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azurevi · 4 years

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enstars charas with an overworked s/o

First time writing enstars🤡 this took kinda long becz exams but i hope its good ^^ also kinda self indulgent hhh

Characters : natsume, ibara, leo, tatsumi, arashi, keito

Natsume

Natsume watches from the doorway as your head bobs about, hands tapping unrhythmically on the keyboard. You're already falling asleep, yet you still refuse to go to bed.

Normally he won't interfere with your work, knowing that you're fully capable of making the right decisions, but it's a pain seeing you pushing yourself so hard.

"Still working?" he steps in, holding a steaming drink in his hands.

Your head snaps up at his voice, and you nod. It's a project that you've put off for far too long, and of course, you have to suffer the consequences.

"The deadline is two days later, if I don't finish this section today I probably won't make it in time,"

He sets the mug beside your hand, observing your wandering gaze and disheveled hair which you must've been running your hand through. "I don't think you can finish it, though. You already look worn out."

You raise the mug to your lips and take a sip of whatever it holds. The drink tastes sweet and refreshing in your mouth, and almost instantly your muscles relax. "You aren't any better, you know,"

That's true. Being a nightowl himself, Natsume's words don't really seem all that persuasive. At first you would lecture him about how little he rested, but you gave up eventually. You suppose he's built differently, seeing as he can still perform well after only three hours of sleep.

"Pretty sure I'm in better condition," he says, pulling a chair beside you and popping down. The wood scraps against the floor, creaking slightly. It's usually a sound that you find unbearable, but you seem to have missed it as you try to continue your work.

"Come here, love," he stretches his arms out, wiggling his fingers expectantly. You raise a brow, contemplating whether you should give in. It won't be a surprise if you fall asleep right away in his arms.

"But work…" you sigh, tearing your eyes from him. His shoulders drop immediately, a frown forming from the rejection. "You're just gonna leave me hanging? How cruel…"

You know he's just messing with you when he let out a dramatic huff, but somehow his defeated look still tucks at your heartstrings.

"Fine, fine…" you sigh, sneaking your arms around his torso and burying your head into his neck. His chest hums with satisfaction as he digs his fingers into your messy hair, soothing out knots he finds along the way gently. With every stroke you're getting drowsier and drowsier, and you know that you're supposed to be working, but the feeling of his hand running through your locks and the steady rise of his chest convince you to stay.

You fall asleep almost immediately after you close your eyes. Natsume calls out to you and smiles when he hears your slight snoring instead. It's probably the best to get you to the bed and tug you in, but he decides to stay in his spot for a moment longer and relish your presence.

Ibara

Ibara knows from experience just how hard it can be to sway you when you’ve made up your mind. That’s why he doesn’t try to sweet talk you or lecture you into sleeping.

No, if he really wants to get you to listen, he will have to trick you into it.

Almost like a hunter watching his prey, Ibara leans against the doorway as he tries to come up with a flawless plan for his mission. Several empty cans are littered around the desk and he can already smell the aroma of coffee from so far away. You had your fist in your hair, and every once in a while you had to stretch your muscles awkwardly from the lack of movement.

“Don’t you think you deserve a break?” he walks towards you, peeking over your shoulder at the work you’re struggling with. It’s yet another project for the other units, and you seem to be stuck in a dilemma.

“I don’t feel like sleeping without finishing this,” you say.

“Right, but I think you added an extra 0 here,” he points at the paper you're working on, where the value had been increased tenfold because of your negligence.

“Oh goodness,” you sigh deeply, immediately erasing the zero. “How amateurish of me,”

Ibara watches as you rub the space between your eyes, trying to soothe the looming headache that was making your work even harder. “It feels like all the muscles in my body died,”

“You’ve been sitting for hours after all,” Ibara suddenly smiles, his eyes diminishing into thin slits. You don’t need to hear anything to know that he’s plotting something behind the smile. “What if I give you a short massage?”

Well… that is unexpected.

“A massage,” you repeat.

“That’s right,”

Now that is interesting. You’ve heard from Hiyori about how good Ibara’s massages are for more times than you can count, and it’s something you’ve always wanted to try. It just keeps slipping your mind. A massage sounds just as appealing as a five star meal right now considering how tired your limbs feel.

“Come on, I promise it’ll be worth it,”

“Fine,”

His smile widens even more. “Alright then! Please get onto the bed,”

“You wanna do it on the bed?” you frown. “I’ll fall asleep,”

“It’s not gonna be long,”

This sounds way too risky especially with the amount of work that’s still unfinished, but his grin is unwavering, as if he already knows what your answer will be.

“God, alright,” you admit defeat and throw yourself onto the bed face first. There is a moment of quiet shuffling before Ibara settles himself behind you, making sure he isn't crushing you under his weight. His hands find their way to your back, and start working their magic.

"Normally I would get massage oils, but that'll be for next time," Ibara says in a low voice, as if trying to lull you to sleep. Hiyori was right about his skills -- you don't think you've ever had a massage so satisfying before. Somehow, he just knows where to knead and how much pressure to put. With every passing minute your muscles are getting looser, as is your mind. You almost feel bad experiencing this for free.

You're about to fall asleep when something suddenly jolted your consciousness, like a big slap to your face. You have no idea how long you've been laying down in that hazy state, but you've still got work to do.

"That was the most incredible massage ever but I have to work now…" is what you're trying to say, but the words come out too jumbled and incoherent to be understood. When you try to get up, Ibara presses you back down, insisting that he's not done with the massage yet.

"I'm going to fall asleep for real," you argue weakly as your body slumps back into the mattress. Ibara watches as your words cease and your face loosens up, mouth slightly ajar as you finally indulge yourself to sleep. Maybe you'll be mad at you in the morning, but seeing you rest makes everything worth it.

Leo

This is so, so ridiculous.

You've been telling Leo to go to bed for the past two hours, but did he listen? Evidently not, seeing as he's clinging to your arm with half-lidded eyes that are failing him every two seconds.

"Just go to sleep first, kay? I still have tons of stuff to do," you flip the pile of complicated documents around, not wanting to spare them another glance. Alas, there isn't much time left before your work is due, and the only way you can think of to tackle this is to keep pushing through no matter how worn out your body feels.

Your head is throbbing and somehow your sight just won't focus. You're pretty sure you're starving too, but you feel no incentive to leave your seat and grab snacks. No, you have to finish your work as soon as possible.

This might've been a lot easier if not for Leo. In the middle of your working he suddenly jolted awake and whined about wanting to cuddle with you. It's no surprise though, considering how often the two of you cling to each other during your sleep, but tonight just doesn't work out.

"Aren't you tired too? I can't sleep without you…" Leo mumbles.

"Pretty sure you're falling asleep as you speak," you say, even though you shouldn't be the one talking right now, not when you're also getting groggy just from his warmth and presence.

When you turn to look at him, his face is squished against your arm, mouth slightly ajar as he snores. To prevent him from waking up again, you decide to tuck him in.

Which is a big mistake, because just the sight of the bed is enough to knock you out. Also because Leo's not letting go of your arm even in his sleep.

"Come to rest, please…" he mumbles quietly and you sigh. Trying to work when your body is screaming isn't going to do much anyway, you suppose, and you flop yourself onto the mattress with the boy. Leo may be childish at times, but everything he does comes from wishing for your wellbeing.

Tatsumi

Lying to Tatsumi feels like committing the worst crime ever, but the guilt of going to sleep with your work still unfinished is even greater.

That explains why you're here under the dim light of the desk lamp against Tatsumi's advice, trying to fight the sleepiness getting to your head as you type away on the keyboard. Just a few more pages and you will go to sleep, you decide, but 'a few more pages' is looking a lot like five essays right now.

You lean back against the chair, throwing your head back. You dare not close your eyes, because you're sure a second longer than an usual blink and you'll be a goner.

"Come on, come on…" you return to the original position, shoulders slumped and eyes squinting as you try to string sentences together. What is usually an easy task has become an impossible mission, and the voice at the back of your head suggesting you to give up isn't any help.

Absorbed in your work, you fail to notice the ruffling of the blanket and the shuffling of slippers behind you. When Tatsumi sets his hands on the back of your chair and calls you, you flinch dramatically.

"Oh," you sigh after calming down. "Did I wake you up?"

"Not really," he says. "I thought you agreed to go to sleep,"

You grimace at his words that remind you how you made a false promise with him when all he wanted was for you to take care of yourself. "I know I did, but I couldn't really fall asleep thinking of all this stuff," you gesture vaguely at the screen.

"I don't think you're doing well though,"

As if trying to prove his point, a yawn escaped your lips and tears blurred your vision. "I suppose not,"

He sits back onto the bed, reaching out so that he can hold your hands in his. "It's no use trying to work in your current state, you know? I know that you're feeling stressed out from all the work piling up, but rest is important for your productivity too. And I'd hate to see you overworking yourself," he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "Let's go to bed first, and we'll tackle whatever's on your plate tomorrow, alright?"

He doesn't have to say much to sway you. It's one of his charms anyways -- being able to persuade you without even trying.

Arashi

Arashi glances at the clock. 1am. You've been working at your desk since 8, and she can see that you're already starting to fall asleep.

"Sweetheart? You should go rest," she says softly, resting her arms on your shoulders from behind. This brings your mind back to the present, and you sigh realizing that you've zoned out once again.

"Is this due soon?" Arashi asks.

"Not quite, but I don't want to pile everything up. I'm supposed to finish this part today but so many things happened that hindered my plans," you rub you the corners of your eyes. "And I'm already feeling tired,"

"Then you should probably sleep, right? Lack of sleep can mess your face up easily," she turns to cup your face, professionally observing your skin and missing the blush on your face. "You still look cute, but I'd be really sad if you became a victim of sleep deprivation~"

Her voice sounds light and casual, but you can tell that she's genuinely worried about your health. You pull her into a hug, burying your head in her clothes. She always gives the best hugs, hugs that understands you without having to exchange words, hugs that reassure you and rid you of anything on your mind, that remind you even if the world turned its back on you, you'd still have a home to come to.

"Let's go to bed," you suggest, voice woozy.

"Sure, but let's do some skincare routine first!"

You always enjoy doing routines with her even though you're never one to pay much attention to yourself. But something about her being close and taking care of your face makes you feel at ease, and with her soft hands working on your cheeks, you quickly fall asleep.

Noticing your dropping head, Arashi lets out a sigh before carrying you in her arms, planting a light kiss on your forehead

"Sweet dreams, my love,"

Keito

When you started dating Keito, Kuro was quite delighted. One because he never believed someone could actually put up with the man, and two because someone can finally keep an eye on his atrocious working schedule.

What he didn't expect though, is that you're just as much of a hard worker as Keito.

As the night passes, the two of you are still working incessantly. Except from the occasional small talks, there's only the sound of paper and keyboard in the room. The tea he brewed a while ago has already been emptied. You turn to look at the green-haired man, and although you can only see his back, he doesn't seem to be too affected by all this work. Perhaps his monstrous workload back in Yumenosaki Academy has turned him into a machine who doesn't feel tired.

But that can't be true. Surely, overworking a lot doesn't make you immune to it. Keito may not be vocal about how he feels, but he's still a human, and he's bound to feel tired,

The tapping sound on his end pauses abruptly as he turns to you, only to meet your observing eyes. This startles him a bit, and you let out a small chuckle.

"You should go rest-" he glances at the clock on the wall and frowns. "-it's already so late,"

"You're one to talk," you retort.

"I can still function without sleeping, but you shouldn't push yourself too hard,"

There it is again. He never seems to acknowledge his own weaknesses, only paying attention to others as he hides his feelings inside the myriad of work thrown at him each day.

"No one can 'function without sleeping', Keito. You're not a superman,"

"..."

Keito's shoulders are still tense, but he seems to be deep in thought as he isn't working on the computer either. After a moment of silence, he shakes his head and resumes typing. Perhaps he's reminded of his responsibilities, of the various roles that he plays, and how he can't afford to let anyone down.

As always, it's hard to move Keito. You brush it off and turn back to your work.

It isn't until Keito stands up to get himself a new mug of tea that he realizes how drained you look. Your eyelids are drooping and even from far away he can notice errors on the computer screen. Your figure is slouched, leaning towards the table like you just want to fall asleep right there but can't.

"You should really go to bed," Keito walks to you, hand resting on the chair's rail.

"Are you going to come with me?"

"What?"

"Are you going to come to bed with me?" you repeat.

"I still have work,"

"Then I'm not gonna rest yet,"

Keito raises his brows. "Are you threatening me with your own health?"

"If this is what I need to do for you to rest, then so be it,"

Silence fills the room. He watches as you tap away on the keyboard, re-typing every once in a while because your fingers just can't seem to find the keys. It's almost painful to watch.

"How incorrigible," Keito sighs. "Alright. Let's go,"

You jump to your feet immediately, dragging him to the bedroom. "No sneaking out after I fall asleep, okay? You have to rest for real,"

"Fine," Keito grunts.

The moment his head falls onto the pillow, he swears he can slip into dreamland right away. You throw your arm across his torso and he instinctively rests his head atop yours, listening as your breathing becomes more and more calm.

The both of you may be hopeless cases, but you always find a way to hold each other up.

#enstars x reader #ensemble stars #enstars #natsume sakasaki #ibara saegusa #leo tsukinaga #arashi narukami #tatsumi kazehaya #keito hasumi #sie writes

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

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EUPHORIA - Chapter 19

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Flangst

WC: 2653

A/N: This chapter fills my ‘authority kink’ square for @spnkinkbingo. Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

This series is more than two weeks ahead on patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

The next morning Y/N wakes up sore all over. It’s her own fault really. Dean had made it clear that he wasn’t going to fuck her but she had to go and beg him for it. She just can’t help it. He’s so good to her, respects her and always puts her first.

Needy little thing , he once said.

He’s not wrong. And it’s all entirely his fault. He’s the one who makes her all tingly inside. It’s not only her pussy that tingles either, it’s her heart too.

Falling for him seems like the easiest thing to do and she doesn’t know if she can catch herself on time. She doesn’t want to get hurt, she really doesn’t.

Y/N hopes that she can make time to see him today but there’s still tons of work to catch up on because she kind of set them aside, probably thinking that it’s going to dematerialize into thin air, but it seems like it fucking didn’t. Plus she’s going to have to go to Washington tomorrow either. That means two nights without seeing him.

But this morning, she notices a text from him on her phone, and she can’t stop grinning like a complete idiot.

D: I hope you’ll have a great start of the day, baby. Can you make room for me today?

D: Please?

It was sent close to 4am. He probably just got back from work. She hopes that he only worked last night. This whole concept of being with someone who owns a sex club is still hard to wrap her mind around. He can basically go down and have sex whenever he likes. How can he resist? She doesn’t get it? Would she be able to? Why does he want her when he can have anyone there?

But again, she should trust him, shouldn’t she? It’s just… she’s been burned before. Trust is still a thing she has to learn.

From the way Cas and the other employees are talking, it doesn’t seem like Dean’s ever engaged in anything there and he’s been telling her that too. And she believes him, she does. There’s just something nagging at the back of her mind, is all.

It’s almost 3pm when she types out emails to her colleagues about their inputs for the workshop. As she’s the only one there from her team, she needs some pointers on what to focus on so she can report back to them about particular hot topics.

She thinks she can go and see Dean before she has to be back at 10pm and work until the print deadline.

Gathering her phone and cash, Y/N makes her way out, informing Rufus that she’ll be in later and takes a cab to the club.

On the way there, she thinks that maybe she should have called him and said that she’s on her way, but abandons that thought quite quickly because somehow, she wants to surprise him.

When she arrives at the club some fifteen minutes later, she hears loud music from the inside, which is highly unusual. She doesn’t think that she has heard any music during the day, like ever. Not until shortly before opening time at least.

Curiously, she walks closer. There’s only one bouncer standing outside and he notices her, opens up the door for her with a courtesy nod. The bass of the music vibrates on the ground with every step she takes. The music is not really loud like it is during opening, but it’s loud enough to feel it beneath her skin.

Y/N parts the heavy curtain at the entrance, and what she sees makes her stop in her tracks. The club is basically full with strippers. There were at least four dancing on stage. About another dozen lounged around on the chairs and booth around the stage, watching the performances. Right in the middle, sitting at a table is Dean, an empty chair next to him, and there’s one stripper who she thinks is dancing exceptionally close to him while he’s sitting back, and watches the show before him. His lips curve up into that charming cocky grin he used to have in school, the crinkles around his eyes deepening and she feels something stinging at her heart.

She curses herself for not letting him know that she’s on the way. And why is she even here again? God, what she sees makes her sick to her stomach. That’s exactly a thing she doesn’t necessarily need to see, to be honest.

Fight or flight?

Oh, she wants to leave, alright? But again, if she leaves, would she be able to act like she saw fucking nothing? Would she be able to act like it doesn’t fucking matter? She’ll be upset and she’d have to explain to him why she’s upset and since she’s already here, maybe she should face it like a fucking adult. The thing with them will probably end anyway, won’t it? Why not now before she falls any harder. Right now she can still get out with minimal damage to her heart.

Her way of thinking is totally stupid, she knows. She just can’t really help the doubts in her head.

She takes a couple of breaths, wills her heart to just fucking stop beating so hard, and then she summons all her courage to walk forward to Dean.

Approaching slowly and carefully, Y/N comes to stand next to him and Dean notices her, turns his head to look up and he fucking smiles when she sees her, like the things happening here is no fucking big deal.

Maybe it isn’t to him , she reminds herself. Maybe she’s the one who overreacts.

“Hey,” Dean grins, and she’s standing close enough for him to reach out his hand for her. It catches her wrist and he pulls her down with a force that sees her landing on his lap. He quickly wraps his arms around her, kisses her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

The stripper quickly retreats. Good.

She’s irritated to say the least and pushes herself away and off his lap, frowning at him when she looks down, and then her mouth opens to speak, “Am I interrupting?”

Dean sees her distress, jumps up from his chair and takes her hand, pulls her to the back and away from the crowd, where there were more booths and love-seats that were unoccupied. She thinks it’s because he doesn’t want her causing a scene right in front of everyone, and scare away his fucking strippers, when that’s all she actually wants to do.

His grip is tight around her arm and she shakes it off, snorting loudly at the absurdity of it all.

“You’re upset,” He breathes, threads his hand through his hair before he rubs at his scruff.

From her standing point she can still see the half naked figures dancing on stage, and can see them mingling in the first seating row. Y/N’s sure that they can see them too, sees a couple of the girls craning her neck to see what’s going on. Dean’s hand reaches out, wanting to touch her again but he stops short, knowing that she’ll shrug him off.

“Wow,” She snorts, “Tell me why I shouldn’t be?”

Dean purses his lips into a thin line, and she can see that he’s smirking. Why is he fucking smirking? He reaches out a hand, lays it on her shoulder and she pats it away. Dean lets out a frustrated sound before he rubs a hand over his face again.

“Jesus, Y/N! It’s not what it fucking looks like!”

He’s a little louder. It’s making her flinch and there are eyes looking back at them.

“Oh, it fucking looks like your club is full of fucking strippers and you’re about to get a fucking lap dance,” Y/N cranes her neck to look over his shoulder dramatically. Just for good fucking measure, “Ah, look, they’re still there! So yeah, I think it is exactly what it fucking looks like!”

God, she doesn’t even know why she’s so upset. She doesn’t want to be but she can’t help it. He calls her his girl and dammit, he is hers too, isn’t he?

“Fuck’s sake,” Dean growls, “If you would just fucking listen to me for a sec—”

“—Go on, humor me!” She snaps and he groans at the interruption, lets his head drop down to breath for a moment. Probably trying to control himself because she knows herself that she’s being a fucking pain in the ass right now.

The way he just stares at her with irritation on his face almost makes her pity him. Almost. There’s something else she sees in his eyes as well. Even though the club is not well lit, there's something else in his expression. Something… fond? Like he’s irritated about her outburst but somehow he’s also very delighted about it. And that is fucking irritating.

Dean’s hand reaches out for her again and grabs her by the back of her neck, his thumb massaging circles on her skin before he lowers his face to her level, “Fucking listen to me, okay?”

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest, raises one eyebrow in challenge and Dean sighs. His grip is tighter where her shoulder meets her neck, fingertips digging into her skin.

“We’re having a Striptease Night in the VIP room, alright? It’s a fucking casting!”

“Yeah, right,” She scoffs, blows air out of her mouth, sending the strands of hair in her face flying up.

He’s smirking. The hell is he smirking for?

Dean licks his lips before he goes on, “Cas just went to the bathroom,” He turns his head to look back at the space where he was sitting, and she takes a look too, sees Cas sitting back there with a clipboard in hand, “And now he’s back and the casting can go on.”

Y/N could swear that Cas wasn’t there just a moment ago and now she feels kind of stupid because she thinks that Dean’s telling the truth. But still, it’s exactly what she was thinking earlier. He’s the fucking owner of a fucking sex club and she has issues with her insecurities and that’s not a fucking good mix!

“Baby, you have nothing to be worried about,” His voice is softer and Dean moves his face closer, kisses the top of her head to test the water. When he sees that she’s not pushing him away, he weaves an arm around her waist, pulls her closer and kisses her lips. However, he probably feels that she’s still upset and won’t kiss him back, so he parts again to thumb at them, “Y/N, I’m not a fucking idiot. All I want is you, okay? How do I get you to understand?”

“I don’t know,” She mumbles, doesn’t really look at him but instead, she stares down, “I just don’t get it. Why me? Look at what you’re missing out on!” Y/N gestures widely with both her hands.

He’s grinning before he kisses her again and this time, she can’t help but give in, kisses him rough and needy, her body melts to his and Dean lowers his body, picks her up and carries her to the next love-seat in the back, making her straddle him. The music’s still going on behind them and she hears girls laughing and talking together.

Dean parts after a while, pecks her lips, leaves his forehead on hers, “Jesus Christ, Y/N, you just don’t get that you were the first one I ever really wanted, do you? Now that I’ve found you, I would never put myself in the position to lose you.” He takes her wrist, guides it down between them to palm over his cock, “You feel that? I only want you for crying out loud!”

He’s hard. Like, really hard. Not just semi hard, it’s the real deal. He wasn’t hard before, not even semi, when he pulled her into his lap moments ago.

“And all just from fucking kissing you,” He pecks her lips again but holds her hand there where she rubs over his clothed cock, groaning a little at the friction her hand provides, “You have no fucking idea how much you affect me,”

She swallows hard, “You’re doing the same to me,” Her lips curve up into a smile, “I want you to fuck me now.”

Dean’s grins widens, “Jesus, baby,”

It turns him on hearing these dirty words from her lips, he can’t lie about that.

He kisses her once more, leaves his lips there, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, bites so hard it makes her squeal into his mouth and then he sucks at it, eases the pain.

He parts with a question, “How long do we have?”

“I have to be back by ten.”

“Good,” He nods, while he takes out his phone and texts Cas, although the man is just a couple of feet away, but Dean thinks it seems too much to ask of him to walk over there with a fucking boner in his pants.

As soon as he places the phone back in his dress pants, she takes his hand, “Come on,” She says in an authoritarian voice Dean’s never heard from her, and it makes him all kinds of fluttery inside.

She walks away, but turns around to look back at him when she sees that Dean’s not moving, still sitting there in the seat because he’s admiring her. She rolls her eyes and sighs, lifts her arms away from her body, “Follow me, Dean!”

She’s still upset, Dean can tell, because she storms off, walks swiftly and loudly up the stairs, and Dean grins like an idiot before he dashes after her.

By now, Y/N knows her way around his club, and Dean is strangely okay with that. It’s okay that his employees know that she belongs to him. They don’t even ask any questions, only opening the door for her and he almost has to run to keep up.

It’s a whole new side of her that he sees. The way she stomps along the floor of the VIP room, the way she doesn’t even look back to see if he follows because she knows that he does. How could he not? Seeing her all worked up and being all possessive and authoritarian over him, turns Dean on. Definitely can’t lie about that. He’s getting just a little harder thinking about what she might do to him.

He would let her. Of course he would.

And that is a first for him. Usually he’s the one in control, not only with her but it has always been like that. He absolutely hated the fact that someone else could have control over his life, sexually or non-sexually. But with her, Dean thinks that he feels comfortable enough to let her steer the wheel. He’d like to sit shotgun for some time, let her take over. There’s some comfort in knowing that he’s being taken care of as much as he takes care of others.

Dean watches her pausing mid-stomp, she’s about thirty feet ahead when she turns around and braces her fists on her hips, “Are you coming?”

Jesus, his dick twitches at the sight and Dean’s almost guilty for finding her distress highly arousing.

Apparently, he finds out kinks about him he never knew he had. Authority kink is one of them, and no, he’s not ashamed about that.

He clears his throat, smirks cockily, “Well, I hope I will,” Dean chuckles satisfactory at his own joke. It was a great one, alright. He walks a little faster, catching up but before he could reach her, she rolls her eyes, turns around and continues to walk on.

Fucking adorable, is what she is.

Chapter 20

#euphoria #spnkinkbingo #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester series #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fic #nathalie writes

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

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Half-Baked Holiday | ksj | M

Granny Park’s Gossip:

That Seokjin, don’t get me started on him. He’s worked hard to open and run that bakery of his, you know, and I’m so proud that it’s so successful now. Wish he would find a nice person to settle down with, though, he deserves it, as long as he’s been on his own. Well, I guess you can’t really call it alone when he’s got that grump of a best friend always hanging around him. He really should be paying her, what with all the time she spends at the bakery with him. She’s always waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but she’s not so bad when she brings me some of those cookies of his, or just around Seokjin in general, if I’m honest. Too distracted by staring at that pretty face of his, I suppose, though who can blame her?

pairing } seokjin x reader

word count } 12.6K { also on ao3

genre } friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, bakery au, fluff, smut, literally the slightest bit of angst

warnings } fluff, fluff, fluff; jin is an idiot and so is the MC, like they’re genuinely both dumbasses but in different ways; pining; misunderstandings; masturbation, spanking, unprotected sex, oral sex - male receiving, exhibitionism a little, rolling pins are used in ways they are not intended to be used; several mentions of jins squeaky laugh and also his red ears bc they’re my favorite things in the world

{ The Snowball Effect Series Masterlist }

a/n } whaddup i finally finished this thing barely on time so yEET i yet again maintain my status as queen of last minute deadlines!!!! HBH is my Baby, I love it, it’s my perfect shiny garbage baby, and if you like it, you should DEF check out the others!! They can be read as standalones, but it’s really really really really really really highly recommended that you read them all in order, as they all end up in the same place and there are a ton of little easter eggs and references and shoutouts woven into the entire series!!! Extra special shoutout to the authors of all the other stories, @fortunexkookie (ryn), @taehyungforreal (ashley), @stutterfly (kristi, who also made the incredible banners!!!)

You're a good person. You pride yourself on being kind and giving. Every year you make donations to several charities. You help organize summer fundraisers so kids can eat. You buy the most ethically-sourced groceries possible. You leave your change in case someone else can use it. You always tip at least 20% when you go out to eat. Out of everything, though, of all the good deeds you try to do in your life, there's one thing that makes you a truly outstanding human being.

You don't lose your fucking mind every time the urge hits you.

"But how many calories are in the Holiday Donut?" The lady in front of you asks. You can feel your eye twitching and even the young guy behind the register is starting to falter in his bright grin.

