and stop you from making what could potentially be the worst mistake of your life.

"If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace." your eyes trail to the soor, yearning to hear Jungkook’s voice amidst the otherwise silent chapel, but it never came.

“Hey, Y/N come dance with us,” one of your bridesmaids say as the night progresses after dinner, some loud beat taking over the venue at the reception, making everyone stand up to dance, including your now-husband as you find yourself sulking sitting on your designated table.

“I’m fine, you go” you try to flash her the biggest smile you can as she goes, leaving you once again with your thoughts. Thoughts that mainly involved Jungkook, figuring that after all these years, life had managed to finally separate you, heart yearning to have him close to you, the more you became aware of your current life path, the more you realised what a humongous mistake you had made. You had always thought that marrying Sungho would give you a sense of utter happiness, of fulfillment, whether what Jungkook said was true or not, as you watched your husband having the time of his life without you. If he were Jungkook, he would be seated right by your side.

Jeon Jungkook, as deviated as he appeared to be to everyone, as much as he slept around, he had demonstrated to be the most loyal human being by your side up until the last second of your friendship, unlike Sungho, he had always been interested in what you wanted to do, had always let your voice be heard, had helped you through rough times when Sungho was nowhere to be seen, perhaps you had chosen the wrong best friend to fall in love with a few years ago, the wrong man in your life to marry. It had been Jungkook all along. It could have been Jungkook all along.

Your eyes fixate on the way that Sungho whispers something on Areum’s ear and you feel your blood boil, more out of self-pity and annoyance at letting such a man manipulate you rather than jealousy as you stand up to make your way to the bathroom, in hopes of freshening up before coming up with a plan to fix this mistake.

You sigh as you hold yourself up by the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror, pondering just how deep you’ll have to dig to come out of the mess when you hear an all too familiar deep chuckle behind you “So you realised”

You turn your back to the mirror to face Jungkook “That Sungho was an asshole or that I’m in love with you?”

His eyes turn into those deeply surprised deer shape you remember from when he was younger for a split second before they’re filled with something else between lust and deep appreciation as he backs you up further against the sink, a tattooed hand coming up to your chin “Does that mean I get to kiss you with no regrets now?”

“Would you kiss a married woman, Jungkook?” you ask playfully, matching the brattiness in his tone

“Only the ones whose husbands are assholes” and so his lips capture yours in a sweet quick kiss that has you wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning in once again, escalating from a very much due kiss filled with words that are unable to be said, into a fiery pit in the low of your stomach at the prospect of kissing Jungkook while still being in your wedding dress, just a few hours married and kissing another man.

Jungkook’s hands have abandoned their place on your figure in favour of trying to undo the little buttons on the back of your dress, breaking the kiss to complain “God just how many buttons does this dress have?”

Soon enough your dress lays forgotten on the floor, matching lingerie covering your body as Jungkook has most of your body up against the mirror, panties aside in favour of having him fingering you, arms almost failing to keep you upright as he mouths at your skin, moans escaping your lips regularly as he pumps and curls his fingers inside you, lewd noises taking reverbating on the small bathroom’s walls, a faint trail of bass coming in from the party “God you’re so perfect Y/N” he grunted as you heard his zipper coming down before feeling the tip of his cock teasing your entrance, his hand coming up to grip your hair making you face the mirror, makeup completely wrecked, the sight almost unrecognisable to you, a slight burning but pleasurable sensation on your scalp “I bet that bastard Sungho wouldn’t be able to wreck you like this” without further notice entering you from behind, your walls clenching against him as you felt him slowly but firmly making his way in and out of you at a building rapidly pace, a moan slipping past your lips and Jungkook shushing you in exchange as he increases his speed and you bit your lip to forbid any noises from coming out, afraid of being heard even when you knew it would be almost impossible to do so over the loud party noises, this bathroom being so far away from it.

Jungkook had placed your right leg up the sink, hitting an even deeper spot that had you building your orgasm at an incredible speed, throwing your head back in pleasure, feeling him completely inside you as heat pooled in your lower belly.

“K-Kook I’m gonna-ah! I’m gonna cum” a few flicks on your clit with his expert fingers as he helped you keep yourself upright did the trick as Jungkook made sure to somehow thrust even deeper, a loud moan scaping you as he spilled his warm seed inside you, quickly adjusting back his boxers and trousers as one of his fingers collected some cum that was dripping down your thigh to push it back in, letting go of you to hold yourself up against the sink, pulling your panties back in place.

“Think that counts as a wedding gift?” he turns to leave the bathroom, leaving you heaving to haphazardly step inside your dress as you trail behind him, finding him resting against a wall, his bike roaring a few meters away as he smiles your way knowingly as he puts on his helmet, throwing another one your way "So.. all ready to leave that asshole of a husband now or should I wait another 15 years?"

#thebtswritersclub #kwritersworldnet #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #btscreatorscorner #jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #bts imagine

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

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Next Time

Peter Parker x Rogers!reader

Summary: You and Peter make plans for "next time", not realizing just how quickly they would happen.

Warnings: none! Just fluff :)

Word Count: 3504

a/n: My first real Peter fic! So this is a sort of sequel to 16 hours isn't enough. I was just feeling inspired, but this focuses more on the readers relationship with Peter! You don't have to read the first part to understand this one.

Masterlist

“I’m gonna go out with Ned and MJ tomorrow, celebrate our day off. Do you wanna come?” You and Peter had just gotten back from patrolling, and it was already 2 am. He's hopeful that you'll want to spend more time with him, but given the guilty look on your face, he doesn't think your answer is going to be positive.

“I would love to, but I need to sleep for at least 15 hours. Maybe I can come next time? If we ever have another day off.” He can't help but laugh, completely understanding the feeling.

“Trust me, I get it. Next time works. Add in a 16th hour, you deserve it.” He smiles at your yawn, thinking about how cute you look when you're tired.

“Thanks Pete.” You both laugh when you yawn again. “16 hours might not even be enough.” He relishes in the feeling of your hug before heading to the elevator.

He decided to head back to Queens tonight so he could sleep in a little longer. He can definitely relate to your need for sleep, being a teenage avenger is an exhausting schedule to maintain.

The next morning, nearly afternoon, Peter finally gets out of bed. Having slept for 8 hours, he definitely understands what you were saying last night.

Still, he's a little bummed he won't be seeing you today. He gets ready anyway, texting MJ and Ned. The three of them decide to go to Delmar's for lunch and wing it from there.

After ordering their usual sandwiches, the trio heads outside to eat.

"I thought you were going to invite Y/N?" MJ starts the interrogation as soon as the three have sat down.

"I did, but she was exhausted, said she was going to sleep all day." He's bummed again at not seeing you, but he still understands.

"Oh man, I'm sorry dude." Ned responds, feeling bad for his friend.

"It's fine. I get it. I definitely could have slept for another 8 hours." Peter shrugs it off, not wanting to dwell on it.

"What should we do now?" Ned poses the question, looking at his friends.

"I don't know. Something fun though, I never have free time anymore." Peter complains, although his friends can tell he's mostly joking.

"I haven't been to Coney Island in a while. What if we go ride all the rides and make fun of the scaredy cats?" MJ suggests.

The two boys agree, finishing up their sandwiches and heading to the subway.

After a horrendous 2 hour subway ride, the three teens finally arrive at the theme park.

MJ drags the two of them from ride to ride, excitedly- but subtly- pointing out the strangers who look like they're going to puke.

Peter does his best not to think about you while he's there. He can't help but remember all the times you told him about going to Coney Island with your dad though. You absolutely loved your father daughter days.

"Dude, isn't that Y/N?" Ned smacks Peter on the shoulder, pointing toward the line for the slingshot ride.

"I thought you said she was sleeping all day..." MJ worriedly looks toward where Ned's pointing.

"Um, yeah. That's what she told me. It probably just looks like her." Peter doesn't want to turn around. He doesn't want to know.

"No, dude. That's definitely her." Ned keeps gawking, trying to get Peter to look. "Why is she with Captain America?"

Peter perks up at that, understanding what must have happened. "He's here too? He was supposed to be on a mission until Tuesday!" He finally turns around, easily spotting you and your dad in line for the ride.

He can't help but stare at how beautiful you are. His smile grows as he takes in your tired, but excited expression.

"Um, care to share your findings with the group?" MJ shoves his arm, trying to get his attention back.

"Huh? Oh! Right." Peter laughs at himself. "He wasn't supposed to be back until Tuesday, they must be having a father daughter day. She told me how they used to always go to Coney Island as an escape from the superhero life." Peter grins, remembering the first time you told him about missing spending time with your dad. He's happy you're finally getting just that.

"What?! Why didn't you tell us she was Captain America's daughter? That's so cool!" Ned finally turns back, staring wide eyed at Peter.

"I introduced her as Y/N Rogers... I kind of thought it was implied." Peter looks back and forth between his friends. It's clear MJ knew, but Ned is genuinely surprised.

"I'm honestly not even surprised you didn't put that together Ned." MJ shakes her head at the boy. "Now, what should we get for dinner?"

"Ohh, hot dogs! It's a Coney Island classic!" And just like that Ned's attention has been diverted. Peter can't help but steal one more glance at you.

You're clearly having a good time. It looks like you've finally convinced Steve to go on the slingshot if the cautious smile on his face means anything. He watches as you jump up and down, hugging your dad with a big bear hug.

He smiles at how happy you are before turning and following his friends to the hot dog stand.

Peter didn't see you at all on Sunday. Normally, the two of you would at least do some homework together, but you hadn't responded to any of his texts.

Around 10 pm, his phone finally dings indicating two new texts from you.

I'm so sorry! I slept so late today, I panicked and forced Tony to help me with my homework so I could get it done faster.

Did you get yours done? I can try to help you :)

haha, I thought you were going to sleep all day yesterday? And, yeah I got mine done. Thanks for the offer though! 😄

I was definitely planning to sleep all day. My dad got back early and surprised me with a father daughter day though. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was exhausted. 😴 I powered through a full day of hot dogs, amusement park rides, McDonald's, and a movie 😊

He was about to respond when another text came through.

Okay, admittedly I fell asleep halfway through the movie... but still

Honestly, Peter was glad to hear the confirmation that you hadn't lied to him. He didn't think you would, but it still calmed any unnecessary anxiety to know exactly what happened.

Well, I'm glad you got caught up on sleep today then. I actually was at Coney Island on Saturday too, what a crazy coincidence 😂

Peter...

Did you see me at Coney Island?

Damn, you know me too well... I did, but I saw your dad too so I figured you were having a father daughter day!

I just didn't want to sound creepy... 😳

Not creepy, just a coincidence...

we should go together sometime 😊

Peter nearly dropped his phone when the second text came through. Were you asking him out? Was it just a friend thing? Shit, he really needs to respond.

For sure!

Peter can't help but think he sounds like an idiot. "For sure?" Who says that?!

I mean, that would be great. Our next day off?

For sure! 😉

Oh god. He was definitely in for it now.

Yours and Peters next day off came a lot faster than he expected. Normally, you would go months without a whole day off.

Maybe Steve was worried about you, or maybe it was Tony. Maybe it was just a lack of bad guys, but not even two weeks later you were both given a day off.

"So, do you still want to go to Coney Island?" You were nervous to be asking Peter about your conversation a few weeks ago, but you wanted to spend time with him.

"Yeah, definitely! You'll have to show me all your favorite rides." he smiled, glad you brought it up so he wouldn't have to. "I can pick you up tomorrow at 8?"

"Sounds perfect. Not too early, but still early enough to get there before the crowds." You smiled. If he wanted to pick you up, maybe he thought it was a date...

You hugged him, lingering a little more than usual in his arms. "i'll see you tomorrow, Pete."

He blushed at the nickname, as usual. "Goodnight, Y/N."

The two of you went your separate ways, each freaking out about what the other was thinking.

The next morning, you were pacing around the kitchen in the compound, freaking out. You didn't want to make a fool out of yourself on this maybe date.

"Morning, sweet pea. What's on your mind?" Your dad walked in, getting ready to make his post-run smoothie. One look at your frazzled pacing, and he knew something was up.

You froze instantly. You hadn't even thought about telling your dad. "Oh, um... nothing?" You winced, knowing hoe unconving that was.

Steve laughed, even more intrigued now. "Come on, you can tell me. What's going on?"

"Well... I maybe have a date today..." You said the words slowly, unsure of how he would react. You hadn't talked to your dad much about dating.

His first question surprised you. "Maybe?"

You breathed a sigh of relief, glad he didn't immediately freak out. Unbeknownst to you, on the inside he was screaming.

"Well, yeah. I don't know if it's a date or not." Your nerves were back, displayed by your continued pacing.

"Do you want it to be a date?" Again, his question was calmer than you anticipated.

You didn't even need to think about your answer. "I do, but I don't know if he does. That's why it's a maybe."

He nodded, seeming to think about your predicament. "Nat! Can you come in here for a minute?"

You froze again, unprepared to share your maybe date plans with another Avenger.

"What's up, Cap?" She smiled at you, clearly having an idea as to what this could be about.

"Y/N maybe has a date." Her smile grew, clearly her idea was on the right track.

"Maybe, huh?" She turned back to Steve, trying to figure out why exactly he needed her help.

"Yeah, so can you help us figure out if it's an actual date?" You smiled at your dad, surprised but thankful for his actions.

"Of course! Tell me everything, how did you plan it?" She sat down at the island, listening intently as you explained your text conversation with Peter that day, leaving out only the fact that it was Peter.

You went on to describe the conversation you had with him yesterday, again leaving Peter's name out of it.

"Well, from what you described I can definitely see why you're confused. You've been friends with this guy for awhile?"

You nodded, even more nervous to hear your confusion is justified. She nodded to herself, seemingly pondering all the information that was presented.

"I think it's a date." You froze for the third time, unsure if that made your nerves better or worse. "But, you'll know for sure when he picks you up. If it's just a friend thing, he'll probably wear what he always wears. If he thinks it's a date, he'll probably dress a little nicer. He'll want to impress you." She winked as she rose from her chair.

"Thank you!" You rushed around the island, pulling her into a hug. Now you've at least got a plan as to how to figure out if this is a date or not.

"No problem, kiddo. I'm happy to help with girl stuff." She winked at Steve, heading out of the kitchen.

"So, you gonna tell me who this maybe date is with?" There's the questions you were expecting.

Before you could even think of a response, the doorbell rang. "Gotta go, love you!" You planted a kiss on his cheek, rushing out of the room before he could question you.

As you ran out, Tony wondered in just in time to hear Steve ask "Friday, who just rang the doorbell?"

"Mr. Parker, Captain."

Steve nearly choked on his smoothie.

"What's that about, Capsicle?" Tony asked, taken by surprise at the man's reaction.

"Peter Parker is taking my daughter on a maybe date." He said it with a sense of caution, unsure how to feel. To his joy, Tony nearly choked on the water he was drinking.

You were nervous to open the door, but excited to test Nat's theory. It made sense when you thought about it. you yourself dressed a little nicer than normal for your day with Peter.

Instead of jeans and a tee, you opted for a colorful t-shirt dress. It was still casual, and comfortable enough for a day at a theme park, but nicer than normal.

You flung the door open, immediately pulling Peter in for a hug. "Hi!" You were slightly out of breath from running from the kitchen, but Peter didn't say anything about it.

"You look really pretty." Peter blushed, squeezing you tightly.

"Thank you. You look very handsome." You couldn't stop the smile from growing as you took in his outfit. He had on a pair of khakis and a long sleeve button up. He still looked casual, but definitely nicer than normal.

"Thanks. You ready to go?" He held his arm out when you nodded, guiding you to the car when you took it.

You didn't know what to expect on the car ride, so you were pleasantly surprised when Peter put on some music. A few songs in, you recognized it as a playlist you made him of your favorite songs. Your heart melted a bit at the realization.

When you arrived at the park, Peter rushed to open your door for you. It was a tradition you never understood, but you blushed anyway, accepting his hand as you rose from the seat.

"What do you want to do first?" He lead you toward the entrance with a hand on your back, again taking you by surprise.

"Oh, well it makes the most sense to do the big rides first, before the lines get too long!" You were instantly in planning mode, creating the best route for you to get on all the best rides.

You eagerly pulled Peter through the park, holding his hand to guide him. It wasn't uncommon for you to grab his hand and drag him somewhere, but you felt a little bolder today. When you got to the first line, you intertwined your fingers, continuing to hold his hand as you waited.

The next few rides went the same way. You pulled Peter from one roller coaster to the next until lunch time.

"Do you want to get some lunch?" He intertwined your hands this time, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

"Sure! Let's go to Paul's Daughter, yeah? Dad and I had hot dogs last time." You scrunched up your face at the idea of eating more hot dogs.

Peter couldn't stop the smile from growing on his face as he took in your adorable expression. "I had hot dogs last time too."

The two of you just stared at each other smiling until someone bumped into trying to get around the boardwalk.

You laughed, squeezing his hand. The two of you strolled down the boardwalk until you made it to the restaurant.

You happily ate your burgers and fries, talking about anything and everything that came up.

After eating, you continued to walk along the boardwalk, giving yourself time to digest before doing anything else.

"Did you want to go to the arcade area?" Peter questioned, trying to make sure you did everything you wanted.

"Sure, we can play some games! Fair warning, I've had lots of practice. You can't get mad if I beat you." You couldn't help but tease him a bit.

"Darling, you wound me." He playfully slaps his hands over his heart, giving you his best puppy eyes. "Did you forget about my spidey senses?"

You laugh alongside him at his antics, genuinely having fun with him. All of your earlier nerves seem so unnecessary as you stare at his smiling face.

"Yeah, yeah spider boy. Let's see what you can do."

Unsurprisingly, Peter beat you at nearly every game you played. You might be a force to reckon with in hand to hand, but when it comes to throwing rings at bottles, he's got you beat.

True to every rom com ever made, Peter wins you a giant blue elephant. You're not even annoyed at losing, having experienced it over and over with your dad.

It's going on 8 pm when you finally finish playing games. You gave most of the prizes to little kids you passed, only keeping the elephant. You wanted something to remember this day by.

"Is there anything else you want to do?" You smile at Peter, letting him decide your final activity.

"I've always wanted to ride the ferris wheel..." He answered honestly, leaving out the part about kissing you at the top.

"Then ride the ferris wheel we shall!" He laughed at your over the top expression, smiling as you again dragged him by his hand.

The two of you slid into the last open seat on the ride, sitting next to each other with the elephant across from you.

You gleefully looked out over the park, smiling and pointing at all the lights.

"We never stayed this late when I was younger. I was always so tired, so we'd leave and get McDonald's on the way home." You smiled as you remembered countless father daughter days. "The lights look so pretty."

"Absolutely breathtaking." Peter whispers, not having taken his eyes of you for the duration of the ride. When the ride stops, the two of you are at the very top.

A slight breeze cause you to shiver, leaning into Peter for warmth. He puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

His other hand reaches up to brush your hair out of your face, and just like that you can barely breathe. His hand lingers on your cheek, eyes roaming your face.

You both lean a little closer, ready to take this next step when the ride jerks, causing each of you to jump back in shock. You lean your head on his shoulder for the duration of the ride, cursing the bad timing.

When you get off the ferris wheel, Peter guides you back to the car. Again, you're half expecting the ride to be a little awkward, but Peter doesn't let it happen.

The two of you continue talking about life, reminiscing on stories from when you were younger. Before you know it, your back at the compound.

Again, Peter gets out to open your door, taking the chivalry thing very seriously. He walks you to the door, painfully aware of your almost kiss on the ferris wheel.

"I had a really good time today, Pete. Thank you." You lean in, kissing him ever so lightly on the cheek.

You purposefully linger close to his face, willing him to give you a sign that he's on the same page.

His hands frame your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into each other, eagerly reciprocating the kiss until you need to pull away for air.

"Goodnight, Y/N." Peter whispers, his face still only millimeters from yours.

"Goodnight, Peter." You whisper back, planting a final quick kiss on his lips before going inside.

You lean back against the door, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours. Eventually, you walk through the compound, heading for the elevators.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha, Tony, and your dad are all sitting in the common room you have to pass through.

Before you can ever utter a greeting, your dad is talking. "Parker, really?" Your not surprised that he figured it out, he probably just asked Friday. You are surprised at his tone of voice though. It almost sounds approving.

"Yeah..." Your answer is cautious, unsure of where this is going.

"I'm happy for you sweet pea, he's a good kid." You hug your dad, glad to know he's not going to ban you from seeing him. You wouldn't have expected him to react so drastically, but you’re still surprised by the calmness.

"Thanks, dad. I love you."

"I love you too." He rubs your back until you pull away, ready to head to bed.

Before you can leave the room, Nat asks the question all three adults have been wondering. "What's the verdict? Date or not a date?"

You were nearly out of the room when she asked, looking over your shoulder when you reach the doorway. Your face betrays the answer before your voice does, wearing a small, but loving smile. You involuntarily squeeze the elephant closer, hugging the giant stuffed animal closer to your body.

"Definitely a date."

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x rogers!reader #steve rogers x daughter!reader #marvel fic #natasha romanoff #tony stark #marvel

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says.

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says.

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing.

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful.

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead.

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon.

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all.

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid.

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true.

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself.

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned.

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks.

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.”

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say.

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her.

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them.

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns.

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable.

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced.

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say.

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say.

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed.

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful.

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground.

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin.

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you.

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses.

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before.

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit.

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive.

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf.

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month.

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring.

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way.

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic.

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met.

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too.

As a friend.)

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. ��Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say.

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities.

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay.

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is.

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.”

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs.

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you.

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated.

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately.

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you.

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he��s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!”

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing.

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it.

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him.

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his.

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest.

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night.

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee.

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest.

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you.

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning.

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts.

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?”

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

#jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts oneshot #joy.masterlist

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detectivereyes · 3 years

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Nothing’s Ever Built to Last

Summary: When Carlos and TK’s home catches on fire, the trauma lasts longer than just that one night.

Notes: The 2x12 spec - turned - fix-it fic... or what I wish would have happened in the episode(s) based on the hints we were given about it and tk’s addiction (not a relapse fic)

Word count: 4.4k

read on ao3

“TK, wake up. The house is on fire.”

Carlos’ rushed voice reaches TK’s ears first, pulling him out of his peaceful sleep. At first he’s not even sure he heard right. Though the statement came across as urgent and quite alarming, Carlos’ tone sounded firm and eerily calm.

However, when he opens his eyes and inhales through his nose, with the all-too familiar scent of smoke registering in his brain, he knows he did in fact hear Carlos correctly.

Their house, their home is on fire.

He bolts upright in bed, trying to remain calm and remember all the skills he had picked up on in his career as a first responder. Though he finds that hard to do when it’s his house that’s on fire, and he and Carlos are the ones trapped inside. Not to mention, he has no gear that would be helpful in getting them out of here alive.

“Okay, it’s going to be okay,” he repeats, meeting Carlos with panicked eyes. He’s not sure who he’s trying to reassure more, but he knows it’s not working. “If we can make it to the front door-”

“We can’t,” Carlos quickly cuts him off, shaking his head. “The fire has completely engulfed the downstairs.”

The words settle in TK’s head. If the fire has spread that quickly downstairs, it’s only a matter of time before it travels up. And if the thickening smoke is any indication, they are quickly running out of time.

He needs to make a decision.

“Okay, I’m going to open a window. Do you think you can make it to the bathroom and wet some towels?”

Carlos nods, heading towards the ensuite bathroom while TK climbs out of bed to head in the other direction towards one of the larger windows in the bedroom. As soon as his socked feet meet the floor, he can feel the heat burning below him and he tries to block out the weight of the situation laying heavy in his chest.