"Um, I'm not-"

"Look lady," You cut in. "You have heard about nearly every thing on the fucking menu. It's a donut, stuffed with strawberry creme and coated in colored frosting and sprinkles. How many calories do you think are in it? Just order the banana nut muffin like you always do, get your coffee, and leave, so the rest of us aren't stuck in a line for another hour."

The lady looks scandalized as she turns to glare at you, but all it takes is a single cocked eyebrow to send her huffing out the door. She mutters a few choice words under her breath as she goes, but you pay them no mind.

"Your usual is almost ready, Pumpkin." You level Jin with an unamused glare as he pushes his way through the kitchen doors with a steaming tray of scones in hand.

"You know I hate that name, Spice," You remind him dryly.

"You know I hate it when you run my customers off with that dark cloud you call a personality, and yet here we both are," he responds. He just smiles at your eyeroll and you do your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. Instead you make yourself comfortable on one of the barstools at the counter.

Seokjin's bakery is as busy as it ever is; several of the tables are taken, either by students on their nth espresso or families doing holiday shopping or people just looking for a place to relax amidst the bustle of the streets. There's someone perched on the stool at the opposite end, close to the register, but you pay them no mind. You're too focused on the mug Jin slides in front of you - green and chipped on the handle, it's your favorite - and the steam wafting up from the cocoa inside. There's a thick layer of marshmallow on the top and a candy cane sticking out, just like you like it, and a Holiday Bagel on a small plate next to it.

"Thanks. You're still an ass, though." He has the decency to look offended at your words, and you grit your teeth against the smile that threatens to split your face. He always looks so cute when he's huffy.

"One of these days I'm going to make you start paying for your food like everyone else, and then you'll start treating me right."

"Sure," You agree in a monotone as you pull your phone out and start tapping away on it. "That'll be the same day that you stop asking me to do your books for you because you can't be bothered."

The sigh that expels itself from his lungs is almost as dramatic as the play he dragged you to the week before.

"I am perfectly capable of doing my books myself, thank you. I let you do it to keep you busy."

"Mhm, sure, I believe that," You tell him. He scoffs again and you barely register the hand he shoots forward to steal your bagel before you're slapping it away. "You don't even like strawberries and kiwi, Seokjin, and you will lose a hand."

You don't look up from the emails you're sorting through on your phone, but you don't have to in order to know that he's got both elbows braced on either side of you. You've known him long enough to know that this is his Pout Stance, and you dare not look up because there's no denying him when he looks like that.

"You're so mean to me, Pumpkin. All I do is spoil you with good food and perfect company," he whines, "And what do I get for it? Insults and mockery. You could at least give me a kiss every now and then."

You choke on your cocoa. It burns your nose as it starts to come up that way, and the dark liquid dances across your phone screen as it molds to every crack and crevice.

"Goddamn it, Seokjin," You sputter. He's already holding a cloth out to you, apology written on his face even as you glare at him. You pat your phone dry as best you can before resigning yourself to the fact that it's just going to smell like warm chocolate and peppermint until the next time your best friend flusters you.

"To be fair, I didn't expect you to be so opposed to the idea," Seokjin mutters. He continues under his breath as you wave off his attempt to help again, something about him being handsome enough, but you aren't listening. Because that's the only real problem between the two of you.

You aren't opposed to the idea. It's all you can think about most days; in work meetings, while you're doing paperwork, in team briefings, while you watch TV, when you're asleep. What his pillow lips would feel like against your own occupies nearly every waking thought you have. The others are torn between fantasies of what being his would be like and memories of him in general, neither of which you're lacking in.

You've known Seokjin for years. You don't even know how long since you insist you met when you were twelve and Jin is just as insistent that you met when you were nine. All you remember is being alone on the side of a playground playing hopscotch by yourself and then giggling at something the nice boy had said and then the two of you were inseparable. You aren't even sure how long you've felt like this towards him. It could've been high school, when he was one of the most sought after boys in school and yet still made time to comfort you every time a boy rejected you. Maybe it was college, though, when he was further away than he'd ever been and yet always answered your calls and responded to your texts and you'd cancel dates because he had randomly driven up to see you. Maybe it was after, watching him run his own bakery and do what he loves every day with the brightest grin you've ever seen on his face.

You can't be sure. All you know is one day you were washing dishes in the back after being his guinea pig for some new creation, and he told some dumb joke, and when you turned around to mock his squeaky laugh like usual, you couldn't. Because he had flour on his cheek and chocolate on his lip and you'd never wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life.

And then it just devolved from there and now the butterflies in your stomach have just set up camp. It's been too long, but you can't risk your friendship with him over some stupid crush. He means too much to you.

Your eyes don't leave his back as he disappears back into the kitchen, still complaining about something under his breath, and you suppress a sigh.

Shopping is the worst. You aren't really sure why you're here, because you hate shopping and you hate crowds and you especially hate holiday shopping because it's like Satan himself smashed the two together. You get all your gifts online or early in the year, you don't go anywhere near a mall from October to March, and it works for you. You don't have to deal with holiday crowds. Ever. So why are you on hour five at the largest mall in driving distance with no breakfast, sore feet, and full bags hanging from every possible place they can?

"Does that really seem like something Taehyung would like, though? I got that jacket for him already, I know, but this seems so much more fitting. What do you think, Pumpkin?"

Oh. Right. Seokjin had showed up at Too Damn Early For A Saturday O'Clock and demanded you accompany him for his holiday shopping.

"I think that if I don't eat something in the next ten minutes, I'm ripping your head off and eating that instead. And for dessert I'll demolish those fancy chocolates you got for Jimin." A passing mother gives you a horrified glance as she ushers her toddler along and you almost wish you gave a shit. It's the mall, she can't control what other people say in this hellhole. You probably could’ve done without the emphasis on Jimin, though; Jin knows how much you worship those chocolates, you’ve said countless times that they’re better than orgasms, and still, he got some for Jimin and not you.

You aren’t bitter. Or petty. No. You’re an adult, and you’re not going to pout just because your crush got your mutual friends some sweets instead of you.

"If you touch those chocolates, you're going to march your ass right back to that store and replace them while I return all your gifts," Seokjin quips back. You glance over at him and wrinkle your nose at the two berets he has in each hand.

"What the fuck are you doing, Spice?"

“Wondering when you’re going to listen when I talk to you,” He responds. He holds both of the berets up for you to view more clearly. “Now, which of these is more ‘Tae’ to you?” He doesn’t react to the blank glare you give him, long since immune to your powers of pessimism, and instead just wiggles the berets in each hand so you actually look at them.

Neither are to your personal taste; one is diamond-encrusted in some kind of quilted pattern, with some kind of alternating animal print as well. The other is more understated, if you can call it that, with a faux-fur trim, a feathered poof in the center, and a truly obscene pink houndstooth pattern to it. You can’t help the wrinkled nose that the two options cause in you, and you ignore Seokjin’s huff of irritation in favor of looking past him to the rest of the options. You only have to look for a minute to find something better suited, which mostly means Jin wanted to give Tae something truly gaudy on purpose.

“Here,” You say, stuffing the hat into his hands. He stops mid-rant - something about how you should be helping him more, though you aren’t sure why because he’s the one that dragged you here and is lucky you haven’t bailed yet - and focuses on what you’ve just given him. It’s not a pretty beret, by any means, and is by far the cheapest one there, but it’s got some kind of artful splatter across it in greyscale tones, with a pop of red around the rim to accent it. Seokjin just stares at it for a second before turning his gaze on you, and you shift uncomfortably.

“What?” You eventually ask.

“Nothing,” He says airily. “Just surprised.”

“At what?”

“You paying attention to people and being able to buy good gifts.” He puts the other two back into place and heads towards the registers, ignoring your indignant squawk.

“I get you perfect gifts every year!” You don’t miss his eyeroll, and it makes you want to strangle him a little.

“I don’t count,” He tells you as he settles in behind some grandmother buying entirely too many things that have to be for her grandkid. “You know me better than anyone, and you have access to my Amazon wishlist.”

“Yeah, except none of that is on your fucking wishlist,” You mutter. He turns, eyebrow arched and ready to get more backtalk, but you just make a face at him.

He drags you to five more stores after that and abandons you in the middle of Williams Sonoma. You’re on your third lap of the store, ready to disassemble the fancy grill they’ve got on display to see if he’s somehow in there, when he appears, probably from the ether or some shit. You’re still trying to figure out how he managed to phase through time and space and the massive shelf of Martha Stewart Collection Cookware without you noticing, and in the meantime he takes the massive amount of bags from your hands and deposits something in your palms instead.

It takes you a minute to register the warmth, but the smell hits instantly and makes your stomach grumble loudly. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking hungry.

“Eat,” Seokjin commands. “We’ve got more shopping to do for the bakery.”

You can’t even argue because your mouth is stuffed full of pizza pretzel bites - the only real reason to come to the mall, in your opinion. You’ve inhaled one serving in record time, and Jin doesn’t even react when you bust into the second one in the middle of some tech store. Instead, he just holds out a hand and waits for you to plop a pretzel bite in his palm.

It’s hours later, long after you’ve helped Seokjin drop off all the bakery supplies at the shop and carted the presents up to his apartment, that you realize you’re still holding on to the bag from the pretzel place. You’re about to toss it into your garbage when it registers that there’s too much weight for just garbage; curious, you open the bag up and dump the content onto your kitchen counter.

Inside is a small box of chocolates, the same kind you’d threatened to eat earlier in the day, your favorite flavor and everything, with a small note atop it.

These were supposed to be part of your gift, but you looked put out when you thought I wasn’t getting you any. Thanks for today. xxSpice

You resist the urge to smile; it’s only right that he give you sweets after the frankly absurd amount of time he’d made you spend at the mall. Still, you can’t deny your lip twitches along with your heart at the knowledge that he’d been planning on including them in your gift.

And you might tuck the note away behind a postcard on your fridge, but you’re never going to admit to that.

The next day when you get to the bakery, Seokjin doesn't hesitate to shove you into his small office and push you into his desk chair before he disappears back into the kitchen. The usually cluttered space is empty, devoid of the usual invoices and order forms and whatever the fuck else your best friend keeps on his desk. Even the picture frames have been moved, placed haphazardly atop a filing cabinet. Something flutters in your chest when you notice the one directly facing his chair is one of the two of you.

Taken years and years ago, back when you were first moving into your college dorm, when you were both tired from carrying boxes up the seven flights of stairs to your room. You still remember how irritated you had been when Jin's parents insisted they get a picture of the two of you in your matching university hoodies. You don't remember what it was, but you remember Seokjin cracked some dumb joke or said something ridiculous. He must have, because in the picture, you're looking at him with a softness in your face that isn't present any other time.

Seokjin reappears with a steaming mug and a hand behind his back. The familiar scent of warm chocolate and peppermint hits you, followed closely by the warm-butter sharp-mint honey-glaze smell that you remember taste-testing for him so many times that you're almost positive it’s going to linger on your gravestone.

"That's mistledough." You narrow your eyes, and he rolls his own. His hand pulls out from behind his back to reveal the treat he'd concocted in college and perfected not long after. Shaped like a sprig of mistletoe and a warm honey brown color, the mistledough is easily the best selling product that Seokjin has.

And it's only on sale from Black Friday to the first day of January.

You don't even know what's in it. He's never told you, hasn't let you watch him make it; he'd just show up randomly and shove a weird-shaped treat under your nose and tell you to eat it. And of course you did, because you've been whipped for him since the first day he made you smile on that playground.

It's not important, really. What's important is that he's brought you cocoa and mistledough, which means he's bribing you for something important.

"No," You tell him.

"Please," He pouts. "You don't even know what it is yet." You huff and look anywhere else. His pout is dangerous for you and you know it, and you refuse to be bought for some cocoa and bread.

In an attempt to avoid the puppy dog eyes he no doubt is wearing, your eyes flit around the room. They eventually settle on the mass of shopping bags to your right. You turn, seeing the collection of various wrapping papers on the left and the collection of tape beside them.

"No," You repeat, turning your glare on him. "Wrap your own damn presents, Spice, I'm not doing it for you this year."

"But you do it so much better than I do!" He steps forward, setting his bribes in front of you so the scent wafts towards you that much more. "Your corners are always perfect, Pumpkin, and the edges are so well matched, and you get the pattern to line up perfectly, and-"

"No, Jin," You tell him, already standing. "I told you last year that it was the last time I'd be doing it for you, and that was only because you left it to the day before - again - and had to be in the bakery. I already wrapped all my presents, I'm not doing yours too."

He doesn't even say anything. He just widens his eyes a little and looks down at the scuffed tile floor, kicking his shoe dejectedly against the foot of the desk. There's utter silence in the room, only broken by the muffled chatter of customers and the beep of one of the ovens every few minutes.

You last for a solid ten minutes. You know because the smell of more mistledough fills the air, and you know Seokjin wouldn't try to bribe you with anything that wasn't the freshest batch.

"Why can't you do it?" You grumble, already sitting back down and picking through the wrapping paper.

"I've got like a hundred orders to fill today. That's not even really an exaggeration, either. Soobin's been on cake duty all day so that I can get to work on the mistledough orders and still have time to finish Tae's cake before we leave." You sigh and turn to look at him.

He looks stressed; that's not unusual for this time of year, but it still makes your chest clench. You want to pull him close, run your hands along the furrow between his brows until it's smooth again. Smother him with kisses until he's giggling and happy and remembers that he's a badass culinary god and that he can handle this and that you love him.

"I wish you would tell people no sometimes," You say instead. You slide one of the biodegradable rolls onto the desk and start looking through the drawers for the massive ruler you know is tucked away somewhere. "You can't fill every order. Let people pine for their fancy bread, they don't deserve it anyway."

"You know I can't do that, Pumpkin," He says, breaking off a piece of your bribe and leaning against the tattered desk. "We only just got to where we're steadily in the black, and the seasonal stuff brings in a lot of money. I've got to milk that for as much as I can."

"Yes, because you being overworked and stressed like this is a much better alternative. I'm pretty sure your eyebags have eyebags." You wait for the dramatic gasp, but it doesn't come.

Instead when you look up at him from where you're digging through presents, he's staring at the picture of the two of you. Whatever he's seeing is beyond that, though, invisible to anyone but himself. It's not rare that he gets introspective and quiet; it's actually fairly common when it's just the two of you. You don't know why. You don't want to know why. You just take the moments when they come and wait for him to say whatever he's going to say.

"You're my best friend," is what he eventually says. Your hand stutters where it's slicing paper, mimicking the pang of heartbreak that shoots through your veins. You love being his best friend.

You just wish you were more than that.

"Yeah," You say offhandedly, "No one else wanted the gig, so I guess I'm stuck here." You can feel his eyeroll, but he pats your shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen. When he reappears a while later with fresh cocoa and a bagel, you pretend to be mad that he steals a bite of it until he laughs at your grumbling.

When you leave his smile feels lighter, and you tell yourself you're imagining his eyes lingering on your back as you go.

You’re gonna kill him. You really are. You’re going to absolutely skin him alive, you don’t give a fuck how cute his face is or how hard he makes your heart beat. There’s not a single fucking thing he could say or do that would make up for this.

Maybe if you hadn’t been out here waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe if your phone showed that he had even opened the last six texts you had sent him. Maybe if it wasn’t Seokjin who insisted on leaving at like ten in the morning to being with, even though you had plenty of time to get there because you didn’t even need to run by the bakery because he’d already put Soobin and Yeonjun through what probably counted as actual military training in order to prepare them for today. Frankly, it’s a miracle Seokjin is even leaving them on their own today, considering how hectic it gets. You’re entirely sure that it’s only because Soobin has worked there since the bakery opened and Yeonjun joined not long after so they both know the ropes as well as they possibly can. And because Seokjin was likely up until an ungodly hour preparing and baking an enormous amount of mistledough for today.

In fact, he’s probably still passed out up there, you decide as you climb out of your truck and head into your best friend’s apartment building. You’re cursing under your breath the entire way, paying no mind to the scandalized elderly gentleman that shoots you a Look. You really are gonna kill him, you decide as you shove the key he made you into the lock and jiggle the handle slightly so it’ll actually turn. You’re going to drag him out of his stupidly comfortable bed and probably try to shove him down the garbage disposal or something. His shoulders may present a challenge, but you are up for it.

Your mind is so made up that you don’t even register the bags he’s got ready by the door, or the coolers full of groceries that are packed and ready beside them. You just sidestep it all entirely and head down the hall. You don’t even register the faint sounds, muffled by the door to his room, and by the time it all finally reaches your brain, it’s too late. You’ve already thrown the door open as wide as it will go, which means you get a perfect, unobstructed view, even as Seokjin startles and yelps.

Because of course - of course - he isn’t sleeping or showering or packing. No, instead he’s got his fist wrapped around his cock and is thrusting shallowly into the warmth of his palm. The universe loves to torment you entirely too much, clearly. Why else would it offer you such an unhindered look at the love of your life’s dick?

It’s a nice dick, too. Long and the perfect thickness, a pretty dusky pink head. You can’t lie and say you’ve never imagined what Seokjin’s dick looks like - you basically grew up with him and the others, and young boys talk about their dicks. A lot. Plus, you’ve had a crush on him for several years now.

You just never could have imagined that it’s so absolutely gorgeous that you can feel your mouth water. It’s impossible to tear your eyes away from it, in fact, until Seokjin gets over his initial shock and shoves his blanket over his lap.

“What, uh,” He starts, throat rough. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh...you asked me to pick you up, remember? Because your car doesn’t have four wheel drive like the truck.” You learned a long time ago how to avoid being embarrassed around Seokjin, but even that can’t stop the burn in your cheeks as you force yourself to make eye contact with your best friend. It’s a struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the planes of his naked chest, broad and tanned despite the winter weather, but you manage.

Barely.

“Right, yeah, but...uh, weren’t you supposed to call? And aren’t you early?” The tips of his ears are as red as your face feels. The contrast between the current situation and his obvious shyness is so endearingly distracting, it takes you a full minute to focus back in on what he’s saying. “--at this point, I mean, I know that we apparently aren’t there yet, but really, I don’t mind-”

“Wait,” You interrupt, “I’m still stuck on how I called you four times, both before I left and en route and once I got here, waited another ten minutes since I got here early because I know you like to be early, and yet somehow this is my fault.”

“Well...you should have knocked! Why wouldn’t you knock when coming into someone else’s apartment or bedroom?”

“Why didn’t you hear me coming? The floor in your hallway is a million years old, it squeaks constantly, how did you miss that?”

“Well, I was a little preoccupied.”

“Clearly.”

“You still should have knocked.”

“Why did you give me a key if you wanted me to knock? And when have you ever knocked on my door when you show up randomly? Besides, I figured you were asleep and didn’t want to wake you up while I took all your shit out to the truck.” His face softens a little, and a shy smile teases at his lips.

“Thanks, Pumpkin,” he says quietly. Your stomach flips violently at the look on his face and you roll your eyes at it.

“Yeah, whatever.” You pick up the clothes he already has laid out and throw them at his chest. “Get dressed, you’re buying me breakfast on the way to the cabin.”

He doesn’t protest as you leave him and gather his bags up, balancing them atop the coolers of groceries and snacks he’s no doubt made for everyone. It only takes a little finagling, but you manage to get it all downstairs and into the backseat of your truck. Fat white flakes are falling from the grey sky by the time you’re finished, and Seokjin’s nose and ears are still pink when he eventually gets in as well. You turn the heat up, just in case it’s not residual embarrassment heating his face.

He doesn’t even say anything except a muffled thanks. After a few minutes, you’ve almost resigned yourself to an awkwardly silent car ride.

“So…” Seokjin eventually says in a too-casual tone. “About earlier-”

“No,” You hiss before he can continue. “No we are absolutely not talking about what happened.”

“Oh, come on,” He implores as you turn into the first drive-through you can find. “It was bound to happen eventually, considering-”

“We really don’t need to talk about it,” you insist.

“I’m just saying that I know you aren’t really one for...y’know, sexual activity,” He ignores your open-mouthed gape and continues, “But I have my own needs, and self-satisfaction is the best balance between the two that I’ve found. That said, I’m sorry you had to see it, I know it probably made you uncomfortable. Because. Y’know. Dicks.”

You’re still gawking as he finishes his spiel, and you feel a little like a fish. You surely must look like one, with your mouth hanging open in shock, your eyes as wide as saucers, and the general air of befuddlement that surrounds you. There are so many things you want to say, questions you have, all of them colliding in your brain.

“I like sexual activity just fine!” is what makes it out, just as the speaker beside your window crackles to life. There’s a long, pregnant pause in which you and Seokjin just stare at each other.

“So...what can I get for you today?” The worker says through the speaker. You want to die, just a little, as you rattle off your order and Seokjin’s to him; the universe hates you, obviously, that’s the only real explanation here.

“We are not talking about this,” You tell Seokjin firmly as you pull away from the speaker. Your face is still burning, but you refuse to acknowledge it. “You are paying and then we are heading to the cabin and we are not ever speaking of this again.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. You almost believe that he’s dropped the subject, but unfortunately you know him too well for that. Which is why you shoot him a warning look as you pull up to the window and he starts to say something.

“All I was going to say is that my parents asked about you the other day. They’re mad that you haven’t been by lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” You say as you hand Seokjin’s card to the kid in the window. “I haven’t had time to visit.”

“You visit Jimin’s grandma like twice a week.”

“Yeah, well, Granny Park and I are friends. Not to mention I still have to unseat her as the reigning go champion.” You don’t mention that you’re sneaking her mistledough and cookies so that she won’t blab about the fact that you’re in love with Seokjin. Or that every time you go to his parents’ house, they end up talking about weddings and asking when you’re getting married. You can’t deal with that, not when you factor in your feelings for their son.

“I’m just saying. You’re like a daughter to them. They miss you. I’m going by there after we get back from the cabin, and I think they’d like it if you tagged along.”

All you give him is a noncommittal grunt and several bags of fast food. You love his parents, you really do. You just wish they didn’t come with the constant reminder that Jin only sees you as a sister.

He lets you eat in silence, though, content to munch on your fries and pretend most of the morning never happened. He sings along to every song that plays on the radio, and it isn’t until you’re about thirty minutes away from the city and doing your best to navigate the roads in the worsening snow that you get suspicious.

“When you say you like sexual activity just fine-"

“I thought we dropped this!” He sends you a look that just says ‘really?’ and continues.

“I just want to know what you mean. Because obviously we’re on two different pages.”

“I mean that I like it just fine. I enjoy it, it’s fun, I would like to continue having it in the future. What of that is strange to you?”

“No, I just...I was under the impression that you weren’t interested in that. You never really talk about it, and you’ve never mentioned any...partners, or anything so…”

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to inform you of every person I’ve ever slept with.” You glance over at him, astounded, and are shocked to see that his lips are pursed in a frown and his brows are drawn together. You resist the urge to reach out and smooth the lines on his face. “Wait, are you actually upset about this?”

“It’s just...I’ve told you about every person I’ve slept with.” You wince a little because he’s right. You’ve heard about every single one of his sexual encounters, some of them in great detail, and you do your best not to think about them. “If I had known that you were interested, then-”

“What? You would’ve set me up with one of your friends?”

“Who was the last person?”

“What?”

“Who was the last person you had sex with?”

You look at him again, a quick glance to try to figure out if he’s being serious or not. His face is hard, an emotion you can’t place clear in the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure there’s an actual blizzard starting around us, and you want to know who I fucked recently?”

“Yeah, I do. Fair’s fair, Pumpkin.” Something in his voice raises alarms in your head. You could insist that you don’t want to talk about it; he’d respect it if you were really serious, you know he would. There’s an edge to him right now, though, one you haven’t seen in a very long time, and you don’t like it. You want to smooth it out, sand it back into the gentle lilt you love.

“Fuck, Spice, I don’t know. That guy from the bar that one night?”

“What night? What bar?”

“I don’t fucking remember, okay? It was like...fuck, years ago, I don’t even remember what he looked like, let alone his name or what bar it was. Are you happy now? For fuck’s sake, I didn’t think I had to report to you every time I wanted to get laid. You’re my best friend, not my keeper. I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch; between the sound of the heater going full blast and the Christmas carols he’s got blaring through your truck’s sound system, it’s hard to hear anything. Still, when you glance over at him again, something dark sits in his expression, and you’ve got a gut feeling it’s your fault.

Things remain tense even after you arrive at the cabin. Seokjin doesn’t wait for you to help him, just loads all of his stuff into his arms and wobbles his way inside while you’re still slinging your overnight bag over your shoulder. The door slams behind you as you enter, caught by the wind of the growing storm outside, and you send what you hope is an apologetic wave to where Taehyung and Star - his girlfriend of forever and one of your closest friends - sit in the den.

You immediately make your way to the kitchen, swiping a tin of cookies and making hot chocolate, all while ignoring the overly aggressive chopping your best friend is doing behind you. You’re sure Star and Tae aren’t surprised when you flee to the room that you’ve unofficially claimed over the years.

You stay there for most of the day. The door stays open, just in case someone actually wants to come talk to you; you have no doubt that everyone can hear you cursing at the dog show you’re watching, and at one point you’re pretty sure you hear Namjoon’s voice steer someone away, but you can’t be sure. You don’t even want to be sure. All you really want is to know what the fuck you did to piss your best friend off and get him back to normal.

You can’t just ask him, though, because he’ll no doubt get even angrier that you don’t already know, despite the fact that you have no way of knowing unless he actually tells you.

Frustrated, you pick up your phone and flip uselessly through the chat you have with him, trying to find literally any explanation for how he’s acting. The group chat with all the boys plus Star and Cat has been quiet most of the day, only the offhanded comment about someone leaving now or going to be a little late.

Your chat with just Cat and Star is almost as quiet. There’s a featured video of Seokjin blowing up at Jeongguk a bit too harshly considering the younger had just nabbed some kimchi before dinner, but that’s essentially it. You’re tempted to ask Star to get Seokjin to tell her what’s going on, but not only do you not want to drag her into whatever this is, you also know better. He wouldn’t tell her anything. She isn’t his best friend.

As much as you’re looking forward to the rest of the night, there’s a sense of dread deep in your bones when you eventually emerge from your room. You only do so because you’re out of hot chocolate and you know that you’ll be dinner if you’re late to eat.

You wave off Star’s curious look when she sees you; you don’t need her worrying about you, not when she’s got so much else to focus on, if the crutches leaned nearby are any indication. Hobi and Cat haven’t arrived yet, which only adds to the sinking feeling in your gut, but you brush it off. They would call if they had trouble. You know they would. Besides, Cat said they’d probably be leaving late.

Seokjin doesn’t even look at you as you pass him to get to the dining table, and that hurts more than you’d like to admit. The real sucker punch comes once you sit down, however, when you see a mug of hot cocoa with your signature candy cane placed just to the right of your plate, only to realize that Seokjin’s mug of special coffee he loves so much is placed at the other end of the table.

Away from you.

Air catches in your lungs, and it sounds silly that you’re tearing up over your best friend not sitting beside you, but he always sits beside you. Always. No matter what the two of you have been fighting about, he’s always sat beside you because he likes to laugh at the faces you make about the conversations going on, and he feeds you the best bits of meat while you act annoyed about it but secretly love it.

You knew Seokjin was upset, but you hadn’t realized he was this upset.

Jimin sits beside you and introduces you to his neighbor, but you don’t even catch her name, just that he keeps calling her Snow and she looks at him like he’s the meal and that there’s a massive purple bruise along Jimin’s neck that you have a sneaking suspicion is her handiwork. She looks vaguely familiar, but you can’t be bothered to place her, not when Seokjin is laughing about something Star is saying and looks entirely too at home down there.

On your other side, Namjoon and his roommate are talking about a science something or other that they’ve been working on. They’re both so invested in the conversation that neither notice Namjoon dumping the extra spicy sauce over his rice instead of the mild that he prefers. You can’t even bear to listen as he starts complaining to Seokjin that he made the food too spicy and the resulting tirade from the eldest.

If anyone notices your sour mood, they don’t say anything. It’s not surprising, when you think about it; you’ve long been established as the grump of the group, and you don’t expect that to change, even with the girl Jeongguk brought along that seems torn between whether she actually likes him or not.

Yoongi catches your eye at one point and you just cock a brow at him.

“Where’s Jisoo?” You mouth at him across the table. He looks to Peaches, the girlfriend of his that you’ve only ever met once in passing, and looks back at you. You way your eyebrows at him halfheartedly and Yoongi rolls his eyes. It’s disappointing that Jisoo isn’t here. She always provides some sort of entertainment.

If nothing else, she usually provides some semblance of distraction.

By the time dinner ends, you’re fairly positive no one knows about your spat with Seokjin, or the strange tension between the two of you. You’re sure no one noticed how you didn’t eat much of anything; everyone was too wrapped up in their own conversations and relationships to pay much attention to little old you.

You really should know better by now.

Jimin doesn’t move from his spot beside you, even as the others begin gathering dishes and your best friend disappears into the kitchen with the promise of cookies and chocolate-covered treats in an hour or two. Snow disappears, no doubt after a silent conversation between her and Jimin, and you roll your eyes at how he watches her disappear into the room they’ve claimed.

The two of you sit in silence; it’s a game of wits, almost. You know he knows something is up, but you also know that he knows you aren’t one to just offer up your thoughts. But he knows that you know that, and he knows you know he isn’t going to let it go because he can tell something is actually bothering you this time.

“So are we going to talk about why Seokjin has been so pissy all day and how there’s been a notable lack of Pumpkin by his side, or are we going to continue to pretend that everything’s fine like we did through dinner?”

You wish you were better able to resist him. Maybe your time with his grandmother has weakened you to him, and maybe you should work on being less transparent with him, but either way, you slump in your chair and set your empty mug of hot chocolate down with a thump. You still send him a glare that he smiles through and make a mental note to tell Granny Park that there’s a reason for his sudden need for scarves that she should ask him about.

“We had a fight.” You eventually grumble, eyes darting to where Seokjin stands over in the kitchen, dipping marshmallows, pretzels, and other treats into melted chocolate. “I think.”

“You think?”

It doesn’t take very long for you to recount the day’s events to him. You even tell him about The Incident from that morning that you walked in on, because once you start talking you can’t seem to stop until he knows it all.

“And now he’s pissed, I think at me, but I can’t figure out why. I mean, it wasn’t any of his business, but you know how I am with him, so it’s not like I could just not tell him, but I don’t understand why it pissed him off.” You huff a little. The frustration with everything that rolls in your stomach collides with the hurt you feel over Seokjin snubbing you, and it’s so distracting that you almost miss Jimin’s careful whisper of your name.

“Have you ever considered just asking him?” Jimin says softly. “I’m pretty sure having an actual conversation with him would fix this whole thing.”

“But…” You hesitate, twisting a stray thread from your sweater between your fingers. “Jimin, what if he hates me?”

There’s a vulnerability to your voice that you hate, one that only Seokjin, Jimin, and Granny Park have ever seen. It’s rare, mostly because you hate feeling vulnerable, but it makes Jimin’s eyes soften ever so slightly even as he bursts into a fit of giggles so powerful that he almost falls out of his chair.

“This is not helping!” You hiss, shooting a look at where Seokjin is rolling out chocolate chip cookie dough. He doesn’t look up at Jimin’s outburst, but his lips twitch ever so slightly into a frown and the crease between his brows deepens.

You know that look, too well. It’s his ‘I Do Not Care Even Though I Actually Do But I Don’t Want You To Know I Care” look. You saw it frequently when he first went off to college, when he was constantly worrying about all the boys he left behind in that little cul-de-sac. You really hoped it wouldn’t ever come back.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says eventually, wiping a tear away from one eye. “I really am, I promise, I’m just. Oh, I think I might lose a bet.”

“What? How is that helpful, Jimin? Y’know what, where’s that dumb dog thing Yoongi made you, I need to smush its face until I feel better--”

“What you need,” Jimin says as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to sit you back down in your chair, “Is to stop abusing my lovingly crafted plushies and actually talk to Seokjin.”

“I can’t tell him how I feel, you know this Chim-”

“Did I say confess?” Jimin asks as he stands, eyes flickering to where his neighbor-slash-girlfriend(?) is in their room. “Just talk to him. I mean really talk to him, okay, about why he’s upset. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Jimin doesn’t give you a chance to protest; he’s gone and disappeared down the hallway before you can blink, and you don’t want to know what’s happening in that room.

Eventually you meander over to where Seokjin is sliding cookies out of the oven, each perfectly placed to allow for the perfect bake. You putter around for a minute or two, opening and closing cabinet doors at random. You aren’t finding anything interesting, certainly not the strength to have this conversation, which is why you’re startled when someone says, “It’s all the way to the left.”

You turn, and Seokjin is absently stirring leftover melted chocolate. When you fail to move, too busy staring at him in confusion, he turns and points to a cabinet beside you. “The cocoa,” He says, “It’s all the way to the left.”

“Thanks,” You mumble as you move toward it. Inside is a box of candy canes and a weathered tin that you recognize from Seokjin’s apartment. Its twin sits in the bakery, right beside the register so that it’s close at hand for when you inevitably come thundering in with a storm cloud above your head. Each holds the special cocoa recipe that Seokjin learned from his grandfather, who learned it from his grandfather.

You chance a glance at your best friend; he knows how much you love that cocoa. The people in this cabin right now are the only people he’ll make it for - save for Hoseok and Cat, who still haven’t arrived. Seokjin’s ears are burning red, and a weaker person - or at least one less accustomed to him - may have cooed at the sight. But you’ve spent too long building up the walls so that he’ll never find out just what you keep tucked away in your heart.

“I’m-”

“Sorry.” He finishes for you. “I know you are. And...I forgive you.” You nod at his words; you couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what had actually upset him, but you’re glad he’s forgiven you for it. Still, it nags at you, because what if it happens again? Unlikely, considering you haven’t been able to get laid in actual years because you’re too smitten with the man standing across from you, but still.

“Are you going to tell me why you were upset, or are you just going to play with chocolate all night?” You eventually ask. He sighs, heavy and long, and turn to lean back on the counter beside you. He’s wearing his ridiculous alpaca apron that you got him for his birthday, and that only makes him more beautiful as he considers what he wants to say.

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost feels like he’s close enough to touch, but you just can’t seem to let your hand reach out to do so. You think if you could, you might be able to grab him and hold on forever, but something deep in your gut stills you.

The fear of losing him, of losing everything that you have with him right now - late nights at the bakery, shopping for birthday presents, the quiet moments in a chaotic world where you find peace in each other. As much as it hurts to love him, as hard as it is to speak around the words that strangle in your throat that speak truth to every feeling you’ve ever locked in the recesses of your heart, you can’t risk telling him. Because this pining and loving and eventually watching him grow old with someone he loves?

That’s enough for you.

“I just got jealous, I suppose,” Seokjin eventually says. “I always thought that you weren’t interested in sex, y’know? You mentioned it once in college that you’d tried it, but your little half-frown was there, so I knew you didn’t like it, because you get the same one every time you eat gingerbread because you hate it but you don’t want me to get disappointed that you aren’t eating the houses I make. I just thought it wasn’t something you wanted in life.”

“Um.”

“Which is obviously fine, sex isn’t for everyone, asexual people exist and are valid, as are those that are sex-repulsed, y’know? And I decided a long time ago when I first looked into it all that I didn’t care about sex in a relationship. That’s not the important thing to being partners with someone. But apparently sex is a thing for you, and I just wish I had known that because all this time I could’ve-”

“What, set me up with your friends?”

“No, definitely not. It’s just that we...I could have...it just hurts to know that you’ll have sex with other people but not with me, even though I respect that it’s your decision to make.”

“What.”

“But I just...I know I’m not entitled to an explanation, but I can’t lie, I would really appreciate one if you can give it. I mean...I dunno, I know that I had sex with other people, but we had that whole conversation in college about it, and you seemed alright with it, so I did. And I always told you about them, because communication and openness is important, and I wanted you to know that I was respecting your boundaries with that while also satisfying my own needs. But it really did feel weird, because...y’know, so I stopped. And I guess I assumed that if you weren’t fucking me, you weren’t fucking anyone.”

“What.”

“I just really care about you, Pumpkin, and I know I know don’t really say it a lot because I’m more of a ‘showing it’ kind of guy, but...I just would have appreciated knowing that. Especially since I’ve always been more than willing to love you like that.”

“Spice,” You say slowly, being careful to keep your face blank. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Seokjin blinks at you owlishly. ��What do you mean ‘what am I talking about,’ I thought I was pretty clear. I mean...yeah, I’d love it if you would have sex with me, but that’s your decision, and I’m curious as to your reasoning and logic. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, which is why I forgave you, because as much as it stings, it’s your choice. And I love you, as you know, so-”

“How would I possibly know that?” Your voice catches a little on the words, probably because you’re having a little trouble actually breathing. Everything is fuzzy and the words ‘I’d love it if you would have sex with me’ and ‘I love you’ are playing on a loop in your brain. Your entire world has just shifted on its axis, and yet Seokjin looks completely unbothered.

“Maybe because I’ve put up with you so long?” He teases with a fond smile. “I mean, I know we aren’t the type to say the words very often, but c’mon Pumpkin. We’ve been dating since you were twelve, not many would last that long without even a kiss.”

“We haven’t been together since I was twelve, though.” He raises a brow at your confused tone.

“Okay, thirteen, then.” He says. The confusion on your face must be apparent, because it begins to bleed into his, the beautiful features morphing to mirror your own.

“Seokjin, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t dating.”

His expression only gets more confused.

“Uh, yes we are?”

“Uh, no we aren’t? When the fuck did that happen?”

“When you were twelve, as I said. I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“I feel like I would have remembered that happening.”

“Then you should go to a doctor, because it definitely did. It was the best day of my life. We were sitting on the playground, it was recess, you were upset.”

“I remember none of that.”

“You cannot possibly have forgotten this!” Seokjin exclaims. “I cheered you up and offered you my cookie, which you ate in like two bites even though I had made it with salt instead of sugar and it had to be disgusting, because some girl had knocked your cupcake into the dirt-”

“Park Sooyoung, that bitch, I remember that-”

“And then,” Seokjin continues, ignoring your outburst, “I was so deeply honored that you ate that disgusting thing that I offered you the equal honor of being my girlfriend. And you nodded and I kissed your cheek and then you punched me in the arm - which hurt, I might add, for days - and then I watched you play Pokemon Sapphire on your Gameboy Advance.”

The memory rushes in, though not exactly how he remembers it. Park Sooyoung had knocked your cupcake out of your hands and into the dirt, and you had been so mad about it that you’d started to cry. Seokjin found you, curled under a tree away from everyone else, and when he eventually learned what upset you, he’d told Sooyoung off like no one had ever seen. And then he’d handed you the best cookie you’ve ever eaten.

You think maybe that was when you first started falling for Seokjin. With the salty cookie that masked the taste of your own tears, and the angry tirade he had gone on despite the two of you not having known each other for very long, with the wide smile and squeaky laugh and ears so red and cute that you couldn’t focus on whatever he was saying and just nodded along to it.

“Well...why didn’t you say anything since then?” A thought crosses your mind, and it so horror-filled that you have to ask. “Do the guys know?”

“If they do, it’s not because I told them,” Seokjin answers easily. “When you introduced yourself as my friend, I figured you were just a very private person and didn’t want to rub it in their faces or something.”

“Is that why you always drag me along when you, Hobi, Tae, Cat, and Star go out for karaoke?”

“Obviously,” He scoffs. “What could be better than a triple date with your two best friends?”

“Literally anything! Hobi and Cat sing each other the most raunchy things I’ve ever heard, and Tae does all those weepy ballads or indie songs nobody recognizes, and Star’s got those dopey love eyes all night, it’s revolting.”

“You mean like those faces you make at me when you think I won’t notice?”

“I-” You huff, at a loss. “Well what about the other day, with that girl at Mistledough you were flirting with, who was flirting back and-” Realization hits you. “And she’s Jimin’s neighbor girlfriend lady!”

“Pumpkin. Are you serious right now?” He gives you a dry look, but there’s amusement written all over it. “You’ve heard my sales pitch a hundred times. You’ve given my sales pitch a hundred times, albeit with a little more of a monotone and general ‘I’ll kill you’ vibe to it. It was just so she’d buy all the treats I could possibly sell her.”

You make a small ‘hmph’ noise that you aren’t exactly proud of, but makes Seokjin laugh. He pulls you into a warm hug, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you there. It’s a little awkward, because your arms are still crossed over your chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind and despite all the muttered complaints you give him, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“So…” Jin says in a too-casual tone after a few minutes. You muffle a groan into his chest, already preparing for the worst. “What kind of sex are you into?”

“Oh my god,” You mumble.

“Wait, you’re right, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He clears his throat and stands to his full height. When he looks at you again, his eyes are full of something you can’t place exactly, but it makes your heart skip nonetheless when he says your full name. “Will you do me the honor of officially becoming my girlfriend? Again?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and nod. The grin takes over his face is blinding, worth all the trouble from the day, as is the soft kiss he presses to your cheek. You can’t help but huff when he pulls away from it, even, and he raises an amused brow at it.

“Does this mean I can finally kiss you the way I’ve been dreaming of forever?”

You do roll your eyes this time, but you let your fingers dance over his jaw and pull him into a gentle kiss. His lips are softer than they look, which you truly didn’t think was possible, and the way they mold and move with yours is warm and tender. You don’t even know how long you spend kissing Seokjin. Time isn’t real, not now, not with him pulling you closer and pressing warm against you like every single daydream you’ve let yourself have.

Years of repressed urges and desire come out before you can stop them, though. Your hands move down to rest on Seokjin’s impossibly tiny waist, slipping behind his apron to tease at the waistband of his slacks. Why he insists everyone wear nice clothes to dinner, you couldn’t possibly say, but they make his ass look phenomenal so you never complain.

The kisses become more heated, his tongue dipping out to taste your lips for a moment. Hands find their way to your ass and palm it greedily, and he tugs you flush against him. A hard length is pressing into you, and you don’t have to guess to know it's not the rolling pin.

Images - memories - flash through your mind of that morning. Your mouth waters and you pull back from Seokjin. Panting, lips swollen from kisses, and half-lidded eyes, he's never looked better.

"Can I suck your dick?"

He groans low in his throat and his eyes fall closed. "Fuck, Pumpkin, right here? Anyone could walk by." You drop to your knees as your hands undo the clasp on the pants.

"Doubtful, they're probably having that post-dinner nap, or playing some game." Anxiety pools in your gut; you know quite a bit about what Seokjin likes in bed, but you've never been sure if exhibitionism is on that list. "Does it make you uncomfortable? I don't have to. I've just been thinking about it all day."

Seokjin barks out a quick laugh and shakes his head. "No," He says, "I definitely would love for you to suck my dick in this kitchen if you want to."

"Good." You flip his apron to the side and tug his cock out of its confines. You don't bother dropping his pants all the way; there's no time, you're too impatient. "Let me know if anyone shows up."

Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a sharp intake of breath as you warp your lips around the head of him. One of his hands moves to grip the counter behind him and the other rests lightly on your crown; he doesn't pull or tug, just keeps his hand as a gentle pressure as you sink him deeper into your mouth.

As much as you've never been one for sucking dick, you're in heaven. There's no other explanation for why it feels this good to have him sitting heavy against your tongue as he hits the back of your throat. There are still two inches left so you wrap your hand around it and hollow your cheeks as you pull back.

A strangled moan escapes him, and his fingers tighten ever so slightly in your hair. Heat floods to your core and you kick yourself internally because you could have been doing this for years. Your tongue darts out to slide teasingly along the underside of his cock and he reflexively thrusts into your mouth.

You cough a little and pull back, wiping spit from your lips as you catch your breath, and Seokjin is already spewing apologies.

“I’m fine,” You say as you sit back against the cabinet, tugging him to stand in front of you. His back is to most of the kitchen and your head rests against the hard wood behind you while you eye the hard wood in front of you. “I can take a little bit of roughness, Spice, don’t worry.”

He looks hesitant so you ghost your fingers along his length to tease him. His jaw clenches at the same time his eyes close and you resist the urge to smile. Tension bleeds out of his shoulders and when he opens his eyes again, he quirks a brow in a silent question and you nod.

In seconds, he’s in your throat once more, thrusting himself in and out at a slow pace that makes you clench with the desire to feel it elsewhere. You hollow your cheeks and suck properly as he fucks your throat, and he muffles another moan.

“Fuck, Pumpkin, please don’t stop,” Seokjin whines quietly. You smile, just a little, and take him back into your throat for a few seconds before pulling back and repeating the process. Each time he hits the back of your throat, he lets out a muffled groan that only makes you wetter. His cock is thick and your jaw aches and you’re struggling to breathe just a little bit, but the fucked out expression on his face is more than worth it.

Something clatters in the hallway and you freeze, Seokjin’s cock sheathed to the hilt in your throat. His ears turn red and he starts to pull back, but you stop him with a hand on his thigh. He looks down at you, surprised, and you chance a wink that makes him chuckle.

Footsteps make their way past, giggles following close behind, and you hear the door leading to the hot tub open and close. After a few seconds of silence, Seokjin relaxes, pulling out of your throat. You take a few deep breaths and glance over to the door, curious.

“Jimin and Snow,” He tells you, one hand absently stroking along your cheek. “We probably shouldn’t use the hot tub tonight.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why would I want to anyway? Have you heard Namjoon’s lecture on what could potentially grow in a hot tub if it isn’t sanitized regularly? It’s not a fun lecture.” Seokjin laughs, squeaky and adorable, and helps you to your feet. He doesn’t hesitate to pepper kisses along your cheeks, and you wrinkle your nose even as tilt your head so he can get the places he missed.

“Now when you said that you can handle a little roughness…” Seokjin says, voice a soft murmur in your ear. You make a small hum of affirmation, encouraging him to continue. “Does that mean I can spank you for not finishing blowing me, or is that something you’d rather not do?”

“Fuck, Seokjin,” You hiss, rubbing your thighs together. “Now you have to do it.”

He’s got you turned around in an instant, your fancy dress pants on the ground a few seconds later. His hands mold to your ass, cupping the flesh briefly through your underwear before letting his hands fall away.

It’s methodical and slow and torturous, how he peels away that last layer keeping him from your wetness. You know that the fabric is soaked through, it has been since you first got his dick in your mouth, and Seokjin groans at the sight.

“Even better than I imagined,” He mutters. Your cheeks heat in a rare blush, and you drop your head down between where your forearms are braced against the countertop. His hand smacks against your ass, lightly, and you choke back a laugh. Is that really what he thinks a spank is?

Another slap hits you, no real force behind it, and you scoff under your breath.

“What?” Seokjin asks. When you look back at him, he’s expectant, like he knows what you’re about to say.

“Is that what you call a slap?” You ask. He rolls his eyes and pulls his hand back for another. It already looks unsatisfying, and you can’t help but push him a little further. “I always wondered why your dough doesn’t rise high enough. Guess I know now.”

His eyes darken and a chill comes over you.

“Oh, is that how this is gonna be?” He asks. He gestures for you to face forward again and you do, curious as to the dark look in his eyes.

Something hard and cold smacks into your ass, and you yelp in surprise. There’s a little more force behind it, enough to sting pleasantly but not enough to hurt.

“Is that better, Pumpkin?” He asks. There’s a mocking tone to his voice, but when you look back, you can see the slant of his lips and tension in his jaw that shows he’s concerned. The rolling pin from earlier rests in his hands, and it flares something in your gut.

“Much,” You tell him as you turn back around. He spanks you with it again, and again, and again, and it isn’t until you feel something wet drip down the back of your leg that you remember the chocolate he was fucking around with earlier.

“If you get that on my nice clothes, I will destroy you,” You warn him. He laughs a little and there’s a thump as the rolling pin hits the countertop.

“Is that code for get me naked?” He asks, a laugh in his voice.

“No, that’s code for lick it up and then fuck my brains out.”

The laugh in his throat quickly becomes a growl and he sets to work doing just that. His tongue runs over your skin, gently lapping at the chocolate there, and several times he gets distracted leaving purple marks in his wake. He even slides tongue along your slit, long and thorough and quick, and you almost come just from the obscene moan he lets out.

"Fuck, please, I need you," You gasp out. Seokjin slides a hand under your shirt, massaging the muscles in your back as he does, and stands to his full height.

"Let me know if it hurts," He says softly. His voice is a whisper against your ear and it's never sounded quite so wrecked or beautiful. "I'll stop, okay?"

"If you don't get inside me in the next five seconds, I will go ask Jimin and Snow if I can join them in their kinky hot tub," you growl.

He curses quietly and thrusts his length inside you. Neither of you are quite prepared for what it feels like, and the moment he gets buried to the hilt, he stills.

"Shit, Pumpkin, I'm not gonna last long," He mutters. You can't even manage words. The stretch is absolutely blissful, just on the right side of painful when paired with the sting of your still-tender ass. He's the perfect height for this, too; perfectly lined up without either of you having to try very hard.

He pulls almost entirely out, leaving just the dusty pink head you remember inside. There's not even a chance to whine at the loss, because before you know it, he's slamming back in.

Seokjin's pace is erratic and harried; there's no smooth strokes here. You're both in too much of a rush, too drunk on the pleasure to want anything but release.

Hands move along your skin, one lifting your shirt so he can pepper kisses along your spine while the other reaches down to gently tweak your clit.

It takes three swipes of his finger to have your knees shaking with the power of your orgasm. You clench around him and he stills. You can't think, your brain is absolutely fried at this point; all you know is the feeling of him inside you and the disappointing emptiness when he pulls out.

Warmth hits your back and Seokjin's moans echo in your ears. You're almost afraid to turn around, afraid this is some hyper-realistic dream.

"Shit, hold on, let me clean this up," he says, panting. You can hear him moving through the kitchen and when he comes back, something cold and wet slides along your back.

You wait patiently as he cleans you up. He wipes away every instance of cum and chocolate from your skin - though he looks a little disappointed to be doing so, which you file away for later.

"God, that's so much fucking cum," You say, wrinkling your nose at the mass of wet wipes he tosses in the trash while you fasten your pants once more.

It's just in time, too, as Jimin and Snow come in from the hot tub, smiling and giggly with each other.

"Ah," Jimin says, looking between you and Seokjin. "I did lose a bet. Damn, she's gonna be so pleased with herself."

You glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. The two of them disappear to get dressed in actual clothes, and you and Seokjin set to work plating the cookies and treats he'd made.

You can't stop the fond look at the rolling pin every few minutes.

Later, after you discover Cat and Hobi have arrived safely and you make sure they actually eat the plates set aside for them, you're on the hunt for Seokjin. He's disappeared somewhere and it's almost time for the countdown.

You finally find him - where else - in the kitchen, making a horrified face at Namjoon.

"What? It was good," Namjoon says with a frown. Seokjin just waves him off and Namjoon shrugs, grabbing a couple glasses of champagne and heading back to Slick.

You sidle up to him as close as you can get and he wraps an arm around your waist like it's second nature. It's surreal, that the man you love is pressing a kiss to your temple and handing you a mug of cocoa.

"I'm glad we talked," He says eventually. You hum your agreement; you aren't looking at him, just staring down into your cocoa as you absently stir it with a candy cane, but you do lean into him ever so slightly. "Remind me to bake Jimin a cake."

"Why? What's he done to deserve a cake?"

"He helped me out earlier, while I was cooking dinner. Helped me figure out how to say what I needed to, that sort of thing."

Your face shoots up as your heart clenches in your chest. "Jimin," You echo. "Jimin is why you decided to talk about your feelings." Seokjin just nods, eyes wide and not understanding why you have murder in your eyes.

"I'm gonna kill him so hard-" You say, already setting your mug down and turning to go find that short gremlin and skin him alive. You don't get two steps before a hand comes to rest on your shoulder, heavy but gentle.

Seokjin pulls you closer to him, a smile playing on his lips as he does. "Why would you want to kill Jimin for that, Pumpkin?"

"Because!" You exclaim. "Jimin's the only one that knows that I-"

The words tangle in your throat, cloying together into a ball you can't seem to unwind. You're too used to choking it down. You don't know how to say it.

"That you love me?" Seokjin finishes. You can't bear to look at him, huffing slightly as you turn to stare out the kitchen window at the snow-covered trees beyond.

Seokjin's hand glides down your arm to wrap around your own, tangling his fingers with yours. With a grace you tend to forget he has, he brings them both upwards until he can press a soft kiss in the center of your palm.

"Jimin isn't the only one that knows that, Pumpkin," He says quietly. You can feel your ears burning, a pleasant contrast from how it's usually him embarrassed and red.

"Whatever," you grumble, giving up on your mission to brutally murder one of your best friends. Seokjin laughs, loud and squeaky and wonderful, and pulls you into another hug.

"I love you too," He whispers. "Now, let's go join the others. I believe you owe me several years of kisses."

"You wish," You mutter half-heartedly. He hands you your cocoa and pats your still-sore ass with a wink.

"That's a great move."

"Really?"

"Yes." There's a pause as she waits for you to remove your fingers from the piece. "If you want to lose."

You offer her a weak glare that she ignores as she studies the board.

"I'm glad that you and Seokjinnie finally got things figured out. It was very cute to watch, but it was getting a little ridiculous, you know."

She moves a piece, and you squint to try to help you figure out her strategy.

"Right, it had nothing to do with your bet with Jimin," You say sarcastically as you move another piece. You eye her, one finger still remaining on it, to try to figure out if it's what she expected.

"Of course not," She says as you remove your hand. "That was merely a bonus." She immediately lays a piece, gaining even more of an advantage than she already had.

"Well then," You start as you lay another piece, "I'm sure you know all about Jimin and his neighbor, and Star and Tae I don't need to tell you anything about Yoongi or Cat or Jeongguk, either, probably."

Her fingers hesitate over the piece she's picking up, and her eyes narrow at you.

"Ah, don't be so cruel. You're supposed to respect your elders, you know."

"Alright, Granny Park," You say with a rare grin as you glance to where Seokjin is baking a ‘sorry we fucked in your kitchen’ cake and decoration some sugar-free cookies for her. "What exactly do you want to know?

2K notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

But Once a Year (4/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: Another 9K or so, but with feelings AN: I had every intention of posting this on actual Christmas, but there was a Doctor Who marathon on and, well—I got distracted by other time travel. Hopefully my timelines are more consistent than River Song’s. Sorry, River Song. Here’s a whole bunch of kissing and feeling feelings.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

“Were you ever actually going to paint?”

No eyebrow movement that time, although Killian’s actual eyes widen ever so slightly and that particular reaction is starting to do dangerous things to Emma's ego. He keeps his coffee mug hovering just above his lips, which she’s certain is a carefully calculated ploy to also keep her staring at his lips, but that’s not all that difficult and she’d spent at least seven full minutes kissing those same lips senseless that morning.