He can’t afford to think about how the home they were just beginning to build together is currently being destroyed by flames. Not when their own lives are still in danger.

He quickly pads his way to the window, welcoming the sensation of fresh oxygen as he opens it. The smoke in the bedroom is only getting more dense and while the window provides some relief, it isn’t enough. His chest aches as he lurches into a coughing fit.

The structure creaks below his feet, and he really starts to panic. He knows they are running on borrowed time.

“Are you okay?” he hears Carlos shout through the smoke appearing out of the bathroom with damp towels in hand.

“Yeah, are you?”

Carlos doesn’t get a chance to answer before the home begins to creek again, this time more intense. And before TK even realizes what is happening, Carlos is gone, leaving only a hole in the floor where he stood just a few seconds ago.

“Carlos!” he shouts, trying to settle the panic in his chest when he doesn’t get a reply. “Carlos!” he tries again, his lungs spasming as he uses all the oxygen to project his voice, hoping to elicit some response from his boyfriend whom he can’t even see.

But he knows better than to try and get close to the hole in the floor. The entire floor is unstable now and one wrong move and could be down there with him. He quickly tries to weigh the pros and cons of that decision, getting close enough to see how badly Carlos is hurt while also risking getting hurt himself in the process.

He tries to take a few deep breaths to calm his racing thoughts but to no avail. He knows he’s only inhaling more smoke and depriving his lungs of what it really needs. His thoughts only become more fuzzy as the room gets hotter. And before he can make any decision, his vision is swallowed by blackness.

TK wakes up to bright lights and the sensation of not being able to breathe properly. He’s aware enough to know that it’s because he is currently intubated, but his brain doesn’t appear to get the message as he still tries to breathe on his own and panicking when he can’t.

His eyes wide and alert, there’s a flurry of activity around him and hushed voices telling him to remain calm. He can’t make out who is there with him, but the familiar voices do provide a sense of reassurance. And before he knows it, the darkness overtakes him again.

The next time he comes to, he finds it much easier to breathe. The lights don’t seem to be as bright, and with the help of a nasal cannula looped around his nose he doesn’t feel like he’s gasping for oxygen that isn’t there.

As his eyes adjust to the hospital room, he spots his father sitting in the chair next to his bed reading something on his phone. He startles when he glances up and notices TK staring at him but quickly composes himself. “Hey, how do you feel, son?”

“Tired,” he croaks out, voice still raw from the tube that had been taken out not too long ago. In the silence that follows, the memories flood back into his brain of the moments that led to this. Images of flames flickering in their home and dense smoke filling their bedroom, and of - “Where’s Carlos?” he meets Owen’s eye, his heart pounding in his chest as he tries not to assume the worst.

“He’s okay,” Owen is quick to answer and TK finally lets out a sigh of relief. “The firefighters that responded were able to get to him, and to you quite quickly. You’re lucky you’re only dealing with smoke inhalation, not too serious but the doctors will probably want to keep you another night for observation.”

TK absentmindedly nods, though he can’t help but notice his father isn’t going into detail on Carlos’ condition. “And Carlos?” he asks, unable to stand another moment of not knowing how his boyfriend is doing.

“Hanging in there,” Owen says carefully. “He took quite a hit from the fall. Shattered his right leg and broke his back.”

TK stiffens. “Is he-?”

“There wasn’t any damage to the spinal cord, thankfully,” Owen answers, and TK relaxes at that.

“Is he awake?”

“Last I heard he was in and out of consciousness. His parents are with him now and have been keeping me updated.”

“Okay, that’s good,” TK nods. “Do they know what caused the fire?”

TK doesn’t miss the way Owen stiffens at the question. He braces himself, not knowing if it’s just because he’s bringing up why they are both in the hospital in the first place or if there’s something more to it.

“OFI originally had reason to believe it was arson,” Owen says, and TK now realizes why his dad reacted the way he did. Just a few days ago he had listened as Owen recounted what he believed to be a serial arsonist targeting different locations around the city. And at the time TK didn’t think much of it beyond urging his dad that he should be taking it easy during his recovery from the tumor removal.

Now hearing Owen reveal that the fire in their home could have been related to that, his heart begins to beat just a little faster as his brain takes off with thoughts of why this could have happened and if it only did because his dad got involved.

“However, the investigation wrapped up this morning and concluded that that was not the case,” Owen continues, preventing any more negative thoughts from forming in TK’s head.

“What?” TK asks, unsure if he even heard correctly. “Then what did cause it?”

“Electrical,” Owen says, looking down nervously at his hands. “Probably caused by an appliance being left plugged in in the kitchen.”

Marlon Blendo.

“Oh, dad. I-“

Owen cuts him off with a wave. “It’s okay, TK. I’m just glad you two made it out alive.”

“Yeah, but I know that blender was important to you.”

“You and Carlos are important to me. Marlon Blendo was an appliance,” Owen says with a genuine smile. “An appliance that made very good smoothies, I will say. But an appliance that can be replaced, nonetheless.”

TK returns the smile, not missing how his dad mentioned Carlos is just as important to him. In the past, Owen’s relationships with TK’s boyfriends have never been great. But it didn’t take long at all to see the difference in how he got along with Carlos, his dad essentially seeing him as another son.

“I want to see Carlos,” he says after a few beats of silence.

“If the doctor’s discharge you tomorrow, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“No, I need to see him now.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, TK. You need to be resting” Owen says, trying to lay him down gently but TK does not want to hear it.

“We can ask the nurse to get a wheelchair,” TK looks at him with pleading eyes. “Please, dad.”

Owen looks like he wants to argue more but his face soon softens and he nods. Soon enough, he is wheeled up to Carlos’ room and told he has an hour before a nurse will return to take him back to his own room, citing some reason about his doctors not wanting him to be off oxygen for too long.

Carlos is asleep when he enters the room, unnaturally still with his casted leg propped up on a pillow. TK hates that even with Carlos’ eyes closed, he can tell how much pain the other man is in.

He doesn’t waste much time before reaching for his boyfriend's hand, gently rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of Carlos’ palm. The action is enough to rouse the sleeping man, who blinks at TK a few times before smiling.

“Hey,” Carlos says sleepily, letting his eyes roam over TK’s body, searching for any visible injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Better than you, pretty sure,” TK attempts to likely joke but even his own words bring an ache to his chest. The weight of the situation starts to settle in, now seeing Carlos laid up in his hospital bed. “Carlos, I’m so sorry,” he starts to say but Carlos cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I don’t want you to apologize, TK. None of this is your fault. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” TK’s voice cracks with desperation. “I was the one who told you to head to the bathroom, and I should have-”

“No,” Carlos cuts him off again. “We both made it out alive, and that’s all that matters.”

TK shakily nods, agreeing with Carlos on the outside but unable to stop the guilt from blooming inside his chest. Carlos is hurt, more than TK is, and as much as Carlos tries to deny it, TK knows it’s his fault.

For the fourth night in a row, TK lies wide awake as Carlos peacefully sleeps beside him.

At first it had been easy to hide after they were released from the hospital and settled into their temporary home back at his father’s house. With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins he didn’t feel like he could sleep even if he wanted to. But as the days passed, he found it harder to explain the dark circles forming under his eyes and low energy throughout the day.

And still he continues to lay awake, waiting for sleep to take pity on him.

Part of him is jealous that sleep appears to come easier to Carlos. He knows that the other man is just as affected, if not more than he is. With his broken leg and back injury, it has been hard for Carlos to find comfortable positions after being discharged from the hospital.

But Carlos also had the luxury of being prescribed medication to help manage the pain. And while he was hesitant to accept it at first, TK had encouraged it, saying that he would be fine because Carlos needed it.

And he would be fine.

Except there’s still a part of him that envied Carlos for being able to easily mask the pain with one small pill.

Because while Carlos peacefully sleeps, TK is plagued with memories of the fire that took their home not even a week ago.

Sometimes it plays out exactly how it happened, which only serves the guilt to settle more in his chest. Other times it happens with slight variations. Visions of him being the one to fall through the floor instead, or them both making it out unscathed.

The last one hurts the most. The idea that there could have been a way for both of them to walk out of it without injury. But the pained wimpers coming from beside him serve as an aching reminder of what did happen.

It hurt TK more than he was willing to admit seeing Carlos in so much pain and knowing it’s his fault. Not that Carlos would ever admit it, brushing it off every time TK would try to bring it up. But TK knows the truth. Even with all of his firefighter training, he wasn’t able to get them out unharmed. Not to mention he was the reason why Carlos fell through the floor.

He should have been the one to go to the bathroom and wet the towels. Or he should have forgotten the towels altogether, considering it probably would have only bought them a few seconds anyway.

Night after night he gets stuck in this spiral of “what-if’s,” unable to shut off his brain enough to get the rest he so badly needs.

Another louder whimper comes from beside him, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Baby?” he calls softly, not wanting to wake Carlos if he wasn’t already, but also wanting to make sure he was okay if he is awake.

“Sorry,” Carlos whispers back. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

TK doesn’t have to see his face to sense the wince on Carlos’ face, pain clearly evident in his voice. “It’s okay, I was already awake. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

“We’ve talked about this, babe. You having nothing to apologize for.”

“But I do. It was my fault that you got hurt and maybe if I-“

“TK, stop,” Carlos cuts him off. He tries to say it gently, but TK can sense the annoyance in his voice.

It’s the same conversation they have had a few times now and it always ended the same way; with TK trying to apologize and Carlos calmly explaining why the apology wasn’t necessary. It was no wonder his patience was running out and TK knew it was only a matter of time before Carlos snapped.

And by the sound of it, that’s exactly what was happening.

“Can we not do this now? In the middle of the night? I just need the pain to stop and to go back to sleep.”

TK nods, even though he’s well aware Carlos can’t see the motion in the darkness of their bedroom (well, their temporary bedroom at Owen’s house). It’s a good thing, considering that means the other man also can’t see the tears welling in TK’s eyes. “I’ll go get your meds.”

He hears Carlos sigh and takes that an okay, pushing himself out of bed and making his way down the hall to the bathroom.

He rifles through the medicine cabinet before pulling out Carlos’ prescription and shaking two capsules out of the bottle. The bright white pills contrast against his palm and he can’t bring himself to look away.

TK once again finds himself envious of Carlos’ ability to take these pills to begin with; To have the power to soften the pain in two tiny capsules.

Without a second thought, he slides the pills into his pajama bottoms before shaking out another two replacement pills into his palm. He then fills up a disposable cup of water and turns off the light.

The next hours pass by in a haze, tossing and turning until the pills in his pocket are forgotten. TK realizes he must have fallen asleep at some point indicated by the light filtering through the blinds, casting a soft warm glow into the bedroom.

Not wanting to wake Carlos still sleeping beside him, but also not able to spend another minute laying in bed, he carefully gets up and makes his way through the hall and down the stairs, into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Owen says, all too cheerfully for the morning hour.

“Morning,” he replies while grabbing his coffee mug and filling it to the brim.

“How did you sleep?”

TK shrugs. It’s the same dance they do everyday. His father definitely knows him well enough to see how much he’s been struggling since the fire, yet he never pushes enough to get TK to talk.

“Do you want some pancakes? I got fresh blueberries yesterday at the market that I could throw in the batter.”

He considers it, knowing full well that his dad is trying to get him to talk using his favorite breakfast meal. But he also thinks if he tries to eat anything, he’s going to throw up. “I’m good with coffee right now. Maybe I’ll have a bowl of cereal in a bit.”

“TK,” Owen trails off. “Do I need to be worried about you?”

TK glances down, staring at his hands, unable to meet his dad’s eye. In the past when he had been asked that question, the simple no had always been able to roll easily off his tongue, regardless of whether or not it was true. But this morning feels different. He doesn’t feel cornered, but there is a part of him that wants to say yes. With just one word he’d be able to let out all of the emotions he has been bottling up for days, even months going back before the fire.

“Have you gone to any meetings lately?”

That gets TK’s attention. “No,” he says, looking up shyly. “I mean I’ve been a little busy taking care of Carlos and trying to get everything sorted out with insurance and just,” he sighs. They’re weak excuses, he knows. While that stuff is important, he’s also aware that his recovery should come first and he’s been looking for any excuse not to take care of himself, to avoid opening up the bottle of his emotions.

“You should. Why don’t I drive you to one today?” Owen offers.

“No, someone needs to stay with Carlos-”

“And there’s been dozens of people asking what they can do to help you guys out that I’m sure would love to hang out with him this afternoon. If Mateo won’t be around, I can ask Grace or Paul, or anyone from the station if they are available.”

TK nods, knowing there’s no way to get out of this. This is Owen’s polite way of letting him know that he knows TK needs help and if he’s not going to talk him or Carlos, he needs to talk to someone.

“Good. I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way in your recovery in the past 18 months,” Owen offers him a smile but the words hit TK like a punch in the gut.

He quickly shoves his hands in his pockets and freezes when he feels the familiar texture of the forgotten pills shoved hastily in there in a moment of weakness last night.

Owen studies him carefully. “Are you okay?”

He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing thoughts before his face can betray that his father really did have a legitimate reason to be concerned. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just going to go see if Carlos is awake.”

Owen nods, appearing to accept TK’s response. TK flashes him a smile before filling up a glass of water to bring up to Carlos and hoping that his father doesn’t notice the way his hands shake as he holds it under the faucet.

“Come back down when you’re ready to eat. The pancakes will be waiting for you,” Owen calls as TK climbs the stairs.

TK doesn’t answer, moving through the hallway until he reaches their bedroom and softly knocks on the door before pushing it open. He expects to find Carlos still sleeping soundly on the bed, but instead sees him attempting to push himself out of bed, a pained grimace painted on his face.

“What are you doing?” TK rushes over to him, guiding him gently back into the bed so he is sitting back against the headboard. “You’re not supposed to get out of bed without help.”

While Carlos isn’t technically on bedrest, it is harder for him to get around. He was given crutches for his broken leg, but using them puts a lot of stress on his injured back. TK can tell that the lack of mobility is starting to get to him.

“I was thirsty,” Carlos shrugs, flashing him a sheepish grin.

TK resists the urge to roll his eyes at that. “Well you can relax now, I brought you water,” he says, handing the glass over to Carlos. “And my dad is making pancakes if you want to try to get out of bed, with help this time.”

“That sounds good.”

“Good,” TK replies and they exchange smiles. Though he can’t help but notice the tension that still looms in the air from their last interaction. It clearly doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos as well, whose smile soon drops at the shift in mood.

“Listen, TK, I’m sorry for kind of snapping at you last night. I was just tired, and in pain, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” Carlos sighs, taking TK’s hands in his. “These past few days haven’t been easy for either of us and you’ve taken such great care of me. I want you to know how much I appreciate it. I love you.”

TK can’t help the tears that well in his eyes at Carlos’ words. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest, both at the tenderness of the moment and in panic of wanting to admit to Carlos what he’s done. He came in the room prepared to come clean, but now feels almost as though he doesn’t deserve the kind words. He doesn’t deserve this happiness that he came so close to throwing all away.

“Babe?” Carlos questions softly.

“I took some of your pills,” TK blurts out, spitting the words out in the air before he can change his mind and take them back. Carlos’ eyes widen in panic and TK quickly shakes his head. “Well, okay I didn’t actually take them. I just,” he sighs, reaching into his pocket and holding out the pills in his palm.

“TK,” Carlos trails off. He doesn’t sound disappointed, but TK can’t help the panic that arises as he tries to figure out how to justify what he did now that Carlos knows.

“It’s just been so hard, you know? I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I get why. I mean, I don’t want to talk about it either. But no matter how many times I’m told it wasn’t my fault, the guilt still doesn’t leave, and it’s suffocating. I’m sorry, I know you’re probably tired of having this conversation but I don’t know what happened last night. I just hit a point where I didn’t know what else to do and I’m sorry I can’t be stronger for you.”

The silence that hangs in the air after TK’s word vomit is deafening. He takes some deep breaths, waiting for Carlos to say something. When more than a few seconds pass, TK can’t help but open his mouth again. “I’m so sorry, Carlos. I wish I could handle this better but I just keep bottling it up. I understand if you are mad, but you should know I’m going to a meeting this afternoon and I think-“

“TK,” Carlos cuts off his rambling this time. “I’m not mad at you. In fact, I think I’ve been bottling a lot of things up too, so that’s something we both need to work on. I’m just trying to figure out why you think I would be and why you think you’re not strong.”

“Because I took your pills,” he says quietly. “I almost relapsed.”

“Almost. But you didn’t. Instead you came to me and told me about it. And if you’re already planning on going to a meeting? That’s great, babe,” Carlos smiles and grabs his hands, squeezing them reassuringly.

“The meeting was my dad’s idea. I haven’t told him.”

“That’s okay. You still agreed to it, and you don’t have to tell him yet if you’re not ready. But whenever you are, I can be there with you if you want. I know he will understand.”

TK gives a small nod.

“Hey,” Carlos grabs his attention, tilting his head up gently. “I am proud of you, you know. And I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” TK gives him a genuine smile.

“Is there anything else I can do that will help you out?”

“Maybe, we could give your pills to my dad to hold onto? Just for a few days,” he says quietly, almost ashamed to admit but knowing it’s for the best.

“I can just get rid of them, I don’t think I need them,” Carlos responds far too quickly.

“Absolutely not. It’s only been a few days, and I can see how much pain you’re still in.”

Carlos nods. “Okay, then we will talk to your dad about it.”

TK smiles, a wave of relief washing over him that they had dealt with this in the best way possible. Maybe things aren't perfect now, and he still has a long way to go before he’ll feel stable in his recovery. But if the soft brown eyes and proud smile of his boyfriend sitting next to him are any indication, he knows he has all the support system he needs to get through it.

#911 lone star #911lonestarfic #tarlosfic #tarlos #tk strand #my fic #idk if i should tag anyone in this

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mylutteoheart · 3 years

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Playing Cupid

It’s finally here, the next chapter of Playing cupid. This took me forever, I don’t have a lot of time to write anymore. Anyway, this was a fun chapter to write, we’re moving forward. The long awaited face to face is coming closer and closer. I don’t know when the next update is but enjoy this chapter in the meantime.

Luna and Matteo have been building their lives together slowly. Fresh out of college, they’re planning their future. But by planning this, they have an underlying plan no one knows of. Bringing their best friends together after 4 years of not being happy without the other. How well will their plan of playing Cupid work?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | find my other fics here

Chapter 4: A Shocking Surprise

Nina hesitated and she was conflicted about what she would tell Luna but deep down, she knew it's better to tell the truth. She would feel better afterwards. So that's what she did. She told her best friend everything. From the way she felt when Gastón left to getting together with Eric to breaking up with him to realizing what she truly felt when Gastón went to Oxford.

"Looking back on everything, I realized that we shouldn't have broken up. There was no point." Nina looked sad admitting this but continued anyway, "I know we could have figured it out. We were strong enough to have a long disctance relationship and thinking back, it wouldn't even have been for that long since I wanted to go to Oxford as well." she sighed, "How did everything get so wrong?"

Luna was speechless, she knew Nina still had feelings for her ex-boyfriend but she didn't know how strong they still were. This has made her even more determined to get them back together no matter what.

She thought of saying something so she ended up saying: "I can't possibly understand how you feel right now but I do know that life can take an unexpected turn and it will all be okay in the end. If your love is strong enough, you will get through anything, I'm sure of that so don't give up. You'll find your way."

Nina just nodded, she wasn't truly convinced about what her best friend was telling her but she hoped that there will be light at the end of the tunnel, even if the tunnel seems too dark for it to be possible.

"I hope you're right. I really don't like feeling like this."

"Just look at me and Matteo or Ámbar and Simón. It seemed hopeless for all of us but look at us now. Me and Matteo are engaged and Ámbar and Simón are already married and living their best life right now, visiting Simón's family in Mexico."

Nina smiled at Luna's shot at trying to cheer her up. The image of her friends being happy and in love did cheer her up and have her hope that she would have a chance to feel like that as well at some point.

"I don't know but I don't want to talk about this right now. We need to make plans for your wedding. That's the priority at the moment." she tried to change the subject because she didn't want to feel sad anymore. She needed a distraction.

Her trick worked since Luna started talking about her plans but she knew Luna was just humouring her and not letting it go anytime soon and she didn't know if she liked it just yet.

***

Luna and Nina were still talking when Matteo came up behind Luna and startled her by giving a kiss on her cheek. He chuckled when she jumped a little from her seat and she laughed along with him.

When she saw him, she was dying to ask him how his meeting with Gastón went but she couldn't ask him just yet. Nina still didn't know about his arrival and the role he was going to have in their wedding. She was a little afraid of her reaction but she had to find a way to prepare her for what's going to happen. A meeting was going to be inevitable between them and Nina wouldn't like a surprise like this.

Matteo was a little nervous to see that Nina was here too. He should have expected to see her since they're still in Jam & Roller but he believed that Luna was taking her out to eat somewhere else. He had to be careful, Gastón was with him and he would wait outside since he wasn't ready to go back in yet but he was sure that if he stayed inside for too long, his best friend would come looking for him.

"Hey, chico fresa. What are you doing here?" Luna didn't seem to notice he was nervous and that was a good thing but there was still a possibility that Nina would notice it.

"I'm just stopping by to get a smoothie." he said and looked back to see if his friend had followed him, he didn't.

Luna noticed this and asked if everything was alright. "Everything's fine, there's just someone waiting for me outside." he gave her a subtle hint.

Realization appeared on her face and tried to help him: "Right, you shouldn't let them wait for too long then. I'll see you later."

"Sure, we should talk after I get back." he warned her, they needed to come up with a good plan now that that they talked to the two clueless lovebirds.

"Okay, no problem, we'll talk when we get back home then." Luna shrugged and Nina was confused, she had a feeling there was more to this conversation than they showed. She didn't want to pry, if they had problems, Luna would go to her when she's ready.

Matteo kissed her goodbye with a quick but passionate kiss. He turned around afterwards and Matteo had to hide the gasp that left his lips when he saw his best friend walking in. He looked around the cafeteria and Matteo really hoped he wouldn't see the two girls he was standing next to. It would be too soon now. He just got back and Matteo just knew he wasn't ready to see her again.

But it was too late, his best friend saw Nina and shock appeared on his face. He was frozen like a statue and he had no idea what to do. Luna noticed what her fiancé was looking at and before Nina could turn her head to see what grabbed their attention, she asked her: "So what do you think we should for the wedding first?"

The distraction worked and with one last kiss on the nose, Matteo left the two girls talking and he walked over to Gaston, still standing still at the entrance of the cafeteria. He turned him around and with an arm around his shoulders, they walked out of the Jam & Roller. They had things to talk about and this wasn't the right place to do that.

***

When Luna and Matteo got back home, they settled into the couch before making dinner. They had priorities that had to be dealt with now.

"That was so close." Luna broke the silence.

"Yeah, I was a little scared this would happen." he answered her.

"He looked like he saw a ghost." she said thoughtfully, "Did he say anything to you about seeing her again?"

"I tried asking him but he just changed the subject, I think he needs some time to process." he frowned, he was worried about what Gastón was feeling right now.

"It must have been hard to see her but I think it was something he had to do, to figure out what he's going to do about her." they already talked about the conversation Matteo had with Gastón earlier today on the way home.

"I think you're right. He might need a little push to try to tell her how he truly feels."

"She might need one too." she paused, "She told me everything about the entire Eric-Gastón situation. They're both too scared to admit anything."

"There has to be some way to convince them that they should have an honest talk. Avoiding each other is only going to cause them pain." he was in deep thought.