In bed.

The one they’ve slept in — for four days straight now, which is probably more time than it should be, but he was right. Falling asleep with his arm around her is far easier than the opposite, and he only occasionally complains about the frost-like tendencies of her feet. Mostly into the back of her neck. That’s just where his mouth ends up.

So, everything is still going great. Not potentially problematic. Because neither Regina nor Tinker Bell have come up with a working time-travel theory, and Emma’s baking endeavors haven’t gone over all that well either, but she’s discovered Killian’s tendency for stealing batter, and that’s even more ridiculously endearing information that’s only sort of skewing with her sense of reality, and— “Is this you volunteering?”

Startling, Emma almost forgot she’d asked a question. His mouth does something else. Stupid, and distracting and he uses almond milk in his coffee.

Claims it’s a modern convenience he’s more than willing to take advantage of.

Great, great, excellent. Possibly falling towards something, in a free-fall sort of way, and Emma shakes her head. Brushes away dangerous thoughts and hard-drawn lines in the much more metaphorical sand, and she wonders if sand ever lingers in their entry way during the summer.

They must go to the beach.

Spend time on the Jolly Roger, and she hasn’t seen much of the ship, but she’s starting to think it’d be nice to pass an afternoon on the water, with the sun and the salt and— “Swan,” Killian says, obviously not the first time he’s tried to draw back her attention. Chair legs scrape across their kitchen floor when he stands, and Emma’s brain barely acknowledges that particular pronoun before he’s crowding her space and bumping his hips against hers and nothing like that has happened yet, because that’s not just a line, it’s an entire rhombus or some other geometric shape that’s more like a tangled mess and knotted feelings and she flinches.

When his hook drifts under the hem of her shirt.

Floral patterned, and far gauzier than anything Emma would even think about owning now. Or then, she supposes. Tenses continue to be their own specific type of issue, and she’s starting to like the clothes hanging in her questionably large closet.

They’re soft.

Which is probably not a commentary, or observation of whatever tense she’s willing to use, but it’s definitely different and possibly better and Killian chuckles in her ear as soon as her head falls to his collarbone. He kisses the top of her hair.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Scoffing into his shirt threatens to rumple the fabric, and she doesn’t really miss the billowy fabric of what’s now years past, but she also wonders if he kept them and where he docks the Jolly during the winter, and she can’t start giving pirate ships nicknames. Not now. Not yet. Not when she’s got to leave, and that only makes, like, half her muscles ache, so it’s probably not as bad as it could be.

“They’re not worth that much,” Emma mumbles, the soft laugh she gets warming her from the inside out. A mix of magic and much more, and she’s back on the alliterative. As a defense mechanism or something.

For her heart, maybe.

“Luckily for you, I’ve got something of an eye for undiscovered treasure and—” “—Is this a line?” He laughs again, noses at her temple and the crown of her head and neither one of them mention how tightly Emma’s arms wrap around his middle. “If you can’t decipher when I’m flirting by now, we may have some issues.” “Some is a vast understatement.” “It’s going to be alright,” Killian promises, but it rings a little hollow and part of Emma knows. Still dark and distant, it doesn’t want to acknowledge everything it’s ignoring and a pointed voice echoes between her ears. With the same mantra.

Magic is emotion.

And Emma’s emotions are decidedly split. Just like Pan thought they’d be. Maybe she’s not just a coward; she’s selfish and greedy and inching dangerously close to a crying jag in the middle of the kitchen, but then Killian’s fingers drag across her spine and it’s a rhythm she can time her breathing to.

“We’re running out of time.” “That’s not entirely true. Time travel’s apparently heavily involved, makes deadlines rather defunct, don’t you think?”

Emma scrunches her nose, but the voice is back and it’s sharper and a little angrier and stamping on several different parts of her brain if the growing pain is any indication. All magic comes with a price. “Talk to me about paint instead.” “Not much to talk about,” Killian says, but the caution in his voice makes it obvious they’re both all too aware of what they’re avoiding. Possibly even dreading. Emma is, at least.

She’s going to strangle Peter Pan when she sees him.

“But you haven’t done it.” “Some other things have been going on, you see.” “Don’t you want to paint?” “It’s not particularly high on my list of ways to occupy my time,” he admits, one side of his mouth tugging up. Flirting is getting easier. Some joke about practice, Emma is sure. “But, if it’s something you’re willing to help with, and it will get those thoughts of yours to settle for a few moments, then—” “—Who says my thoughts aren’t settled?” Tapping the all-too-noticeable furrow of Emma’s forehead, Killian’s eyes widen again. “Absolutely God awful at masking them, m’dear.” “Maybe that’s just a you thing.” “Aye, my mind-reading talents have been well-documented, but I suppose if we’re going to wait for Her Majesty to come up with yet another pointless—” “—Kinda harsh,” Emma mumbles. He kisses the furrow. Traces the lines of her brows, and hovers just on the edge of her eyes, grazing cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, until Emma's skin is buzzing and her magic threatens to pour out of her, and she’s only just able to contain whatever wave joke is pressing against her lips. Good, since those lips can be put to much better use against Killian’s. “Better plan, anyway,” he mumbles, working his arm back around her waist. So he can tug her up, and pull her closer to him and neither one of those things feel like the multitude of other problems Emma’s overactive brain is dealing with and they do eventually get out of the kitchen.

Finish the coffee, and figure out where Hope’s favorite hat has disappeared to, because Emma’s rather quickly learned that this hat has legs that quite often move from its spot on the shelf into the hallway, and the overall width of Mary Margaret’s smile when she opens up the farm’s screen door isn’t as jarring as it would have been a week earlier.

Getting back home takes longer than it probably should — ducking into the alley behind Granny’s for at last forty-two seconds of totally uninterrupted kissing, and Emma’s not entirely sure this is what being a newlywed is like, or was, she supposes, but it’s still pretty fantastic and she doesn’t want to name the sound that works its way out of her.

Part giggle, a hint of overjoyed, and some sort of lingering fear because this isn’t quite real, but feels like the exact opposite, and they find old drop sheets in one of their half a dozen closets. Right next to the shirts she’d been wondering about before, and that’s probably not serendipity or fate or anything except Killian’s own sentimental tendencies, but she’s got to change her clothes anyway, and she doesn’t drown in the fabric like she worried she would.

Likely not a metaphor, either.

“Cheating,” Killian accuses, reaching for Emma anyway and moving the furniture isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Until Emma also remembers she’s got magic, and the ability to be very attracted to the guy who can’t seem to keep his hand off her, and she only has to blink once.

For the furniture to move into the basement, at least for the time being.

“Impressive, right?”

“Look who’s fishing for compliments now.” “C’mon, that was a shit ton of—” She doesn’t get the rest out, far too busy gasping and blinking and he’s swiped paint on her nose. “Are you kidding me?” Shrugging, he dances out of her reach before Emma can totally react and the paint’s already starting to dry. And crack. The signs are just getting obnoxious now. Makes much more sense to keep ignoring them.

“No, no,” she argues, not bothering with the brush stuffed into the top of her leggings. Twisting her wrist, paint soars towards Emma’s fingertips, curling around her wrist and practically vibrating with the energy she’s flush with.

Killian takes a step back. One more, another. A quick shake of his head makes the strands falling across his forehead shift again, and she’s not counting how often that happens, but she’s also paying fairly close attention to it and—“Revenge is never wise, love,” he advises, not able to keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pots and kettles, and all that, right?” “I’m completely reformed now. Ask anyone.” Humming, Emma advances on him. Magic ripples up her arms, power she’s never quite experienced before and it’s oddly intoxicating. Not in an overwhelming, potentially villainous sort of way. It’s far too warm for that.

Villainy has to be cold, Emma’s sure.

As it is, she’s not quite sweating, but she’s decidedly comfortable and all of her internal organs are functioning with an ease that belies their situation, or the problems it presents, and none of the paint ever touches her skin. Hovers in the air around it, wholly controlled and that’s not something Emma’s particularly familiar with.

It’s nice. It’s—much more than nice, but she fell once while trying to do the long jump in that one Minnesota high school she spent a few months in when she was fifteen, and the prospect of something similar makes her wary of leaving the ground again. The line’s still there. Drawn with precision, and possibly permanent marker, and they can’t paint over that.

Not yet, at least. Not entirely.

“It does kind of match your eyes,” Emma says, hoping Killian doesn’t notice the shake in her voice. No such luck, she knows. Can see the flicker of concern in his gaze, but he’s able to push away. Not from the wall, and there’s something cyclical and symmetrical about this too, emotion almost visibly hanging between them. Another thing they haven’t talked about, and likely won’t have time for.

Totally fine. Absolutely great.

Falling for—

No, no falling. Standing and walking and Emma lifts her chin. Lets her magic twist its way up her spine, and flicker towards her bare feet, and Killian’s mouth twitches again.

“Care more about the dress, really.” “What’d it look like? And where was Elsa’s—you said it was a wedding, right?”

“Her wife was here, you saw Mulan yesterday.” “No shit!” “Always with the perfect response,” Killian grins, “but yes. Met while Mulan was doing ambassador work for Aurora and Phillip, and love conquers all or so I’ve been told.” “Say it again without making it a joke.” Not shuddering under the force of his ensuing gaze is another victory Emma’s going to relish, even when she’s wherever she’s actually supposed to be, and she hopes she remembers this. In picture-perfect detail. “Conquers all,” Killian repeats, “as far I know.”

“Personally?” “Deeply so.”

Emma licks her lips. Killian stares. Tries not to, but she really is getting better at reading him and he doesn’t put up as much of a fight about information anymore. Seriously, everything’s so fine, the word barely holds any meaning now. But, like, in a positive way. “So, we went to Elsa’s wedding because—” “—You and she are rather good friends. Hope’s godmother, in fact.” “Oh. That’s—wow, that’s kind of nice.” “It is,” Killian agrees, not adding to it. He doesn’t have to. They both hear what they haven’t said — how few and far between friends are for Emma, and she briefly wonders if he knows about Lily or the kids who showed up, only to disappear just as quickly, and it would be second-nature to tell him. Part of her wants to now.

Rehashing seems silly, though.

“Anyway,” he adds, “Elsa and Mulan got married, and there was a dress that I will admit to thinking quite a lot about still, and it was blue. With these…” His eyes flutter closed. Magic roars in the very center of Emma. “Little bits of twisted fabric on top, looked like starbursts.” “Like the candy?” Gods, she an idiot. An entertaining one, if Killian’s smirk proves anything, though. So that’s something, at least. “Did we dance?” Nodding, his eyes keep darting back towards Emma’s hand and the paint that’s become some part of a questionably romantic thing, but she’s also starting to get the suspicion he’s using the wall to stay upright. Something thumps into it.

Light bursts from the end of Emma’s hair.

“Oh,” Killian groans through clenched teeth, and a jaw that can’t possibly be comfortable, “that’s hardly playing fair, sweetheart.”

Huh.

The light grows. Flares, even — until it’s casting streaks across the floor and hovering just under Emma’s skin, because apparently she can glow now, and she almost feels like she’s floating. On endearments and sentiment and the air blowing through windows opened solely so they didn’t suffocate on paint fumes suddenly smells a little sweeter.

“You’ve got your hook embedded in the wall,” Emma points out, none of those words all that even either. She doesn’t sound like herself, but she also didn’t know she was a person who reacted quite like that to one ten-letter word, yet here they. So, whatever really.

Wider eyes and slightly parted lips meet her somehow still-lifted chin, and Killian’s nod barely warrants the description. Leaves his chest shifting, but Emma’s also admittedly staring at his chest because for as big as the shirt she’s wearing is, his is just as tight and touting a college she figures Henry thought about going to at some point, and she seizes her opportunity.

Paint flies — literally. Soars across the barley-there space between Emma’s toes and Killian’s socks, and she genuinely cannot cope with how he only ever takes his socks off to sleep. He gasps when color splashes his cheeks and his shoulders, hangs from the ends of his hair, and threatens to find the edges of his lips. “Gotta close your mouth,” Emma advises lightly, getting the exact spark in his eyes that she was hoping for and she yelps all the same. When he ducks his head, nosing at her neck and the line of her collar. Which is technically his color, but she’s been using all those collective pronouns, that it can’t possibly matter at this point and she definitely giggles. While his fingers trace patterns across her stomach and the side of her waist, dragging lines of blue paint over skin and fabric and she’s not sure when they fall over, just that they’re a tangle of limbs and slightly ripped sheets and— “Do you think I could magic the paint on the walls?” Emma asks, flipping her paint-covered head to her side. Without opening his eyes, Killian mumbles an agreement, his fingers fluttering against hers until they lace between them and she’s only like seventy-four percent positive he does it on purpose.

Concentrating on the twenty-six percent that absolutely knows it’s that same instinct and inherent habit from before, Emma twists her lower lip between her teeth. Feels the first brush of magic, and the small inferno that erupts between her ribs doesn’t actually set her on fire. So, more victories.

And it only takes about twelve seconds.

Give or take.

Blue walls appear around them as if by—well, magic. Not a streak out of place, or mark on the baseboards and Emma’s only a little annoyed that they bothered to move any of the furniture. “Single most impressive thing I’ve ever seen,” Killian mutters. “Your eyes are still closed.” “Aye, but I know it’s happening.” Not letting go of her lip or his hand, Emma’s heart thunders in her chest as soon as she notices the question sitting on her tongue. “When did that start? Because—well, as far as I know you can’t tell in Neverland.” He doesn’t respond. Not immediately, anyway. And that’s only momentarily terrifying, before a slightly different and passably darker shade of blue meets her. “That’s not entirely true. It gets a little confusing, though.” “Don’t offend me like that.”

“I’m not saying you won’t understand,” Killian laughs, “just—the other time travel adventure? Well, that happens rather early in my timeline. And, uh...well, by that point you’re feeling some things and—” “—Kissing as a distraction,” Emma breathes, realization shaking her and this version of the puzzle is equally surprising and wonderful.

“You’re an eavesdrop.” “Piracy excuse.”

He laughs again, kisses her cheek and pulls her closer to his side until nearly all of him is touching all of her and that’s another word much bigger than nice. “As far as I’ve been able to reason it, that sets off a chain of sorts. Magic exists in you, can be felt by me, I don’t entirely remember it—” “—You don’t entirely remember it?” “Making it difficult to tell the story.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s always been this sort of—presence, I suppose. In the back of my mind, a reminder of something. Good and possible, and it makes it rather easy to tell when you’re agitated, actually.” “Seems like cheating.” “Piracy excuse,” he repeats, and Emma’s mind trips over itself. Falling across line and thoughts and leaving here might be one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Part of her wonders if she knows how, though.

“You know about Neal. Everything that—” Her breath catches, out-of-place tears already threatening to fall, and that’s kind of lame. Killian’s cheek brushes Emma’s. While he nods. “For what it’s worth, your parents do feel bad about the naming legacy one they realize.” “He’s not here.” “No, that would be rather difficult for him. He’s—” “—Dead?” “Honorably,” Killian says, even through the hint of acid and Emma drapes her arm across his stomach. “And he does care about Henry, quite ardently. But...well, I don’t imagine I’ll ever entirely forgive him for everything he did, and it was difficult to rationalize the Bae I knew with he Neal who acted like that.” “Probably weird to be attracted to that, huh?” Chuckling, his lips press against her hair. “Whatever way you’re willing to be attracted to me, is something I wholeheartedly approve of.”

“I’ve got another question.” “Waiting with baited breath.” “You’ve got a ship still, right?”

Tensing the way he does isn’t really the reaction Emma anticipates, although she should probably be ready for anything now, and Killian mumbles, “aye, I do.”

“Could we—I mean, I’m capable of teleporting, right?” “I’ve got no doubt. But it might be cold.” “Good thing you just radiate heat, huh?” His tongue pokes between his lips. Emma’s staring again. Has a hard time stopping, really. Which makes the magic return all the stronger and all the more suddenly, and Killian’s soft hitch of breath is oddly pleasing, even as the smell of salt replaces half-dried paint.

Strictly speaking, Emma hadn’t spent much time exploring the Jolly Roger before they got to Neverland. Portal-based travel, and those mermaids and massive rain storms, all made it difficult to notice much else, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s blinked them into the captain’s cabin.

“Efficient,” Killian observes, already perched on the edge of the room’s lone cot and the bedding looks crisp. Military-grade folds, and pillows that aren’t quite as fluffy as the ones in the house, but Emma’s already glancing at the shelves to her right. Books line them, in what is obviously alphabetical order, while the desk nearby is covered in instruments for navigation, and maps of several different realms, and she knows Killian’s watching her.

Feels the force of his stare as it tries very hard to read her mind again, baited breath that’s not quite as much of a joke anymore. He's hoping. For the response, and the reaction, and she belatedly realizes what a big deal this is.

Falling into the deep end of it all is really the only reasonable thing to do now. And appropriately water-based pun.

“Give me another random fact,” Emma says, failing to keep the demand out of her voice. “Royal decrees are coming much easier for you now, Your Highness.” “Something good.” “I’d hardly give you a bad fact.” “Weird, I’m still waiting for one.”

Stabbing a finger into the space next to him, Emma’s leg bumps Killian’s when she sits down and she’d been right about the body heat. All of the blankets stay exactly where they are. “We go to Boston one weekend, relatively soon after we get married. To—” He clicks his tongue, as if he’s deciding what details to include. “Get some stuff out of your apartment. That’s not the important part. But we bring Henry with us, and drive out there. Spend a few days, and go to all of the tourist spots you say we should avoid, but Hope learned that eye trick from Henry, and it works all the time. So we go to Quincy Market, and that one brewery. Tour guide makes some history jokes, which in turn make you roll your eyes, but we get free samples, and Henry tries very hard to steal one of his own.” “Doesn’t work?” Killian shakes his head. “Not as such, no. I’m rather good at observing, you see.” “All those nights as lookout?” “Something like that,” he agrees, “It’s the first time in a very long time that we don’t have any looming threats. Nothing to worry about, no villains to contend with. We sit and walk and eat, and then eat some more, and it’s not the first time I let myself believe this is real, but it might bet the first time that reality seems to linger.” She’s holding her breath. Lungs burn in Emma’s chest, letting go of a shuddering exhale that also comes with tear-filled eyes, and Killian’s fingers hover near her neck. With the chain around it, and Emma knows it’s important — that ring that hangs just behind her stolen shirt, but she doesn’t ask and she wants to live it, anyway.

Wants those moments to come of their own accord, at their own pace, until they linger as well. Settle into her and take root, building a foundation for everything else.

“Can I do something?” she whispers, another imperceptible nod and he doesn’t object. When she unbuckles the leather at his brace, trying very hard to keep her pulse steady and her magic relatively quiet, but neither one of those things work very well and it doesn’t take very long.

Snaps and pieces of metal give way under Emma’s touch, eventually pulling away from his skin and the scars aren’t worse closer up. Just more obvious, maybe.

It’s another stupid sign.

Following the lines with her fingers, Killian’s not much more than a statue. With exceptionally wide eyes and slightly erratic breathing, watching her like he’s bracing himself for impact or the inevitably of her disappearing. Emma sits. Presses her feet into the floor, and there’s no dust on the floor. She has to swallow more than once while she accounts for every mark on him, though — emotion clogging up her throat and her thoughts in equal measure, and it’s not really instinct to bend her neck and kiss the first spot she can reach, but it’s absolutely want and she wants far more than she’s supposed to have.

Right now, at least.

“Emma,” Killian exhales, without the regret it should hold, and honestly the goddamn symmetry is as good as it is awful. She smiles. Against his skin.

“You said, ‘until I met you.’ Did you mean it?”

Glancing up without moving is another hint of cowardice, but Emma’s neck isn’t all that interested in participating in the conversation anymore and it’s easier to notice the state of Killian’s jaw like this. “More than I realized, actually.” “Yeah, me too probably. If I had said—well, I’m the worst liar in the world, y’know?” “At least several different realms.”

Scoffing, Emma’s teeth graze the blunt edge of his wrist and that only gets her a noise she’s never heard before and it’s better than all the other noises, and she loses her shirt eventually. Nothing else happens.

Still can’t, still won’t. They’re both all too aware of the inability of this to linger, but want’s a funny sort of thing and contentment’s just as strange as ever. Falling asleep with her cheek pressed to his bare chest makes sense, though, the steady rock of the ship lulling Emma until her eyes close and her thoughts silence.

“So, you’re not even trying anymore, huh?” Emma sighs. “Here I thought we’d get through the afternoon without any pointed opinions.” “Well, that was just foolish of you,” Regina shrugs, sitting on the front steps of the farm with her legs stretched out in front of her and that’s almost strange. She’s wearing jeans. No one else is surprised by that. And Mary Margaret is leaning against the door frame behind her.

One arm wrapped around her middle, she doesn’t cross her feet at the ankles like Killian would, and that’s probably for the best. Emma’s brain can only cope with so much at one time, and she might not be trying anymore.

Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.

“You think the wisdom is our problem?” Mary Margaret asks, barely blinking at the sound that erupts from Regina. Snarl and sneer, and Emma rocks back on her heels. Like that will put some distance between her and the queen, who doesn’t appear all that evil anymore, but could be even more determined than ever and they’re still waiting for that goddamn bird to come back.

No one’s mentioned the knights in the forest, either.

Emma’s not sure they’re still there.

“Can’t steal intelligence from the dead,” Regina reasons, and Emma’s shiver doesn’t have anything to do with the cold. It smells like cookies, even outside. “Should that make sense to me?” she asks. Mary Margaret shakes her head.

“Not at all. Just—when Zelena did this...she had a bunch of ingredients.” “She has no idea who Zelena is,” Regina mutters, shrugging at Emma’s slack jawed expression. “Don’t bother telling me you’re standing right there, you’re very predictable and I am painfully aware of your continued presence.”

“Was anyone actually going to tell me who Zelena is?” Emma snaps, a better reaction than the magic she’d like to use. On Regina, and her judgmental face. Tinker Bell went to help in Wonderland. Where magic is failing, more than it was a week earlier.

“The Wicked Witch of the West," Mary Margaret replies. “Was bad, had strong magic, gave up her magic, got it—no, she never got it back, did she?” Regina makes a contrary noise.

“How can you possibly keep track of all of this?”

Mary Margaret’s smile isn’t entirely effective, but there’s still a bit of the friend Emma occasionally worries she’s lost and of all the things breaking the curse did, that’s probably one of her bigger issues. There just hasn’t been time to deal with it. “Living it helps,” she laughs, “but she was holding Rumplestilskin hostage when she built the spell, and that’s—” “—Wait, wait, Gold is dead?” “That’s a little harder to explain, actually.”

“Huh.”

She should be upset. She should mourn...maybe not the jackass who consistently ruined everything, but at least the idea of the person he could have been, or the help he occasionally offered, but Emma’s feeling a little vengeful, and is even more annoyed. By like—the entire state of the world, right now.

She’s definitely not trying. Magic is emotion, and all of hers are far too scrambled to be effective as part of a time travel spell a witch who—“Was she actually green?” Emma asks, before she can stop herself and Mary Margaret’s smile works better that time.

“Occasionally,” Regina drawls. “But as your mother pointed out, she’s also lacking any magic now, and with Robyn in the Wish Realm—” “—That can’t possibly be a real place. And who is Robyn, exactly?”

“You met her. She brought you to—” “—That was a witch’s daughter? You realize that none of the ages for any of these kids makes sense? She was an actual adult.” “Don’t think about it too hard,” Mary Margaret advises, “will only make your head hurt.” “That ship sailed, like, two weeks ago,” Emma admits, refusing to look at whatever face Regina is making while also growling softly. Fire dances between her fingers. “Keep interrupting like this,” she warns, “and I will put you under a sleeping curse.” Jaw dropping and air rushing out of her in a wholly undignified huff, Emma’s reactions are so loud that she hardly notices Mary Margaret’s quiet “that might not be all that bad.” But then it clicks and there’s another puzzle, and more words she should not be thinking about right now, and Regina’s eyes thin enough that it’s difficult to notice any color in them.

“Huh,” she says, echoing Emma and that’s not very comforting, actually. “Well, that’s fascinating isn’t it? Plus, we don’t have any innocence.” Mary Margaret’s shoulders drop. “Oh, yeah that might be right.” Emma’s mouth is already hanging open, and her jaw physically cannot separate, so she can’t quite react like she wants to. Magic rattles around her all the same, Regina’s eyebrows doing a fairly good job of masquerading as someone else’s because— “Back to the drawing board, it seems,” she says, all but jumping back to her feet and glancing at Mary Margaret on her way back into the house.

Moving is something of an impossibility for Emma, torn between embarrassment and objections and the second one isn’t entirely possible either, but her mother only looks passably amused and that’s not the right emotion for this situation at all.

“Sleeping curse could force us into all kinds of realizations,” she reasons.

“That’s fucked up, Mom.”

More titles. More feelings. Not enough time to deal with any of them.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret agrees, “it kind of is. How much batter do you think the rest of your family has stolen?” “At least an entire cookie sheet’s worth.” “Sounds about right, let’s see if we can cop any of our own.”

“Where is everyone going to sleep?” Emma asks, sitting at a dining room table that’s nearly buckling under the weight of food covering it. “And where did they even get all this stuff from?” Fingers drift over her bent knee under the table, Emma’s hands preoccupied with doling out food and Hope’s a very big fan of mashed potatoes. As she should be, really. Less so by the small feast of vegetables her mother has provided, but certainly not cooked because Emma’s spent most of the afternoon with her mother and Regina, trying to figure out if they could replicate Zelena’s time travel spell, and it didn’t work. Like, at all.

Lack of innocence likely isn’t their biggest problem. “Not everyone stays here,” Killian explains, “although I doubt your mother would mind all that much if they did.”

“Doesn’t explain where they’re going to sleep.” “Are you concerned about privacy, love?” “Pirate,” she accuses, but it lacks any actual vitriol and someone whistles when Killian’s lips brush hers. “I just don’t want to sleep in the hallway, if there’s no more room at the inn.” “Very confident in your own brand of religion-based humor aren’t you?” “Oh, color me impressed with your knowledge.” “Not many of your jokes evolve much over time, that’s why. And I think you’ve proven your ability to relocate us fairly well, don’t you?” Twisting her lips only gets her a flash of amusement and eyebrows that move so quick, there should also be smoke involved. “As far as I know, Her Royal Highness Snow White has concocted a rather extensive and possibly color-coordinated sleeping arrangement, that ensures no one will be forced to sleep in the hallway, while also allowing for maximum comfort and the ability to ransack parents as early as possible tomorrow morning.”

Something drops into the bottom of her stomach. It’s dread. And fear, and what Emma knows is that growing selfish streak and if her hand finds Hope’s back, then that’s neither here nor there.

Plus, Killian can totally tell.

The overall volume of her magic helps too.

“Mary Margaret’s pretty in her element, huh?” Nodding, he ignores the brussels sprouts in favor of the broccoli casserole, and she’s resolutely not attracted to that. No sane person could be attracted to side dish choices. On Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve.

“She is, indeed,” Killian agrees, “which is why outsourcing made quite a bit of sense.” Emma’s eyes dart towards Granny, and no one’s introduced her to Ruby’s girlfriend yet, but Ruby also hasn’t announced that she quite obviously knows something about this family gathering is off, and that’s nice enough that pushing the issue seems like another asshole move.

No one can be an asshole on Christmas Eve.

Emma assumes, at least. Hopes a bit too, just for good measure. “Granny made all of this?”