"But how do we do that?" she looked up at him frowning.

"I think seeing each other again is the first step but maybe not when the other knows about it. Seeing her again shook him but I think it was necessary. She might need to do this as well." he thought out loud.

"I'm not so sure about this." she answered, "She's still hurting over everything that transpired."

"We have to prepare her some way. They're going to see a lot of each other now that they're going to be part of the wedding. We need to take this step by step. It might not seem like a good thing at the moment but I think it will all be worth it in the end. They deserve to be happy and if they're honest with themselves. They'll see that the make each other happy."

"That's true." she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "Let's just get this over with."

Matteo raised his hand and carressed her cheek with the top of his fingers. "I can't wait until this is all over. I can't wait to be married to you and I can't wait to see my friends happy again." he smiled when she leaned into his touch, "We make quite the good team, chica delivery."

She opened her eyes and smiled at him: "We really do. I'm excited to see what's to come."

They leaned into each other and their lips touched carefully at first, but the kiss turned deeper and more passionate soon after. Everything that still needed to be done was forgotten at the moment and all they could focus on was each other. Dinner had to wait for now, they wanted to forgot about the world and be together and nothing would get in the way of that.

***

The day after, they started up the plan they came up with last night. It was risky but something they had to do. Matteo and Gastón were going to meet up in the same park they had yesterday. They still needed to talk about Gastón seeing Nina but they also had to make up for lost time.

Talking and seeing each other over the phone just wasn't the same. Gastón had friends at Oxford but they couldn't compare to his best friend. They've been through a lot together and they know everything about each other. He missed having his best friend around, as did Matteo.

They were just walking around in the park, still catching up to everything that they didn't want to say over the phone. It felt nice to be able to do this again. Matteo seemed a little more tense than usual though. Gastón didn't know what was going on but he just enjoyed talking to him like this again that he didn't think about his behaviour that much.

But unknown to him, two girls were walking close to them. Both Nina and Gastón were oblivious to what was going on. Without her noticing, Luna lead Nina close to the spot that Matteo said he and Gastón would be. Her best friend was talking to her about a book she was reading, she really liked it and couldn't stop talking about it. Luna was only half listening but she noted in the back of her head to ask Nina to borrow the book once she's done with it because it does sound interesting.

Luna was nervous about what's going to happen but she wasn't going to back out now. She needed to do this. Soon, the guys were in eyesight. This was the moment, it was now or never.

"Hey, Nina, is that...?" Luna paused and pointed ahead of her. She was pointing at Gastón and Matteo.

It took Nina a moment to realize what Luna was referring to, she was too distracted by her rant about the book she was reading to process what was going on quickly.

But as soon as she realized what Luna meant, she froze and she was in a state of shock. She couldn't believe her own eyes. Gastón was there standing with Matteo and joking about something. They were too far away to hear what they were talking about. It had been a while since she last saw him but there was no mistaking him, she couldn't forget what he looked like. He did look a little older than the last time she saw him but she still could recognize him easily.

Luna stopped and gauged Nina's reaction. She couldn't see anything but shock on her face. She didn't know what she was thinking and she was desperate to know but she didn't say anything, she didn't want to ruin this moment.

After moments of silence, she couldn't take it anymore and asked softly: "Nina?"

The sound of her voice brought Nina out of her trance and she turned around and ran away. It was too overwhelming for Nina. Luna just let her go, she needed time to process. She felt guilty for doing this to her but she knew this was the best way to prepare her for what's about to come.

#soy luna #gastina #lutteo #my soy luna fic #playing cupid #SL fanfiction #multichapter

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openheart12 · 4 years

Note

Hi, yes, hello beautiful! Can you write a fic where MC accidentally sends Ethan her entire fanfic folder by mistake 😂🤣

How To Get Away With Fanfiction

I’m reliving my embarrassment 😭 but it is done and idk wtf happened with this lmao. This is also to make up for earlier kmjhygfd

Only tagging @ao719 @oofchoices @loveellamae @burnsoslow because no one else should have to read this unless they click on the read more and if they do... god bless. And thank you to Maroe for helping me come up with some of these ideas!

It had been a long day at work when Dr. Gertrude-Sue Claws made her way home to do the one thing that relaxed her; writing fanfiction.

She had thought of the perfect idea for Spirit and Rainbow Dash and her fingers flew across the keyboard.

There was something about the multi colors in his mane and tail that drew him to her. He lived by the phrase, “hump ‘em and dump ‘em,” which he planned on doing with Rainbow Dash, but not without consent because horse jail wasn’t fun. He had heard the horror stories from his human friends, Kurns and Bryce.

“Rainbow Dash,” he neighed.

“Spirit…” She neighed back in response, she knew all about his...extracurricular activities. He was the biggest fuck horse out of the herd. Ever since Rain had died from drowning, god bless, he hadn’t been the same. It was also why he paid more attention to Rainbow Dash because she had Rain in the first part of her name.

“Let’s do this,” he smirked with his horse mouth.

“Fine…” She turned her back to him as he reared on his hind legs and mounted her, letting out a series of neighs.

She laughed silently to herself before moving on her Owen Hunt fic and she knew how much she was going to enjoy this one especially.

Owen was walking through the halls when he saw five women stalking towards him like cats, one even had whiskers drawn on her face. “Anitah with the h, get him!” He heard one of them command and watched as she came up to him, kicking him in no man's land. He felt them drag him into an empty exam room.

“MAROE! You got the chainsaw?”

“Nah bruh, Bears and Rams were in charge of that,” she explained.

Anything but Krista, cocked her half shaved eyebrow at Burns and Ella. “Y’all got the chainsaw?”

“No, but I have the cream for the burn I’m about to inflict,” Burns snickered to herself at her own joke, the others joining in before getting back to business.

“Burns, Ella, go scope out the cafeteria for some good food because I can’t kill in good faith on an empty stomach and as me and Ella say, we always get food first,” Anything but Krista said, turning her attention to the two people left, throwing them both a knife. Then proceeded to stab Owen numerous times, but making sure not to hit any major organs yet.

“We need a blender,” Anitah with the h announced.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Anything but Krista and MAROE said at the same time, looking at each other and bursting into laughter at the jinx.

“If that was making a human smoothie, then yes. We’ll show him that no one messes with Derek Christopher Shepherd,” Anitah with the h said smugly, pulling a blender out from behind her back and plugging it into the wall.

“You...you pulled that out of your jacket?” MAROE asked in a surprising tone.

“Y’all don’t keep blenders in yours?” Anitah with the h asked as if that wasn’t common, but it was good to know that she was always prepared.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie came to life, “Team Bears/Rams to Team CA, what y’all want from here? Over and out.”

“Team CA to Team Bears/Rams, we want CookOut. Over and out.” Anything but Krista responded. “It’s about time y’all tried a little piece of heaven,” she looked at Anitah with the h and MAROE.

“That’s a negative ghost rider, the closest CookOut is on the other side of the country. Over and out.”

“Well you better get on your way because you two also need to try a little piece of heaven, we’ll save the good stuff for when you get back. Over and out.” The trio resumed their slice and dice game, taking a short break to play Choices because the latest chapter of The Nanny Affair had just been released and even Owen wasn’t going to keep them away from Sam Dalton.

A couple hours later, Burns and Ella arrived with the food, handing out their respective trays to their respective orderers, they were able to keep the milkshakes from melting by their cold hearts.

“Ahhh gimme my milkshake,” Anything but Krista snatched it from Burns’ hand, earning a slap on her hand from her adoptive mother and a threat of taking away her pony...again.

“Yooo this shake hits different,” Ella exclaimed.

“You could even say that it slaps,” MAROE added making her squeak.

“It’s the one good thing North Carolina has to offer for me,” Anything but Krista chimed in, fist bumping Anitah with the h because the struggle was real. The cows really did outnumber the people, they just hoped that there wouldn’t be a cow revolution because that would be awful except the yeehaw folk would probably survive since they did have a song called “A Country Boy Can Survive.”

“Burns, we left you the honor of picking the perfect weather for us to dispose of the body which is more like liquid at this point. We need rain, thunder, and lightning to erase all of the evidence. Watching “Forensic Files” has finally come in handy. And Ella, we need you to pretend to be a nurse or something to help us get out of here. I’ll be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead…” Anything but Krista admitted, but they expected that from her so they already had a plan in place.

“If anyone happens to see Derek Shepherd, I ask that you tell me,” MAROE added.

“Not if I find him first,” Anything but Krista said.

“He’s like fifty four years old…” Burns said being ever the good adoptive mother.

“Then I call Spencer Reid!” Anything but Krista exclaimed.

“I have Lucifer then,” MAROE challenged knowing that would get under her skin.

“Children, calm yourselves.” Burns shook her head.

“Hey, I’ll be eighteen in like a number amount of months,” Anything but Krista said.

“I’ll be eighteen before you,” MAROE said, sticking out her tongue.

“I’Ll Be EiGhTeEn BeFoRe YoU,” she repeated, placing her hands on her hips and doing that Spongebob meme. After thinking of a better comeback, she grabbed her knife she used on Owen earlier and plunged it into MAROE’s back.

“Et tu, Brute?” MAROE said with shock in her voice before her body crumpled on the ground.

“Yes, bye bitch.”

The other three just stared as the blood drained from her body before turning their attention to Anything but Krista. They were the epitome of 👁👄👁.

“What? She wanted to “due” anyway. And at her funeral we can play “To Be So Lonely” because well she will be lol.”

“Anywaysss, we gonna get food or what?” Ella asked as she covered Owen’s body with a sheet.

“Wings?” Burns suggested and they all agreed. After arriving at the restaurant, they were very shocked to see MAROE sitting at a table waiting for them.

“It’s the trying to kill me for me,” she said upon taking their seats, glaring at Anything But Krista specifically.

“It’s the stealing my fictional husbands for me,” she retaliated.

“It’s the acting like children for me,” Burns' authoritative voice came.

“Sorry,” they both murmured as they looked over the menus to order their food. The rest of their lunch going smoothly, their victims already forgotten about. Don’t mess with hangry chicks who hate Owent Cunt.

“So who’s next?” Anitah with the h asked.

“Ahh you’ve gotten the first taste of blood and now you’re addicted,” Burns observed. She would make for a good profiler for the FBI at Quantico. She would have a cool nickname; Cunt Punter.

“Why not just kill everyone we hate?” Ella questioned.

“That’s a great idea! I say we kill Guy and Vanessa,” Anything but Krista suggested.

“And Landrat!” MAROE added, the whole group agreeing, finishing their lunch before getting to their killing spree.

Gertrude-Sue was laughing at her made up characters and story when she received an email from Ethonk Remy to send him a folder that she had. Goggle Drive was acting stupid so she didn’t realize that she had shared her fanfiction folder with her boss before it was too late. She saw a little giraffe pop up in the right hand corner telling her that he was already viewing what was inside the folder.

“Holy donkey claws,” she cried out loud, smacking her hands against her face.

Meanwhile, Ethonk was going through her folder when he came across a document and his eyes went wide. “What are they doing with the dog?” He said to himself.

Wonder pets, wonder pets

We're on our way

To help a friend and save the day

We're not too big

And we're not too tough

But when we work together, we've got the right stuff

Gooo wonder pets yaaaaay!

The phone

The phone is ringing

The phone

We'll be right there

The phone

The phone is ringing

There's an animal in trouble

There's an animal in trouble somewhere

“What the hell are Wonder Pets?” He continued inspecting the different documents ranging from murder of one Owen Cunt, horses having sexual intercourse, Wonder Pets stuff, four kids and a dog where they did questionable things with each other, a sponge and a starfish were high on marijuana, a game where Gertrude-Sue had made him and her a family that looked way too realistic for his liking, two bunnies who kept hopping around with one of their little brothers, and multiple documents about Matthew Gray Gubler, Tom Holland, Tom Ellis, Patrick Dempsey, and Harry Styles which were all quite disturbing.

He took out his phone to call her. “Hey uh, Gert, what is this?”

“Oh well you see, the funny thing is that I accidentally sent you the wrong folder so if you could just pretend like this never happened, that would be fantastic. Okay thanks bye. I’m sending you the right one this time.” And she hung up, ready to throw herself off a cliff at her stupidity.

One thing was for sure, she would never make this mistake again.

#CA chronicles

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mawkishnesssunflower · 3 years

Text

@taintedwonder

https://taintedwonder.tumblr.com/post/639906420612104192/styles-valentines-day-fic-challenge

https://taintedwonder.tumblr.com/

“Okay so here’s the thing. I’m pregnant, and it’s kind of yours.”

Warning: some curse words used

Waking up from what was undoubtedly going to be one of many naps of the day, y/n still felt tired. No amount of coffee could wake her up, and the fact that the smell of it alone makes her stomach turn. Usually, she would be on her third cup for the day already at the office working in media marketing in the firm in sunny Los Angles. Still, today she was taking a mental health day to hopefully catch up on sleep and figure out why she had been in such a funk lately. It had been noticeable by her boss, who even encouraged her to take the day to get her head straight.

Body sore the decision to take a bath was solidified by reminding a fancy bath bomb she has yet to use. Warm bubbly water eased her muscles and allowed her brain to relax. Doing her best not to think about work, she let her brain wander, and wonder it did. Almost like an electric shock running down y/n spine, she sat straight up in the warm water. Using her fingers to count back the last few weeks to when she had her last period. Six weeks. She should have had her period two weeks ago. “fuck.” The only word that came to mind.

Dressing in a pair of running shorts, an oversized sweatshirt, a pair of slip-on vans, and her hair in a messy bun. The Walgreens down the street was the closest drug store she could get to. Grabbing a box of pregnancy tests off the shelf, she went to the back of the store where the pharmacy was to buy the test. In all her years of life, she never thought she would be put in this position of possibly being pregnant after matching with a stranger on an app.

Raya was supposed to be a bit of fun. Y/N got excepted onto the dating platform after being referred by a coworker who insisted that y/n needed to loosen up and have fun while still young. It was mostly profiles of business professionals and social media influencers. Yet, every once in a while, there was an exciting celebrity on the app that would pop up. It was a Thursday night when they matched. Y/N knew exactly who Harry Styles was when his profile came across her screen. Never in a million years did she think he would actually match with her, let alone ask her out for a drink the following night. She had never met up with anyone from a dating website, and she was ready for a bit of fun.

They had messaged just enough for both of them to feel comfortable enough to meet for drinks. Casual enough that if either of them didn’t feel comfortable, they could find an easy way out. A Friday night out seemed like an excellent way to start her weekend. Playing music through the Bluetooth speaker, Spotify shuffled through her favorite playlist. The combination of a new sexy black dress, her favorite pair of heels, and a smokey eye, y/n felt herself stepping out of her apartment heading downstairs to meet the car. It was one of those restaurants that guaranteed privacy for those who wanted to stay out of the public eye while in those walls. Relieved that it wasn’t as awkward meeting a stranger offline as it could have been, it ended up going really well. The buzz from the drinks, along with his alluring aura, engrossed her that evening. Drinks led back to his Malibu home.

Y/N was not good at one-night stands. Contemplating what to do after leaving the bed to pee, she washed her hands and looked at herself in the reflection of the mirror. Wearing his shirt, which she picked up off the floor on her way into the bathroom. Her eye makeup smeared slightly under her eyes and her hair tousled. Using toilet paper, y/n didn’t want to get makeup on his fluffy white towels. They were folded like how you see in a hotel, and they seemed like they did not often get used. The thought of putting on her dress and panties back on was absolutely revolting, but Y/N refused to get into the back of an uber without pants on.

Harry was lying under the covers, his head propped up on a pillow resting on his arm, while in his free hand, he was scrolling on his phone. “I think I am going to call a car.” y/n interrupted his scrolling.

“if that’s what you want.” He hadn’t noticed y/n reenter the room, and he instantly put his phone down and ran his hand through his hair. “I can call you a car.” It was a nice offer.

The two of you hadn’t talked any more after that one night about a month ago. Now sitting on the edge of the bathtub you had earlier been occupying, you held two sticks, both saying positive. There were no words that came to mind. With no contact information, y/n turned to the app to try to contact Harry, but his profile was gone. Thinking about how to contact him, she thought about reaching out on social media, but what are the chances that he would ever see the message. Could she figure out how to get back to his house? Which was behind gates and most likely a security team, but she had to try.

Stopping to get a smoothie, which suddenly sounded incredibly delicious, she also went to go pick up another test just in case. Driving herself sober was a lot harder than the last time she had been on this route up into the Malibu Hills. The gate in front of the house seemed much less inviting than the last time she had seen it. Sitting in the car on the street, y/n had yet to work up the courage to press the buzzer.

As if the universe knew that y/n was struggling to get the confidence to take that next step, a black range rover pulled up to the gate, which opens for it. Assuming that the driver had no clue, she was sitting there, she watched the car pull into the driveway. When the driver got out of the car, it was as if the British ex-boy band member could tell her was being watched because he glanced towards the car sitting on his street. Surprised to recognize the person in the driver’s seat, he looked both ways before stepping onto the road to approach the car.

“y/n” he sounded confused. “what are you doing here?” this was awkward. Feeling as though this was a mistake, it felt as though she was doing something wrong by just showing up out of the blue.

“Hi, Harry. Um. Hi” y/n was feeling a bit overwhelmed and a little nauseous with all the pressure around her. “could I like come in for just a minute or something.”

“pull in.” Harry invited her to go through the gate.

y/n did as she was told, pulling into the driveway before the gate closed. Harry invited her into his home, leading the way towards the living room off the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?” he was still trying to be hospitable even in this awkward situation.

“um. No, thank you.” y/n was trying to get the courage to just say it. “Okay so here’s the thing. I’m pregnant, and it’s kind of yours.”

The silence that followed made y/n want to sink into the couch she was sitting on and just disappear. The feeling of shame had washed over her. An uncontrollable feeling that was manifesting in nausea. Which is the moment was presented as more than just the feeling. A palm held over her mouth, the need to find a toilet overruled her desire to disappear into the couch she was still sitting on. “bathroom?” she mumbled, quickly questioning as she jolted off of the sofa. This sudden movement seemed to jump-start Harry’s brain because he pointed in the direction down the hall and as y/n went to go find the toilet before she threw up the smoothie, she had downed on her way over and probably ruining the carpet that for sure cost more than her monthly salary if not her entire years’ worth.

Y/N could feel the presents of the person behind her as she kneeled in front of the toilet, the uncontrollable wrenches ripped through her body. A comforting hand rubbed on her back, ensuring that her hair did not fall in front of her face and get any sick on her. Without being asked, Harry left the room, leaving y/n to sit on the cool floor. When he returned, he hands a glass of water and a mouth wash.

Sitting side by side, the two strangers suddenly had their two separate worlds twisted and knotted together as a result of one night. Love was not in the air; instead, it was passion and intoxication, which lead to where they were at. In that moment of processing, there was no I love you and excitement was shared between the two. “it will be alight.” Four words of comfort, and for y/n, those were the words she needed to hear. Because they were believable. At that moment, those four words were music to her ears, providing the first bit of comfort she has had all day.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles/reader #stylesvdaychallenge

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brazilian-hot-mess · 4 years

Text

you see, he really couldn’t believe his luck

Debut fic, yall!

Wrote thr draft when I was 14 or something, made some alterations and here it is, my firstborn.

Hope you enjoy :)

Today. It had to be today. The day Luciano would throw all the truth in Martín’s face, straight forward. He knew what he had to do very clearly in his head. After all the training in front of the mirror, he was sure.

Specially after the last birthday party they went and had that little “thingy” in the bathroom after the first sip of pure vodka in their lives.

Of course, first he had to find the bastard in the main hall.

–Martín! Oi, galego, wait, not you dude I don’t even know you, Tincho! - Martín was talking to his brother Sebastían while Luciano ran like a madman towards them.

–Luci! We were looking for you, did you skip last class? - Sebastían gave him a wide smile, while Martín looked at his own feet, a slight blush in his cheeks.

Luciano cleared his throat, unsteady but smiling as always. - Yeah, finishing a geography essay or something... Hi, Tincho, I was looking for you, can we, like, talk...? - the boy gave Martín a shy and hopeful grin. Sebastían raised a playful eyebrow at the two.

–We were just talking about how we were mad hungry, right Tinchito? - he glared at his brother over his glasses, hoping he would get the damn message. Martín stuttered for a hot minute before recomposing himself and answering like it was nothing.

–Ah, yes, I would die for a smoothie. - Luciano’s face lit up in the most leg shaking smile Martín had ever seen.

–Well, I was thinking just the same thing, dude. How crazy, huh? Don’t you think that’s crazy, Sebas? - Luciano stared at Sebastían, saying a million things in a single look. The blonde teen’s eyes widened as he tried to hide his laughter from the poorly disguised dispair.

–Nuts, yeah. But, oh no – he reached for his silent phone, staring shamelessly at its unlit screen - I think someone is calling me, I'm afraid you two will need to go alone to grab that smoothie - Martín mouthed a silent “Sebas, don’t you dare” only to be ruthlessly ignored – yeah so... see you at home, Tincho.

And just like that, for Martín desperation, he left. “Laughing, the bastard” Martín thought to himself.

The truth, whether the boy accepted or not, was that he was actively avoiding being alone with Luciano since their thing in that birthday party.

He tried to forget how close their lips came to each other, how fast his heart was pounding, and how he felt like he could explode at that moment. But he couldn’t. Even though he looked in the mirror countless times and told himself to “get a fucking grip my man”, and Martín really didn’t like to be contradicted, specially by his stupid little heart.

But there he was, at an arm length from that honey-eyed boy that made his knees shake and his palms sweat, against all his common sense. Going to grab a damn smoothie. Just the two of them. Like a date.

Like a date. Luciano really couldn’t believe his luck. Sebastían even helped, the madman. He would have to thank him later, right now all Luciano could think of was the fact that if he reached his arm, he could wrap his cinnamon colored fingers to Martín’s pale ones. Easy like that. No wonder why he was feeling that electricity running through his body like that. Luci grabbed the straps of his backpack to steady his hands (and also to anchor himself and create a little courage) and finally cleared his throat.

–So... do you know what smoothie you are going to ask for? I'm thinking in something green but I'm not sure if the taste would be even decent, you know – he looked sideways to Martín, feeling the moment. The blonde boy chuckled.

–Green smoothies. They look good for a picture but I don’t really trust them, I guess. I don’t trust no green food, actually.

–Don’t you eat chimichurri, though. It has greens.

–...I do.

–And don’t you drink that mate every time you get a little free time, and actually even when you don’t.

–Not the same. Don’t try to argue, it’s not the same, period. You wouldn’t understand. - Luci let loose an easy laugh and a “yeah, whatever you say hermanito” and Martín felt like he could float for making him smile. He smiled so easily, but Martín could swear he didn’t smile like that to anyone else, only to him.

They both grew silent for a hot minute, not uncomfortable with just being next to each other, but not comfortable either. Luci stopped walking suddenly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Now, it had to be now. Or he would go silent for the rest of his life.

–Tincho... - Martín froze in his spot – there’s something I have been wanting to talk to you. About Dani’s birthday party. Do you remember? - Martín shoved his hands into his pockets. He hated how Luciano had the ability to make him vulnerable like that so easily.

–You have to be a little more specific than that. I remember being crazy wasted, but I have some flashes from the night. It was wild from what I recall – he lied. He remembered everything. But he was not certain if Luciano also remembered how he crossed his arms in the shorter boy neck while their lips touched.

Luciano’s eyes flickered, a little bit hurt. He always spoke too much with his eyes, his father always said. Had he betrayed himself, shown too much? Or worse, maybe Martín really didn’t remember shit, maybe it wasn’t too important for him. Well, now or never then.

–Specific. Okay. - the boy took a deep breath, pulling all courage he could with the air. – We kissed each other. We kissed, in the bathroom. And I can’t stop thinking about you since. Well, actually, if I'm going to be completely honest, I think about you for a long while before that. I really do like you, you know. And I decided to finally say it, throw it to the universe, and I accept whatever comes back, but it would be nicer if it was a good response and not something, like, you telling me to go fuck off or some shit like that – he pressed his lips together, staring back at the shocked glare Martín was sending him. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. He fucked up. Somehow, he just knew it. - Puta merda, Martín, say something.

He sat on the edge of the sidewalk, all strength gone with the one-breath-confession he did. Martín, who was standing still looking at him until now finally decided to act alive and took a sit next to him, staring at nothing in particular in front of them, barely seeing anything. He softly kicked a little rock next to his feet, before letting a soft “I do remember that” under his breath.

Luciano lifted his hidden face from his palm and turned his whole body to the boy next to him. - You do.

-Yeah, I do. Everything, actually.

-Oh. Okay.

-I’ve been thinking about that for a while too, actually.

-Oh. Okay.

-Luciano, shut up. Listen, I've been thinking about what happened too. Because I kinda liked it?

-You’re not sure about it, what does that even mean? - Luci started to stand up.

-Ay, carajo, shut up and listen. I like you too. - he stood up in a hop, towering over Luciano just a little, just the perfect amount to make a point.

-Oh. You do. Oh Okay.

-Stop saying that. So, say something about it.

-Hm. I actually didn’t think I would get this far, to be honest. I had the rejection speech ready, just in case.

-But not a “I like you back” speech.

-No, not a “like you back” speech. But are you sure, though? Because if you’re saying this things to me only because you pity me, Martín, really dude, not a - Martín rolled his eyes so far up his head that he thought he would lose them in his skull, a second before shutting Luciano up by locking their lips together.

If Luciano didn’t believe his luck moments before for just be walking with Martín, right now he could swear he was delusional. Too good to be true. His hands slowly cupped Martín’s face while he proceeded to kiss him back, the blond boy’s hands in the back of his neck, soft but in a very secure grip.

They broke the kiss off when air made itself scarce, stepping from each other as if an electric shock had hit them both, smiling shily at each other.

-So... - Luciano shoved his hand in his back pockets, unable to hold back his smile. The smile Martín could swear Luciano smiled only to him. - are we still going to get that smoothie or...

Martín cleared his throat, cheeks red as if he had ran a marathon, and smiled a little malicious grin. -Of course we are. Nothing green, I don’t trust green smoothies.

-Yeah, me neither.

-And you’re paying this time.

-Excuse, what? Why?

-Well, is this a proper date or not, boludo? You asked me, you pay.

-Oh, I see. - Luci smirked. - It’s fair.

-And you should hold my hand too.

-Agreed.

-And in a proper date you’ll have to kiss me more, you know.

-Can’t argue with that.

-And no damn green smoothies.

-Nope. Don’t expect me to agree with you all the time, though.

-Of course not, it would lose all the fun.

Luciano smirked again. He really couldn’t believe his luck today.

#aph brazil #aph argentina #aph uruguay #lh brazil #lh argentina #lh uruguay #latin hetalia #my debut fic guys #been on this ship for far too long more than its deemed healthy actually #wont leave it tho #and it became a loooong fic #so sorry about that i guess #hope you enjoy anyways :)#brarg #mywriting #myfanfics

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Doggo (Spideypool)

Ft. Deadpool!Wade and a non powered Peter Parker

THERE’S MORE SPIDEYPOOL ON MY MASTERLIST!

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

"Sweet cheeks, do you think we should get you a dog?" Wade combed his fingers through Peter's hair lazily, smiling when the pretty brunette shifted on top of him with a low moan. "I mean, I can take care of your cute ass but what about when I'm not around?"

"Babe, why are you talking about dogs at three in the morning?" Peter yawned and curled tighter into Wade's chest. "I'm tired and I have to be up for work in a few hours. Go to sleep."

"Answer my question first. Should we get you a dog for when I'm not here?"

"Is this one of those things where you're worried about me being kidnapped cos I'm dating you?" Another yawn, but this time Peter peered up at Wade with sleepy eyes. "I feel like being Deadpool's boyfriend would mean no one is brave enough to try and kidnap me. I’m safe just cos your reputation, right?”

"You'd think so." Wade dropped a kiss on Peter's forehead and turned them in bed so they were cuddled together. "But whether that's true or not, you're still a teeny tiny civilian and I want to make sure you're okay all the time. Alright?"

"Mmmkay." Peter wound their legs together and sighed happily. "Whatever you want, babe. Get me a dog."

******

The following weekend, Wade showed up at Peter's door with smoothies from their favorite shop and what could only be described as a horse trailing along behind him.

"Um." Peter blinked at Wade, then blinked at the massive animal at his side. "Hey babe. Whatcha got there?"

"A smoothie." Wade held out a cup for Peter. "Got you a blueberry one."

"Uh, thanks." Peter took a sip of his smoothie. "But I was talking about the other thing you've got there."

"Oh!" Wade scratched behind the dog’s ears-- ears that were as high as Wade's waist. "This is Doggo. He's your new guard dog."

"Doggo." Peter repeated, and the canine's ears perked up happily. "That's-- you got me-- he's the size of a horse, Wade!"

"Maybe a miniature horse." Wade decided, and stepped back to pat at his chest, urging Doggo up and onto his hind legs so they were staring eye to eye. "But hey, no one will bother you when you walk him, right? Hell, I wouldn’t even want to bother you if I saw you walking with Doggo and there’s basically nothing that would keep me from dat booty.”

"Wade--"

"He's a mastiff!" Wade pushed the dog down then dropped to his knees and grabbed big handfuls of the animals face, booping their noses playfully. "A mastiff mixed with like... a moose. And he's a rescue so he just wants to be loved like crazy. Look at this face. LOOK AT THIS FACE! He has such a big head!"

"Yes...yes I can see that." Peter grimaced when Doggo licked a broad stripe up Wade's cheek. "I live in an apartment, babe. Mastiffs belong in big places with yards. Every dog belongs in a big place with a yard, but especially dogs that probably outweigh me.”

"So you can move in with me." Wade said oh so casually, stopping his stream of baby talk with Doggo to peek up at Peter. "I have a big place on the ground floor of my complex and my back deck looks out off the green belt. We could take him for walks every day together."

"But--!"

"Plus, I already had like, a hundred pounds of food delivered to my place and he's got a nice harness to wear and a big bed-- my god, did you know dog beds were so expensive? It would have been cheaper to buy him a twin mattress I swear. Put it all together in his room--"

"--his room?"

"Well, I've got three of them. Seems right that Doggo gets his own."

"Wade." Peter crouched down and whistled softly for Doggo, unable to help a grin when the beast came tromping over and flopped into a graceless sprawl at his feet. "Did you buy me a dog, or did you buy you a dog?"

"I bought you a dog." Wade insisted, grinning when Peter smooshed up Doggo's face and whispered something sweet into the big ears. "Adopted him and everything. His new birth certificate says Peter Parker and Wade Wilson, Parentals."

"Uh huh." Doggo rolled over and gave one of those great big puppy grins as Peter scratched at his stomach. "And whose address is on the birth certificate?"

"Um.... mine?"

"But I thought he was my dog."

"...he...is..."

"You gonna say it or are you gonna make me ask a million leading questions, first?" Peter challenged, raising his eyebrows knowingly when Wade blushed. "Come on. Out with it."

"Doggo and me want you to move in." Wade mumbled, kicking at the carpet shyly. "For protection reasons. And you know. Sexy reasons, too."

"Sexy reasons?"

"My reasons are sexy reasons." Wade grinned and Peter rolled his eyes. "Doggo's reasons are for protection. You won't be safer or more sexed up than if you're living with me, Pete."

"Why didn't you just ask me to move in?" Peter oophed when Doggo splatted a giant paw on his thigh because he wanted more scratches. "Why'd you buy a dog first?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't be able to resist his smooshy face." Wade said matter of factly. "I mean look at those eyes! That nose! How could you not want to come home to that face every day?"

Peter smiled down at Doggo and then up at Wade. "I could come home to your face every day."

"Really?"

"Well yeah." Peter stood to his feet and Doggo stood as well, going right to his side and sitting obediently. "I love you, babe."

"I love you too." Wade bent and kissed Peter, and then they both Ack!ed as Doggo jumped up and gave them a doggy kiss as well. "We will uh-- invest in wet wipes for the doggy kisses."

"It's fine." Peter laughed and wiped the slobber off his face. "By the way, what sort of name is Doggo?"

"A damned good one. Die mad about it."

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

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

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @desitonystark @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii

#ncts fics #spideypool #sundays with spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson

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nitannichionne · 4 years

Text

Poetry In Motion (Henry Cavill Fan Fic) Part 7: His Lady

PART 7:

REYNA POV

Friday held quite the surprise at work around lunch time. A box was delivered at the office for me. I opened it to find:

I frowned.

“What?” Angie asked at lunch. “What is it?”

“A corset.”

Angie’s eyes flared. “Lingerie?”

“No, don’t think so,” I frowned, and found a note. “Wear it to class and wear your dancing shoes.” I read aloud.

“To your poetry class?” Angie beamed. “Oooh.”

I blinked down at myself. “Wearing jeans.”

“WHAT?”

“I’m wearing jeans today, and I don’t have time to go home and change,” I shrugged. “I’ll take a shower here, and—” I shrugged. “do what I can.”

I jumped in the tepid shower in the gym instructor’s office and got dressed. Thankfully, this was one of those days I didn’t have to work out. I showered, did what I could with my hair and what little makeup I had in my bag and hurried over to poetry class in the corset, jeans and brown sandals.

I got there about five minutes late, as usual.

“Ms. Rhodes?” he quirked an eyebrow. No glasses? God help me.

“Hi,” I greeted sheepishly.

His gaze traveled over me, from my eyes to my neck to my cleavage to my hips and dropped to my feet. Everywhere his eyes touched felt like a touch. I had missed him and I found myself fighting a wealth of emotion I’d had successfully kept tamped down till this moment. Our eyes locked for longer than a moment, longer that it should have been, but not enough for us. I took my seat and pulled out my notebook.

That class felt longer. He talked about imagery, my poem that week:

SHE & I

She is a spellbinding sunset you love to behold in wonder Hoping her colors shine for you I am just the blue sky that greets you everyday Loves you in every way Give you little white ideas so you can form and dream She is a storm that thrills and thwarts you Makes you feel powerful, too weak to stand, run and hide I am the whispering wind-the air around you Something you take in and put out Part of you one moment, nothing to you the next A constant caress you never notice She is a fire that heats your dazzled blood Blazing frightfully, beautifully, enticing you to burn alive I am the sun, rising with you, falling with you In love with you-warming you Happy to glow as you decide where to go So tell me, love--who loves pain? The one who cannot receive Or the one who vainly gives The one who cannot believe Or the one who lives for true love?

He said the imagery was great, but it was clear he didn’t like it. I knew he didn’t like the content, but I didn’t care…well, not till just now. So much had changed in the last week, it felt like a lifetime ago. I turned in that poem, thinking about my past. I didn’t know I was handing it to the present/future. And who was to say he was going to stay?

After class, he waited for me. I walked out quietly, and he fell into step next to me.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a beautiful poem,” he exhaled. “but why?”

“It wasn’t written recently, if that’s what concerns you—”

“The timing does.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said softly. He led me to a motorcycle.

“This is yours?” I asked.

“Yes.” He got on.

“Something you want to tell me?” I asked. He had all these things on a teacher’s salary?

“Get on.”

I slid on behind him.

We sped the city streets, and I felt like a teenager, kind of carefree, my cheek against his back, looking at the sights and truthfully getting looks of women who saw me with him. He was terribly handsome, and he got double takes. Truthfully I was just happy to have my arms around him, my hands on his washboard, inhaling his scent because I was laying on him.

“Here we are.”

I saw the lake on left, a hill on my right, and looked at him puzzled.

“Ballroom dancing,” he winked. “Come on.”

He got off the bike and helped me off. Then he led me by the hand away from the lake but down a grassy hill where a huge dance floor came into view.

As soon as I saw it I gasped.

He squeezed my hand. “I’m not much of a night clubber, but this I can do.”

“You know how?”

He gave a one shoulder shrug. “It was a great way to meet girls?”

“You had trouble?” I couldn’t believe that.

“I was a late bloomer,” he shrugged.

“Oh, my God!” the DJ said over the mic. “Look who’s here!”

“Hey, Devin!” Henry greeted with a smile and wave. Women started catcalling and oohing.

“Hey, Henry! Back for a new season?” Devin asked. Female whoops sounded around me.

“When I can,” he smiled, swinging our joined hands. “I’m a bit busy.”

“Should have known you’d be here for the waltz,” Devin winked. “And who’s this?”

“My girlfriend,” he smiled brightly, lifting my head above my head and twirling me. A chorus of Awww’s went up from the women, some sounding happy for him, some not so much.

“Guess there’s no sharing?” Devin joked with a wink.

I saw so many women eye him. Some were young and really pretty, reminding me of Gina. Some had a whole look together, reminding me of some of the model-type friends I had who looked camera ready 24-7. I was just cute and smart, still was. I blinked at them.

“No, I’m not sharing her,” he said. “Her dance card is full.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at that. He had to know they were not talking about me.

The class was simple enough. I knew how to waltz, I did, but a certain power and control emanated from him when he did it. His hand pressed against mine was like a tiller as we sailed across and all over the floor. His other hand at my waist, there was no way I could go anywhere but where he wanted. Now I really understood why so many women danced on the balls of their feet. It made it easier for the man to control movement.

And it didn’t help that he at times stared into my eyes with such desire that I was breathless. No wonder he bought the corset for me. We moved across the floor so smoothly, the tops we wore probably made us look airy and flawless.

“You look beautiful.” He said out of nowhere.

I gave a small shy laugh, feeling awkward, and almost mis-stepped but his arm around my waist kept me in line. “Thank you. You’re a good dancer.”

“It’s easy if you know how to lead,” he says softly and dipped me. “Even better if the right one is in your arms and allows herself to be led.”

I blinked at that as he brought me back up slowly, his eyes not leaving mine.

“You old smoothy!” Devin said into the mic.

Henry laughed softly, but his canines showed. Why did I feel vulnerable all of a sudden?

We sat the last one out, watching people on the floor. His arm had not left my waist, it felt possessive, but I didn’t mind. I liked his touch, his hands on me. I craved it. I liked resting my head against him, knowing he was behind me.

“A sweet disorder in the dress—” He purred in my ear as his hand wanders up my side. “kindles in clothes a wantoness…” His hand moved to my cheek and down the side of my neck. “A lawn about the shoulders thrown into a fine distraction…” My eyes were caught in his but I felt his fingers move to my shoulder and down my arm to my stomach. “An erring lace, which here and there enthralls the crimson stomacher…” He sent goosebumps through me as he drew the outline of my rib down the center of my stomach and closed with his other hand around me. “You do bewitch me, Reyna.”

“You’re not going to do the whole thing?” I asked humorously.

“What?”

“Robert Herrick, it’s a favorite.”

HE looked impressed. “A cuff neglectful, and thereby ribands to flow confusedly. A winning wave, deserving note in the tempestuous petticoat…” He kissed my shoulder. “A careless shoe string in whose tie I see a wild civilty…” He kissed my neck and I shivered as his lips brushed my ear. “Do more bewitch me, than when art is too precise in every part.”

“Thank you.”

“For?” he asked, raising a eyebrow.

“I don’t have to be perfect or a magazine cover, you like me for me.”

“And all your little imperfections.” He kissed my nose. “Shall we go?” I snuggled under his chin, making him chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

We disappeared as the DJ changed the dance floor to a nightclub. I sighed, wanting to dance just a little longer, but being in his embrace made me want to go home.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #geralt #superman #romance #writing

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katrinawritesthings · 4 years

Text

jongtae/taekey; Taemin voice: hm.; nc-17

its Elle's birthday nd this is the most Elle energy fic I have ever written

🐌 crop top jonghyun

🐌 gremlin taemin

🐌 queer Supreme key

🐌 horny giggly jongtae

🐌 grump/pest taekey

@taketaemtoyourleader here you go uwu

“Now, see, Kibs,” Jonghyun says. His arms come up heavy and snug on Taemin’s shoulders, hands playing with his hair. “You know I like you because you put up with this every day and you never come complain to me.”

“It’s ‘cause he’s got a crush on me,” Taemin says.

Taemin’s dick is in bliss, which means that he's in bliss, and he bites a lazy smile as he lifts his arms up to hold onto his headboard. He has soft fluffy pillows nestled under him, loud hard rock music playing around him, and Jonghyun above him, fucking himself perfectly up and down on his cock in time with the music. He’s hot and sweaty and his whole body feels fuzzy, blurry, floaty with the pleasure that thumps through his veins and tingles under his skin.

He rolls his hips up to meet Jonghyun each time he comes down, their skin slapping together almost loud enough to be heard over the music, their bodies perfectly in tune with each other. Jonghyun is all sweat and smiles as well. His grin is nice sharp teeth between nice plush lips, his nice soft light brown hair is wild and mussed on his forehead, his body is full of nice thick muscles flexing with each movement. The fuzzy lavender shoulderless crop top sweater that he showed up in is even more askew than before, so far down his right shoulder that Taemin can practically see half of his chest, but it still clings tight around his ribs so Taemin can see his pretty abs and each deep line between them.

Taemin lowers one hand back down to feel, to run his fingers over Jonghyun’s muscles before he just holds his waist tight to guide him even better on his cock. He wishes he could see Jonghyun’s cock, heavy and leaky, but it’s hiding underneath his cute pleated burgundy skirt. He feels like maybe if he fucked Jonghyun harder Jonghyun would want to jerk off, so he does just that, digging his heels into the mattress and driving his hips up to snap against Jonghyun’s, to fuck his cock in deeper and put more pressure on his prostate.

Almost immediately Jonghyun’s eyelids flutter, his breath catches, his fingernails dig into Taemin’s chest through his shirt. He licks his lips and looks back at Taemin again with a wide, lazy smirk, eyes little glimmers through his lashes.

“You’re so good, dude,” he says loud over the music. “You’re so--fucking good.” His breath caught again there because Taemin slipped his hand around to cop a feel of his booty under his skirt. Taemin grins back lazily, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.

“You too,” he pants. His confidence boosts a little, enough for him to want to flip them over and really show Jonghyun what he can do, to hold his legs up and fuck him wide open. That would probably let him see Jonghyun’s dick, too, so he makes the snap decision to do just that.

Well, try to, at least; as he props himself up on one arm and wraps the other snug around Jonghyun’s waist to prepare to roll them over, they’re interrupted by his dorm door opening.

“God, Taemin, what have I told you about the fucking music, you’re gonna--y’all.”

Kibum stops in the doorway, phone in one hand and backpack dangling out of the other, and just looks at the both of them, mouth an annoyed line. Taemin is suddenly grateful now that Jonghyun’s skirt is at least covering their sexy bits as Kibum closes the door behind him and finishes dumping his bag on the floor.

“Hi,” he says lazily, lifting a hand from Jonghyun’s waist to wave. On top of him, Jonghyun looks away from Kibum, grinning at the wall and very obviously fighting back giggles with slightly pinked cheeks. Cute.

“Okay,” Kibum says. “Ignoring, this,” he says, waving a vague hand at Jonghyun, “turn your fucking music down, you’re gonna get us in trouble with the RA again.”

“Ooh,” Jonghyun says, He pops back up brightly, smiling wide at Kibum and raising his hand high above his head. “That’s me!” he chirps. This time Taemin looks away to muffle his laugh as Kibum just looks at them and then closes his eyes to sigh loudly.

“That’s--what the fuck, Jonghyun,” Kibum says. Jonghyun’s hand comes back down to Taemin’s chest and he shrugs easily.

“Sex good,” he says. “But anyway--his music’s fine. I already had him turn it down. But I actually was gonna come over here anyway to talk to you.”

“Ha,” Taemin says loudly. Ha fucking ha. Finally Kibum’s getting in trouble for something. Up until now Taemin thought it was just him that Jonghyun came to reprimand, but apparently he was just a side note? Hell yeah. Oh how the turntables.

“What the fuck? Why, what did I do?” Kibum whines. Jonghyun holds up one finger and leans forward on top of Taemin to reach for his phone on the headboard. As he does so he pulls halfway off of Taemin’s cock, and then when he moves back he settles back down, sucking him in all the way, and Taemin closes his eyes and hums happily as he holds Jonghyun down in his lap and rolls his hips up just slightly. Nice. “Quit getting off right in front of me,” Kibum snaps. Taemin chooses to ignore him and start feeling up Jonghyun’s sweaty thighs where he can get at the soft patches of skin between his over-the-knee socks and skirt. Those also are nice.

“You,” Jonghyun says slowly, thumbing through his phone with one hand and drawing little lines on Taemin’s chest with the other. “Are bothering the girls in the all gender bathroom and making a mess with all of your makeup, apparently.” He looks up from his phone to Kibum, who’s scowling even more, a familiar expression of indignant fury on his face. Taemin lifts his brows blandly. Sounds fake to him.

“I--they’re--every fucking day, I’m just--and I never--but they always--”

“Now, now,” Jonghyun says, wiggling his finger in his best stern mother gesture. “I know you’re real clean in there and I know that this complaint is a thinly veiled sludge of queerphobia because they’re upset that you exist outside of the binary in what they think is their space even though it’s literally a gender neutral bathroom made for you and not for them and they can shove it up their asses,” he says. “But you know it’s still my job to come deliver the complaint and make them think I care.”

He tosses his phone into the sheets next to them and sits up a little straighter, rolls his hips just the tiniest amount on Taemin’s dick with a little wink, and looks back to Kibum, who looks significantly less angry and significantly more grumpy and pacified.

“And I mostly wanted to ask you if I could tell them off about the queerphobic thing or if you don’t want that kind of stress in your life and I should just lie and tell them that you promised to be a good enby and clean up more to get them off your back.” He shrugs simply. “I don’t wanna drag you into discourse if you don’t wanna be in it,” he says.

“Hey, that’s real thoughtful,” Taemin says. He reaches up to pinch Jonghyun’s soft cheek when Jonghyun smiles down at him with pleased crescent eyes.

“Thanks,” he says.

“I mean,” Kibum sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair and then sighs again, a big puff of air through his lips. “I’m guessing I can’t go yell at them myself?” he asks hopefully. Taemin snorts; Jonghyun grins apologetically and shakes his head.

“I’ve been doing so well at keeping this floor nice and calm and peaceful this semester,” he says. “I’m gonna get a raise if I keep it up.”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t wanna interfere with that, would we,” Kibum mutters. Jonghyun pouts; Taemin sits up and wraps his arms around his waist protectively, frowning at his roommate.

“Be nice to him, he’s our mom,” he says. He’s their mom for the whole floor and he loves and supports them all so much.

“Do not,” Kibum says, one hand lifting only to chop back down through the air with each pause for emphasis. “Call him. Your mom. While. Your penis. Is. Inside of him.”

“Mommy,” Taemin grins, nuzzling into Jonghyun’s chest just to be a gremlin. He noses into the hem of Jonghyun’s sweater until he can push it down enough to reveal his nip and give it a tiny kiss. “Mommy, let me succ nourishment from your breast,” he murmurs into it.

“It’s ‘cause he’s got a crush on me,” Taemin says.