“Eh, certainly tried. Coerced Ruby and Dorothy—” “—No,” she hisses, drawing a few curious glances and half of Hope’s plate is covered in mashed potatoes. Killian’s fingers tighten.

“Someone told you about Zelena, didn’t they?” “I met her daughter without realizing, I guess.” Making a sound of understanding, Emma doesn’t miss the length of Killian’s drink. From the wine glass next to his own mostly-filled plate. “Is that another reason they went to that Wish Realm? So she didn’t have to talk to Dorothy Gale?” “I’m sure it was a consideration.” “Keeping track of all these things is a full-time job. Ok, so—Henry’s staying here though, isn’t he?” More noise, another sip of alcohol that Emma’s strangely jealous of. Nearly knocking her own glass over, her drink is closer to a gulp her dad absolutely notices, and whatever this is, it’s not any wine she’s familiar with.

“Camelot vineyards are enchanted,” David says, answering another question Emma hasn’t actually asked. Ruby’s eyes noticeably flicker towards Henry.

Who is not very subtle.

“Something about the soil, right?” Regina asks, although it certainly sounds like she’s perfectly aware of the reason, and Emma’s less sure as to why her mouth immediately dries. Possibly because Killian’s fingers have gone vice-like.

Glancing at him isn’t very subtle either, but she couldn’t care less and curiosity’s always been a bit of a thing for her. He probably knows that, anyway. “Camelot wasn’t my favorite place,” he explains, like that’s a reasonable string of words, but this isn’t the time for that and the knights are gone. Disappeared entirely, it seems.

“No Arthur, huh?” Silence descends on the table, silverware clanking on plates and chairs scuffing when they’re pushed away from the table. Emma widens her eyes.

Challenging that no asshole on Christmas Eve policy.

“He was kind of a shitty king,” Henry shrugs, Regina glaring in that same maternal sort of way that immediately makes him look far more like a teenager than a grown man with a kid. Emma can’t figure out the timeline of Lucy at all, either.

“Redeemed himself a bit in the end,” Killian adds. “Had no trouble from that particular area.” There should be more to that sentence. Emma knows, can hear it in the clipped way his voice cuts off and his tongue swipes the front of his teeth, and—“Whatever happened to that girl Henry knew in court?” Ruby asks, and they all lack subtlety it seems.

Emma tilts her head. “Henry knew a girl in the court of Camelot?” “Very complex story,” he mumbles, dots of pink on his cheek and Ella laughing at his side.

“Should I be upset I didn’t know about this?” “He used music to woo her,” Mary Margaret adds, some of the tension hovering over them evaporating. Killian’s fingers don’t move. “Although I never entirely understood how the iPod managed to stay charged.” “Magic,” Henry reasons. “And Violet went back to Connecticut, with her dad.”

Groaning, Emma’s reaction to this wine is even stronger than anything she drank in the diner or the buttered rum, and Henry’s face might stay red for the rest of the night. Festive, at least. “A guy from Connecticut?” she asks. “In Camelot?” “Didn’t click for me at first, if that makes you feel better.” “He was too busy flirting, that’s why,” Killian adds.

Henry scowls. “Reminiscing about any of this is not nearly as fun as you guys think it is. Plus,” he slings an arm around Ella’s shoulders, kissing her temple for good measure, “it all worked out in the end, so—” “—So,” Ruby echoes, “did we decide on snowmen rules, or…”

Voices all but explode around them — shouting over one another, in what is another questionably competitive Christmas tradition, and there are apparently judges involved and boxes of decorations that Mary Margaret keeps stored in the basement. Which Emma assumes is a much better use for the space than hoarding weapons, but any thought about her house quickly gets lost in how delicious this food is and how Henry’s arm rarely leaves Ella, and at some point Hope clamors onto Killian’s lap before Lucy starts demanding snowmen and they’ve all turn into giant pushovers, it seems.

“The theme,” Granny announces from her spot on the porch, because she’s head judge, and that holds more weight than anyone else, “is whimsy. Delight me, or you’ll lose points.” “What does that even mean?” Ruby challenges. She’s already rolling snow together, Dorothy’s head barely visible while she digs through one of Mary Margaret’s boxes and produces a pair of plastic fairy wings.

“Why do you own these?” she demands.

It’s difficult to tell if the color on Mary Margaret’s cheeks is a blush, or simply a product of how cold it already is, but none of that matters as much as the inches Henry has on her and how easy it is for his arm to find her shoulders as well. “Like to be prepared for any potential theme, isn’t that right, Gram?” “Not too old for any of the parental figures around here to ground you, you know,” Mary Margaret threatens. As much as she’s able.

David throws a snowball at both of them. “Build your snowman, kid. You’re going to lose, and it will be something else we can reminisce about for holidays to come.”

“C’mon, love,” Killian says, directing Emma to their own patch of snow and overflowing box and Hope’s already discovered the plastic tub of glitter that’s inexplicably in there. “We’ve got a reputation to uphold.” “Do we win this a lot?” “Don't insult me like that.”

He kisses her to ensure she doesn’t. Emma doesn’t argue that.

And as promised, Regina magics everyone’s snow creations to ensure they won’t melt for “at least a month, maybe longer” and the dread in Emma’s stomach threatens to rise up her throat. Until there’s a hand tugging at the side of her jacket, and—

“Can you get him to smile, Mama?” Hope asks, what looks like a slightly lopsided snowman’s bottom behind her and Emma might be the biggest pushover of them all.

Waving her hand is easy, though. And magic’s getting closer to second nature than she’d like to admit, positioning shiny rocks that Mary Margaret inexplicably had into what actually looks like a smile onto another freshly-made mound of snow.

Hope is overjoyed.

Emma tries very hard not to cry.

And fails spectacularly.

Monopoly is an adults-only game. This takes Emma at least forty-two seconds to come to terms with, but then there’s more wine and it’s a miracle they don’t wake up any of the kids, and Killian really does cheat.

She just can’t figure out how.

Bills appear in front of him like he’s the one with magic in this relationship, and Emma’s definitely drunk enough not to care about her word choice. She’s admittedly far more concerned with the houses that keep cropping up on Killian’s properties and how close some of those properties are to forming multiple Monopolys and he grins at her. From across the board.

David made it very clear that couples weren’t allowed to sit next to each other.

For fear of collusion, or something — although Emma can’t imagine there are actually many alliances formed in this game, particularly after the snowmen and the judging and it took Lucy nearly an hour to come down from the understandable high of her win. Hope was more interested in getting glitter everywhere than properly constructing a snowman.

“What was that about revenge?” Emma asks archly, more than a few other alcohol-saturated adults groaning at what is blatantly even more obvious flirting. And he hadn’t been lying about the state of her parent’s tree.

More candles line the branches, not a fire hazard when the flames have been enchanted and that’s for the best because there’s just—a copious amount of tinsel on those same branches, and a few ornaments that are obviously hand-made by kids and grandkids and it’s nice to know that even descendants of fairy tale characters use popsicle sticks in their arts and crafts.

Mary Margaret probably has a box of those too.

“This has nothing to do with the snowmen,” Killian promises, quirking his lips when Ruby lands on Marvin Gardens. He owns Marvin Gardens. “Look at that.” “Are you playing with weighted dice, pirate?” Ruby cries. “Because that is—” “—Cheating,” David finishes.

Killian shrugs. His eyes don’t leave Emma. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. You owe me twenty-four dollars, Lady Lucas.”

She throws the bills at him.

“How would I even use the weighted dice I don’t own anymore—” “—Anymore,” Henry repeats, and he’s only got a few bills left in front of him. Killian ignores him. Emma is far too charmed by this.

She got a Monopoly on the green properties, though. And she didn’t cheat to get them, so she’s also in possession of the moral high ground. Gives her free room to be entirely charmed by her husband. Kind of. “To calculate what you’ll land on,” Killian finishes. “That doesn’t even make sense.

Shaking her head, Ruby’s hair nearly flies into her face, threatening the state of the board and several other player’s pieces. All of whom are very loudly offended by that. “I hate you,” she sneers, and she doesn’t get back to Go before she goes bankrupt.

In the end, the moral high ground doesn’t help Emma’s ability to turn profits when Killian gets the Monopoly on that yellow corner and immediately starts building hotels and she nearly snarls when she lands on Atlantic Avenue.

“I think I might have won, Swan.” “Shut up.” “You don’t have to actually give me all your money, I’m more than pleased to simply hear the words from you.” “Shut up,” Emma says, and her mom fell asleep at least an hour earlier. David rolls his eyes. When she leans across the board, knocking over pieces and hotels, and Killian built so many goddamn hotels. He’s smiling when she kisses him.

Nothing overly magical happens, but Emma swears one of the candles flickers in the corner of her eye.

They do get a room. Directly next to the one Hope and Lucy are sharing, but Emma’s finding it harder than she expected to walk away from the tree and she never had a Christmas tree when she was a kid. Lights start to blur the longer she stares at it, floorboards creaking in an unnecessary announcement of the hand that finds her and— “I put an ornament on, you know,” Killian says, staring ahead when Emma turns towards him. “Was worried you’d notice, but I’m actually rather good at—” “—Sneaking?” “Covert movements.”

Scoffing out a laugh, her head falls to his shoulder. With the magnets and the feelings, magic fighting against dread and a slew of other feelings that are now as twisted as any family tree they could create. “Is it wrong to ask you what you wished for? Or should we talk about why you hate Camelot?” “They go together, actually.” “Do they just?” He kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s grounding himself or reminding himself of something that may not happen if they don’t somehow fix all of this, and Emma’s tongue is doing that thing again. Taking up way too much space in her mouth.

She’s not sure what she’d say, anyway.

“Dying makes it rather easy to shuffle a man’s priorities, and—” “—You die?” Emma shouts, but Killian’s shoulder only bumps her cheek and half the candles flicker. “How is that—God, that’s…” More kisses. A few hand squeezes. Her knees shake all the same.

“Doesn’t stick any of the times.” “It happens more than once.”

His cheek shifts her hair when he nods, a picture of only passably believable calm, and that wasn’t a question. “Something of a stubborn lass, though. So you don’t accept it very often, and occasionally that doesn’t work very well, but—” Tears fall down Emma’s cheeks, hot in the way a brand is, or she figures it would be, and she swallows as his thumb brushes over her skin. “You save me. Several times over.”

“Does calling me lass ever end well for you?” “Not as such, no.” Sticking her lower lip out is definitely a misplaced attempt to regain control of the situation because Emma’s all too aware of just how quickly Killian’s gaze will drop, and she’s not disappointed. A little nervous, but she figures that’s to be expected and her voice only kind of shakes when she whispers, “That’s not just a you thing, you know that, right?” “A me thing, what?” “The saving. Being stubborn too, I guess, or holding onto this with both hands, and this is an us thing. I’m...well, maybe I’m not totally there yet, but—” Her lips are chapped. Cracking with more emotion than she’s entirely sure she’s capable of, and Emma swallows once. Her tongue doesn’t do anything else. “Is that what you wished for? The saving?” “Awfully selfish, I know, but I—I think I need that.” “No, it’s not,” she objects. “Might be sweepingly romantic, even.” Eyes trace over her face, like he’s memorizing all of it, all over again, and innocence was a long gone ideal when they made out in the jungle, but this feels entirely different and somehow more important and Emma has to push up on her toes. To press her lips to his, and make sure his arm pulls her flush against his chest, and there’s no music or rainbow, but that might have something to do with her greed and her want and neither one of them pull away.

While a clock chimes down the hall.

“Merry Christmas, love.” She closes her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

Something taps at their window. Incessantly, until it’s obvious Emma’s not dreaming the sound, and it takes her a few blinks and one grumbling, half-asleep pirate to realize it’s a bird. Without a sense of direction, it seems.

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, pulling the blankets over her shoulders like that will keep them here and the bird outside and that’s an exercise in futility that lasts less than a full minute. Once the bird realizes he’s at the wrong room.

She counts. Seconds and breaths, trying not to give into the whimper that’s pressed behind her lips, and Killian’s fingers find hers. The floor creaks. Doors swing open, and David’s voice calls for them and Regina, and there are more squeaking hinges and calls to action because—

Mary Margaret knocks before she comes inside, already dressed with a full quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Camelot’s gone,” she says, which may actually be the last thing Emma expects to hear at whatever time it is. Late, if the lack of sun is any sign. “Disappeared in a wave of...nothing.” “How can a wave be nothing?” Emma asks. “That—” “—It’s the opposite of magic,” Regina finishes, curled around the door with her hair twisted and there’s no fire in her palm. It’s in her eyes, instead. The end of reality turns Emma into something of a poet, apparently. “Get ready, we’ve got to head this off before it gets to the town and,” her gaze drifts towards Killian and his hand and his hook his on the bedside table, “might want to get your sword out of storage, Captain.”

Nodding silently, Killian doesn’t show any other signs of acknowledging his marching orders, but then he’s looking at Emma, a mix of expectant disappointment and unhinged longing and she blinks. Twice. They’re dressed.

And his sword hangs from his hip.

“You alright?” he rasps, which seems like more cheating and entirely unfair and Emma nods too.

“Let’s fix this.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #things are happening!#they are decidedly emotional!

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atmilliways · 4 years

Text

On the 2nd day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 14 - Kissing under the mistletoe (or office party shenanigans)

Charles gets roped into the role of Santa Clause at the holiday office party.

Charles/Pickles

The dreaded Dethklok Inc. office Christmas party was coming up—dreaded not by the band or most of the employees, who typically had a blast, but by the CFO who had to arrange and organize everything before and after, up to and including the inevitable handful of resulting funeral arrangements.

Charles was looking forward to it even less than usual, because the band had thrown an absolute shitfit to get him to agree to play Santa this year. He didn’t know why they wanted him to do this. The party didn’t even normally have a Santa. His first thought was that it was Toki’s idea, but on second thought Toki tended to lack the charisma to get the rest of the guys to throw in with him on niche interests like that.

But fine. Whatever. He’d agreed to do it once, and next year he could simply point to whatever came of it this year as an argument against repeating the experience.

He kept telling himself that right up until donning the red and white Santa suit, the iconic hat, and the fake beard. (The damn thing was so big that practically all he could see of his own face in the mirror were his eyes. At least they were letting him keep his glasses.) Then he took his seat in a throne-like chair that had been special ordered for the occasion, specially decorated with carvings of presents, the most unsettling depictions of Christmas elves that he’d ever seen, and skulls with real candles balanced on them, lit and already beginning to dribble red and black wax . . . and immediately felt that somewhere in life he must have made a grave, grave mistake to have ended up here.

The band took the stage in the center of the hall, half the room away from where Charles sat, and went into a jumbled “Merry Christmas, go fuck yourselves!” sort of speech. He mostly tuned it out until—

“And hey, errybody,” Pickles slurred into his mic, “don’t ferget ta sit on Santa’s lap and tell ‘im what you want fer Christmas!”

That had not been part of the discussion, let alone the agreement, but at this point what was he going to do about it? Besides hope that grown men and women hired for their professional abilities would have no interest in sitting on the lap of the man who signed their paychecks.

“You can’t have a pony,” Charles said flatly. “There isn’t space for one in the employee barracks, and even if there were it would be both impractical and unsanitary.”

The Klokateer perched on his lap, crushing the feeling out of his legs, tittered and took another sip of his holiday punch through a straw poked up under his mask. “Oo-kay Mr. Grinchy-claus, no pony for me then. Aren’tcha going to say ‘ho ho ho, Merry Christmas’?”

“Ho ho ho. Now go away.”

Laughing drunkenly, the man lurched up and made his way off the Santa podium to get a refill of punch. The next Klokateer in line had an Online Division pin on one shoulder and a spiked eggnog in her hand. Charles braced himself for yet another request for fewer blocks on searching for porn using company computers.

“Hey look, it’sch Schanty Clausche!”

Charles grimaced behind his beard. “Hello, Murderface.”

The first of the boys to visit him, Murderface seemed to be in unusually high spirits. His ass landed on Charles’ knees like a ton of bricks. “Wow,” he crooned with exaggerated delight, “Schanta really does know all the namesch of the good little boysch and girlsch!”

“Very funny. Would you mind telling me whose idea this was?”

The bassist shook his head. “Hey man, I’m not here to narc on my bandmatesch, I’m here to tell Schanta what I want for Chrischtmasch. ”

“Alright. Fine. What would you like for Christmas.”

Murderface looked around furtively, then leaned in and whispered, “A dischguische kit.”

“A . . . disguise kit.”

“Yeah! I’m tired of being mobbed whenever I go out in public, scho I need it. For camouflasche. ”

Charles couldn’t remember a single incident of a fan mob forming for just Murderface; it only ever seemed to happen when one or more of the other band members were with him, though there were probably a few people who did wander up and ask for an autograph. There had been one unfortunately memorable band meeting a few months ago where Murderface had bragged about someone wanting to touch his penis for good luck, pleased at the recognition but at the same time calling said fan an ‘incredibly fucking gay regular jackoff.’

“I’ll, ah, make sure that’s added to the list,” Charles assured him, and breathed a sigh of relief when Murderface nodded in satisfaction and stood to leave.

“Hey, knock knock.”

Charles sighed from the depths of his soul at this second Dethklok visitation. “Who’s there.”

“Nathan Explosion,” said Nathan Explosion, dropping unceremoniously onto his lap.

Luckily, the beard hid Charles’ wince at the impact. He was probably going to have a lot of weird leg bruises tomorrow. “Nathan Explosion who.”

“Nathan Explosion, here to tell you you’re the party ho ho ho! ” Nathan broke into riotous laughter and clapped Charles good-naturedly on the back, causing him to accidentally inhale a mouthful of fake beard.

After a moment to catch his breath, Charles nodded along. “Very amusing. What would you, ah, like for Christmas, Nathan?”

“I need new pants.”

Well, that was unexpectedly straightforward. “New pants. You got it.”

“One hundred pairs. Exactly one hundred.”

“Okay.”

“Just, uh. A couple inches bigger in the waist. For the holiday weight that I am definitely going to lose in January.”

He couldn’t feel his legs; this was not the time to point out that Nathan wouldn’t have time to wear all one hundred pairs of new pants between December 25th and the start of January, nor that January as a deadline for such a drastic fitness undertaking was probably an unrealistic deadline.

“That’s fine, Nathan. One hundred pairs of pants. I’ll make sure, the, ah, elves get the message.” Maybe he would throw in some math flash cards while he was at it.

Toki weighed less than the first two, but was unfortunately so excited that he landed on Charles’ lap hard . Definitely, definitely going to have bruises.

“God Jul, Charles —I means Santa!” the guitarist chirped, bright-eyed and swaying slightly. Charles fervently hoped he wasn’t about to throw up; he didn’t even think being covered in vomit would do much to get him out of this holiday circle of hell. “Merries Christmas!!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Toki. What do you, ah, want to ask Santa for this year?”

He didn’t have a watch, but he estimated that Toki’s list, plus miscellaneous excited chatter, took at least half an hour and mentioned many things he knew for a fact that Toki already owned.

“Eeuyghh, looks, it ams everys-ones favorites butler,” Skwisgaar said, then folded himself gracefully into a sitting position. After an hour or two of being sat on like this and having plenty to compare it to, Charles wondered if the man was eating enough.

This was in spite of the fact that Skwisgaar was toting around a small plate loaded with various cheeses, fruit, and greasy finger sausages skewered on toothpicks. Party food. To Charles, who hadn’t realized that this gig would take so long and therefore hadn’t eaten in advance, it smelled wonderful.

The Swede must have noticed him eyeing it, or perhaps heard the growl of his stomach over the noise of the surrounding party somehow, because he smirked and held it out in offering. “Pickle says for you to haves this. Gots to keep yous strengths up, you knows.”

Pickles, Charles noted as he balanced the plate off to one side on one of the less obvious and candle-less Christmas skulls. He also pulled one of the sausages free of its toothpick and reached under the beard to jam it in his mouth. Still warm.

“Thank you, Skwisgaar,” he said once he’d finished chewing. “Now, what can I get for you? Ah, as Santa. Ho ho.”

“Everyones know it ams three ‘ho’s, dildo.” Skwisgaar steepled his fingers. “But I woulds like five ins mine room to enjoy ons the Christmas morning. You know the kinds I likes?”

Charles didn’t know what he’d expected. “It’s my job to know, so . . . yes.”

“Greats.” The guitarist patted him on the shoulder of his Santa suit. “Glads that ams sorted outs. Keeps up that good works, yous.”

Then he got up and wandered away, leaving Charles to realize that he hadn’t had a chance to ask him who was behind this whole Santa idea.

Charles finished the plate of food before Pickles made an appearance. He also realized that he could persuade his increasingly inebriated employees to bring him more food, and also drinks, by threatening them with cleanup duty after the party. (He was not in a generous mood; the ones that tried to weasel out of it at first would get cleanup duty regardless of whether they eventually caved or not.) There was no way to escape the alcohol content in the drinks—even when he asked for water it came spiked with vodka or peppermint schnapps, because everyone wanted to see the company’s CFO hammered.

At least they knew better than to roofie him, because Charles would have them killed.

He saw Pickles coming from a mile away. Maybe it was because Charles knew that once all of Dethklok had a chance to visit with “Santa Clause” he would be allowed to escape this torment; maybe it was because he really wanted to know if Pickles was, indeed, the mastermind behind this whole thing; and maybe it was just a tiny bit because he was annoyed the drummer had forgotten to wander over earlier.

But being annoyed at any of the guys was a nonstarter. Putting up with their antics was just part of the job.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey,” Pickles greeted him as he swayed his way over and plopped onto Charles’ lap. Unlike everyone else who had visited Santa this evening, he didn’t stick to perching closer to Charles’ knees but scooted in as close as he could until they were practically nose to nose. Mingled notes of every kind of booze available at the party wafted the short distance from the drummer’s mouth (and shirt, and hands, and dreads), until all Charles could smell was Pickles. “Lookin’ hot in that suit, dood. Is the temp in here okay? Gettin’ a little warm in there?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Charles said, trying not to be too aware that Pickles seemed incapable of sitting still and his ass was rubbing against . . . things. “Ah. Merry Christmas.”

Pickles snickered. “Did Nat’en make that ho joke?”

No one could see for the beard that Charles’ lips twitched toward a smile at that. “Yes, he did.”

“‘M glad yer not a ho, Charlie,” Pickles slurred affectionately. “A'least, not no much'a one. That’d be a bummer.”

“Ah . . . okay.” He didn’t know what to make of that, or the continuing subtle lap dance, so he said, “What would you like for Christmas this year, Pickles?”

“Weeeeell. . . .” Grinning, Pickles waggles his double-pierced eyebrows. It seems like he’s trying to be suggestive, but Charles has no idea what that’s supposed to suggest. The drummer leaned even closer, lips brushing against Charles’ ear as he murmurs, “I kinda already got my present right in front’a me, chief. Just gotta unwrap it.”

All of this was sending shivers and goosebumps down Charles’ spine under the (admittedly warm) Santa suit, but for heaven’s sake, it was just Pickles. When wasted, which he was more often than not, man oscillated between being a destructive drunk and clingy one. Apparently tonight it was . . . very much so the latter. Not a good time to ask about the Santa plot, really.

He had dealt with this before, just not with Pickles literally draped over and inconspicuously grinding on him. Come on, Offdensen, pull it together . Do not get a boner at the holiday office party. No matter how long it’s been!

“Well, ah, sounds like you’re all taken care of then,” Charles hazarded. “All that’s left to do is, ah, enjoy the party. Why don’t you go do that.”

Pickles chuckled, a low, sultry sound that just made the situation even more difficult. “Workin’ on it dood, I’m workin’ on it.” He shifted thoughtfully again, then bit his lip through a grin. “And it feels like we’re gettin’ there, huh chief?”

“I. Ah, what?” At least the big fake beard was concealing his blush better than he’d been able to contain his body’s mounting interest in the increasingly distracting ass squirming around on top of him. This is a public place , he wanted to protest, but didn’t want to risk pointing out something that might be completely unintentional. After all, it was Pickles , who did this sort of thing fairly regularly.

But the next murmured words out of Pickles’ mouth stopped every single one of Charles’ thoughts in their tracks.

“Fuck, even in this stupid suit yer sexy. How d’you do that?” A brief nip, teeth closing and tugging on Charles’ earlobe before releasing with a soft wet pop .

Nothing but overwhelmed static on the other side of that ear; the quiet gasp was completely involuntary.

“C’mon Charlie,” Pickles all but whined, “you don’t have to do this anymore. Jest call it a night and meet me in the bathroom or somethin’, okie?”

The amazing thing, Charles thought distantly, was that from a distance, it wouldn’t look like anything was happening. Just a grown man, swaying drunk off his ass, sitting on Santa’s lap to whisper what he wanted for Christmas. Regular office holiday party shenanigans for a laugh. But under the surface, Charles was starting to feel like a shaken champagne bottle.

“You, ah,” he managed. “You do realize that you, ah, seem to be prepositioning me for, ah. Sex?”

Pickles leaned into him with a laugh. “Like I said, dood, that’s what I’m tryin’ ta do. Fer like, fuckin’ forever. For a smart guy you can be pretty stupid, y’know that?”

“Ah.” Charles shifted awkwardly and nearly choked when Pickles very pointedly pushed into it at the exact right moment. “There’s . . . a chance I’ve been told that before,” he hedged, already vowing to himself that he would never admit how many times. This isn’t something he ever would have looked for, but mistaking Pickles hitting on him for god only knew how long for just being an affectionate drunk? That was pretty fucking funny if you thought about it, and he'd consumed just enough alcohol so far to really give it some very serious thought.

And . . . his job was to keep everyone in the band happy.

“So, ah. There are several bathrooms off this hall. . . . Which one did you have in mind?”

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #chuckles #12 days of dethmas

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soliverse · 4 years

Text

SAY YOU LOVE ME - PART 4

rockstar!taeyongxjournalist!reader

genre: angst, suggestive, romance

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, panic attacks, stalker behavior, and cussing

1 ⭒ 2 ⭒ 3 ⭒ 4 ⭒ 5 ⭒ finale pt 1

Length: 3k

ps: if you are not comfortable with that sort of stuff, I will insert a warning within the story so you can skip it.

Also: the story is fictional and is no way related to NCT and its brand, especially Yuta. These are all a part of my imagination and I felt like it was needed to push the story further. Again, happy reading! - Ellie

The boys of 1:27 made a detour on a small BBQ shop on their way home to celebrate their successful performance for that night. Charlie promised them that she’ll pay for dinner and so they are stopped at the BBQ shack that they passed by on their way home. Everyone excitedly stepped out from the minivan with their arms around each other.

At this time of the night, they were the only ones inside the place. They took it as a go signal to be loud and did as they please. On a respectable manner, of course.

On one side, Johnny was filming a vlog with Mark and Doyoung. They talked about how they had fun at the performance and they wished that they can do more stuff like that in the future. Meanwhile, Taeyong helped Charlie decide what and how much to order.

The pair came out alongside the staff to help them in carrying their massive order. They brought out about five trays of barbeque and side dishes which almost didn’t fit the small rectangular table that they have. They thank the staff for their troubles and started gobbling marinated meat right away.

The staff then came out with another tray. This time, it was filled by glasses containing amber-tinted liquid.

The boys cheered as Charlie went around the table and gave each one a glass. Mark was the first one that was handed the drink and so he took a sip right away. He then started laughing uncontrollably as he takes a sip once again from the glass.

“Dude, it’s apple juice.”