“I do not,” Kibum snaps, and then, when Taemin opens his mouth to tell him that he does, cuts him off. “Whatever--I guess, just. I got a project to do this week. Tell them I said I’ll be cleaner and if they get whiny again later you can tell them to stop being queerphobes.”

“Got it,” Jonghyun chirps, giving him a sunny thumbs up. “Now, uh.” He looks down to Taemin, eyes hooded and mischievous as he slips one hand down to cup his chin for a tiny kiss before glancing back. “Do you want me to leave or can I finish up?” he asks Kibum. Taemin leans a little more forward to kiss softly against his jawline so in case Kibum does kick him out he can at least get a couple last smoochies in. He’ll be fine jerking himself off but this is his first interaction with Jonghyun that wasn’t just a quick doorway visit. He’ll be pouty to see him go.

“No, you two can.” Kibum waves a vague hand at them again. Taemin brightens up happily. Hell yeah. “I was gonna go get a smoothie anyway.”

“Ooh,” Taemin says, even brighter. Hell fucking yeah. He takes the hand from Jonghyun’s booty to grab the wallet on his headboard and then chuck it at Kibum.

“I didn’t offer, but, sure,” Kibum says, catching it. He opens it and pulls out a five. “What do you want?” he asks as he tosses it back. Taemin makes no move to catch it and it falls somewhere on the bed that he’ll find later maybe probably.

“You already know my usual because you have a crush on me,” he says.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” Kibum snaps. The glare he gives Taemin could melt ice, but Taemin just grins broadly back.

“Why are you blushing then?” he asks. His eyes flick down to the pink flush coming up Kibum’s neck just to make sure that Kibum sees that he sees. The pink rises even higher as Kibum’s scowl grows.

“I’m gonna go to the pet store and buy you a dog biscuit and tell you it’s human food when I get back,” he grumbles, and he turns around and walks out without a glance back, mumbling under his breath. Taemin smiles fondly at his back until the door closes behind him. He’s so cute. They’re gonna be good boyfriends when Kibum finally admits that he has a crush.

“Anyway,” he says, turning back to Jonghyun. Jonghyun cocks a brow at him, looking amused yet also like he doesn’t want to bother digging into their business. Taemin presses a soft kiss to his bottom lip and slides his hands up his thighs. “Where were we?” he asks. It’s a rhetorical question, because he knows full well that his dick is still inside of Jonghyun’s booty, hard and throbby and eager to get back to the fricking. Jonghyun still giggles and pushes his hair out of his eyes.

“I think it was somewhere around, ‘You’re so good Taemin, fuck, you’re so fucking good,” he says thoughtfully.

“Ahh, of course,” Taemin grins. So they're on the same page. “Then let’s--” He gets one arm around Jonghyun’s waist again, pushes off of the bed with the other, and flips them over quickly, setting Jonghyun down against his pillows and smiling at his surprised squeak and loud laugh. Miraculously, he kept his dick in there too, and he’s real proud of himself as he pushes Jonghyun’s legs apart while he laughs into his hands.

Flipping Jonghyun’s cute skirt up too, he bites his lip when he can finally get the full picture. Jonghyun’s ween has softened slightly, probably from that whole conversation they all just had, but Taemin’s not worried. He can fix that quick enough. It’s still real cute and real hot. He leans down when Jonghyun tugs at his shoulder and accepts his messy kiss, rolling his hips slowly against Jonghyun to get readjusted and back in the mood.

“Let’s keep going,” he finishes. Jonghyun smiles wide against his mouth, one leg hooking around his hips.

“Please do,” he says, so Taemin does.

#jongtae #taekey #jonghyun #taemin #kibum #nc17 #smut #oneshot #what is keys project??? I don't know #what are either of them studying??? I don't know #what are the responsibilities of an RA besides just like. tell people to turn music down??? I don't know #College to me is an excuse to write dorm rooms and young adult questionable decisions and Good Times being gay #ydw #originally I just wanted jh in a cute skirt but like then I had to make a whole outfit to go with it obviously

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 4 years

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Labor of Love Chapter 5: A Critical Role Fanfic

I really can’t believe that this is the penultimate chapter of this fic, just one more chapter after this! It’s crazy. Again, the amount of support I’ve gotten over this AU is something I really appreciate, especially in these weird times. Thanks so much and I hope this chapter delivers what you need!

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4

Preview:

Somehow or another, Essek found himself at the gym.

Essek hated the gym...well, it was more the idea of the gym that he hated. He didn't like working out, nor did he enjoy being sweaty or sore. He had never achieved that post workout glow that so many claimed to get. Instead, when he finished working out he tended to look and feel like someone had run him over and then scraped him off the side of the road. His distaste for the gym had never been a problem before. He had a membership because...well, he felt that as a functioning adult he ought to have one and it was no more than that.

But Essek had to face the facts...he had gained some weight. It wasn't that he wasn't active or taking the stairs...but he was simply eating more than he had ever eaten in his whole life. And frequently. That was the real kicker. Three meals a day would have been some insurmountable hurdle before. He hadn't ever been hungry and when he did eat...it all tasted bland. But now? Well, Caleb had certainly changed a few things in his life. Essek was slender as most elves were, but he felt that if he were eating sweets he ought to at least commit to the gym for minimal activity.

Essek was on the treadmill, having plugged into to listen to a forty minute podcast as he walked at a brisk pace to get his heart rate up. Though, the way that the podcast was analyzing one of his favorite movies was enough to do that in spades. Regardless, Essek was about thirty minutes in when he noticed someone familiar on the other side of the room.

Yasha was impossible to miss, after all she was a veritable mountain of a woman. Tall and broad and muscular in the way that was mostly left to bodybuilders. The fact she was at a gym wasn’t what was surprising to Essek...the fact that she was at his gym was what was really throwing him off. Why was she there? That was a stupid question, obviously she was there to work out like he was. What were you supposed to do when you saw someone you knew in a public place? Essek didn’t know Yasha well...she was an acquaintance, but unlike most of his other acquaintances he actually didn’t despise her so his usual plan of attack to escape as quickly as possible didn’t seem appropriate. What did people usually do in this situation? Should he walk by and see if she saw him and reacted? No, then it would seem unnatural. Better to just finish up what he was doing and hope that she just left and didn’t notice him. That seemed like the most prudent course of action.

Essek spent the last ten minutes of his power walk trying not to crawl out of his own skin with anxiety. Essek had just finished his walk and was taking a drink from his water bottle when the sensation of being watched washed over him. Essek looked over and met Yasha’s gaze. They stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments...Yasha had just settled down from pull ups and was stretching her arms. She really was impressive, she could probably snap Essek’s spine in half by just flexing her arm. She waved at him awkwardly, and Essek...knowing he had to go through the door beside her to leave walked over in her direction.

“Good morning,” he greeted, hoping his voice sounded normal. His smile was plastered on his face like it was duct-taped and hanging by a thread, because there was little else he could do. “I didn’t know you came here.”

“Only recently,” Yasha confirmed, shifting on her feet as if ascertaining the best way to become smaller and less threatening...as if she were concerned that Essek was a prey animal who could be spooked at the sigh of her. “Fjord’s swimming...and I like to work out here because it’s not busy.”

“I understand that,” Essek admitted. If there was anything worse than being sweaty and sore and uncomfortable...it was being all of those things while also around people who could judge you for it. “Well...I’m done, and I was going to grab a smoothie at the bar...so…”

Essek tried not to cringe at his blatant awkwardness. Yasha nodded seriously, and then to his surprise placed back the dumbells and looked at him expectantly. Oh. She thought it had been an invitation to join him and not a hasty retreat. Well it would be rude to correct her, Essek thought at himself. Essek couldn’t be rude to her, even if he wanted to. She was Caleb’s friend. It was strategically important to him to be nice to Caleb’s friends. And also...he didn’t want to be rude to her, which was a new development in his life because he normally liked being rude to people but the thought of being mean to Yasha made him feel like he was going to choke on his own tongue for some reason. Was this what people felt all the time? He wasn’t sure this was a positive change anymore.

Essek meandered over to the place where a perky half-orc who looked like she could run ten miles a day and probably did hot yoga to unwind took his order. Essek got some kind of healthy smoothie monstrosity and sat down to drink in the noticeably uncomfortable chairs. It was as if they wanted to make you feel bad for sitting, another reason why Essek hated the gym. Yasha joined him, drinking her own smoothie. For the most uncomfortable minute of his life, Essek wondered if Yasha was expecting him to say something. The problem was that Essek was horrible at saying something. Or, he was at least horrible at saying something when it wasn’t one of the things that he was being paid to say. Essek still didn’t understand how people went around just...starting conversations and not seeming disingenuous. And worst of all, he was sure this would get back to Caleb and he didn’t stand a chance of escaping this conversation without fucking that up somehow. Thankfully, Yasha took pity on him and spoke first.

“So...Caleb,” Yasha noted.

“Yes. Quite,” Essek said.

And then neither of them were talking again, and Essek could feel his panic twisting at his gut. The quiet went on for at least a solid 30 seconds, with Essek squirming in that gods-awful seat and just wishing someone would just take him out with the nearest barbell. And then, Essek came to a sudden epiphany.

“Oh...was there something you wanted to ask?” Essek offered, and Yasha nodded.

“Yes.”

“I see...alright?” Essek asked, hoping that Yasha wasn’t planning on being the one taking him out.

“You like Caleb?” Yasha asked, and it wasn’t a question that was really a statement. It was a genuine curious question.

“I do,” Essek asked, not willing to commit to the other “l” word out loud. He could only get into trouble by doing that. Yasha nodded, her expression thoughtful as she regarded him. She met his eyes briefly and then ducked back down to look at her smoothie.

“And Caleb?” Yasha asked.

“...you’ll have to ask Caleb about that I suspect,” Essek said. Yasha nodded seriously but didn’t lift her gaze again, instead, she seemed content with swirling the straw of her smoothie. Essek didn’t know if he could say for sure...their relationship was in a bit of a hazy spot right now. What did you call someone you went on a date with and kissed once? Who texted you saying they wanted to do it again sometime. It wasn’t like they were together. And they certainly hadn’t had sex, so Essek wouldn’t call Caleb his lover or friend with benefits. But Essek had met his friends and been over to his house before. It was all very confusing to Essek in a way that it probably wasn’t confusing to anyone else on the planet. What would he call Caleb? His almost-boyfriend? That felt so juvenile, and yet that was the best description he could think of.

“You make him happy,” Yasha said, looking back up at Essek.

“...I’m glad, he makes me happy too,” Essek admitted. “All of you do...I wasn’t very happy before I met all of you, but I think I might be getting there.”

“That’s good,” Yasha said, her quiet voice sure and firm in her conviction. Essek was about to agree with her, when he spotted Fjord ducking out from the hallway. Though Essek wouldn’t say that Fjord was his type, it was hard to deny that the man was attractive. Especially as his hair dripped and droplets traced the column of his neck and his shirt clung to his chest. He felt like to preserve Fjord’s dignity and Essek’s own honor he ought to look away.

“Oh, hello Essek,” Fjord greeted kindly. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“That makes two of us,” Essek noted, trying to find Fjord’s eyes more interesting then his see-through shirt...which he was having a hard time with.

“I...uh, heard your date with Caleb went well,” Fjord said, looking somewhat awkward for the one in the group who tended to do the talking. Essek wondered if it was because he was talking about his friend, or if it was just the topic of romance that was somewhat daunting for him. Essek nodded, only because he was bereft of any substantial answer. Fjord seemed to accept this. “Well, I’m glad. It’s good for Caleb...to, you know, have someone he likes spending time with.”

Essek was about to say something...to agree perhaps, when Fjord’s phone buzzed. He looked at it, did a double take, and then immediately looked at Yasha.

“Yasha, we’re gonna need to go,” Fjord said, calmly but firmly. “Issue at the bakery.”

Yasha nodded and stood up from her seat as she did.

“Essek, it was nice seeing you,” Fjord promised, holding out his hand. Essek took it, and was surprised but the assured grip. “Have a nice day now. We’ll see you in...three days right?”

“Thank you...you as well. I hope that everything is fine at the bakery,” Essek wished, thinking suddenly of the vow renewal. “See you then.”

Fjord smiled and then him and Yasha were off, leaving Essek behind. Essek threw away his drink, his stomach flipping like he had just been in a car crash.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Essek grumbled to himself under his breath as he rushed out to his car. He turned on the radio in an effort to drown his own twisting and agonizing thoughts but found himself still extremely unsettled. “Why are you so stupid?”

“Welcome back, you are listening to 836 KRN, Rosohna Hit Music, back with more of our top ten countdown. Number 1 again for the second week in a row is “Best Laid Plans” by Kaylie-”

Essek growled, and turned the radio off.

------

By the time that Essek arrived to the party, it was in full swing at the Theylss ancestral home. Cars lined the streets, not that Essek minded parking further away. He personally always enjoyed having a moment or two to breath in the fresh night air and cool his head before interacting with his relatives. It never did him well to come into a viper den at full throttle. Essek made a subdued entrance to the party, handing off his overcoat to be hung in the closet and then finding the closest server carrying drinks. Even from the first moments, he attempted to stick to the outer fray of the party, but as always his mother sniffed him out within five minutes of arrival.

"Essek," Deirta called, waving him over. Essek obliged her. "A wonderful suit. Did you get it at the family's tailor, darling?"

"As always, mother," Essek sighed. He did look rather fetching that night, but then again he always did. He had opted for a black suit, but with some touches of gold as opposed to his usual silver to spice things up. He had wondered what Caleb would have thought of him tonight, and then had immediately stopped thinking about it for danger of getting an aneurism.

The entire den was here, half-siblings and distant cousins, “uncles” and “aunts” and relatives of every sort and enough spouses and lovers and children that it made his head spin. Usually he would find a dark corner after he got his drink (or drinks) and fade into the background after his round of greetings. Unfortunately his mother had hooked him like a fish before he could do so, and was probably planning on subjecting him to another round of introductions. The event was being held at the ancestral home, as most important den events were. Really, this was just a family reunion but with other causes. Namely, all of the relatives were here for the Vow Renewal that they were all invited to as members of Den Theylss. Essek would have to play a balancing act between den member and employee, and would have to find a way to make everyone happy. But then again, he was good at performing miracles for an atheist.

“I am happy you made it tonight,” Deirta said as she smiled at a passing great-uncle. “I thought you might have been too busy.”

“Too busy?” Essek asked. “For the den? Never. But what did you think I would be too busy with?”

“Preparations, dear, that’s why we are all here, isn’t it?” Deirta pointed out. “Our Queen’s most glorious Vow Renewal, I hear it will be quite the event and that you have had a lot to do with that.”

“Don’t gloat around family, Mother, it’s a tad gauche isn’t it?” Essek said with a pointed smile. “I have done only what my employer asked of me, and little else.”

“The only thing that is gauche is being too humble,” Deirta said. “In this fast paced time, it is important to continue to uphold the good name of Theylss in this city, and the world, Essek. And you do that, and you are almost faultless in that regard. In fact, if the rest of the relatives could follow your example I dare say our influence would be felt all the way to Tal’dorei.”

“I am sensing a but, Mother,” Essek said.

“Oh no caveats, I’d rather not politics right now dear.”

“I’ll pretend like you're not the one who told me that everything is politics. Well then if the den’s influence in Tal’dorei isn’t on your mind, what would you like to talk about?”

“I should like to know about the maiden who stole my boy’s heart, enough that he should see fit to mention her to me,” Deirta said with a light disingenuous laugh.

“Mother,” Essek said warningly. Deirta looked unimpressed...in fact, she seemed charmed at Essek’s annoyance.

“I am aware of your private nature, Essek, and I respect that.”

“Are you?” Essek asked sarcastically.

“I am. In fact, I think it’s a good thing to keep certain things private. You have never caused a mess that I have needed to clean up, a standard that not many of your siblings or cousins have met before you nor have they after. I do have certain expectations, but I also trust that you will choose a partner befitting of your station and of our family’s reputation.”

“And if I haven’t?” Essek asked.

“You know the answer to that, Essek,” Deirta said. “I will do everything in my power to make you see reason and try to convince you of a partnership that will equally benefit you and your chosen mate.”

“Mate,” Essek said, nose scrunching with distaste.

“I know, I know, call me old fashioned,” Deirta sighed. “You know, your brother brought his girlfriend with him tonight. You ought to have brought yours.”

“We aren’t together like that,” Essek told her.

“Oh?” Deirta asked, though she didn’t sound too surprised.

“We’ve...hung out a fair bit, but only gone on one date. That night that you called me was our first one,” Essek informed her.

“I’m sure we could have impressed her as your second outing.”

“Mother, I’m not sure that meeting the den is the best second date idea.”

“But you expect the arrangement to continue, as it were?”

“I should hope so...it seems like it.”

“Oh Essek, won’t you tell me something about her? You know I could just get on the phone and find out.”

“Yes, but you won’t.” If you know what’s good for you, is what Essek didn’t say but his mother surely heard.

“You know that it is only because I worry for you,” Deirta said before stopping and smoothing the lapels of his already immaculate jacket. “Only the best for my boy.”

“Of course, Mother,” Essek promised, and his mother gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and seemed to dismiss him. Essek couldn’t help his sigh of relief as he turned around, and then suddenly realized that he had been deposited right in front of Verin and his girlfriend...who for the life of him he couldn’t remember what her name was. She was half-orc and wore her hair in braids and an understated but appropriate little black dress. However, despite her orcish features, she was relatively delicate in her frame...which led him to believe the other half was drow, though he wouldn’t ask her for fear of being rude. What was her name? Sanemi? Sa...something-or-other?

“I see Mother’s done taking you for a walk,” Verin noted, raising his glass.

“I suppose she’s waiting for me to demonstrate my knowledge of sitting and staying,” Essek said, taking the free seat with a sigh.

“You remember Samezi?” Verin said, motioning to his girlfriend.

“Hello,” Essek greeted as he inclined his head to her.

“It’s been a bit,” Samezi said, lifting her glass to her lips and taking a sip. “Still up to the usual business then?”

“As always,” Essek said. “I tend to stay busy with my job being what it is...especially now. I imagine that you are also busy, aren’t you Verin?”

“Oh come off it,” Verin said with a roll of his eyes. “My job is just as important as yours.”

“Of course, of course,” Essek said idly.

“But then again, not all of us get to have a hand in the Bright Queen’s Vow Renewal,” Samezi pointed out before leaning forward and looking extremely interested. “There has to be something that you can tell us.”

“What, so you can write about it in your paper?” Verin laughed.

“I’m an investigative journalist,” Samezi scoffed before giving Essek a shrewd look. “Though of course my colleagues in the Culture section may like to hear a rumor or two...to drum up excitement and interest of course.”

“All I can say is, that Leylas Kryn intends for this ceremony to not only demonstrate the Xhorhassian cultural boom, but to celebrate the influx of peoples and cultures that define our country on the world stage.”

“What a perfectly formulated answer, almost exactly word for word from the XCI press release,” Samezi sighed, almost pouting but not quite. Essek wasn’t particularly moved, though he imagined that Verin was a sucker for it.

“Actually, exactly word for word. I was the one who wrote it,” Essek reminded her.

“...what exactly do you do for Leylas Kryn?” Verin asked, and Essek normally would be annoyed considering he had literally been working this job for five years and had probably explained this to Verin at least a dozen times before, but he was feeling charitable today and didn’t feel like embarrassing his brother in front of his girlfriend. He probably embarrassed himself in front of her enough without his help.

“Anything that she requires of course,” Essek said simply.

“Like a mob enforcer,” Verin said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, badge-boy?”

“You really are the most insufferable person I know,” Verin scoffed.

“I know,” Essek said smugly. “But you make it so much fun, you know?”

There was more that Verin seemingly wanted to say, when there was the sound of a bell ringing. Essek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Could their Mother do anything without the artifice of drama? But of course she probably got off on asserting her power and dominance over all the relatives. Like beckoned dogs, conversations stuttered and they were all directed to the long and elaborate set up dinner table. Deirta sat at the head of the table, and everyone sat at their assigned seats...though there were no names everyone knew the order in which they were expected to sit.

“Before we sit to eat, the prayer?” Deirta said as they all stood at their seats. Essek duck his head like he was expected to. “Bless us, O Light, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy radiance, through the Luxon our Lord.”

“Blessed be,” Essek murmured along with everyone else. At that point only after Deirta took her seat, were they permitted to sit alongside her.

The dinner itself was the usual fair afforded to them. There were about six courses, soup, salad, appetizer, entree, dessert, cheese and fruit course, and then after dinner drinks. Essek managed about two bites of each, and resisted pushing food around on his plate like a teenager. There was just nothing appetizing to hearing a distant cousin talk for the fourth time about their job in the stock exchange, or an uncle complaining about things with a vaguely racist undertone. Really the act of dinner was a performance for everyone involved. They were all supposed to hem and haw at his mother’s beautiful silverware and ancient passed-down porcelain that probably belonged in a museum somewhere, and then admire a small four bite piece of fish with an inedible garnish that the caterer had made that was so in vogue right now.

The food wasn’t even good, Essek thought frustratedly. It just looked pretty. What was the point of eating something that looked pretty if it wasn’t sumptuous? He thought of all the simple things that Caleb and his friends had prepared, all the delicious and heartfelt food that put this celebrity caterer to shame. He hadn’t thought himself a food snob before...but it appeared that he had become one with Caleb’s help. He wondered what Caleb would do at this stifling display, food besides the point. He had the sense that Caleb could be a social chameleon when he wanted to be, not unlike him really. Essek was sure Caleb would do well amongst the den of vipers and hold his own, if his family could even get past the fact that he was a human.

If his family could get past the fact that Essek was gay.

Now, to the credit of his society, gay relationships were normal. After all, Leylas and Quana were their spiritual leaders of the nation...and actual leaders in the most important arena which was the public consciousness. He wouldn’t even be the first Theylss kid to have a significant other of the same sex. But it was always who you were dating that was the issue. Essek had never cared enough before to put any significant other through his family. As he watched the candles burn and fat globs of white wax drip to the antique candle holders...he wondered idly what the reaction to Caleb would be.

Did he want that? Did he want Caleb to go through the scrutiny? Did Essek love Caleb enough to subject him to this? Or maybe it was the other way...maybe he was selfish enough to consider it. Would Caleb even like him...if he knew who Essek really was? He liked to pretend he was different...but at the end of the day would he just be a Theylss? Would he ruin everything he had with his intentions?

Essek was sipping a dessert wine and idly checking his phone under the table, sneaking it like he was a teenager in school again. Really, he was mostly trying to distract himself from his spiralling thoughts. His mother shot him a few disapproving looks, but wouldn’t say anything unless someone else said something first. His mother was dependable like that, she never cared unless it would hurt her reputation. His phone buzzed in his hand, and it made him jump.

Essek stared at his phone. Caleb?

“Excuse me,” Essek said, shrugging off the looks and slipping into the hallway outside the dining room. No one really noticed him leaving, or if they did they didn’t care enough to stop him from going. After all they had just entered into the retell stories they had heard a thousand times part of the dinner, and Essek was scarcely involved enough in any of those stories to even be considered a background character they needed to call on.

“Hello, Essek?” Caleb’s voice rang in his ear.

“Hello?” Essek asked, confused albeit slightly delighted that Caleb was actually calling him and giving him such a clean out.

“Are you busy at the moment?”

The tone in Caleb’s voice took the delight right out of Essek’s mind. Essek prided himself on being able to read the mood in a room...growing up with the mother he did certainly made such a skill invaluable. It didn’t take a genius like him to figure out that Caleb sounded stressed.