Charlie went back to her seat smiling smugly.

“Of course, it’s apple juice. I’m not going to baby your drunk asses off when we get home.”

The table went quiet, filling the room with sounds of chewing and utensils clanking over plates. Doyoung tried to lighten the mood up and started sharing stories about the miniconcert that they were invited in. They also got along well with the other performers and started taking pictures with them as well.

Charlie whipped out her phone and showed everybody pictures and videos that she captured while they are performing. They can all hear the cheers and screams coming from the videos. The loudest was definitely Charlie. Everyone was excitedly jumping up and down and singing their song with them. They got all hot and sweaty from the humid weather and moving around the stage. That didn’t stop them from interacting and hyping up the audience. She even argued that it made them even more appealing, especially to the young ladies watching. Some of them even tried to get the boys’ number but they all politely declined and just settled for selfies instead.

They also played games that night which resorted to Mark paying almost half the bill as they left. The guys thanked the owners for not kicking them out for being so noisy and promised that they’ll be back to eat there again. They hopped inside one by one and passed out as soon as their bodies touched the seats.

Taeyong stayed up for a bit and waited until everyone was asleep. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and leaned on the glass window, making a tired peace sign. He sent you the pic and typed a message right after.

Taeyong: We did well today. I’m almost home. Missed u.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a while. He cringed at the last sentence and erased it before sending it to you and popped in his eyemask and headphones to sleep.

///

“Any more questions about your assignments for this month?”

Everyone remained quiet and just shook their heads in response. The team meeting took longer than expected and it is already past lunch time. You were impatiently scribbling on the notes that you took earlier. A little trick that you do so you will look like you’re busy doing something productive. Your thoughts are now clouded by hunger and boredom and and you kept looking at the clock ticking. You are silently praying that no one will ask a question and extend the meeting any further.

“Okay then.”

The supervisor, an old guy in his early fifties, finally closes the presentation and started closing the tabs in his windows. He shut the laptop down and slammed it close.

“We’ll see each other again same time next month. Remember to stick to your deadlines.”

Finally.

The room rattled as everyone tries to pack up their stuff and get out as fast as they can. You stood up from your chair. You did a bunch of weird poses to stretch your aching body from sitting down too long as you waited for the crown to dissipate before walking away from the room.

You grabbed your handbag from beside you and dug through tons of your unorganized stuff before you were finally to fish your phone out to do a time check. Instead, you were met by tons of photos and videos sent by Charlie that morning. They were mostly pictures of them rehearsing and goofing around the area. A slight curved on your lips as saved all of them in your phone and made your way into the breakroom.

Things are going well for the past couple of weeks. You and Taeyong barely talked before the event because he was busy practicing but at least you can finally look him in the eyes. Greetings are also once again exchanged, you even sent him off on their way to the event. With that out of the way, you’re finally able to catch up on to your prior commitments and saved yourself from being fired that week.

You bolted to the breakroom because you can now hear your stomach complaining. You politely bowed at everyone inside and snaked your way through a bunch of your coworkers. Today’s hot topic was them complaining about how long the meeting was and that Mr. Supervisor purposely stretched the meeting out because he wanted to spite all of you. None of that mattered to you though. The croquette that you made last night for lunch was the only thing on your mind. Upon reaching the fridge of the tiny breakroom, you microwaved your lunch for a few seconds before to your cubicle to eat in peace.

You greeted the one sitting beside you before you took a seat. The stacks of folders and papers were set aside to make way for your lunch bag. You carefully took the contents and dived right in to calm down your growling stomach. At the same time, you decided to pop in an earphone and listened to some of 1:27 recordings while eating. A ding! interrupted the music so you absent-mindedly opened the messages without seeing who it’s from.

Abby: Hey boo.

The text intrigued you. She wasn’t the type to text someone unless it’s an emergency.

You: Oh hey. What’s up?”

Abby: Don’t freak out, okay?

Abby: I think I saw Yuta in the mall today.

You felt a lump on your throat, and it wasn’t your lunch. You felt as if someone threw a bucket of iced water at you. You’ve set your lunch down and immediately pressed reply.

You: You sure it’s him?

You: Guy might be visiting his sis. I’m sure it’s nothing.

Abby: You sure?

Abby: Would you like to stay at our place for a while? I’m sure big bro wouldn’t mind.

As much as you wanted to stay over at anyone’s house for tonight, the Li household wasn’t the best option either. The last time you slept over, he glared at you whenever you tried moving anything in the house by a small fraction.

This might be an overstatement but the only thing scarier than Yuta is judgmental Li Yongqin.

You: Yeah, it’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about me.

Abby: Just in case something happens, you have my number okay? Be safe.

You dropped your phone at your desk and you felt your body getting colder and your breaths getting shorter once again. Eating lunch didn’t feel right anymore so you placed the lid back on and slipped it back, exchanging it with the water bottle. You drank half of its content and took deep, long breathes to slow down your racing heart for a bit. You dizzily bobbed your head down and rested your head on your folded arms. People asked if you were okay but you just smiled weakly and insisted that you’ll just sit the day out until office hours was over

As the day ended, Abigail Li picked you up from work that day. She insisted that if you’re not staying over at their house, the least thing that she can do was to make sure that you get home safely.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to stay over? I’ll lock Yongqin in my closet upstairs if it makes you feel any better.” Abby knew what her brother did last time and she made Ten apologize for the glaring at her. He did some half-hearted apology before glaring one last time and shutting himself back to his room.

“Relax. I’ll be fine. It’s been years since we’ve last seen each other. He probably moved on already.”

A sigh left her mouth.

“Fine. Don’t forget to lock everything when you sleep, aight?”

///

The first thing you did as soon as you got home was to lock everything just like what Abby said. You said that you’ll be fine to assure Abby, but you know you couldn’t be too sure about Yuta. First thing you did was grab a few chips and a can of cat food for Felice. The bedroom was the most secure part of the house so you decided that the best thing to do was to camp in there until the morning comes.

You held Felice close and stroke her soft fur to calm yourself down. She had become your most loyal companion on your path to recovery when you shut yourself from everyone else. She snuggles into your chest and purred lightly, probably sensing your uneasiness.

You used all your willpower to sleep that night but your mind was restless. Even after you stuffed yourself full, drank room temperature milk and fiddled on some fancam videos, you just couldn’t your mind off of Nakamoto Yuta.

The last time that you saw him was when you were crying nonstop at the police station as Abby and Sophie held you in.

Everything played out in your head like a film in cinema.

Na Yuta.

Awesome performer.

Awful person.

(This part may be a trigger to some readers so if you wouldn’t be comfortable reading this, skip to the next ///)

Everyone knew that he’s a player. That’s the first thing that he told you when you met him. It made him look dangerous, something you just need in order to spice out your cookie cutter life. Your parents just went into divorce and your life was going downhill.

He’s just a perfect distraction.

It went well at first, you became his muse. He’d shower you with love and gifts. He made you feel things that you never felt before. That didn’t last very long though.

Not even a year later, fights became a common occurrence. You finally understood how someone can love and hate a person at the same time. As soon as you realized the kind of guy that he is, you couldn’t get out. You made excuses after excuses and still waited for the time that he will change.

He’d go on tours and you would hear stories about him being seen with other women. Plural. Witnesses gave you a different description at every story that you believed it was ridiculous. It’s probably a colleague. Or it was fan and hew was just doing a bit of fanservice. That’s what you believed because that’s what he’d tell you every time you would confront him about it.

At the few times that you did caught him, he’d lie blatantly as if he didn’t just get caught. You couldn’t also count the times that he’d turn the table around and find some guy to link you with. It tricked you into believing that it was your fault that he did it. That he regrets being with you.

You couldn’t also fathom that you cried yourself to sleep because of him. He wouldn’t respond at parties and it would take him days before responding. He made you feel that you are never good enough for him, damaging your self-esteem and confidence in the process. And then he would go full circle and be over the top with surprises and gifts. He starts to go all soft on you and made you weak against his touch and kisses. It’s reminder that only him can make you feel that good, even if he’s also the one who caused you pain.

You also turned your back against everyone. Nobody could contact you for months. It was mostly you, trying to keep your ego intact. You can already hear them mocking you and will remind you that they told you so. He also convinced you that nobody else will love you like he did. The absence of your friends and family made you lonely. It was like they didn’t even miss your presence. And so you clung unto him more.

But everyone has their breaking point. At that point, you’re numbed out. You didn’t even cry as you saw him bringing someone into your own home. It was the wakeup call that you needed to get away from him. You finally realized that you didn’t deserve to be treated like trash and broke things off with him right then and there.

He didn’t like that one bit. He saw you as his possession and no one can take you away from him easily. Yuta started following you around wherever you’ll go and asked you to talk things out with him. He’ll pop in at your office, at the club where you would drink your troubles away, or at any possible location where he knows that you would see him. He was switching back and forth from begging and reminding you the memories you both had into going full psycho and texting you that you’ll regret ever leaving him.

It made you so paranoid that you just flat out refused to go outside at the fear of meeting him. The girls wanted to do something about your condition, and decided that the best thing to get your mind off of things was to surprise you on your birthday.

They brought your favorite food with them and decorated the party with your favorite colors. It was unexpected and you even apologized to everyone for causing them trouble. The night made happy that night and finally be able to smile for the first time in months. All was going well until everyone decided to go outside and take a group photo. Yuta popped out of nowhere and started dragging you away. You were crying and begging him to let you go but he insisted that he needs to talk to you and it wouldn’t take a while.

All hell broke loose. The guys rushed outside to intervene. Sophie’s then boyfriend (now husband), was a big, strong man and was able to grab him by the collar and beat the living crap out of him right in front of you. The sudden violence made you cry harder than earlier. There was nothing that you can do besides watch as everything go down. Both the police and the paramedics came right after and disturbed the whole neighborhood.

That day was still, hands-down, the most awful day of your life. The memory was so horrifying that your birthday is doomed for life. Nobody ever tried to do something for your birthday again, as per your wishes.

You strike yourself as lucky that you don’t have to go to a psychiatrist or drink meds anymore to sleep. Flashbacks make you shake a little bit, but at least that’s manageable. You cannot say the same thing about meeting Yuta once again.

///

“Here’s your stop. I’m sorry I couldn’t drop you off by Y/N’s apartment. The street was small and it would be difficult to turn the van around.”

“It’s totally fine. Walking won’t hurt me.”

Taeyong grabbed his duffel bag and his guitar from the backseat and steps outside the vehicle. He waved at them goodbye before the van went back to the road. He adjusted the straps of his guitar case and duffel bag so he can carry them both comfortably as he begins to walk towards your place.

It was eerily quiet at that time and something just didn’t feel right. He tried to shake the feeling off and increasing his walking pace. It didn’t take long before he can see the building from a distance.

He didn’t know if he was just imagining things but he could’ve sworn that he saw a dark figure lurking in the darkness surrounding your apartment. He muttered a series of curses made a run for it.

///

Your thoughts were interrupted when you thought you heard footsteps coming from outside your house. You were jolted awake and started going into panic. Your heart pounded so much that you can hear it ringing through your ears. You forced yourself to not mind the sound and convinced yourself that you’re just imagining it.

You felt your heart drop as you heard the front door opening and swung slowly. You can definitely hear footsteps just right outside your door. That’s impossible. You locked every single entrance that night. Mind is getting a bit hazy at this point from hyperventilating. Despite this, you grabbed anything that you can get your hands on and decided to face the intruder head on.

You opened your bedroom door just started wielding the thing you are holding at whoever it is that’s outside. You heard a loud thud at the ground and a guy squirming in place.

“Oh shit.”

You quickly realized who it is and threw the blunt object away, now realizing that it’s a tripod. You kneeled down right in front of him and started panicking again. This time, it’s for a whole other reason.

“Oh my god, Taeyong. Are you okay?”

---

#nct au #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct u x reader #nct taeyong #nct fic #lee taeyong #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #rockstar au #journalist au #yuta nakamoto #johnny suh #mark lee #kim doyoung #nctcreations

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wawaluxthings · 4 years

Note

13, 21, 31, 45!!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you ♡

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished

Have brilliant idea on the verge of falling asleep. Pass out with so many words buzzing in my skull I actually dream of writing the story (but it’s all very stressful because I can only see with half my eyes and the keyboard keeps jumping around and the word doc won’t open fully). Wake up and words are gone, lucky if idea has survived and vocabulary is now restricted to grocery list. Turn on spotify. Stare at blank page. Stare at blank page. Stare at blank page. Wait for someone to give me crazy shit tons of work to do on a tight deadline. Of course words come back all at once. Begin writing frenzy which has me frothing at the mouth. Tell my better half that I’m just browsing the internet when he asks me why I’m typing so much. Convince myself I’ll read the paragraph one more time and then I’ll do the work. Three hours later, have full story out, rush through work and pretend I was doing that all along. Try to stop mouse from hovering over the word icon that wants to suck me back in. Wait for next day to fix the story. Amaze myself at how many words I skipped and how many times I changed tenses. Try to resist posting it. Give it one more night, fresh eyes, squint to spot the typos, get lost in some grammar that I’m not sure is correct. Bounce around in happiness cos this is the greatest thing EVER. Realize I forgot to do a title. Play around with words that really don’t mean anything. Read every possible synonym of simple words. Write up a summary in 2 minutes. Upload to the website and TRY to read it one more time because otherwise I’ll spot the mistakes too late. Don’t usually make it. Click ‘post’ with a grin. Immediately hate every word. Immediately hate idea. Try not to stare at stats page. Stare at stats page and refresh like a moron. Wonder how much the people who clicked on it and left hate me. Decide I’m the worst writer in history and this was so stupid, why did I bother. Close laptop and hide phone out of sight so I can stop checking stats page. Stare at tv and think of stats page. Go to bed. Tell myself I’ll just delete it in the morning. Wake up and don’t delete it. Have another story/art to obsess about.

OR – Have idea, almost get fired in haste to write it, check for typos, post, live with dark thoughts, forget about it all, move on.

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

Ohh Matt and Foggy for sure. I love exploring how Matt perceives the world around him, how different things will sound to him or the smells and textures that we wouldn’t be able to notice ourselves. Foggy just makes me happy! I see him as the light that contrasts Matt’s darkness. I think we have a little bit of Foggy in all of us, the insecure, good-hearted spirit that is just pure awesome. It makes me happy to know that I can use him to make my readers smile.

31. Least favourite part of writing

A few, very random ones: 1) Writer’s block. It’s been killing me lately. It feels like you lost whatever you had, like it won’t ever come back; 2) The fear that comes with posting. It’s a thrill and can be so rewarding, but the first few hours are just darkness (phew, we are all so broken, aren’t we?); 3) Accepting that the story is just not working, and scrapping whole paragraphs. The words look at me with big sad puppy eyes and it breaks my heart, so I have this whole document of ‘could potentially use one day’ sentences that I’ll likely never use (but shh, don’t tell them); 4) Trying not to use the same words all the time. My brain just goes THERE, every time. I have to highlight them so I don’t forget to swap them out.

45. How much world building do you do?

I had to google what world building was lol, so is that an answer? I think not much at all. It helps that we all have an idea of who the characters are, and what their environment looks like already. I tend to start a story mid-scene and only add details if I think it will help the reader understand something. I know people can’t stand long descriptions, no matter how beautiful the wording is. I’ve stopped reading so many books cos they were too busy describing something, and I honestly didn’t care enough.

Thanks again for the ask!

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knittingdreams · 4 years

Text

Fireheart - Chapter 20

Short and sweet, enjoy this chapter my lovely peeps! <3 Masterlist and Ao3 link on previous chapter down below because I’m a lazzy bum (kidding, I have a lot of deadlines, sorry!).

@tillyrubes10 :)

CHAPTER 20

Burning hot

Celaena sped through the streets as fast as she could, the duffle bag hanging across her shoulder making the pain come back all over again. Her side was still aching, and she felt drained and tired due to the blood loss. The cold air hitting her face was a blessing, it was helping her keep her mind focused and alert.

Once she got to the hotel, she parked in the underground parking lot, jumped on the elevator, and headed straight to her floor. Luckily, it was still early and she didn’t run into anybody on her way in, as she was sure she still looked sickish.

When she was finally in the safety of her room, she turned on the shower and stood in front of the big mirror while undressed, waiting for the water to heat up. The scar over her hip bone was sealing nicely, and the red rim around it was mostly gone, just a faint pink remaining which meant the infection was under control. She grabbed some ointment from the cabinet and left it out so she could dab it around the wound once she was out of the shower. Her face was another deal altogether; she had big dark circles under her eyes, and the side of her face had turned all shades of green, yellow, and a little bit of purple. She could probably conceal most of it, but the cut on her brow would be visible no matter what she did to cover it.

Shaking her head, she jumped under the hot water and scrubbed her body, trying to get rid of any remnant of Cain’s disgusting scent that could be lingering on her skin. Once out, she dried and styled her hair as fast as she could, applied a ton of makeup, and then arranged her hair in curls so they would be covering the scar as best as possible. Hopefully, not many people would be paying enough attention to notice. She put on bright red lipstick to draw attention away from her eyes and added a nice big necklace over her uniform.

She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, and happy with the result, she headed out. If she rode fast, she’d make it just in time. She called the elevator button, and it showed up almost immediately. She looked at the going down arrow and smirked before the door was even fully opened.

“Good morning,” she said as she stepped in.

“Good morning to you, Celaena.” Dorian Jr. smiled broadly at her, while an older version of the lad smiled politely.

“Morning,” Dorian Sr. nodded once, and crossed his hands in front of his body.

“Dad, this is Celaena, the new exchange student I told you about.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She stood to one side, Dorian Jr. in the middle as they rode the elevator down in silence until they reached the third floor.

“Celaena,” Dorian Jr. said then, turning to her and resting a casual hand on her shoulder. “Would you like a ride today? I’m coming back to the hotel after school, so I could give you a ride both ways.” His tone was too polite, and she had to school her face not to lift her brows at him.

Dorian Sr. glanced at them so quickly, that she almost missed it, but his lips were pursed into a straight line as he looked back towards the doors.

“Sure thing, I’d love a ride.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but riding her bike had been painful, and she was curious about the way his father had reacted to the question. Dorian Sr. tensed again, making Celaena’s curiosity peak. As the elevator reached the lobby, she wrapped an arm around Dorian’s shoulders. “Let’s go,” she said, stepping out. “Nice meeting you!” She yelled over the shoulder, smiling at Dorian Sr.

Dorian Jr. held her by the waist as they stepped out of the front doors, and she took a deep breath not to flinch away from the touch. Dorian’s car was already at the door, an usher holding the door open for him. They both jumped in, and as the car left the parking lot, Dorian raised a brow at her.

“What was that about?”

“What do you mean?” She faked innocence, making Dorian roll his eyes.

“I’m a little surprised you accepted the ride to start with, but showing yourself so friendly… I know my charms, and that’s precisely how I know you’re not affected by them.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, prince charming, but if you don’t want my help, just say so and I’ll be back to ignoring you.” She smirked, and Dorian took a corner faster than needed, glancing at her and smiling back. With the way he was driving, she was sure they’d make it to school in time.

“So sassy, I love it. How did you know I wanted to piss off my dad?”

“I’m good at reading people.” She shrugged, trying not to give the matter too much importance.

She knew what it was like to want to piss someone off just for the fun of it, and also to get attention. Dorian was desperate for it, desperate for any kind of attention he could get. It was so obvious, and so cliche: the boy trying to show his daddy he was good enough. Good enough to take over the business, good enough to not have to follow every step laid in front of him but to choose for himself instead. But that never worked, so they always rebelled and tried to get attention in other ways. She knew that was what she was for Dorian, even if he couldn’t see it himself. And she was going to use it to her own advantage.

“So, how about we make a deal?” Dorian asked after a moment.

“I’m listening.”

“There’s this event I need to go to next weekend, and I have a plus one. My father gave me a list of girls I should invite as good options, but I don’t like those options.”

“And you want me to be that plus one instead?”

They reached the school’s parking lot, and Dorian killed the engine and twisted to face her. “Celaena, would you honor me with your company for the Havilliard’s annual masquerade?” he asked in a mocking tone, but she knew the proposal was real.

“What do I get in return?” she asked, crossing her arms as she faced him.

“Isn’t my amazing company enough?” Dorian took a hand to his chest dramatically, almost making her laugh.

“I wish I could say it is, but it is not.”

“I’m hurt,” Dorian said mockingly, and then jumped out of the car, and rushed to the other side. He opened the door for her and offered her a hand. Begrudgingly, she took it and stood up.

“This is still not cutting it,” she said as she closed the door behind her. “But don’t worry, I’ll think of a way for you to pay me back. Let’s just say you owe me one. Deal?”

One side of Dorian’s lips turned up in what most would have thought to be a flattering and sexy half-smile. “Deal.”

Celaena patted him twice on the shoulder as she walked past him, aware of the stares other students were giving them. “Pleasure to do business with you.”

As she walked towards the building, the eyes of the few students still outside traveled between her and Dorian, but she kept her chin high, her eyes on the door. So much for not getting people’s attention for a day. But it was worth it, getting closer to Dorian Sr.’s business could gain her the information she hadn’t found in his office, she wasn’t ready to give up on the search. She knew her parents and the Havilliards had had a lot of business together, and they hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Hell, Aedion and Dorian Jr. didn’t even speak to each other, so she guessed that showed things were still tense between the families.

Nehemia intercepted her as soon as she stepped through the doors, hugging her by the waist and leaning against her. Celaena flinched at the pain exploding on her side but composed herself fast enough for anybody to notice.

“What was that? You and Dorian? Tell me you spent the weekend together! I knew you were dating someone!” Nehemia was so excited, she was almost jumping as they walked.

“Chill down, everybody’s looking at us,” Celaena said in a hushed tone, and couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I ran into him at the hotel and he gave me a ride, that’s all. I haven’t seen him all weekend.”

“Then why did you ignore most of my texts? I missed you!”

The first bell rang, and Nehemia pouted as she let go of Celaena’s waist. “I told you I had family stuff on this weekend, I didn’t pay much attention to my phone, sorry.”

“Okay, let’s say I believe you. See you at lunchtime?”

“Of course.”

Nehemia marched down the hall as Celaena entered the room to her right, getting ready for a long day of school. Her ribs were still sore, and her head was starting to pound with a headache. She sat down slowly on her usual seat, the stitches on her hip pulling a bit, and looked for her phone as an alarm started blaring inside her bag.

Confused, she looked at the message popping on the screen. It wasn’t her everyday phone, but the one she used as a burner, which wasn’t password protected.

The name of the alarm read: ‘How’s our fire girl doing? Are the flames still burning up? XO Your sexy blond knight in shining armor. Text me to let me know.’ It was followed by a phone number that she didn’t recognize. Celaena covered her mouth with a hand, not knowing if she should laugh or be infuriated at the intrusion. She wasn’t sure when Fenrys could have gotten to her phone, but she guessed it was while she was in the kitchen with Connall. She knew he couldn’t have seen anything relevant, so there wasn’t a whole lot for her to worry about.

She considered texting back for half a second, before throwing her phone back into her bag. It was better if she kept her distance, she could get whatever information she needed at the fights. She shouldn’t risk getting mixed up with the guards outside of work anymore. Especially not after knowing Lorcan Salvaterre was involved with them, that had hit too close for comfort. She didn’t have many classes with Lorcan but had seen the dark-haired guy at a few of them. He was always by himself, quietly sitting in the back of the room and not interacting with anybody. Another pair of eyes to be wary of.

The class went by painfully slow, and Celaena was relieved to stretch her muscles as the bell rang and she stood up with the rest of the class. Not even two steps towards the door, she felt her phone vibrating against her back as another alarm rang from within her bag.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

She pulled it out, and read the message on the screen. ‘I knew you wouldn’t text me. Come on, I just want to make sure you're alive. PS. I know you miss me.’

She shook her head as she deleted the alarm, and checked if he had set any more while she kept walking.

Sam found her at her locker, as usual, a big smile on his face. “Hey there, how is it going?”

“Not bad.”

She dug through her books, leaving some behind and pulling some more out.

“Look at me,” Sam’s tone was suddenly serious, and she turned around slowly, dreading the look she knew she was about to see on his eyes. “What are you hiding?” Sam leaned closer and looked around the hall to make sure there weren't many people around.

“Nothing, Sam, this is not the place and you know it.”

He reached a hand towards her face, and lifted a strand of her hair, looking at her brow. She grabbed his hand and snapped it down, frowning without thinking, which made her head hurt again.

“That is not nothing.” Sam’s jaw was clenched as he spoke, and he had moved to a guarded stance on instinct.

“I was fighting, what did you expect?” She replied between clenched teeth.

“Celaena, I’m not stupid. You’re wearing a huge amount of makeup and I don’t want to know how many more bruises you’re hiding. This is not the result of just a fight, not your usual fight at least.”

She slammed her locker closed and started walking away, but Sam reached over and grabbed her from the shoulder, turning her around to face him. The pain that shot down her arm was so intense that she couldn’t help but flinch and step back. Sam’s eyes were full of worry as he looked her up and down, trying to assess the damage. But there was no way he could see the amount of damage; not the real one. Not the one that laid within.

“Sam, this is none of your business, just stay out of it.” She could deal with a lot of things, but she couldn’t deal with the pity in Sam’s eyes.

“Celaena, you need to let me in. You can’t do this alone.” The bell rang, and they were the only students left in the hall, only a few people lingering in the distance.

“And who says I can’t? I’ve been doing perfectly fine without you until now.”

“It can’t always be just you. One day, you’re going to have to let someone in.” Shaking his head, Sam turned around and walked towards his next class, leaving Celaena alone in the middle of the hall.

She wanted to scream after him, or punch something. How did he dare talk to her like that? She could do it all alone, she didn’t need anybody. As she walked towards the classroom, she pulled her burner phone out and stared at the words written there. How’s our fire girl doing? Before she could think about it too much, she texted the number that had been given to her.

‘I’m still blazing.’

‘And I am not your fucking girl.’

#fireheart #chapter twenty #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fandom #rowaelin #fenrys #sam cortland

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krinsbez · 4 years

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Work Stories

Three from this week (different days, thank G-D). Here’s the first.

-This guy comes in and wants to place a sizable order. But, also he tells me his sister is going to being placing an order on the phone. He wants them on the same name, and plans to take them both, but packed separately. I take his order, tel him it will take about 15-20 minutes.

-Things immediately go completely insane; phones ringing off the hook, an online order every five seconds until we closed them, even a couple walk-ins. We are now looking at wait times of least forty minutes.

-He comes back, says he wants me to throw in some extra sauces. I change the ticket.

-His brother-in-law calls, makes an order, includes extra sauces. I tell him it’s gonna take considerably longer than anticipated

-Guy comes back. I am on the phone, and have four people on hold, one of whom is our phone-service person who answers calls when I can’t. He wants me to add his brother-in-law’s sauces to that order. When I have chance I tell him I’ve already got them. He declares that no, I don’t understand; he didn’t mean the sauces I added to his order, he means the ones his brother-in-law wanted. I tell him, that yes, that’s what I was talking about. He repeats himself. I have to explain that this has been taken care of three times before he gets it. He decides to add some other stuff to his order.

-When the order was originally supposed to be ready, the guy shows up. I am on the phone again with a different customers, have four different people on hold. I have four guys behind me all working on preparing orders. There are three delivery guys waiting to take orders. He demands his order. In between trying to deal with all the calls, I explain that owing to all of this, wait times are longer. He is outraged that the food is not ready by the time I initially gave him, and complains about it EVERY. FIVE. SECONDS.

-Meanwhile, while I’m trying to explain to people on the phone that the wait time is estimated at forty minutes and no, I cannot make an exception in their case, then pick up the next line and say the same to the next person, etc. Plus of course, taking orders from people who decide they’re OK with this (or who say they’re OK with it, but then change their minds after placing the order when I give them a time). Needless to say, this guy’s harping makes this much harder.

-In order to make the guy shut up and leave me alone, I offer to give him a gift card. It works.

-The rest of the day, and part of the next, my co-workers berate me for giving the guy a gift card.

Here’s the second:

-It was supposed to be my day off. But we’d had a big group order scheduled, and the assistant manager couldn’t come in, and we couldn’t afford to have both of us out, so I came in anyways, half-an-hour early, even.

-The procedure is as follows; a week before, on social media, and several local group chats, it was announced that on *Day* we would be delivering orders to a single location in that area. People were to place their orders by a certain time on the day via e-mailing my boss, he’d send them to me via WhatsApp, I’d make a ticket, and then we’d call them to confirm, take payment, and brief them on the details. Two of these were placed over the previous week. Another eleven were placed on the day itself. All of them were sizable, several of them had modifications to specific items or ambiguous language that took extra time to deal with. Despite coming in half an hour earlier than I usually do (which is 45 minutes before official opening), and spending the entire time working on this (my usual pre-opening tasks were either done by my boss or not done at all), I didn’t get finished until an hour and a half after official opening. Granted, that’s partially because the morning was completely insane with tons of orders starting fifteen minutes before official opening. Still, things calmed down in time for me to grab a quick lunch before we had to start working on the big order.

-Please note that we’ve done a bunch of these by now, and we’ve got it down to a science. Online orders are closed. Delivery services are paused. We inform all callers and walk-ins that we will not be able take any orders until this is done, which we expected to be two hours. Still, there’s always at least one customer who refuses to accept this, but we are used to dealing with them by now.

-Now, before I go on, I must explain that we have a lunch special, which is smaller versions of certain items on our menu for a smaller price with certain free or reduced price sides. We don’t take them after a certain time, for pickup no later than half an hour after that; in special cases, an hour, but it always causes problems in the kitchen when we do that. Said time happens to be five minutes after we shut everything down.

-The customary customer who insists on placing an order anyway calls. After much ranting, he finally accepts that I cannot be bullied into letting him place an order for until after the big order is done. So, he accepts my offer to let him place an order for after. But, he insists on it being a lunch order, despite the deadline to place them being in five minutes (well, five minutes after we started the call; by now it’s several minutes after) and the the deadline to pick them up being an hour before we allow pickups. Another fight ensues. My boss, who is helping with the big order, tells me to tell him we’ll let him do a lunch order, because we don’t have time to waste on arguing with him, and also because he can see I’m reaching the end of my rope from hearing my end of the conversation.

-He then spent the remainder of the day repeatedly telling me that I was a trouper for keeping my cool with the guy, commenting on what an asshole the guy was, googling him so he can not only ban the guy from our restaurant going forward, but also calling the owners of other restaurants in town to get him banned from them as well, asking the kitchen to make sure that his lunch order was as small as we can get away with, and when I realized that we might’ve made a mistake in said order, told us not to worry about it, cuz fuck that guy.

-Be aware; I cannot understate how pissed off he had to be to inspire such a reaction, because my boss is one of the nicest, friendliest, most easy-going guys I know, and usually he eats, sleeps, lives, and breathes making customers happy.

Here’s the third:

-We’re having a bit of a rush, and I’m taking an order over the phone, with another on hold and two customers in the store waiting to place orders, and the ticket for another (much later) order not put up yet because I haven’t had the chance. Order is just about done, I’m about to ask whether he would prefer to pay over the phone now or when he comes into the store...and he asks me which he should do. I tell him that, right at this minute, given all the other customers waiting for me to be finished taking this order so I can take theirs, it’d be easier for us if he’d pay when he picks up. His response: “OK, I’ll pay over the phone now“.

#Work Stories

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paradisobound · 5 years

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Follow You Home

Summary: Dan and Phil are neighbours who are there for each other whenever they need help. When Phil breaks his ankle, Dan helps him take care of his dog, and their friendship begins to grow to something more.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: None

Written With @dayevsphil for the @phanfictionevents Collab Fic Event!

A/N: we had a lot of fun writing this and we hope you'll like it too!

[Read on Ao3]

Dan is kind of an expert at procrastination. The deadline for this article is approaching at a steady, unrelenting pace, which means that it's the perfect time to clean out his refrigerator.

He's sitting on the cool tile in his pants and an old hoodie, sorting condiments by use-by dates, when his phone rings.

Most people don't bother to call him - it's easier to reach him by text or email, although he's also been known to ignore those until they go away - so he's a bit confused by the noise until it clicks in his mind. He digs in his hoodie pockets for his phone and if he grins at the caller ID, there's nobody here to see him except a very dubious bottle of mustard.

"Phil," he says, trying to sound casual and not like he jumps every time his neighbour calls.

"Hey, Dan," Phil's lovely, sweet voice comes through the line. He also sounds weirdly sheepish, which isn't unusual for him. "I've got kind of a weird favour to ask."

"Do you need a boost to your unlocked window again?" Dan asks. He's having a staring contest with the mustard, unsure if he should make any sudden movements to throw it out.

Phil laughs, and Dan feels a little smug about it. "No. Actually - okay. I did need that. But that was a few hours ago, and I thought I could get myself up there, and - anyway. I don't have as much upper body strength or coordination as I thought I did. Can you maybe, uh, walk Buffy for the next four to six weeks?"

"You know I love that dog," Dan says slowly. "But why? Did you fall off the building?"

"Yeah," says Phil. "And I broke my ankle."

Oof. Dan knows that Phil isn't exactly the most balanced guy in the world, but it still makes Dan wince to think about him getting himself hurt.

"Alright, I'll be over in like half an hour," Dan offers, decisively putting the mustard in his bin. "I'm sure she's buzzing by now, yeah?"

"Yeah," Phil laughs. He sounds relieved, like he thinks Dan would have said no to hanging out with a cute dog for money. "It'll feel weird because I'm, like, home, but I can't take her out myself."

Every time Dan has taken care of Buffy for short or extended periods, it's been because Phil is out of town. He vacations with his family a lot and travels for business every once in a while and Dan, well... works from home and could always use the extra income and the puppy cuddles.

Plus, it helps that Phil is one of the most attractive and funny people Dan has had the pleasure of meeting.

"Don't worry," Dan says. "I'm here to help."

“Oh thank you!” Phil exhales. “Actually, do you think you could take her for a walk right now? She’s a bit restless and I can’t…”

“Say no more! I’ll be right over.”

Dan hangs up, pressing end on his phone and washing his hands of whatever ended up being sticky on the outside of that mustard. He goes to brush his hands off on his legs when he suddenly remembers he's just in his pants.

Looking down at his legs, he figures that while he and Phil could be considered close or even bros, that didn’t mean that they were on the same page about Dan showing up to Phil’s in just his pants. Of course, a secret part of Dan wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to that scenario, but that’s something that’s stored deep inside Dan’s brain for another day.

He grabs the first pair of joggers that he sees on his floor and pulls them on and adjusts the waistband. He hesitates for a moment, debating if he should change his hoodie but then decides that it’s just a hoodie and it’ll be fine.

He grabs his phone from the kitchen counter and his keys from the stand next to the door and heads out down the hall.

Phil’s second-floor flat is right down the hall from Dan’s, which makes it convenient in most cases when they both needed help with the whole climbing through unlocked windows thing. But it also is nice when Phil went away because it means Dan doesn't technically have to leave to go and dog-sit Buffy.

He knocks on the door and then cringes to himself with the fact that Phil probably hasn’t learnt how to navigate yet with his broken ankle and—

The door opens and Dan tries to hide the blush that creeps over his face every time he comes face to face with beautiful blue eyes and stark black hair. Except that black hair is looking a little brown and Dan feels his cheeks heat up even more because how could a man already so attractive become even more attractive? Is that even possible?

His thoughts are interrupted by the bounding of chestnut fur leaping towards the door. Buffy is a big dog—well, she's a labradoodle—but she is very energetic and more than friendly. She's the sweetest puppy Dan’s ever met.

Phil’s leaning on a set of crutches and Dan sees the complete relief on Phil’s face now that they’ve both comprehended the situation.

“Buffy didn’t like being stuck here while I was at A&E so she’s very eager to go out for a walk,” Phil says, hobbling back from the door to make his way over to grab her lead.

Dan just watches and bends down, giving Buffy a few quick rubs before he decides he should help Phil with that. He stands back up straight and helps Phil detangle her lead and then he takes it back to the prancing pupper and hooks her on.

“I can take her to the park for a bit to let her run around?” Dan asks, already being dragged a bit by the over-energetic dog.

Phil nods. “That would be great!”

Dan’s turning back to lead Buffy down the hall when Phil speaks up again. “Hey, Dan?”

Dan turns around and looks back at him. “Yeah?”

“I really appreciate this, you know? I really don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t know you.”

Something resonates deep inside Dan and he struggles to keep back the giddy feelings in his chest as he just smiles and Phil smiles back, shutting the door.

Buffy is extremely eager to go for a walk. Dan isn't exactly a small person, and he still feels like he's being yanked down the stairs by a small horse. He laughs and half-jogs after her once they reach the pavement. He gets out of breath quickly and has to keep pulling her for frequent stops, but she doesn't seem to mind now that they've got some forward momentum.

The dog park isn't very busy at this time of day, when the majority of people are at work and their dogs are at home waiting for them to come home, so Dan lets Buffy off her leash and chases her around to try and get the zoomies out of her.

Buffy is a big girl with a ton of energy, and Dan has to lie down in the grass to catch his breath more than once. She thinks this is all a part of the game every time and licks all over his face until he's giggling and getting back up.

Sometimes Dan thinks about getting a dog, because his flat gets kind of lonely sometimes and the routine of going outside and actually getting exercise can only be good for him, but then again, he's already got Buffy. A small, secret part of Dan has domestic fantasies locked away in the back of his mind, where he gets to hang out with Buffy all day while her dad's at work. The sheer idea of Phil coming home to them every night and beaming at them like they're the best things to ever happen to him is honestly more salacious than Dan's filthiest fantasies.

Eventually, Dan's lungs and legs are protesting far too much for him to keep tiring Buffy out. He takes her back to their building, both of them panting the whole way.

Dan hesitates in front of Phil's door. He doesn't want to make Phil hobble over again, but it feels weird to just let himself in as well… Dan could overthink this for a long time if left to his own devices, just standing in the hallway like a weirdo, but Buffy is having none of that.

She whines and scratches at the door, and Dan makes the decision to just open it for her. She bounds inside when he lets her off the lead and he pauses again before following her inside.

"We're back," he calls through the flat. He hangs Buffy's lead up on the coat rack and toes off his shoes. "I'm just gonna get her a treat, alright?"

"Er, yeah, of course," Phil's voice comes from the direction of the kitchen, and Dan starts moving towards it like he's been magnetized. When he gets there, he's startled into a laugh. Phil is leaning against the counter, a crutch under one arm and a mug in his free hand. He looks alarmed as he watches Buffy go to her water bowl, like he's afraid she's gonna jump on him.

"She should be too tired to tackle you, at least for a little bit," Dan laughs. He grabs a couple of treats from the top of the fridge and makes Buffy sit and shake paw for them. "Good girl," he coos, scratching behind her ears.

"The best," Phil says, looking relieved when Buffy settles for licking the hand on his crutch and going to lie down.

"Mind if I also get a water?" Dan asks, feeling equal parts awkward and giddy. He never really comes back to Phil being here when he dogsits, so this is different.

Phil smiles and shakes his head. "Make yourself at home. I have to get dinner on the go, soon, but…" He trails off, gesturing with his half-empty mug at the cast on his foot. "It was annoying enough to make coffee. I've got no idea how to do any of this without, like, falling over or breaking something."

"You could order in," Dan suggests, and then laughs at the state of Phil's fridge. "And you might need to, mate, you've got nothing here."

"I know," Phil says. He grimaces a bit. "Not looking forward to grocery shopping."

"Well, why don't you leave me a list," says Dan, "and I'll pick up some stuff for you when I go tomorrow?"

The way Phil's face lights up with a sort of sheepish gratitude warms Dan to his core.

"That'd be really nice of you," Phil says, sounding so sincere about it that Dan is tempted to crack a joke and break the moment. Phil sets his mug down and starts patting around his pockets for his phone before he can. "What do you like on your pizza? You should stay."

Dan definitely wants that. He wants to sit on Phil's sofa and eat Domino's and watch a series that's new to both of them so that maybe he has another excuse to keep coming around. Dan is maybe a little pathetic over this guy.

Unfortunately, Dan is also very aware that he's sweaty and a little dirty from rolling around in the grass with Buffy.

"I like pretty much anything," says Dan, setting his water bottle on the counter. "Lots of different dips, please. I'm gonna go take a shower while you order if that's cool, I'm fucking rank from the park."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Phil grins. Then his expression turns mournful as he looks down at himself again. "That's… another thing I'm not sure how to accomplish."

Dan mumbles something that might be English words and hightails it out of the flat before he does something very stupid, like offer to help Phil with that, too. It's not until he's standing on the other side of his own door that he realises he left his shoes in Phil's entryway.

Dan feels too awkward to go and get his shoes from Phil’s flat so it takes him a little over a day before he does. And even then, it’s because Phil texted him about taking Buffy on another run—Dan doesn’t call it a walk anymore because Buffy literally makes him run.

So, Dan does what any awkward person would do when they left their only gym shoes at their neighbors flat and they need them. He walks barefoot to said flat and waits with his socks stepped onto a seemingly wet front entry mat.

Dan knocks on the door and after just a moment, Phil opens it open with same big smile on his face and an excited Buffy on his heels.

“You left your—”

“I left my—”

Phil lets out a chuckle and it briefly cools the heat that is definitely seeping up Dan’s cheeks now as they both attempted to say the same thing. God, this made him want to actually crawl into a hole in the floor.

“You left your shoes here,” Phil says still chuckling. “Buffy found the left one and thought it would be fun to drag it around by the shoestring.”

Dan winced and forced out a laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t know why I walked out and didn’t even notice I wasn’t wearing any shoes.”

“Well you’re also not wearing any right now so maybe your subconscious is telling you something.”

Dan let out a proper laugh this time as he pointed a finger at Phil. “Listen, I…”

He’s stopped by the sound of other voices coming down the hallway and he suddenly feels weird standing outside of Phil’s door in a pair of joggers and a jumper with no shoes.

Phil moves out the way, as best as he can anyway with Buffy right behind him and his crutches making it difficult. Dan shuts the door behind them and notices his shoes sitting perfectly paired next to Phil’s own and his heart does a slight flip as he realizes that he actually kind of likes the way that that looks.

He picks up his shoes and slips them on as Phil is struggling to get the lead clipped on Buffy’s collar. Dan reaches out to help when he manages to get it hooked and Buffy is now running to the door.

“Guess this is my cue.” Dan laughs and Phil nods.

“I know I’ve already said this but thank you again, Dan! It does mean a lot!”

Dan smiles and looks down at his shoes just happens to notice the small signs of a bite mark on his left shoelace.

—

Two weeks pass with this new system in place while Phil is healing. Dan still comes over to Phil’s every day and he still takes Buffy out on a walk. Her energy was still the same and every day, Dan walked back slightly dirty with a layer of sweat.

Phil said that in two more weeks, the doctor told him he would be able to start wearing a boot on his foot and he seemed extremely glad for that from what Dan can tell.

Phil didn’t look like he was exactly happy being cooped up so much and the past few days, Buffy has even taken up to whimpering and pushing her head into Phil’s hip to get him out the door. But Phil’s lack of mobility makes it not possible for Phil to even walk a bit of the way to the park because his crutches leave him so exhausted.

Dan feels bad. And he wishes he had more that he could do to help.

He knows that Phil is an introvert, like himself, so he’s surprised by how many times Phil tries to get him to stay and hang out. Dan only caves a couple of times, because he hates being around Phil when he’s gross from the run, but Phil seems to be getting more and more desperate for someone to just sit and watch Bake Off with him while he can’t work. Dan makes up excuses most of the time, but it’s getting as hard to say no to Phil as it is to say no to Buffy.

“Dan,” Phil says when Dan and Buffy come back from their morning walk. “Hey, what are you doing today?”

“I have an article to write,” Dan says automatically. He holds up his laptop bag as evidence.

Phil’s face falls, even with Buffy licking his hand, and he nods. “Oh, okay. Sure. Just… if you wanted to, you could work here. It kind of sucks to only have Buffy to talk to all day, you know?”

Well, great. Now Dan feels even worse.

“Alright,” Dan says, following Buffy into the narrow entryway of Phil’s flat. They’re all standing very close together for a long moment, and then Buffy barks at both of them and runs off to the kitchen to wait for her treat.

“Sorry, I know you’re busy with work,” Phil says, sheepish. He looks like he’d be scratching the back of his neck if he didn’t need both hands to balance his crutches.

Dan is really, really not busy, but he’s been telling Phil that he is for two weeks now, so… he nods and pulls an exaggerated face. “A little, but I really don’t mind hanging out with Buffy.” Phil still looks vaguely sad, and that just shouldn’t be allowed. He’s way too handsome for that, all Dan ever wants to see him do is smile. He adds, “And I like hanging with you, too.”

Phil’s whole face brightens up, and Dan knows he’s made the right call.

And then that is part of their routine as well, Dan hanging out in Phil’s flat for a few hours every day. It's nice, because it's all that Dan ever wants to be doing, but it's also nerve-wracking - how is he supposed to keep hiding his stupid crush like this?

It's a good thing Phil is so oblivious.

But at the same time, it’s not. Because Dan can be a bit of a wuss when it comes to letting his feelings out. It’s how it took him nearly three months of pining to eventually to ask his prior ex for their number.

They work together in silence inside Phil’s flat. Phil is busy doing his own work on his laptop while Dan is on his own on the couch adjacent to Phil. Buffy is off in the corner of the living room on her bed taking a nap, snoring away with her legs twitching every so often. It makes Dan smile when he watches her for a bit.

“See something good on your computer?”

Dan snaps out of his trance and turns his head to Phil who is staring at him with a smile.

Dan shakes his head. “No, I was just watching Buffy sleep.”

Dan realizes how creepy that is after the world leave his mouth and he worries that they came off as weird. So he waits on baited breath as Phil lets out a sigh and turns his head towards the sleeping pup. “When I first got her, she slept in bed with me and it made me feel calm.”

Dan bit his lip, warm feelings coursing through his veins.

“I liked having a warm body to sleep next to,” Phil continued. “I don’t know, she just made me feel really safe. And it felt really nice to not be alone for once.”

“I’m sorry.”

Phil shrugs and lets out a smirk. “Don’t worry about it.” Phil says. “It’s definitely a me thing and I shouldn’t be involving you in my problems.”

Dan quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that at all.” He pauses. “I really like hanging out with you, Phil. And I’m not just saying this because you have a cute dog.” Phil lets out a laugh and Dan snorts too. “But you were one of the first people I met when I moved here.”

“You were too.” Phil says. “I had just moved here from Manchester and I didn’t know a single person around here. And just to think that we got to know each other over the balcony incident of 2016.”

Dan lets out a loud laugh as he remembers how he came back from the store one day to see Phil attempting to get into his flat via the balcony. Dan had never laughed so hard in his life as he helped Phil out to get back inside. It was also during this time that Dan had seen just how attractive Phil really was.

“Dan?” Phil interrupts Dan’s thoughts and Dan turns his head.

“Yeah?”

“When I get my boot on in a week, can I--” Dan’s heart starts racing and Dan waits as Phil hesitates before finally saying, “Can I take you out to dinner?”

Dan feels his cheeks heat up and blush creep over his skin as he nods and smiles in agreement.

Phil gets his boot just a week later to wear for the next few weeks while his ankle finishes healing. Dan had asked him about his mobility level with it and Phil had assured that the doctor told him that he could take short walks but not over do it.

Dan had taken to going over to Phil’s every day to just sit and talk with him and play with Buffy. They haven't mentioned the ‘dinner’ since Phil had asked him but Dan still holds onto the hope that Phil meant it.

Dan wants nothing more than to be able to finally go on a date with Phil. At least, he hopes that's what Phil meant, because if he just wanted to take Dan to dinner as a thank-you then Dan is going to fling himself off the nearest bridge.

It's a few days after Phil gets the boot on that Dan receives a text. He's lying in bed and grinning at his ceiling because Phil wants to know if he's free tonight. Dan is always free when it's Phil asking, if he's honest.

Getting ready for the day is difficult. Dan changes his mind on an outfit roughly a dozen times, because Phil has only ever really seen him in his comfy 'house' and 'walking' clothes, and Dan's got a whole closet full of too-expensive things he rarely wears. He tries some of it on before he gets lazy and just holds things up against his body to the mirror. He plays the coin toss of washing his hair, hoping that when it dries and has product in it won't look like a frizzy mess.

The last time Dan went on a date was before he moved to London, so he's a little bit rusty with it all.

Dan leaves it until the last possible minute to get dressed after getting lost in a Reddit cave, and he ends up just grabbing from the stuff he'd laid out before at random. The wide neck on this jumper used to bother him, but he thinks it looks nice now. His ripped jeans feel tighter than usual around his legs, but he doesn't know if that's because they shrunk in the wash last time or because running around after a dog twice a day is actually good exercise. Maybe they'll be more difficult to take off later, but he likes the visual effect of it.

He manages to shove his clown feet into some sneakers just as someone knocks on his door. He does one last once-over in the mirror before taking a couple deep breaths and going to answer it.

"Hey," Dan breathes, feeling his mouth stretch into a wide grin.

Any worry that this isn't a date is swept away, because Phil looks really good. He's got his shirt buttoned up all the way and his brown hair has actual product in it for the first time in weeks.

Phil beams right back at Dan. "Hi!" he chirps. Dan feels gratified by the way his gorgeous eyes look Dan's outfit over. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," says Dan. He steps out into the hallway, a thrill going through his whole body when Phil doesn't take a step back to let him lock the door. They aren't touching, but Dan can feel Phil's body heat like they're about to be, and he's sure that he's blushing like an idiot when he turns back around.

Phil's smile widens, but he doesn't draw attention to whatever's going on on Dan's face. "Let's go," he says, "I got us an Uber and I'm still getting used to this boot."

There are a couple of awkward moments with the boot, like getting in and out of the car, because Phil is a naturally clumsy person and the depth perception with his own limbs isn't great either. Dan is there to help him, though, steadying Phil with a hand to his arm and feeling his stomach flutter whenever Phil smiles at him.

"You've got, like, three left feet," Dan giggles, holding Phil's elbow to guide him through the restaurant. The hostess is being accommodating now, but if Phil keeps knocking into other people's chairs, Dan is sure her attitude will change.

"Guess I'll just need to keep holding on to you, then," Phil grins, a little sheepish.

Dan blushes and steadies him the best that he can before they get to the booth and he helps Phil sit down. In hindsight, Dan feels like he should have asked the hostess to get them a table. But Phil is sitting quite comfortably in the booth with no apparent mind towards his own leg sticking out to the side a bit so Dan doesn’t bother her anymore.

The waitress makes her way over and offers them each some wine and they both take a glass of it before she asks if they wanted any water as well.

It’s awkward, and Dan’s not even going to try and say otherwise. Their feet are hitting each other under the table and Phil just tried to put his napkin on his lap but has now thrown it on the floor. Dan tries so hard to keep his composure, but as he sees Phil attempt to bend down and reach for it without totally jarring his foot up and kicking the table was actually a bit funny. So he stifles a laugh.

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” Phil speaks up now that he’s managed to grab the cloth napkin again and fold it over his lap.

Dan is still looking down at the menu and he bites his lip in concentration as he tries to decide what to get. “I’m not sure.”

“You can get whatever you want,” Phil said. “I’ll pay.”

Oh, this was a proper date then.

Dan set down the menu and he looked at Phil who was staring at him with a blush and a smile. “You don’t have to do that.”

Phil just shook his head, clearly not taking no for an answer.

The waitress came over and Dan ended up ordering a prawn spaghetti dish while Phil got a specialty pizza that Dan didn’t catch the name of. As they sipped on their wine and waited for the order, Dan found himself looking at Phil.

Phil was just so attractive and the fact that Dan was actually on a date with him was making his heart swell a bit. He found himself feeling floaty, his chest feeling hot but his stomach feeling fluttery. He loved it. It reminded him of when he had crushes as a teenager, except now he freely expresses them.

“I want to thank you again for helping me with Buffy.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You’ve already thanked me enough, Phil.” He says with a playful tone. “You don’t have to keep thanking me for something that I genuinely enjoyed.”

“I know she can be a handful but she keeps me company,” Phil says. “She keeps me on my toes.”

“Not right now she doesn’t.” Dan jokes.

Phil’s eyes crinkle as he lets out a laugh and his tongue does the little thing that Dan has noticed it does when Phil is genuinely laughing, which is poking out of his teeth.

They continue having mindless conversations about Buffy and work and life in general. They don’t get too deep or too personal.

When their food comes, they barely speak as their starving stomachs protest more than their mouths and they both hungrily consume their food. When they’re both done, Phil asks for the tab and then he pays without Dan getting a single say in the matter, and then they get ready to leave.

Walking back out of the restaurant isn’t nearly as hard as walking in and they get outside to an Uber already waiting for them. Dan helps Phil get inside again and they sit next to each other the entire ride back to their flats. But this time, Phil’s hand makes it way over the seat and touches Dan’s with the lightest of touches and Dan turns over his palm and lets Phil put their hands together.

It’s such a small thing in the grand scheme of things, but Dan feels genuinely happy and content in that moment.

They take the lift up to their flats and as they stop outside of Phil’s, their hands still connected, Dan feels a bit of sadness crest in his chest as he realizes he was going to have to say goodbye to him for the night.

He knows it shouldn’t be this hard. They live nearly across the hall from each other. But for some reason, that short distance feels like oceans tonight and it’s weighing heavy on Dan’s chest.

Dan goes to say goodbye and dislodge their hands from each other, but as he goes to do so, Phil leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s nothing big, but it’s enough for Dan to feel himself blush. Phil pulls back after the quick peck and just smiles.

“I’d love to do this again sometime if you’d like?”

Dan quickly nods. “Me too. I really would too.”

They part ways and Dan walks back to his flat with his shoulders a bit slumped and his chest a bit heavy. But his cheek still feels the tingle of Phil’s kiss and when he shuts the door to his flat, he reaches up and feels the space that Phil had pressed his lips to.

He gets out of his clothes and into a pair of joggers and an old uni hoodie and is laying down on his couch when his phone buzzes and he looks down at the screen and sees a message from Phil.

Buffy misses you :( maybe we can have a sleepover?

Dan doesn’t need to be told twice as he rushes out the door of his flat with his toothbrush in hand and is greeted by Buffy and Phil in the doorway. And as he steps inside, he knows for a fact that this time is different than any other time he’s come over before.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #fluff #alternate universe #collab fic #phanfic collab #phanfiction events #hope you enjoy :)

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blogbypratz · 4 years

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What are the ways in which marketing can be done better?