“What’s wrong?” Essek asked, ducking out into the sitting room away from prying eyes and listening ears. His back was against the wall, so that if anyone came around the corner he would be able to see them. There were plenty of things he needed, but the Theylss family inserting themselves into this situation somehow was not one of them.

“Accident with the cake,” Caleb said. “A shelf broke and fell on it along with everything on the shelf, and basically completely smashed it. We’re going to have to remake the cake in a day.”

“Is it possible?” Essek asked, calculating in his mind all the things that could go wrong. What would he have to do to make up for this? How could he make this situation work for his and everyone else’s advantage?

“It’s possible, we’re going to have to close the bakery and spend all night today, all day tomorrow, and maybe even the next night working on it. We hadn’t put on some of the most intricate designs so those are safe, but the flowers and the cake itself is ruined.”

“I see,” Essek said, taking a deep breath. Okay, it was a rescue operation then. That was something Essek could certainly handle.

"I wanted to call you first to ask...should we tell the Bright Queen?"

"Under no circumstances. If we can fix it, it's better not to worry her," Essek said firmly before he surprised himself. "Are you in need of any extra hands?"

"Extra hands?"

"I offer my assistance of course," Essek clarified.

"Yes, if you don't mind. We could definitely use some more help on this,” Caleb said, sounding relieved. “Danke-thank you, Essek. I can’t tell you how much that makes me feel better.”

“I’ve hardly done anything yet,” Essek said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Caleb hung up the phone and Essek immediately exited the room to where the rest of the family was seated.

“Forgive me, but I’m going to have to leave,” Essek said, scooping up his jacket. “Work emergency.”

“Really?” Deirta asked, eyebrows flying into her hairline. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

“Not at all, Mother. As always, you know I can handle it,” Essek said, moving over to give her expectant turned cheek a kiss. “Have a wonderful evening, and I’ll see you all at the Vow Renewal.”

Essek walked quickly out the door before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. He started up the car, and broke probably five different speed limits on his way to the bakery. When he arrived, the bakery seemed dark and quiet, but he had been told the back door was open. With a bit of hesitation, he opened the back door into complete chaos.

“Essek!” Jester said, rushing to embrace him. Her smile was full of frosting and glitter...literally. She looked like she had gotten into an argument with powdered sugar and a tinsel. Her arms were soft and strong and wrapped around his middle like he was the person she had most wanted to see in this world, and Essek felt so oddly close to tears that he half wanted to run back out the door. “Oh Essek, I’m so glad you are here! Oh wow, you look so nice! I’m sorry I think I got stuff on your jacket.”

“It is no problem,” Essek said, shucking off his jacket. He draped it over his arm with care...after all it was an expensive jacket. “I pay for dry-cleaning anyways.”

“Is Essek here?” Caleb said, appearing from around the corner. He looked frazzled, utterly fried and blanched by stress. His hair was half-falling out of his bun, and his clothing was in general disarray...more than usual. “Essek…”

“Give us a moment?” Essek asked Jester, who saluted and then skipped back to the back of the shop looking pleased with herself. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I am very glad you are here,” Caleb said breathlessly, managing a fragile smile.

“Of course, whatever you need,” Essek said, reaching out automatically and then his hand froze. Caleb didn’t move away, and so bolstering his courage he tucked a stray lock of copper hair behind Caleb’s ear. “Everything will be fine. We’ll get what we need to get done, done.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Caleb said before suddenly his face flushed as he seemingly took in Essek’s outfit. Oh. Well, Essek thought. It seems like his efforts would go appreciated. It was a rather unexpected but appreciated gift during the sudden stress.

“I never disappoint my employer, I doubt this will be the first time it happens,” Essek said. “What’s the status with everything?”

“We remade the cakes this morning. Yasha and Fjord were just pulling them out of the freezer now,” Caleb said as they walked behind the counter. “The sugar flowers were a total loss, so Nott, Jester, and Caduceus are working on that. Still need a fresh batch of the filling and we still have an extra batch of the frosting so we’re using that to start...though we’ll probably need to make another too.”

“And the enchantments?”

“We had extra of the syrups we were using to soak into the cake that contained the main enchantment. We have stock of the illusion enchantment, but we’ll have to redo the custom starlight enchantment though,” Caleb said as they entered the chaotic workplace. It was the part of the bakery that Essek hadn’t yet seen. There were long work tables, walk-in fridges, large industrial ovens and stoves and sinks as well. The sinks were a catastrophe of pots and pans and Essek could see the attempts to clean out the fridge where the shelf had given way.

“This,” Essek said, pointing to the mess. He rolled up his sleeves as he assessed the disaster in front of him, formulating a plan of attack. “This I can handle, as well as any assistance you may need on the enchantment. Cleaning up this will help everything flow smoother and more efficient, as well as keep things sanitary.”

“Essek I couldn’t-”

“You can and you did, you already asked,” Essek informed him as he put his foot down.

“But you are wearing a suit that probably costs more than all of my clothes put together,” Caleb argued.

“And I’ll buy a new suit and I’ll buy you one too while I’m at it,” Essek said shortly, as he placed his hands on his hips. “Go mitigate your own disaster, I’ve got this handled.”

“Thank you,” Caleb said, full of gratitude. And for a moment Essek was sure Caleb was going to kiss him, but then Fjord’s yelp drew him away with another look. Essek surveyed the damage in front of him, just as something was thrown at his head and obscured his vision. Essek yanked the offending cloth off and realized he was holding an apron.

“You might need that,” Beauregard pointed out. Essek looped it over his head and tied it securely to his waist, thankfully it was grey. Grey was a color that Essek could work with.

“Now he looks like one of the team,” Jester said happily as she delicately rolled sugar into beautiful petals.

“It suits you,” Caduceus said, walking by with a tray full of decorations and sparkles and jars of glittering orbs.

“Where are the gloves?” Essek asked, yanking open the dishwasher which...thank all the gods in the merciful plains was empty.

“Second drawer to the left!” Veth shouted back shrilly. Essek opened the drawer and found a pair of bright pink rubber gloves. It almost hurt him physically to put them on...but oh, the things he would do for love. Essek immediately set about separating out the hand-wash-only utensils from the machine-washables, after which he did a cursory soak to the hardest hit items bowls with dried-on batter or fillings or any other number of things that may occur during the baking process that was still a mystery to Essek. The rest of it was power-washed and then loaded up into the two industrial grade dishwashers efficiently. Even with both full and running, there was still a large amount of things to clean, though it was already much neater and more organized. Not knowing where things were supposed to be placed, and not willing to break the concentration of those who needed it to ask, he set about laying out the rest of the hand-washed things by category so it would be easy to find as they dried and then scrubbing down the counters that had been marred by the dirty dishes.

Essek was just hand-drying some of the wooden spoons when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Caduceus standing in front of him with a tea-cup

“Want to give this a try?” Caduceus asked Essek. Essek looked to see the table of decorators all holding their own cups, and a tea-set placed on the work-bench.

“We are taking a fiver,” Beau answered the question that had just popped into Essek’s brain.

“Oh,” Essek said, as Caduceus pressed a cup into his hands. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Caduceus said. “It’s important to take a deep breath and a minute, especially during creative pursuits.”

“I haven’t done anything particularly creative,” Essek pointed out, looking upon the work table that was overflowing with beautiful white sugar roses, and beautiful dark purple sugar calla lilies, and silver hydrangeas. Yasha was admiring some of them and gave Essek a shy wave that Essek returned.

“Come over here,” Jester said as she waved him over. Essek walked over and saw what Jester had been furiously working at. He nearly went breathless at the picture perfect miniature statues of both Leylas and Quana together. They were both dressed in the outfits that they would wear to the Vow Renewal, on Jester’s tome-pad was the references and pictures she had been given. The amount of detail that had gone into the recreation was stunning, from the diamond drops of the earrings Leylas would be wearing, to Quana’s wedding band on her tiny little finger.

“Jester, this is absolutely beautiful,” Essek said, in awe.

“I was working on it before everything went to shit so mini-L and mini-Q were safe from the Shelves of Doom,” Jester explained. “They are actually made of modeling chocolate, so they are completely edible.”

“That’s incredible,” Essek said, continuing to look on with longing. He didn’t understand how a person discovered such a talent for art and gave it such an interesting application.

“Thank you,” Jester said, nearly glowing with praise. Essek felt his mouth attempting to twist up into a smile...and he wondered if he was actually doing it right. Jester didn’t correct him, so he assumed he was doing it alright. It was then that he noticed that Caleb wasn’t in the kitchen proper, he was sitting by the door with Frumpkin nearly spilling out of his lap.

The cake itself was on the stand, yet to be decorated besides a base of white frosting. It was sitting in the walk in fridge, which Fjord closed before accepting his own cup of tea from Caduceus. Essek felt a sense of relief, that at least the cake itself was done, though he knew the decorating would be just as tiring and time-consuming as the making.

“Caleb?” Essek asked, walking over to where he was leaned against the wall. When Essek approached, Caleb immediately startled and then nearly fell off his stool. He looked around for a moment, like he had lost track of where he was, before his gaze settled on Essek. Frumpkin stood up and nudged his head beneath Caleb’s chin, purring so loudly that even Essek heard him. Caleb spent a moment or two stroking along Frumpkin’s flank. For a moment Caleb met Frumpkin’s eyes, and then with a pleased soft meow Frumpkin jumped down dutifully. He immediately trotted over to Essek and rubbed his body against his legs, his tail flicking with pleasure. Essek scooped up the cat, its wide eyes looking into Essek’s with a force that just Essek want to squeeze this cute little creature and never let it go. For a moment Essek stared at the cat before he came to a sudden realization.

“Your cat’s a familiar!” Essek said, feeling a bit betrayed. He settled Frumpkin down carefully, and then propped his hands on his hips.

“Guilty as charged,” Caleb said apologetically.

“And here I thought you liked me,” Essek said to the cat, who had sat and gave Essek a plaintive meow, like Frumpkin expected Essek to bend over backwards to pick him up again.

“He does like you,” Caleb laughed. “He also perhaps did get some direction to be extra cute in your company.”

“A scoundrel, just like his owner,” Essek said with a haughty sniff. Caleb got up from his stool stiffly and stretched, raising his arms above his head. His shirt came up with it, and Essek felt the burning need to look away. It was too late though. Happy trail. Caleb had a happy trail, and Essek was probably emitting a scream that only dogs could hear as his brains nearly boiled over.

He had never thought like this in whole life, not even when he had been in mutually beneficial relationships. Essek had never felt the whip-crack of desire smack him across the face and do funny things to his heart before. Was this what normal people felt about strangers and celebrities and people they liked all the time? What a totally disconcerting sensation but more importantly...oh Gods, he needed to get laid.

“We have some more work to get done tonight,” Caleb explained, forcing Essek to refocus. He hoped Caleb didn’t think he had been staring at him like he was a piece of meat. “I would like to at least get the buttercream frosting done so that way we can just focus on the decorating tomorrow.”

“You’re going to want to see him do that,” Fjord said. “Caleb’s really good at that.”

“Don’t talk me up too much,” Caleb said as he grabbed the cup of tea that Caduceus had set down on the workbench for him. Essek finally took a sip of his own tea. It was a fragrant blend, blueberry and blackcurrant and elderberry came on the tongue first but with the steam came the smooth notes of bold black tea and the sweet floral notes of hibiscus and some kind of flower.

“This tea is lovely,” Essek told Caduceus.

“Thank you, I get most of the ingredients from my family back home,” Caduceus said.

“Here,” Caleb said, sliding Essek a plate full of cookies that Veth and Fjord were skimping from in turn. “That should go nicely with that.”

“Have you ever had a macaron, Essek?” Jester asked excitedly, motioning to a certain kind of cookie on the plate. When Essek shook his head, she smiled even broader. “You’ve got to try one.”

Essek picked up the small cookie. It looked like a sandwich, and was much lighter than he had expected. He popped it into his mouth. The crust, if Essek could even call it a crust, shattered and melted away as if it had never existed to begin with. The cookie itself was soft and utterly toothsome with just a little bit of chew, while flavors of vanilla, almond, and pistachio perfectly melted together and leaving Essek sighing with pleasure. Essek looked up to see Jester looking at him intently from where she was basically laying on the table.

“Essek, did you realize that you are pretty sexy when you eat?” Jester asked very seriously.

“What does that even mean?” Essek asked, feeling his ear twitch with annoyance.

“Oh nothing man, you look like you are really enjoying putting that in your mouth,” Beau snickered.

“I don’t appreciate that innuendo,” Essek said with a roll of his eyes. He did his absolute best to sneak a glimpse at Caleb, who had half-sunk into the seat he was in and was looking very flushed. Weirdly, Essek wanted to shake Jester’s hand for this unexpected gift. Well then. He grabbed another cookie. This one was much plainer and Essek took a bite. Who knew that a shortbread cookie could become a revelation. It was light, buttery and crumbling and deceptively simple enough that it made Essek wonder if even he could make something like that. But also dipped into Caduceus’s tea? A perfect match, Essek could imagine eating these cookies every day for the rest of his life. “This might be up there with the Radler cupcake, Caleb.”

“I could add lemon zest to them,” Caleb offered.

“Don’t you dare,” Essek warned. “I’ll force you to make them all the time.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if it made you happy,” Caleb said with a shy smile. Essek caught his smile and met it with a smile of his own...an actual smile, that felt a little strange blossoming on his face. He wasn’t sure he had the muscles developed to actually smile genuinely, but if Caleb kept looking at him like he had just hung the moon from the sky he was sure he would get into practice.

“You two are flirting again,” Beauregard groaned. Fjord flicked some crumbs at Beau, and her annoyance immediately evaporated and she flicked it back. Essek realized that she was most likely joking.

“They are cute,” Yasha said, chiding Beau with a soft almost-smile that looked somewhat bittersweet.

“I’m not cute, I’m devastatingly attractive,” Essek noted.

“Do you always have to be patronizing?” Beau asked.

“Yes, I do,” Essek said with a smug smile.

“I’m going to do some frosting,” Caleb said, patting Essek’s shoulder. He didn’t move closer to kiss him or hug him...as much as he might have liked that in theory, Essek wasn’t sure yet how he felt about overt displays of affection. But Essek did catch his fingers for just a moment, and met Caleb’s gaze. He felt it warm him all the way from the tips of his ears to his toes, settling comfortably in his belly like the cookies and the warm tea.

“Alright, back to work folks!” Veth said, clapping her hands.

“I’ll help you put away the utensils,” Fjord offered to Essek. “I’ll show you where everything goes.”

“Ah, thank you,” Essek said as he went to join Fjord. He opened the drawers and cabinets and demonstrated where everything went and in what order, and Essek did his best to commit those things to memory. Not that he assumed he would ever have to help in the back of the bakery ever again, but it was always good to be prepared for the unexpected. Essek quite liked organizing anyways, it was the reason that all of his clothing was organized by color in his closet. He spent a while doing that, before going over to help Yasha and Beauregard clean up the floors and counters. He got the sense that the frantic energy of the hours before was winding down, and the Mighty Nein seems to feel relieved that they would make it for the Vow Renewal. Essek had just finished when he looked over at what Caleb was up to.

He was spinning the cake, which was terrifying to Essek but apparently no one else found it unusual. With practiced flicks of wrists and inhumanly steady hands, ivory buttercream became drapes and flowers and embellishments. All of them perfectly spaced apart and nearly sewed together with militaristic accuracy. The similarity between this and the precarious act of copying spells into a spellbook was almost eerie. He was on the second tier of the cake out of the tower of six, and then just as easily transitioned up to the third tier.

“Caleb’s in the zone right now,” Fjord translated, and Essek realized that most of the others were gathering their bags. They all looked absolutely exhausted, and Essek checked his watch. Two in the morning...he was used to being awake at odd hours, after all, he only needed to trance for four hours a day. But for all of them? This must be torture. “I hate to ask, but Veth called Yeza and he’s going to help me get everyone home. I know Caleb will refuse until he’s done so do you think…?”

“I’ll get Caleb home, don’t worry,” Essek promised. Fjord gave Essek a clap on the shoulder and a grateful smile, before herding the obviously extremely sleepy Mighty Nein out the door, sans Caleb. Essek perched himself on a stool and watched Caleb work, steady and sure for at least another hour. Essek committed to memorizing the way his wrists flicked and his hands moved and the delicious profile he cut, and though he really should have felt bad ogling at Caleb like that he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. Caleb finished up the third tier of the basic frosting decorations before pulling back and taking stock of his work. It was at that time, he looked around and realized that they were alone.

“Oh…” Caleb said, obviously putting things together.

“Put the cake away, I’ll get you home now,” Essek said, not necessarily an order but not not an order either. “You’ll do well with fresh eyes tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I can get it done,” Caleb said, voice weighted with stress. “Sheisse, this is such a big opportunity and-”

“You’ll get it done,” Essek said calmly. “I have absolute faith in your ability.”

“I wish I could be as certain as you, my friend,” Caleb said with a fragile smile that filled Essek’s heart up with sweetness he never thought he could feel. Gods, he loved him.

“Essek Theylss never fails, it’s my personal policy,” Essek said firmly. “Now come along.”

Essek helped Caleb wheel the cake into the walk-in freezer, pointedly away from the remaining shelves. Essek waited as Caleb locked up his shop and started his car, making sure the heat was on and the car warmed up for Caleb as he slid into the passenger seat. He was carrying Frumpkin, who was now curled up in his lap and probably getting cat fur all over Essek’s car...did familiars shed? Essek, strangely, found he didn’t care as he watched Caleb so tenderly stroking his familiar back to soothe them both.

“We’ll still have to close the bakery tomorrow most likely,” Caleb said, expression dark with worry. “We didn’t do any of our usual preparations and we don’t have any stock...it’s not that sort of business.”

“If you have a daily profit average, I can see your business is compensated,” Essek offered as he put the car in drive.

“No, no. It’s not necessary. One day does not a failed business make,” Caleb said as he ran his fingers through his hair, and then pulled his hair out of the tie and began to redo it. “I don’t think I really and truly expressed...how much you being here means to me.”

“I have to admit, I imagined our second date going a bit differently,” Essek jokes, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Ah…” Caleb said, sounding lost for words.

“I’m sorry,” Essek apologized, feeling the prick of panic at the back of his neck. He turned left, and calculated how long this would take. Only five minutes, it seemed so minute...just five minutes with Caleb when Essek wanted to fill his time with Caleb unabashedly. Though he supposed he was grateful for the opportunity afforded to him...and he shouldn’t ask for more. He couldn’t get too greedy after all, he didn’t even know what Caleb wanted. Almost-boyfriend or not, that was really the issue here. It was something he felt he couldn’t breach...he couldn’t pick it without bruising it. What if he went too fast and ruined it completely? His worries caught in his throat and stayed there, slowly screaming away.

“No, no,” Caleb said with a weak laugh. “I was about to agree with you...but let me just say? I’m grateful for it. I...”

“Your job is important to you,” Essek said, trying to focus on what he could actually work with and salvage in this situation. “And I respect that, I hope you know that. I want you and your friends to succeed.”

“...I hope you understand that I appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” Caleb said, voice deep with feeling.

“I hope you understand that I’m certainly not a white knight,” Essek laughed bitterly. “I’m just a little bit selfish is all.”

“Selfish?”

“I want you to be happy,” Essek admitted, the admission feeling oddly intimate. He cautiously glanced at Caleb, only to see him smiling at him in return. “Regardless of anything else. I...I want you to feel like you are able to rely on me, just a little bit. I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous about how you are with your friends...so it makes me happy for you to depend on me and that you called me to help you. Even with circumstances being what they are...I was happy. I am sorry it came at your expense however...”

I would do just about anything as long as I got to spend time with you, Essek didn’t say. He would wear stupid pink rubber gloves and clean a kitchen and go to the gym and do things outside of eat, sleep and work, and weirdly enjoy all of it. He felt useful and appreciated, and just that was enough to satisfy him when he had never been satisfied with anything before in his whole life. That was the magic of love, he supposed. It made even the most boring and normal things into something significant.

“I’m not as perfect as you seem to think I am,” Caleb admitted suddenly. “As you can see...I’m obsessive. I get anxious and I just escalate situations that don’t need to be escalated because I can’t let things go.”

“Ha, you are talking to the king of obsessive behavior over here,” Essek snorted very unattractively. He was horrified with himself but Caleb didn’t seem to mind, in fact he looked at Essek clearly...like he was really seeing him. How did he just do that? No one else had ever seen him and liked him before in his whole life, and yet Caleb acted like knowing Essek was as easy as breathing.

“I should have just called you just to update you but...I wanted to see you too,” Caleb admitted with a wry grin. “You have no idea how happy it made me...for you to be there. I hope we can have something less dramatic...for our third date.”

“Oh,” Essek said dumbly, mostly because he felt like his brain was now operating at 25% capacity. The rest of it was screaming at him to pull the car over and just kiss this man silly. Thankfully he didn’t need to drive much further because he was just pulling into Caleb’s driveway and not putting them in any danger for a car accident.

“Unless you are opposed?” Caleb asked cautiously, propping open the door so Frumpkin could hop out. And yet, Caleb made no move to leave.

“No!” Essek said forcefully. “No, I mean yes, a third date. Yes. I want to have a third date.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Caleb asked. “Something that you want to do, since our second date was for my benefit mostly.”

“There is an event coming up,” Essek said slyly. “How would you like to be my date?”

“I would be honored,” Caleb said looking at Essek for a moment before leaning over the seat. Essek met him with momentum, and finally they kissed again. Caleb’s lips earnest and gentle, and Essek nearly sighed with comfort against him. Essek felt more real than he had ever had in his whole life, grounded instead of just floating through. How odd it was, to become a protagonist in your own life. How strange, that everything could feel new with a kiss. Unfortunately, his lungs were his own enemy. He pulled away to catch his breath, and to his surprise Caleb pressed another kiss to Essek’s forehead. “Thank you, Essek. Guten nacht.”

“...good night,” Essek said when he remembered how to speak. Caleb slipped out of his car and went into the house. Essek’s face was burning, his forehead was suddenly the epicenter of his heartbeat. Essek pressed his hand to his mouth, to cover his own smile but then decided against it.

If the stars saw him be happy, what should he care?

#critical role fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

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totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes · 4 years

Text

Cry, Hold (fanfic)

To celebrate my 1000th post here’s a 4,000+ word fic one year after Emily died, and how Lydia is trying to cope.

TW: death, mourning, panic attack, mentions of death

_____________________________________________________________

Dear Mom,

I don’t know how to start this-

Lydia stared at the blank piece of paper underneath her pen before taking the paper up in her hands and crumpled it up, throwing it in the trash can where a collection of these similar letters was beginning to pile up. She felt so stupid, she should be able to do this. Her therapist suggested with the anniversary of her mother’s death approaching in the coming days Lydia should try to write everything that she’s been wanting to say in a letter. What she was supposed to do with the letter when she was done was a mystery. She was told she could rip it, or burn it, or put it in an envelope tied to a balloon and let it go. All of those seemed like stupid ideas to her, so she wasn’t exactly sure why she was trying so hard. She figured she just wanted to make her therapist happy, or maybe some part of her hoped it would work.

It didn’t take the most observant person in the world to notice that Lydia’s demeanor had changed since December started. A month that for lots of people brings joy and togetherness just made Lydia feel empty inside. Christmas was never her favorite holiday but having her mother die two weeks before Christmas made her want to hole up away in her bedroom and just wait for the holiday to pass. Last year they had been so busy just trying to get all the arrangements set in place after Emily had died that Christmas came and went with very little acknowledgment. Charles tried to get Lydia into the holiday spirit, he even went as far as to recreate some of the old traditions Emily loved to do with Lydia when she was a little girl, but it fell completely flat and ended up making the day so much worse for her.

After another attempt at writing the stress-inducing letter, Lydia rubbed at her eyes, pulled on her uniform and crept downstairs for breakfast. Her dad was a coffee and bagel kind of guy but Delia was a kale smoothie and oat jar person. Neither appealed to Lydia who recently found that she had very little appetite. Her stomach was constantly in knots, her mind was racing, and she hardly slept. Barbara was quick to notice this, she made efforts to make sure Lydia was still eating and while there was little she could do about the teenager’s insomnia she assured Lydia that she was right upstairs in the attic willing to talk. She figured if she couldn’t help her sleep she could at least make sure she didn’t have to spend the night alone. Lydia fought it for a while, but night three of getting less than four hours of sleep she groggily slinked up to the attic with her mother’s stuffed rabbit in her arms. They spent the night sitting on the couch, not really saying anything, but Barbara could see how just the company was enough for Lydia.

She sat down at the table, poured herself a bowl of cereal, and scarfed it down quickly to avoid having to talk to anyone that morning. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be she didn’t have anything to say to them and she knew all they would want to talk about is the date that was rapidly approaching. Even though it was getting colder Lydia still insisted on walking to school, it gave her a chance to clear her head and try to collect herself before having to be at her top performance in school not just academically but socially. It was exhausting to put on a performance like that at school but it was so much easier than the alternative, she already wasn’t the most well-liked person at her school, the last thing she wanted to give them was something else to make fun of her for. It’s better now than it had been in New York but she still had her problems, she tried not to make a fuss about it though, everybody was busy with their own stuff and she figured if there was one thing she could handle it was the assholes she went to school with.

Walking down the snow-covered sidewalks reminded her of her old home when she would walk with her mother and father to the little shop down the street, her snow boots leaving prints in the fresh powder that would be covered by the time they came back on the walk home. The same sidewalks that she skipped on when she would race the neighborhood kids to the school all while throwing snowballs and not even caring that they didn’t have a snow day. The sidewalks here were filled with kids like that too, so young and so happy. Lydia’s face was red from the cold wind blowing and she pulled her scarf up closer to her face as she glanced away from the happy children. By the time she made it to her high school the buses were all pulled in, filled with students that lived too far away to walk. Filing into the school she was greeted with the same chaos of every day with people shouting and kids being booked. She held hers tighter to her chest on impulse as she walked over to her locker.

“Morning Liddy.” Wendy greeted, “Ready for the history test today?”

Lydia managed a laugh, “No of course not, it’s completely ridiculous for the teacher to expect us to be able to memorize one hundred years of global history for this stupid midterm. I’m more afraid for his final though, I heard it’s cumulative.”

Wendy groaned playfully before giving Lydia a quick hug before darting off to first period. Lydia lingered in the halls for a little longer, not exactly sure why but she passed right by her classroom and didn’t go in. The hallways were eery when they were empty, it was like something had sucked the life out of them, even though Lydia knew everyone was safe inside their classes. She walked past several exits and wondered how easy it would be for her to just open the doors and go back home. She didn’t want to go back home, she didn’t want to deal with their stares either. She just wanted people to stop looking at her all the time, looking at her like something was wrong with her. Even though her father promised he would try and do better she would still catch him looking at her as if she was some kind of alien interacting with earthly things for the first time. Lydia out her hand on the handle of the door and thought about just pushing it open, walking out, and not going back. She shook her head, and eventually made her way back to the classroom she was supposed to be in.

“You’re five minutes late Ms. Deetz.” her teacher warned, “Do you have an explanation?”

She mumbled some form of apology and was dismissed back to her seat. Despite the fact her last name came early in the alphabet this was one of the few classes where she was sat closer to the back. Normally she hated it, she was already a great deal shorter than the other kids and sitting further back just put her at more risk of someone tall obstructing her view, but this time she was grateful to be protected by the back wall. There was nobody behind her, nobody was looking at her. She was okay. She quietly pulled out her notebook and started to take notes, but she quickly got distracted when she attempted to write the letter again. She was about three paragraphs into what she considered a good start when Lydia suddenly realized the teacher was standing behind her, reading over her shoulder.

“Care to share with the class what’s more important than your English lesson?”

“I-I uh-” Lydia stammered. The teacher snatched the notebook off of Lydia’s desk and she could feel tints of red flushing on her cheeks and hear heart beating in her chest as the teacher read through the writing with a scowl. Soon the scowl turned into deep regret as he looked at Lydia with such pity. She hated that, she hated all of this. She didn’t want to sit here anymore. Her skin felt like it was on fire and she scratched at the back of her arms, they were so itchy. She hadn’t noticed before that she had a red rash spreading up her arm, soon she felt the heat rising to her neck and it took all the restraint she had not to scratch at her neck. It felt like time was frozen, moving so slowly, and everyone was just looking at her. They were all just looking at her, everyone in the class. All their eyes trained on her and that stupid notebook, why had she even been writing in it anyway, she already made enough of a scene when she came into class weight. She wanted them to look away, she wanted them to all go away. The collar of her button-up shirt felt like it was choking her, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Can I please have that back?” Lydia whimpered, her throat unusually tight.

The teacher quickly set the notebook back on her desk but she still couldn’t shake the paranoia that everybody was still staring at her. She rubbed her arms anxiously trying to make the itching go away, trying to keep her hand from shaking, to keep herself from wanting to throw up. She pulled more at the collar of her shirt, undoing the necktie of her uniform to try and give herself more air. Noticing her distress the teacher calmly suggested that Lydia go for a walk. He wrote her a hall pass to go to the nurse and get some water, as well as apologized profusely for what happened. Lydia didn’t make it very far down the hallway before it felt like her knees were buckling underneath her, too tired to keep walking. She managed to go over to the empty stairwell and sit underneath it, hugging her knees tight to her chest while she just tried to get control of her breathing. She could hear her pulse beating in her eyes, everything was so loud, so loud and she just wanted it all to stop. She curled her fists in her hair and tried to stifle back a scream.

Shakily Lydia pulled her cellphone out of her skirt pocket and texted her father that she needed to come home. She didn’t even bother waiting for a response, she went to the nurse’s office, stumbling as her steps were still shaky and unsure. She told the nurse that she threw up, she was offered an icepack and told to sit on the cot while she called her parents to come get her. Unfortunately, her father was stuck in a business meeting but she was comforted in the fact that Delia would come get her as soon as she possibly could. Fifteen minutes later Lydia was sitting awkwardly in the front seat of Delia’s car, visibly pale and shaken.

“You feeling okay?”

Lydia just shook her head, not wanting to get into the details right now. She was worried that whatever it was that set her off would set her off again. She just wanted to go home and be alone, shut the door, and just pretend the world didn’t exist for a couple of hours. She knew that was unlikely, anytime she was sick everybody was fretting over her for their own personal reasons. Delia and Barbara just being motherly, Adam being protective, Beetlejuice being bored, and her father...afraid that Lydia might develop what Emily had. Any slight sniffle, or couch, or headache Charles wanted a doctor’s appointment to make sure that she was okay. While it was done with the best interests it did nothing but frighten Lydia and remind her of the bad times.

They were about half-way home when Delia stopped at a stoplight and asked her, “Do you want to go get something to eat?”

“I don’t..I just threw-”

“Honey you don’t have to lie about it, you didn’t throw up, that’s not why you wanted to come home. It’s okay, I understand, I’m not going to question it any further if you don’t want me to. What I am asking is if you want to get breakfast, there’s a little diner if we take a detour.”

Lydia nodded, not quite ready to go home, and Delia seemed to respect the boundaries she had put in place. The two of them arrived at the little restaurant, sat in a booth by the window and just sat in silence while Lydia stared out at the white snow.

“Growing up in California I never got to see a lot of snow when I was a kid, then I moved to New York after college and I have to say it wasn’t as magical as I was expecting. I actually really don’t care for it.”

“I love the snow, it reminds me of when I was little. But I can see why you might not like it. It’s an inconvenience, it gets dirty easily, all around just in the way. It’s pretty to look at though, before anyone steps in it, before any of the plows run past and turn it brown with salt and dirt.” Lydia twirled the straw in her drink absent-mindedly, “My mom and I used to wake up on snow days and watch the sunrise hitting the snow. I was always so cold, but then we’d go inside and make hot chocolate and spend the whole day in our pajamas.” She smiled fondly at the memory, she could almost picture a slightly younger Emily and a seven-year-old Lydia huddled up under coats and blankets while the sun rose over the horizon making the snow glow like a fairytale.

“That sounds really nice,” Delia shared in the smile, and Lydia could tell it was genuine, and not just an attempt to make her shut up.

Lydia hesitated again, “Can we talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

She rubbed her arm sheepishly, noticing the scratch marks she left on there from earlier. The rash now long gone, “What happened.”

“Only if that’s what you want.”

“I want to.” Lydia replied surprised at how sure of herself she was, “I don’t understand what happened. I don’t know why it happened. I’m just so confused about everything, and this didn’t make it any better. I don’t know, I guess it’s been coming for a few days now, I haven’t been sleeping well and I keep trying to write this stupid letter to my mom because the day it happened..the day it happened is coming up in two days and my therapist thought it would be a good idea. I don’t get this work up usually, even if things she suggests to me don’t work out, but this has been on my mind all the time. I feel like I’m walking around aimlessly.”

Delia nodded urging Lydia to continue with the explanation.

“That I could handle, I’ve felt like that before. But what happened in class, that’s never happened before, well never quite like that. I was in class and I got embarrassed and I felt like I was dying. My heart was beating so fast, my body felt hot and itchy, and I thought that everyone was staring at me. I couldn’t breathe, I thought I was suffocating, I just wished they would all go away. I don’t even want to go to school tomorrow because they’re all going to make fun of me for having a break down in school like-”

Though Delia had been intently listening, she cut Lydia off, “Nobody is going to make fun of you, and if they do they have problems of their own that they should be concerned about. Lydia do you know what a panic attack is?”

She nodded

“That’s what happened. You had a panic attack, I used to get them when I was your age too. They’re scary, they feel awful, you probably feel exhausted right now. They are not something to take lightly or diminish, yeah?” She waited for the teen to nod in reply, “I’m really sorry that happened to you Lydia, it’s scary to go through it alone in your house but I can’t imagine how scared you were having it happen in public.”

“I thought I was dying.”

“They feel like that, people confused panic attacks for heart attacks because the symptoms are so physical. Do you have any idea what might have triggered it?”

Lydia shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s been a lot of stuff recently. Like I figured this would be hard but I didn’t think it would be this bad. Today isn’t even the day and look at me, I’m a freaking mess. How am I supposed to go to school that day, I can’t miss more school I already left early today and-” she suddenly remembered the history midterm she was supposed to be taking today, “Oh my god I’m going to fail history now because I’m not there to take the stupid test, he won’t let us make it up and I’m-I-”

“Calm down, calm down.” Delia tried to soothe her, “It’s going to be okay, your father and I will make sure that everything is squared away with the school. You’re not going to fail your class, and if you don’t think going to school on Wednesday is a good idea you don’t have to go. We’re going to make this work, alright?”

Lydia nodded feeling the familiar sensation of tears pricking at her eyes. It was a strange kind of feeling though, they weren’t exactly sad tears but they weren’t entirely happy either. It was a bittersweet kind of sadness. The two girls finished eating, though Lydia mainly pushed the pancakes around with her fork taking bites every now and again to keep Delia satisfied. They walked back to the car and drove back to the house. When Lydia got inside she didn’t know why but she paused in the living room before the staircase. She knew she just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep the day away but another part of her wanted to be around someone which she found so confusing considering all she had been longing for since the morning was to be alone. Delia was off to the kitchen, she had some project sprawled out on the dining table that looked very involved. Lydia didn’t want to feel like a burden, Delia had already taken time out of Delia’s day off to have her come get her from school and take her for food, she didn’t want to come off as needy just because Lydia wanted to talk. She could talk to Barbara but she would have to explain everything all over again, and while she loved Barbara with all her heart, Barbara was more for a gentle motherly approach, Delia knew what she was talking about with all the psychology stuff going on in Lydia’s brain.

“Delia?” Lydia called quietly, almost hoping she wouldn’t answer which would give Lydia all the permission she needed to go and isolate herself in her room. To a mix of her relief and anguish, the redhead appeared within seconds. The two looked at each other for a second before Lydia couldn’t take it anymore. She had been trying to hold it in for so long and it exploded at school, she didn’t want that to happen again. With a sad sniffle, she ran over to Delia and threw herself into a tight hug, feeling some of her anxieties melt away as Delia held onto her so tightly, not moving, not pulling back, just being there for her.

“I miss her. I miss her all the time, and I just want the pain to stop. It’s been a year now, why isn’t the hurt going away Delia?”

“Grief can last for a while, and when we lose someone we never perfectly recover. I wish I could tell you it will all disappear one day but I don’t want to lie to you, not anymore. It’s okay to feel sad, it’s okay to miss her, alright? Don’t feel bad about it, this..this is normal. This is all part of the grieving process.” Delia pulled away slightly from the now sobbing girl and lead her to the couch so they could sit down more comfortably.

“I keep thinking about that day, I think about when I found out she was sick. They told me she was going to pull through, that the odds of her beating it were so good, and they lied to me. Two years I had to watch my mom get sicker and sicker, and then I watched her die.” Lydia felt a tear stream down her cheek and she tried to push the image from her head, she trembled as she tried to block out the screaming in her head that she knew was hers from when her father had to pull her away. She’ll never forget how it felt as though she had been hit in the stomach with a metal bat when the heart monitor flatlined and there was no crash team trying to bring her back. Not anymore, Charles told her some months later that Emily was ready to go, that she didn’t want them to keep bringing her back. She made Charles promise to not tell Lydia until it was over, she knew Lydia would take it poorly and she was right. When Charles told her she felt so betrayed and hurt and angry.

“I want her back.” Lydia cried

Delia pulled the girl into another embrace and held onto her while she cried. Delia, though it was extremely difficult, resisted the urge to cry with her knowing that Lydia needed someone to be emotionally available, and not consumed in their own feelings. It was times like these that Delia remembered just how young Lydia was, she had just turned fifteen in July and she had already gone through so much. By the time Charles had gotten home from work Lydia was thoroughly exhausted and gave an extremely brief explanation, knowing Delia would help her out in filling in the gaps of information. After a dinner that Lydia could only describe as a conversational landmine, she looked at her phone for the first time since school and saw a few messages from concerned friends about how she was feeling after she “threw-up” and Wendy, of course, came in clutch with sending Lydia feel better memes. Lydia relxaed a little when there were no messages from students in her class teasing her for her panic attack, or even mentioning it at all. Maybe nobody was staring at her after all, maybe they all believed that Lydia just got sick to her stomach. Her father sent an email to the teacher giving the test that day and made arrangements for Lydia to make it up on Thursday when she was feeling better, going off of the already established lie Lydia was given two more days off school to recover from her stomach bug. After wishing everyone goodnight Lydia finally went to her bedroom. She fully undid her school tie and threw it in the heap of clothes in the corner of her room, she switched her button-up and shirt for warm pajamas. Her two cats were watching her intently as she sat down at her desk the same way she had just this morning, a pen in her hand and a blank paper underneath her. After staring for a few seconds she finally started writing.

Dear Mom,

I think I’ve misunderstood this letter. This letter isn’t for you, this letter is for me. I still don’t know how to start this because there is so much to say but I’ll start with the easiest thing first. Mom, I miss you and I wish you were here. I wish you hadn’t told the doctors to stop trying, but I know that even if they had it would have happened eventually, and you’d still be sick and in pain. I feel selfish wishing I had gotten more time, but I’m not sorry about that. I’ve learned I’m allowed to have yucky feelings sometimes.

I’ve met people that you’d just love. They’d love you too. I love you-

#lydia deetz #delia deetz #adam maitland #barbara maitland #charles deetz #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #presley ryan #sophia anne caruso #dana steingold #leslie kritzer #kerry butler #rob mcclure #alex brightman #beetlejuice #beetlegeuse #beetlejuice the musical #incorrect beetlejuice quotes #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic

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phony-stony · 4 years

Text

oh take me back to the start

written for @winterironmonth SFW Friday. Fills out the prompt: TROPE/AU: Post Breakup

Words: 6.9k Ao3 link

stay tuned for other fics this month!

God did Tony need a fucking drink.

He must have looked like it too because the stewardess didn't even blink before giving him a "right away, Mr. Stark" as soon as he had asked for the strongest thing they had on board, followed up with a "don't bother if you only have whiskey, I don't drink that."

Tony sighed, leaning back into his seat and trying to relax, but he could feel a migraine blooming right behind his eyes, and while Tony was an expert bullshitter even he had his limits. Trying to tell himself that everything was fine right now wasn't even in the realm of truth—it was so wildly untrue that Tony was certain that he needed a stronger phrase than "lying through my goddamn teeth" to try and describe it properly.

Whatever.

It didn't matter.

Fuck, maybe, well, no it really-

"Your drink?"

Tony nearly jumped out of his seat when the stewardess appeared at his side, handing him a full glass.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking the drink and having to physically restrain himself from chugging it down.

"We do have vodka on board, sir, but normally patrons don't like to drink it straight. I can see about something to mix it with if you'd like?"

Tony waved her away, trying his best to give her a thankful smile. It probably looked like a grimace.

"This brandy 's fine, thanks."

He'd break out the vodka later right before they landed, but god, right now he just wanted to be left alone.

Tony didn't even realize that she had left. He was already thinking of what—of who—he would see by the end of the day.

Fuck.

~~~~~

Bucky was halfway through getting himself together for work when his phone rang.

"What the hell do ya want, Stevie?"

"Morning to you too, jerk."

"Shut up, punk." Bucky pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear as he threaded his belt through the loops of his pants.

"Bite me. You know what today is, right?"

Bucky leaned his hip up against his bed and felt how his grip tightened on the phone in his hand. For a minute they were both silent.

"I think we both know the answer to that, so why don't you say what you obviously have to get off your chest and let me do somethin' today."

"Today is the five year anniversary."

"Yeah."

"Are you….I mean, I know how important this whole thing, how important he is to you, but I know that you're still trying to get over everything and all that."

"Spit it out, Steve."

"Are you going to go? Like have you actually thought everything through and all that."

Bucky didn't answer at first, but then the silence stretched wider and wider as Bucky's heart started to hurt in his chest.

"Bucky? You still there?"

Steve's voice was quiet and delicate over the phone, like he could see the physical pieces of Bucky's heart splintered in his chest.

"Yeah. I'm here," he managed.

"You don't have to go, Buck, you know that right? I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't, but I'm just putting it out there. I know how much you keep beating yourself up over it and I know how much you miss him, but you've worked really hard to get where you are. I remember what you were like when everything happened, and Buck? I never want to see you that hurt ever again."

There was rustling over the speakers, and Bucky still didn't have his voice back.

"I think that you should go, but only if you think that you're going to be alright. I know that this is important to you, but you don't owe him anything. Don't do it for him."

"I-" Bucky stopped, swallowed nothing, and tried to gather his thoughts, "I'm going to go," he said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I need to see him again. I can't go the rest of my life thinking about what could have happened, Steve. I'm going to go."

"Good."

Steve sounded pleased and like Bucky had said exactly what he had thought he would, and Bucky breathed out, rolling back his shoulders.

Today was the day.

~~~~~

"What's a pretty thing like you doin' all alone?"

Tony cocked his eyebrow at the guy approaching him.

"Maybe I'm hiding from all of the pick-up artists like yourself," Tony responded, pouring on the attitude and sass to make up for the fact that this guy's blue eyes were making Tony sweat. Fuck.

He brought his cup to his mouth and took a large gulp from his beer. Alcohol was liquid courage and all that, plus he just really fucking needed something to do with his hands.

The guy smirked, just a bit of white teeth slipping out. Tony both prayed for Rhodey to come back so he could save Tony before he did something stupid like swoon, yet he also wanted nothing more than for Rhodey to forget all about him and leave him with this stranger with his perfect face and all.

"I wouldn't call myself a pick-up artist, doll."

"Then what would you call yourself?"

"James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. He also couldn't help but catch the wide smile Bucky sent his way in reciprocation.

"That was smooth, I'll give you that."

"Mind if I join ya?"

"As a drinking partner, maybe."

It wasn't that Tony wasn't interested because fuck what Tony wouldn't give to work Bucky's shirt off of his body and lick those goddamn muscles, but Tony didn't really do hook-ups. He had spent his whole life feeling discarded and worthless because of his shit father, and while they weren't related at all, Tony always associated the morning after so strongly with being rejected that the sex wasn't worth it to him. It always felt like he had burned through his worth and exceeded his welcome when the sun finally rolled back around.

Bucky smiled wide, and it was beautiful.

"I'd be happy to, darlin'."

~~~~~

Tony jerked awake when his phone slipped out of his hand and landed on his foot. It hadn't hurt, but he cursed wildly anyways. The words made his racing heart and shaking hands feel better.

Tony tucked himself as far into the seat as he could go and pulled out his Stark Industries tablet—nothing hooked his attention like his engineering, and he needed to stop thinking about Bucky. At this rate, he'll be going from the plane to checking into a psych ward as soon as he landed from a breakdown.

(there's another one of his lies—there's so many now, aren't there? Because Tony learned long, long ago that nothing can take his mind away from James, from his Bucky—)

~~~~~

Tony is talking about his latest project, a robot that he's building that will end up being able to be coded to do chores and help around in a house.

"-and I know that I still need to work out all of the bugs, but he already wants to be so helpful! Well, I mean, he did try and poison me with a smoothie made out of motor oil, but it was an accident, DUM-E didn't mean it. Plus, I really-"

Bucky pulled Tony more into his lap, and Tony's rambling didn't even falter while Bucky manhandled him into a more comfortable position on their shitty couch. Instead of having his own space on the sofa, Tony's body was tucked into the crook of Bucky's arm and his legs were draped over Bucky's. Satisfied that he could hold Tony completely, Bucky curled a hand around one of Tony's ankles and rubbed the skin softly while Tony kept talking about his robot and all of the things he was going to do with it.

They were still there two hours later when Steve came home from work.

"Tony are you staying over tonight?" he asked, popping the tab on a soda and stealing the leftover pizza from the pie they had ordered earlier today.

"I don't think Bucky's going to let go of me."

"Nope."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe I'm still waiting for you two to leave the honeymoon phase. Disgusting."

"Shut your mouth, Stevie, I've had to stumble across you and Peggy trying to suck each other faces off enough times to file for compensation. I think you can handle me holding my boyfriend."

"Oh relax, jerk."

"Punk."

Steve chugged the rest of his soda and recycled the empty can. He tipped his head to the two of them on the couch still.

"Night, Tony. If you wake up before noon I'll make you pancakes. Bucky, try to not fuck him through the mattress all night, you've got eight-am's tomorrow and you're cranky without your beauty sleep."

Tony laughed and wished Steve good night while Bucky scowled, tossing some luke-warm insult over his shoulder at his punk-ass best friend.

"You want to head to bed? I know you may not want to admit it but you like your sleep almost as much as me."

"It's only a little past ten, why don't you finish what you were telling me 'bout, alright, doll?"

~~~~~

Bucky blinked back to attention when the little bell at the front desk was rung for a third time. Jumping up from his chair, Bucky emerged from the back office.

"Sorry, what can I help you with?"

The customer explains that they made an appointment for Bucky to check their transmission and the work is welcome to keep Bucky's mind off of… things. Things like fingers twisted around his and giggled kisses.

Bucky pulls on gloves and grabs what he needs, glancing at the clock.

Just about nine-thirty in the morning.

Bucky may be taking off early so he can get cleaned up before driving down to the park, but the short day seems irrelevant when he has a feeling that today will drag long enough to border eternity.