Why do people and communities demand higher and higher discounts, price cuts and overwhelming concessions? Why so many marketing campaigns are brand destroyers and losers of money? Why is branding becoming a devalued asset with declining returns?

The untruthful truth is that the basic assumptions behind "marketing" haven't changed for decades. While you can use a little more effective channels, "more creative" ideas or more productive mechanisms, it's a militaristic and contradictory school of thought that is largely about stacking "products" in seagulls that are already overloaded with "consumers" by focusing on "messages" with illusory and imaginary benefits. Marketing as we know it is still largely on talking down which isn’t good enough to send this great stagnation packaging.

Once you have reached product/market adaptation, your growth is simply a matter of smart marketing on the front end and good customer loyalty on the backend.

Market research done by Marketing Agency in Mumbai proves to be a key element in the development of your market strategy. It's about collecting information that provides insight into your customers' thoughts, buying habits, and location. In addition, market research can also help them make an initial forecast of sales, monitor market trends, and keep an eye on what your competition is doing.

Explaining your product as a story

Many product distributors fall into the trap of "selling the product, not the experience." No one wants your product. No one wants a product. They want a solution to their problem.

Talk only about benefits, features and facts, and you lack compelling opportunities for engagement. When you talk about it, you only engage Wernicke's pieces and pieces in the brain. These areas simply decode words in meaning. That's all.

Tell a story, and the game changes. If you do, and especially if your story has an intense character and emotions, you engage much more of the brain. In fact, you can put the whole brain to work.

For example, the limbic system is full of activity when describing emotions such as love, hatred, joy, anger or sadness. When discussing the smell of lavender or cinnamon, the olfactory cortex gets to work.

It's easier to communicate the value of your product in an unforgettable way through storytelling.

Identifying Unmet Goals

The first step is to review your marketing plan and business plan and see what you haven't achieved. You could have specific goals that remain out of reach, such as a number of new customers this year or spend a profit milestone.

Even if you haven't articulated a goal, you might still be disappointed by some of your marketing. Maybe readers won't find your blog or you won't get as many people to sign up for your newsletter as you had hoped.

Anyway, do not meet their expectations, write it.

Identify your unique selling proposition (USP)

A USP is the sole reason why your customers buy from you rather than from your competitors - that's what sets your business apart from the masses. It is important to define what you do differently and be able to pass this on to potential customers. As a general rule, this reflects your specific knowledge or skills.

Your USP may have a new or unique offer or offer exceptional service. Start with the development of your USP by answering the following questions:

1. What do you like most about your products and services?

2. What special skills or knowledge do you have?

3. What drives your customers to come to you rather than your competitors?

4. How do your customers benefit from the purchase of your products or services?

5. What aspects do you generally highlight when describing your foreign affairs?

Keeping Track of Your Competitors Marketing

Competitive research doesn't attract enough attention. So that’s why Local Marketing Agency in Mumbai reviews market competitors for different marketing ideas which help a lot in their current and upcoming marketing strategies.

You should check:

1. How they differ from their competitors

2. What keywords they target

3. Which social media sites they use

4. How many followers do they have?

5. Where they spend money on advertising

6. How to get customers to engage with them

Do Something that Your Competitors Won’t Do

At the height of Nike's first growth explosion, they tried without fear what other companies would not do. They failed. In the 1980s, they tried to enter the casual footwear market. And it made them fall behind the Briton Reebok, the American leader in sneakers.

But Nike didn't let itself be stopped. In the 1970s and early 1980s, they used a marketing tactic unknown at the time, and sometimes mocked: the recommendations of celebrity athletes.

Romanian tennis player Ilie Nastase, affectionately known as "Bucharester Buffoon" for his online antiques, was Nike's first sporting celebrity in 1972. He was world number one in 1973 and 1974. Steve Prefontaine, a middle-track star, was another key signing in the mid-1970s. In 1980, this strategy catapulted Nike's IPO and sales growth to $270 million.

... And then, in 1985, they convinced someone called "Michael Jeffrey Jordan" to support their shoes. What is fascinating is that Jordan was a life lover of Adidas. But Adidas did not offer him an agreement. At the time of signing, he was not a superstar. But in 1990, Nike's sales reached $2.2 billion. And last year, it provided $32.4 billion.

Today, Adidas is about 1/3 the size of Nike. And Reebok about 1/45.

Google My Business

The ranking of your Google My Business list is one of the most powerful things you can do for your business. If you run a local business that is aimed at local customers, this is the strongest strategy available to you.

If you can rank your Google My Business ad in the top 3 search results, you may need to shoot in a large number of highly qualified prospects day by day without having to spend a penny on ads. Google My Business combines all your different Google platforms in one place with Google Maps profile, Google reviews, access to data on Google Analytics and Google Insights and more.

If you have a unique brand name, you can even get a big screen like this to show when people are looking for that name. Google My Business immediately gives the credibility and visibility of your business, and if you run a local business, it should be #1 on your priority list.

And the best of all, the ranking of their Google My Business list is really not that difficult. You simply need to optimize your profile and then collect feedback and quotes.

Automate as Much as Possible

Automation of marketing can save you a lot of time and money while you work to achieve your goals. If you try to do everything yourself, you may end up running out of deadlines or not sticking with your intentions.

There are tons of good marketing mail providers, including companies such as AWeber and Constant Contact. You can use them to create email sequences, send them to your subscribers, or hire someone to create them for you.

Using automation to monitor your mentions on social networks and post them on Facebook, Twitter and other social media sites. You need to set up and plan contributions, but the beauty of this approach is that it means you don't have to worry about when to post something. Automation will do it for you.

You can also consider setting up automatic responses on your Facebook page. Many companies use robots to deal with customer issues and increase their engagement - and you should also think about it.

Market to Your Existing Customers

In the early 1990s, Pepsi and Coke dominated the beverage market. Both have spent more than 100 million dollars to promote one of their brands. At the same time, milk consumption in California was declining.

And what was so special about milk in the first place? It was white. You're welcome. That's boring. There is not much to say about milk. So things didn't look good for California dairy farmers.

Nevertheless, the National Dairy Board and the California Advisory Board had to try something with their tiny 23-million-dollar advertising budget. Eventually, they approached the advertising agency Goodby, Silverstein and Partners (GS & P).

Previous campaigns have tried to attract people who did not drink milk. But GS & P's search has led him to believe that it would work to advertise current milk fans. Through discussion groups, they have found that consumers only drink milk with something else. Besides, they never think about it until they are exhausted.

Field Marketing Agency in Mumbai doesn't necessarily need to find a brand new audience to increase the sale of products. You can also increase the demand among your loyal fans.

Final Thoughts -

While only half of them are probably worth thinking about your unique business, I think at least four of them fit in perfectly, and as I said at the beginning of the article, one of these channels has the potential to increase your growth next year.

Marketing is not an exact science, but if you do these things, you can reorient your marketing strategy with your main business goals, while increasing their profits and helping you attract new customers.

Marketing goals will help you define what you want to achieve through your marketing activities. Your goals should be SMART: specific, measurable, achievable, relevant and time-based.

#marketing #Marketing Practices #Ways in which Marketing can be done better #What are the ways in which Marketing can be done better?#marketing agency in mumbai #fulcrum resources

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justimajin · 5 years

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Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues ⌠Part 14⌡

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (4.5k) Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU

⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye…

⇢ Warnings: friends to lovers au

⇢ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

⇢ Will update every Tuesday (until finished) - next update

Friendship is a word you associate with many individuals working inside your hospital, from how you came to know Jimin and Yoongi from rigorous study sessions in college to new frequent interactions you’ve had with recently hired interns. It’s a word that was necessary to establish at work particularly for numerous reasons, as working inside a hospital without the support of a solid team meant that nothing could be accomplished.

It’s a word that you would had never once considered to associate with him, simply due to how long you had spent avoiding said man when every encounter had your blood boiling until a vessel would pop and you would begin to wonder if you were going to suffer from blood pressure issues in the future. It would never fail to caste you upon one very defined characteristic.

You and Dr. Kim cannot get along.

But it seems that finally this mentality has been broken down. Shredded to mere pieces as the doctor continues to express more of himself to you and instead of feeling like you can barely stand to have a conversation with him in the same room, work surprisingly does take a better turn.

“Here.”

He simply stares at the paper encased inside your hand before looking up at you with a raised brow, “You dropped it.” You lean over to place it carefully on top of the file he was carrying around with him.

“Thank you.” He slips it right in, “I’ll take that you filed your own report on the patient as well.”

You nod, walking with him, “I saw the one you had left this morning in my office and our notes were similar.” You move forward to open the door for him because of his occupied hands, “I filed it after that.”

“That’s good,” He arrives at his office, stopping for a moment, “As long as everything goes according to plan, they can be discharged next week.” You both share a knowing glance because of how keen you were on monitoring your patients and you’re glad on the inside that he still informed you despite you already assuming.

“I’ll see you around Dr. L/N.” He sends you a small smile and you return it to which he pushes the door to go inside. You promptly start walking back so that you can go through your wards and check up on the various patients lined up for your attention.

An arm swings around you and you let out a loud sigh from already knowing who the particular owner was. After all, his obvious giggles were a dead giveaway. “Y/N~” He teases and you can identify right away that he was on to something.

“What do you want Dr. Park?”

He pouts at the title but still presses forward, “Someone is getting cozy with Dr. Kim.”

You scrunch up your nose with his use of words, “Cozy?” You scoff, “Jimin, we’re friends.” Since he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon, you had ended up dragging him to your office when you fish around in your pocket for your keys.

“FRIENDS?!” A loud squeal echoes out of his mouth and you glare at him right away when his piping tone can disrupt others, “Sorry!” He squeaks out, “But this is amazing Y/N, I can’t believe you’re friends!”

The door to your office opens, causes your intern to accidentally eavesdrop on the conversation, “Dr. L/N is friends with Dr. Kim now?”

Jimin excitedly nods and hurriedly joins you inside, “I saw them talking earlier without trying to kill each other!”

“Woahh,” Jin turns in his chair, looking at you with bewilderment as you sit down in your chair, “I’m impressed Y/N.”

The commotion isn’t something you are fond with however. The answer is indeed yes – you and Dr. Kim are remarkable individuals on your own and working together strengths this, but the amount of disruption it causes with those among you is what you’re not appreciative of.

It is great that you’re friends now, but a professional environment must be maintained within the walls of the hospital. “It isn’t a big deal.” You shrug.

“But it is! I’ve been here for a really long time and I’ve never seen you talk to each other properly without fighting!” Jimin rambles, jumping up and down as if he had downed tons of sugar.

Jin nods, “I agree, you and Dr. Kim are actually having normal conversations.”

A loud sigh comes out of you. They were right in that sense but this was spinning into something bigger and you weren’t ready for it to become such a huge thing, “Dr. Park doesn’t your intern need you?” Jin had to be in there so he could work with you, but Jimin was the one provoking the whole situation.

Jimin’s eyes widen before he’s sent off in a frenzy, “Jungkookie! I forgot!”

The whole ordeal causes you to laugh and Jin joins in as well, shaking his head as he mumbles, “Hired first, yeah right.”

“I’m not too sure on how you will take the news, but it is what it is…” A weary sigh escapes from the drained doctor in front of you when he sheepishly smiles. It had taken you by surprise when Namjoon had called you and Dr. Kim specifically into his office so early in the morning. You were occupied with doing your wards and the latter had been filing some papers when the head doctor abruptly stumbled in.

“I’m leaving.” Your jaw drops down instantly and Namjoon raises his hands before you could question him, “Temporarily, I requested some time off.”

Another sigh comes out of him and you can notice the handful of clear signals emitting off of him from the way his words are only formed in exhausted stretched syllables. More so you can see how much of a mess his entire office is; piles of papers stacked in different sections all over the room and his desk appearing as if a tornado had passed by.

Yet understanding this was only a part of it, for Namjoon leaving meant a crucial position in your team would be missing.

Picking up on your thought instantly, he starts to clarify what is about to come, “I want both of you to take over.”

It feels like the air has been knocked out of you when the pure shock crosses your face and leaves you speechless. All you can see is huge chunk of responsibility being bestowed upon you and your mind races at how someone like you could possibly take over.

Being the head doctor of the hospital was certainty the toughest job one could have. In addition to ensuring that you fulfill all of the duties a doctor has, you need to make sure that the hospital functions in the correct way, whether that was from assigning doctor to their areas of strength and assessing your team accordingly to handling external influences such as management of the hospital.

Leadership is key, otherwise the hospital would run on a commotion of chaos. You have to be a kind, considerate doctor combined with the tactics of an administrator.

You settle onto the concept of the two of you handling the hospital and your eyes briefly flicker over to Dr. Kim to see his reaction. The news has taken its surprise on him but he appears to be much more composed and reassured with the matter.

“I know it’s a lot…” Namjoon attempts to explain, clearly seeing your distress, “But I believe this is something I can entrust to the both of you.” He turns to you this time, “And its only for two weeks because that is how long they’re willing to give me.”

“We won’t let you down.” Dr. Kim speaks up, confidence filled inside his voice. You are still contemplating, unsure if these two weeks were going to pass by fine or be ultimate hell. “Dr. L/N and I can handle it.”

At the mention of your name, he turns and meets your eyes as a way to tell you that this is something you can do. The encouragement is helpful, dissolving some of the uncertainty when you know it will be a challenge, but have you ever strayed away from a difficult task?

“We can,” You turn to Namjoon, sitting up straighter now, “Enjoy your time off, you don’t need to worry.”

The corners of his mouth curl up with your confirmation and you believe that this won’t be as disastrous as you were expecting it to be. If Namjoon had come to you with this news alone then you would have been even more unsure about it, however this is a role you will be sharing with Dr. Kim. You can’t put your finger as to why specifically, but you expect that this extra surge of confidence coming from you partially emerges from how you were able to become friends with him and can envision you two working to the highest standards.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It’s an absolute catastrophe. You’ve overtaken Namjoon’s office alongside Dr. Kim but there hasn’t been a single second when either of you was able to sit down in peace during the entire day. The phone is constantly ringing making you have the urge to permanently stitch it onto yourself and the conversations were always demanding, forcibly questioning you on deadlines on managerial decisions that you have yet to complete. With one hand attempting to deal with that, the other one is furiously writing down the plans you have to go through and leaving notes for Namjoon to look at once he arrives back.

“Dr. L/N, we haven’t completed our rounds yet.” The exasperated voice from the corner of the room informs you and you turn around in your chair to see Dr. Kim organizing the numerous documents that needed to be signed. He’s also in the same horrible shape you are in – hair tousled and sweat plastering to his forehead – but he doesn’t once complain through the extreme stress.

However, his point is entirely valid. You’ve both have been stuck inside the office for hours and time was starting to dip into the afternoon, yet none of your daily responsibilities were touched upon.

You place the phone on your shoulder, leaning to look over at him, “Should we re-assign someone to our wards?” Your time is limited and the work is too much. There was no possible way you could leave for so long anytime soon.

Dr. Kim is occupied with filing but he still answers you, “Dr. Park and Dr. Min have their own wards to attend to, what about the interns?”

“The interns?”

“Why not?” He glances over at you, “It’s a learning opportunity.”

“But for two weeks…?” You don’t want to question there capabilities, but it is a huge task to overtake.

“They can ask questions if something confuses them. We’ll just answer them on breaks.”

“Do you honestly think we’re going to get a break?”

“Technically by law we should be allowed to.” He takes the finished file and sets it aside, dusting his hands, “And I won’t hesitate to sue.” A mischievous glint shines in his eyes and you laugh, shaking your head at the idea. It makes you wonder why it took becoming friends with him to discover Dr. Kim’s humorous side, but its something you don’t regret at all when you’re trapped within the confines of Namjoon’s office for hours.

“Alright alright, I’ll let them know. Just don’t go around suing anyone.” You roll your eyes and he playfully shrugs. Once you get up, your gaze suddenly fixes on the phone you had put on hold but Dr. Kim takes it out of your hand.

He gestures over to the door, “Go talk to them first. I’ll handle this.” He pushes down on the hold button before he continues the conversation as you head out. His voice fades out once the door closes and you are equipped with a clipboard alongside a new plan to get this hospital running again.

You are racing down the hallway, eager to get everything organized so that all areas of the hospital could be covered. Passing by your own and Dr. Kim’s ward, you wince when you see the abundance of patients needed to be checked upon. You consider for a brief moment if you should set your clipboard down and quickly assist them, but the numbers keep growing by each minute and you already know it was going to be too much for you.

So you need to grab someone that knows your ward well.

“Jin?” You pop by your own office, strangely missing the decreased work that you used to once have when the intern glances up to see you. He smiles and you usher him outside.

“I’m assigning you to look over my ward until Namjoon gets back.” You hand him the set of notes you had constructed on what he needed to pay attention to. “You have more than enough experience so I feel like you would be fine.”

“Assigning me? But why Dr. L/N?” He looks down at the notes confused.

“Because-“ Hold on.

Did you and Dr. Kim even remember to inform anyone?!

You shut your eyes in sheer frustration, well aware that it should have been the first thing on your checklist to do but the amount of work you had to do get in the way of that. “Namjoon is currently on leave so Dr. Kim and I are handling his work, that’s why I need you to take over my ward.”

He nods, giving you a thumbs up. You smile, quickly heading out to the next person.

“Dr. L/N!” A voice calls out.

“Dr. Kim?” He doesn’t answer you, attempting to catch his breath from running.

“Assign two interns to my ward.” He pauses, now being able to breathe, “I got a notice that more patients have been transferred over to that ward.”

Now you just want to yell out from the stress increasing. Not only do you not have the time to go through your patients, you have more of them to look over.

“I was going to go inform Chaeyoung and Yoongi about this, can you go talk to Dr. Park and his intern?” He nods and you instantly split apart, attempting to get everything done faster together.

A stern knock thuds against the door as the doctor patiently waits for the other side to respond with his arms crossed. He hears some trashing in the background, before the door is yanked wide open.

“Y/N~” The man boasts, “I knew you would come to see me, I-“

The doctor continues to stand there, giving the speechless man an unamused look when he begins to stammer, “D-Dr. Kim…”

“Is Jungkook in here?” He says with a sigh, inviting himself inside. The doe-eyed boy looks up from his desk in curiosity and a giant smile washes over him at the sight.

“Dr. Kim!” He races over to stand next to him and the doctor fondly pats him on the head, “What brings you here?”

“Dr. L/N and I have taken over Namjoon’s position temporarily and new patients have arrived at the hospital. I need you to take over my ward with my intern.” Jungkook nods with a determined pout and Dr. Kim smiles.

“I’ll get to it!” Jungkook exits the office, quickly following the instructions. His doctor counterpart however, is still baffled at the warm display Dr. Kim had with his own intern.

“You can…” He whispers, placing a dramatic hand on his chest, “You can smile?”

Dr. Kim raises a brow, wondering what the doctor was trying to convey. But Jimin continues, “You smiled,” He points to him, “A-And Jungkook isn’t scared of you.”

The doctor has no clue what to retort back to that and it dawns onto him that it was simply Dr. Park’s nature to act in such a way; trying to coax out a reaction. “Didn’t you become friends with Y/N?”

At that the doctor’s eyes flash and Jimin mischievously smiles, knowing he had grasped on something important.

“How…acquainted are you with Dr. L/N again?”

Jimin chuckles at the inquiry, “Really well, we’ve known each other since our college times.”

It’s now that the doctor’s interest has hit its peak, completely intrigued. “Interesting, let me know sometime of how college was like here for the two of you.”

And with that he leaves, causing Jimin to laugh at how obvious the doctor could unintentionally be.

You do a quick survey around and let out a breath of relief when all wards have been secured. The prospect of not having to worry any longer and just working on your own job is glorifying so you begin to make your way back to the office.

“Dr. L/N!” A familiar voice shouts out and the young intern rushes over to you. You’re already impressed with how he was managing Dr. Kim’s ward despite being hired for a short period of time. “A patient has been having severe stomach aches and I wasn’t sure what to do…”

“Did you check their diet?” You’re already following him back to the ward when he nods.

“It’s a liquid diet that hasn’t been changed recently.”

You hum, eyes tracing over their paperwork when you don’t see any harmful medications prescribed. Furthermore, the patient had been diagnosed with a lung condition. “You can prescribe some stomach relief medicine.” You turn to him, attempting to clarify, “Sometimes being on a liquid diet isn’t best suited for the body and can become too taxing on the stomach, so it isn’t a concern for their specific condition.”

Jungkook beams up, nodding, “That’s what I thought! I just wanted to ask in case.”

You wave him off, “I rather you ask me first if you’re unsure.” You’re about to leave so he can resume solving the matter on his own, but his voice grabs your attention.

“Dr. L/N!”

“Yes?”

“I-I...uh,” He stammers out, looking a bit conflicted with himself, “D-Dr. Kim…” He suddenly mutters out and you step closer to him, confused at the doctor’s mention.

“What is it Jungkook?” You encourage and his eyes dart around frantically.

“D-Dr. Kim wanted to ask you something important!” He lets out and you tilt your head.

“Important? What was important to tell me?” You narrow your gaze and Jungkook throws his arms into the air.

“I-I don’t remember anymore, bye Dr. L/N!” He rushes back to his patient and you’re left confused with the whole ordeal but shrug it off, not wanting to ponder on it for long.

You needed to get back to work anyways.

You wonder how it was even humane for Dr. Kim and you to be working in such stressful conditions continuously for hours, yet you come into term that this was exactly Namjoon’s job – ensuring the hospital functioned on all floors and that no discrepancies were made.

You make a huge mental note to thank Namjoon once he gets back.

In the midst of you furiously scribbling down multiple protocols, you don’t hear the door slowly shutting and the low footsteps that follow. It’s only until the warm caffeinated drink hits your table that you flinch, coming eye to eye with your new partner.

He walks away, hand covering his own mug when he goes into his side of the room and starts working again. You greatly appreciate the gesture, for you were going to be working late throughout the night guaranteed and desperately needed something to keep the neural connections in your brain fully functioning.

However, the curiosity is there when you eye Dr. Kim. “What are you drinking?”

Coffee and alcohol are certainly two drinks that you could bet your own money on for the doctor’s preference, but both these assumptions are flawed when he expressed his own dislike. Now you do wonder, ...what does Dr. Kim even like?

He doesn’t answer you, staring at his mug and frowning. After a pause, he turns to you with a suspicious glance. “Don’t tell anyone.” He sternly directs and now you’re even more curious from him not wanting the information to be disclosed.

You nod and with a sigh, he tells you, “H-Hot chocolate.” He quickly turns around and you are way past the line of no return when the laughter slips out from you.

“You drink hot chocolate?” The amusement isn’t only in the fact that now you do know, but also how you’ve recognized that he would be nowhere near the coffee machine while the rest of the members were routinely around it.

“Is it really that hard to believe?” He raises a brow, annoyance laced in his voice.

You cover your mouth, trying to calm your own laughter, “Sorry.” A small chuckles escapes through, “It just doesn’t match up to your image.”

He sets his mug down, walking towards you with crossed arms and tilting his head, “My image…?”

“Tell Jimin you like hot chocolate and then watch his reaction.” You sarcastically retort but he frowns.

“What?”

He shrugs, “Dr. Park is…interesting.” A look of repulsion surfaces on him, “It is strange that he was hired first.”

“Well…” You debate with yourself, knowing that Jimin could be too much at times but he had considerable redeeming qualities. None the less, it was the solid reason why you chose to be friends with him. “He’s not too bad. He did mention that the two of you are the same age…?”

You narrow your eyes, not sure if that was true or not.

He nods, “We are. He’s actually two months older than me.”

“What?” You didn’t want to laugh but the sole fact that Dr. Kim was actually younger than your loud, wild friend is just absurd.

“You should do that more often.”

You abruptly stop, “What?”

“Laugh.”

“You want to see me laugh more often Dr. Kim?” You mimic the same words he had once used with you in a playful tone.

He doesn’t respond to you however, he simply smiles in return.

Although it isn’t remotely possible, you feel as if your eyeballs are prepared to melt off into small puddles on your desk. There are multiple mugs lying around that are emptied from the caffeinated liquid and you find yourself staring at the paper before you for far too long when the words don’t seem to make any sense the longer you stare.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Trying to open them again proves to be futile as you get the same response of the exhausted motors of your brain not wanting to function.

Glancing upwards at the clock, the red letters blare out that it was one in the morning and your shoulders slump down.

Maybe you just call it a day….sleep sounds really nice right now….

“Dr. Kim?”

He hums, glancing over at you with drowsy eyes. “Should we head out now? It’s gotten late.” You point over to the clock and he nods, beginning to slowly gather his belongings.

The office door is shut with a click and you couldn’t be even happier to finally go home for some very much needed rest. “Do you need a ride?” You turn to face Dr. Kim and contemplate for a moment, but eventually oblige. At this point, you’re so used to him offering to drop you off that the answer comes out naturally without a lot of thinking to be involved.

The car ride home isn’t laced with any awkward or nervous interactions anymore when conversations between you two now flow comfortably. You don’t feel as if you’re sitting with Dr. Kim, a stern cold doctor that you wanted nothing to do with but instead a different Dr. Kim, your working partner and friend of yours that you could actually depend on.

It even amuses you on the inside when your conversation this time heads towards a different direction, when said doctor seems focused on knowing more about his fellow co-workers. “Isn’t he frustrating to work with?” He retorts, still fixated on a certain loud doctor, “I wonder how Jungkook does it.” He whispers and you smile.

“Jimin is really not that bad, just keep him entertained for a while and he settles down.” You try not to laugh at how you’re describing a manual for him, “I don’t think it’ll be difficult for him to get along with you.”

“Are you so sure about that Dr. L/N? He seems to be scared of me.”

“Everyone is scared of you.” You retort but he glances at you with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Well aside from Namjoon, and now me and Jungkook, you don’t really talk to anyone else.” He hums, acknowledging what you’re saying. “Namjoon is always nice so that’s not even a problem. Jungkook used to be scared but again, not a problem. I’m not sure how Yoongi sees you, but I guess it’s not in a bad way. Jin hugged you,“ You shake your head at that, “and Chaeyoung still works well with you. So that really just leaves Jimin still being scared of you.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” You point to yourself and he nods.

“Were you ever scared of me?”

You pause, “I wasn’t…scared per say,” You try to explain, “as much as I was annoyed.”

“Annoyed?”

“You’ve seemed to have forgotten how much I disliked you Dr. Kim.” You glance at him, wanting to see he truly had forgotten.

Or simply didn’t want to remember.

He sighs, “You’re right about that.” The car turns onto your street, “But what about now?”

“Now?” He stops the car at the front of your apartment, shifting into park before turning to you.

“What do you think of me now?” His stare is trained on you and your eyes dart away immediately from his heavy gaze.

“You’ve changed a lot,” You begin, “And I wouldn’t go so far to say I particularly dislike you anymore.”

He doesn’t answer you and recoils back in his seat with a hand still on the steering wheel. His fingertips tap against the hard leather and you wonder how the comfortable vibe inside the car was able to shift into the stifling silence so suddenly.

He clears his throat and you instantly look up at him, “When’s your next day off?”

“Day off?” You wonder for a moment if you ever even get one of those, but you assume it would be around the time Namjoon would return. “After the two weeks.”

“Good. Don’t book anything on that day.” He unlocks the car so that you can leave.

“Don’t book anything…?” You tilt your head to the side, unsure of what he was saying.

But a huge grin crosses on his features and his words only have a deep rose coloring your cheeks.

“Because that day is reserved for me...for a special date.”

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