~~~~~

"What do you need?"

For a shameful, terrible moment, Tony nearly told him to fuck right off. Fortunately, Tony didn't have the capability or the autonomy to use his vocal chords right now. They were just… not working. Nothing was.

Instead of saying the biting words that he wanted, Tony was just silent.

Bucky didn't say anything either, but he also didn't leave—Tony could feel the eyes on him, boring into his back, cracking Tony's pathetic and curled up form open, seeing the black in his lungs and the fury making him sick, the grief and confusion tearing him apart.

The bedsprings shifting on Tony's shitty college bed was the only indication that Bucky had moved, and then there were arms gently winding their way around Tony's body, pulling him back up against Bucky.

But Tony didn't want that—he didn't want to he held and shushed and placated, he wanted to scream and rip out his own fucking hair, drink the nearest bottle of jack and mix it with oxy, he wanted to hurt, he wanted to hurt.

He did not deserve this, and he did not want it, and he tried to push Bucky's arms off of him, tried to struggle out of his grip and shove his way free, but no matter how many elbows Bucky caught and how many frustrated grunts that Tony let out, he didn't let Tony go. Instead, Bucky just held him for a moment, for two, and Tony's cries muffled through clenched teeth turned into sobs, and he still couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"I've got you," Bucky murmured, turning Tony around and tucking him right under his chin. Strong arms freely found themselves holding Tony's shaking form close, and it was too much touch, too much stimulation, but at the same time it was not enough, he needed more, needed to feel Bucky around him completely so he would know that he was safe.

God, what a stupid thought. Safe? He needed to feel safe? From what, a fucking corpse? Howard was dead, he won't be saying a damn thing to Tony now.

When had Tony started crying? All of the sudden he was gasping through his tears and Bucky was still just there.

Something sounded like a wounded animal, and Tony had a sinking suspicion that it was him.

Bucky still didn't say anything.

Dead. Howard was dead. Gone, drunk and high on three separate drugs when he ended up wrapping his truck around a tree on the side of the road, and the amount of times that he had wished for that bastard's death was too high for him to try and count. Every biting remark, every slap, every hit, every breakdown, Tony remembered everything, and it all haunted him. Fuck. Howard had torn Tony apart time after time, and Tony hated him for everything he had done, everything he had taken away and destroyed, all of the pain he had beaten into Tony's short life.

Tony had nightmares and he still couldn't drink whiskey without flashing back, couldn't handle the smell of cigarettes and loathed anything to do with poker. He was in therapy and had so many fucking issues because of him, he was so weak because of him, yet here he was angry and sad and so fucking lost. Pathetic.

Bucky kissed the top of his head, humming something soft and Russian under his breath.

For some reason, it broke Tony.

Bucky had to sit them up because Tony was choking on his tears.

Tony wanted to scream at Howard, yell and rage about all of the misery and anguish that Tony has dragged himself through. He wanted to make Howard hurt as much as he had made Tony hurt, but he was dead, and the chance at validation, at acknowledgement that everything that had happened was Howard's fault, not Tony's was up in smoke. He would never make Howard understand what he had done.

And while Tony knew that their relationship could have never been salvaged, part of him still mourned at the loss of his father, at someone who had been tasked with protecting and loving him, and had failed. He mourned the life that he never had, the love he never got, and as Tony sobbed, Bucky just held him tight.

It's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it'sokayit'skayit'skayit's-

Tony didn't know if the words were Bucky's or if it was his own subconscious breaking down, but he also didn't care. Tony just clutched at Bucky's sweatshirt tighter and shook.

~~~~~

Tony swallowed his third Advil, rubbing at his temples.

"Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?"

"Please don't call me that. Tony is fine," he managed, his voice whispery and not sounding quite right. And Tony would have to leave her a huge tip because she just nodded, said "sure thing, Tony," and left him like he so needed.

Feeling like a dog licking his wounds, Tony desperately put in his headphones. He had a playlist for when he started thinking about Howard that helped to keep him grounded—ha, ironic, I'm on a bloody plane—and he didn't use it too often anymore, but he also didn't have Bucky around to hold him as he fell apart.

~~~~~

Tony threw his head back and moaned, hips stuttering as he sat himself fully on Bucky's cock. Hissing, Bucky clamped his hands onto Tony's hips and held him steady, held him still.

"Wait," he breathed, "you need to wait."

Tony whined and tried to move, but Bucky was too strong for Tony to break his grip and they both knew it.

"Bucky, Bucky please, oh god please, I need you, Bucky I need you." Tony gasped, leaning down and kissing Bucky desperately, like he was hungry. Bucky rocked his hips up just a little, then again and again, the pace slow and deep to open Tony up fully around his cock. He took command over their kiss and kept his control over Tony's hips firm. Sucking one last breathy moan from Tony's lips, Bucky let him go and laid back, his hands slipping down to rest on Tony's thighs.

"Ride me, doll. Show me how pretty you look on my cock."

Tony hissed out something that Bucky couldn't make out and then he was riding Bucky hard, mouth open and panting, hands pressed to Bucky's chest, moaning and gasping.

Bucky let Tony take what he wanted, and then when Tony's thighs burned too much to keep up with the speed he craved, the roughness which Tony wanted, Bucky flipped them and pinned Tony to the bed, sucking a deep bruise onto Tony's neck as Bucky made him moan, made him come, made him see stars.

~~~~~

Sam took the wrench out of his hand and pushed him towards the door, demanding him to leave already.

"Man, I love you, but you've been staring at the wall for the past five minutes. Your shift ends in twenty, and I don't care if you're my boss, you're in my way. The shop'll be fine, go on, I'll see you on Monday, alright?"

Bucky had a feeling that his hands were shaking.

~~~~~

"Open your eyes!"

Tony stepped back and watched Bucky's mouth drop.

"Doll?"

"I know, I know, I should have asked, but I kind of wanted it to stay a surprise? Anyways, I got it all done professionally, so you don't have to worry about some rando touching your guitar. It's been refinished and I had the guy fix the neck and your bridge, and everything's been cleaned and oiled and all sorts of other things. Oh! I also got it re-stringed for you, the expensive ones and everything. There's another pair in your case already for when you need them, and I sewed that rip on your strap for you. Now you don't have to have so many safety pins holding it together."

Tony felt his voice trail off a little when Bucky still didn't give him much of a reaction besides open-mouthed staring. He bit at his lip, shifting from foot to foot. Tony hadn't gotten him a new guitar specifically because Bucky loved his with his whole heart—it had been a gift from his ma when he was five, and the acoustic was probably the most important thing he owned. So instead, Tony had taken it to the most professional shop around and had the owner give it the works.

Finally, Bucky snapped out of his reverie and turned to Tony, his look unreadable.

"How did you… Tony the money… "

Tony frowned and stepped forward, shushing him before wrapping his hands around one of Bucky's and tugging him towards his guitar.

"My new job pays me a lot better, remember?"

"You were going to save it for a new set of tools, the fancy ones that you've wanted since forever, Tony, doll, why would you spend it on me?"

"Because I wanted to give you something nice, and I love you."

"Tony-"

"Shhh, don't. Do you like it?"

"Yes, god, of course-"

"Then that's more than enough for me."

Bucky kissed him hard, deeply, and in a rush. Tony just held on for the ride, trying his best to keep up with Bucky's kisses in between whispered thankyous upon thankyous.

Later that night Bucky treated him to the best performance of his life, worshiping him first with chords and plucked melodies and sung words, and then with his hands and his lips.

~~~~~

Tony stared down at the picture on his phone.

He had known that looking at the album sitting in the dusty corners of his storage was a bad idea, yet there he was, tracing the angle of Bucky's jaw with his eyes, heart aching as he drank in their smiles, their happiness, their love.

It had been a stupid selfie Bucky had surprised Tony with, his newly refurbished guitar in the background.

It had been Tony's homescreen for months.

Tony feels something crack in his chest.

~~~~~

They both stared at the screen of Tony's phone. On it was an email from Obadiah Stane with the details that Tony had asked for in regards to the job he had offered him. Stane had showed up a few days ago to the yearly exhibit the engineer majors put together to showcase their senior projects. He had been so impressed with Tony's AI JARVIS that he had nearly shoved a contract into Tony's hands then and there.

Bucky reread the whole thing again.

Massive benefits, a huge salary, head of R&D, creative freedom, all in-

"California. Bucky, this is in California, as in across the whole fucking country." Tony breathed out sharply, pushing the phone away from him. He got up abruptly and started to pace.

"This is exactly what I wanted, no, this is more that I ever thought I even wanted. Okay, sure, maybe I've thought about having my own company or something, but that would have never happened, you know? I knew I would get stuck in some regular job probably designing computer software or something just as stupid just for the money, but holy fuck, with this I can do something with my life! I can help people, my work can mean something, I can be someone, I…"

Tony trailed off and bit at his lip, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky frowned, knowing where this conversation was going to go immediately. He stood from the table and stepped into Tony's pathway, catching him as he walked right into Bucky's chest, oblivious to Bucky's movement.

"You already are someone, sweetheart, you don't have to prove anything."

Tony's head snapped up and he scowled, shoving Bucky's hands off of him.

"No I'm not. I make some things on the weekends and work at the diner to pay for college. This is my chance to actually do something with my life besides become the next drunk, coked-up, piled-in-debt Howard who is worth absolutely nothing. I can't do that, Bucky, I can't. I need to do something bigger than myself, to make a difference, and I can't do that in this crappy college apartment."

"Tony, you're not going to become the next Howard whether you take this job or not."

"You don't know that!" Tony yelled, his hands up in his hair, wrapped around the roots.

Bucky closed the distance between them in two strides and gently took Tony by the wrists, making him relax his harsh grip.

"I do!" Bucky said, nearly just as loud as Tony had been to make sure that it sunk into Tony's brain. He immediately brought his volume down. "Anthony Edward Stark, I know you, and I know that you would never become that goddamn bastard. You are too good of a person, too good of a man, to even think about half of the shit he's pulled. It doesn't matter if you do nothing but tinker on the weekends and work some boring job for the rest of your life, you'll still be a million times better than Howard. Your worth and morals are not based on if you have a fancy job in California or not."

Tony looked like he wanted to believe Bucky, but that there were still parts of him that didn't. Sighing, Bucky folded Tony into his arms.

He understood Tony's all-consuming need to be someone, he really did. Howard had drilled it into Tony's head that he was nothing and that he would also never be anything, and Tony had a craving to prove him wrong and to rub it in his face. Tony kept trying to grab at every opportunity that he could to help people, to show his brilliance, to improve the lives of others, and as much as he succeeded, it wasn't enough for him.

Ever since Tony had escaped from Howard's grasp, he had been trying to find himself and heal, had been trying to scream that Howard was wrong, and part of that was the feral need to become and do whatever Howard said that he couldn't. In this case, it was the fact that Tony was determined to not live as a nobody.

Tony still tied his value to the standards Howard had set and his ability to exceed them, and Bucky hated how much pressure he put on himself. He hated how much pressure Howard had put on Tony, and how much he was still putting on him even now that he's dead and gone.

More than anything, Bucky hated how he can't do anything for Tony besides be there.

"I think you should take this," Bucky whispers, "not because of Howard, but because of how much you can help other people. I know that deep down that's the root of everything you do, and you can make such a difference in the world. You're not going to get another opportunity like this, Tones, and it'll be so good for you."

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky's back.

"You can't come with me. Your mom needs you here and I would never take you away from here, but I can't lose you, Bucky I can't-"

"Hey, who said anything about losing me, doll? Just because you might be in California for most of the time doesn't mean I'm gone. You're not going to ever get rid of me, alright?"

Tony's hands were shaking, and Bucky had a feeling that his would be too if they weren't clutched onto Tony so hard.

"Alright."

~~~~~

Bucky leaned his head against the tile of the shower, the water turned too hot, but Bucky didn't really care if it burned. He still had some extra time before he had to get ready and right now all of the memories were too much.

Tony had left for California three weeks later, and in the beginning everything was more than fine. But things had kept piling and soon it was too much for them to try and ignore, and it broke them apart and tore Bucky's heart to shreds.

He remembers the morning that the news had broadcasted Obadiah Stane being led away in handcuffs for murder, treason, money laundering, and all sorts of other offenses, and he still has the hole in his wall where he had punched through the plaster when he had thought about Tony trying to save the world and getting mixed up in all of Stane's shit, thought about Tony leaving everything in New York behind for a dream and getting it destroyed.

Thought about how Bucky had lost Tony for what? A lying sack of shit who was responsible for the deaths of thousands?

Because at the end of the day it didn't matter if Tony saved the world or not when Bucky could no longer call him his.

~~~~~

"Who're you texting, Tony? A pretty girl?"

Tony looked up from his phone and gave Obadiah a sheepish smile as he clicked the screen off. Bucky had been texting him, asking if Tony had time to skype tonight. When Tony said that he was busy, Bucky asked if he could make an exception, even if it was just for a minute because "it's been so long since I've seen you and I miss you, doll, I'm worried." Tony could admit that he's been brushing Bucky off recently, but he's been trying to not only stay in Obadiah's good graces, but also show that he can be the best employee Obadiah has. He needed to show Obadiah that he was worth the risk that he had taken on Tony. He needed to show him how much he was worth.

So what if Tony had forgotten a couple of calls? He's been working and inventing his days away. And it's not like Bucky was the only thing that he was forgetting—Tony could admit that he had lost weight because he was forgetting to eat and sleep in between projects.

(That little tid-bit had gone over swimmingly when he had told Bucky. He's been getting worried texts more and more recently as the time between Tony's apologies and Bucky's unanswered good mornings stretched.)

Tony was the head of R&D, it was expected that he worked the hardest—Obadiah expected that he worked the hardest—and Tony wasn't about to disappoint the man. He could take some long nights, it was fine.

Because honestly? What other employee had been up here in Obadiah's private office for a personal thank you?

Obadiah pressed a drink into Tony's hand, but the alcohol swishing in the crystal glass made his stomach turn. He started to say no, but Obadiah just kept smiling, refusing to take the glass back.

"C'mon, Tony, I'm trying to congratulate my favorite employee on his roaring success. You aren't going to waste my scotch, are you?"

Tony just stared at him for a moment, and he was four, Howard growling at him to stop being an ungrateful brat when Tony had cried at having to eat a half-cooked hot dog for the fourth day in a row. He was hungry, he needed something more, but he didn't understand why his dad could eat whatever he wanted and Tony's stomach had to hurt so bad.

"You'll be happy with what I fucking give you, brat."

Tony dug his fingernails into his palm and gritted his teeth, pushing down the panic flooding through his head and just barely stopping himself from running out of the room and calling Bucky, needing Bucky-

Tony took a deep breath, tripped his head back, and drank.

~~~~~

Tony was so jittery that he nearly forgot to grab his suitcase.

But soon enough he was in a taxi and leaning back in his seat as soft rock played through the old car speakers. He had toyed with getting his own car to pick him up, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself, and everyone traveled by taxi in New York anyways.

He knew that Bucky was probably well aware about the fact that he had his own company and was the CEO and founder of Stark Industries, the leading technology company in the world and responsible for cleaning up Obadiah's mess as well as the messes of other billionaires. Bucky probably couldn't make it two feet outside without hearing or seeing one of his products, and god that had to be annoying.

Tony had been the one to break up with him and Bucky still couldn't escape him.

In about twenty minutes, Tony would be seeing Bucky again for the first time in five years. Bucky had made him promise when Tony tried to end things that they would meet up and see where life took them. Who cared if they had found someone else or were married or had changed? They could find each other one more time and see where it took them, see if they could be friends and maybe go on a double date, or see what happened if they were both single. That's what Bucky had said—he hadn't cared what might happen in the future, but he had made it clear that even though Tony was cutting all contact with him, he still wanted Tony in his life in the future in any way Tony would let him.

He wondered if Bucky still felt the same.

When Bucky saw him again, would he be satisfied with the closure of one last afternoon together and be content in letting Tony go forever? Would he had finally come to his senses and wish he had never made that promise to Tony all those years ago? Would he be disgusted with the fortune belonging to Tony, with the man he had become? Would he show up at all?

Part of Tony scoffed, thinking about how he would rather Bucky ditch him than bring a new partner for Tony to meet, but that was just another lie—Tony was still pathetically grasping at any scrap of Bucky that he could get his hands on.

It's been five years and Tony is still mourning the loss of the love of his life.

~~~~~

Steve shook his shoulder to get his attention.

"Come on, we're shipping out."

Bucky grabbed his bag and stood, and he knew that Steve was following him.

It had been nearly three months since Tony had broken it off between them. Bucky had fought like hell to try and get Tony to realize that they could still fix their relationship, but he was stubborn and scared and being his normal, self-sacrificing self.

Tony had distanced himself a lot in the weeks since he had left, and Bucky knew that most of it was because he was being run ragged trying to get projects done before deadlines, trying to prove himself, trying, trying, trying. He was disappearing from everyone more and more, the stretches of silence growing day by day, and his self-worth was plummeting. Bucky could see it every time they had skyped and all of the tired phone calls they shared after work. It was the work, the stress, the new environment and the isolation and damn it all if it wasn't because of Obadiah because Bucky knew that he was a lying sack of-

Tony wasn't taking care of himself physically or mentally, and he was breaking.

And what Tony did when he broke was break everything else.

Tony had told him that he didn't want Bucky to be tied down with someone who didn't give him any attention, someone who wasn't what Bucky deserved, someone who was more trouble than he was worth, someone someone someone. And no matter how much he had cried or yelled or pleaded for Tony to just try, please doll just try, it still ended up with them both sobbing into their phones as Tony hung up.

Bucky had never felt so hopeless in his life, so powerless. The man that he loved was self destructing miles and miles away and when he needed Bucky the most Bucky couldn't even convince him to stay.

Looking back, the decision was a jerk-of-the-knee one, an impulse that Bucky ended up following through on in some stupid need to do… something. He couldn't explain it, but at the time it had felt right.

He had never liked the army, but now that his ma wasn't sick anymore and Tony was gone he signed up ten days later. Steve had tried to talk him out of it, but when Bucky stood his ground he just joined right there with him.

As Bucky handed his bag off before getting on the plane, he wondered if he would die at war. He had made Tony promise to meet with him in five years, at that one spot in Central Park that they liked to eat snow cones at. It was Bucky trying to grasp at a second chance with Tony. He was sure that someone else would scoop up his genius—god knows that anyone would be crazy to pass him up—and he wondered how much it would hurt when he saw Tony again and to be damned to only be friends.

He wondered if he would survive to see Tony again at all.

And some dark, twisted part of Bucky hoped that he didn't make it out alive.

~~~~~

Bucky put the kickstand down on his motorcycle and took his helmet off. He stubbornly ignored the second helmet that he had strapped to the side. It was Tony's old one, and no matter how many times he tried to tell his stupid heart that Tony wouldn't want to ride back to Bucky's apartment with him, he couldn't stop himself from bringing it with him anyways.

Bucky breathed in and out a few times, trying to stop the shaking of his hands.

It was hot enough outside to make Bucky sweat in his jacket even without the anxiety ramping up his heartbeat, but he didn't dare take the thing off. What would Tony think when he saw that he had a prosthetic arm? What would he think when he found out that Bucky had gone off to war in some kind of fucked-up suicidal quest to be more than useless and helpless?

What would Tony think when he found out that Bucky was stuck in the same damn place Tony had left him while he had landed among the goddamn stars?

Would Tony even want to get back together? Be friends?

Would Tony even want him?

~~~~~

Tony found Bucky sitting on their bench, two blue raspberry snow cones in his hands, leg bouncing.

For a minute, all he did was stare.

Bucky was more muscular and his hair was noticeably longer even if it was tied back at the moment. He was dressed in jeans and an unzipped leather jacket, showing his white t-shirt underneath. Paired with the dark hair, powerful boots, and shoulders wide enough to make Tony's look damn near feminine, he looked like he belonged on the motorcycle that Tony just knew he still had. God he looked… good. So good.

Tony's heart near burned when Bucky turned to him and smiled, those ice blue eyes just the same as Tony remembered.

"Hi," Tony breathed once he got close. Bucky held out one of the snow cones and Tony couldn't take it fast enough.

"Hi, Tony."

~~~~~

Hours later, they'd find themselves in Bucky's apartment, taking turns sipping from the last Coke Bucky had in his fridge after talking each other through the past five years and what had torn them apart in the first place.

For Tony, he couldn't explain how sorry he was for everything. He told Bucky about how easily he had fallen for Obadiah's manipulation, how he had pretty much destroyed everything good in his life by the time he had stumbled upon Obadiah's double dealing, explained how he had gotten Obadiah to jail, the drinking and the drugs, years of therapy, the work he put into building his company with the help of Pepper Potts, the woman that Tony virtually owed his sanity too after all of the craziness of his life. And with all of Tony's confessions, Bucky was sure to wipe away the tears and growl at every new revelation of fucked-up after fucked-up thing Obadiah had done, held him tighter as he revealed the self-destructive alcohol and drug haze he had created when everything fell apart.

Afterwards, Bucky told Tony about the war, about the explosion that had taken his arm, the helplessness, the pain, the flashbacks and the PTSD, the breakdowns and the therapy. He talked about how much Steve was there for him, about the repair shop he had opened, about how Sam and Clint were still around and working for him, and how he was doing alright, how he was healing. And Tony held him tighter through the explanations, rubbed his back when his voice caught and cried with him when everything hurt too much.

They were both broken, but no matter how much they tried to explain this to the other, it didn't seem to matter. Even with Tony's past sins Bucky still looked him in the eye and kissed him. Even with Bucky's scars and irrational fears, Tony still wrapped his hands around Bucky's metal arm and swore to make him the best prosthetic in the world, promised that no damage could ever make Tony stop loving him.

It was pushing two am now, but neither of them cared.

They had been waiting five years to break the silence between them forged with pain and misery, blocked and deleted numbers, mistakes and sorrow. And now? Now they weren't going to let one another go for the world.

"God do I fucking love you," Tony murmured, clutching at Bucky in his tiny kitchen. His voice was wobbly and the lump that had been in his throat all day was still there, but he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy.

That's a lie; I remember it perfectly. The last time I felt like this was five years ago.

"I love you too, doll, holy fuck do I love you too. Never stopped and I'm not gonna now," Bucky whispered through the tears rolling down his face. He had to be crushing Tony with how hard he was holding him, but he wasn't about to let go now, not for anything.

Tony only held him tighter.

~~~~~

Bucky let his fingers trail over Tony's jaw, the soft skin warm to the touch. Tony smiled.

"You're always so affectionate after you fuck my brains out."

"Lies. I'm always affectionate with you regardless as to how hard I fuck you."

Tony laughed and rolled onto his side so they were face to face. The smile on his face was so wide and loving, and Bucky wanted to keep Tony that happy for the rest of their lives.

Tony curled his fingers through Bucky's. Not ten minutes ago Tony had been damn near screaming Bucky's name as he came, and now he was nothing but softness rolled up in the golden light of the morning sun, precious and gentle, near bashful as Bucky kept looking at him.

Holy fuck did Bucky love him.

"Do you think we'll last, Bucky?" The words had been very obviously blurted out, and he instantly realized what he said and tried to backtrack. "Actually, that might be a weird question, sorry, don't answer-"

Bucky shushed him and pulled him close, tucking Tony under his chin and pressing a dozen kisses to the top of his head.

"Forever, doll. I'm going to take care of you forever."

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