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bangtan-madi · 3 years

Text

noel on ice — kim namjoon

Pairing — Namjoon x Reader, feat. minor mention of Jungkook x OC

Genre — fluff, holiday, minor angst, mental health

Tags — strangers to lovers, figure skater!Namjoon, barista!MC, non-idol au, figure skater au, café au, holiday au

Word Count — 16k

Summary — After sustaining a crushing defeat at the World Figure Skating Championships, falling from his perfect gold standard to his long-time rival, Kim Namjoon returns to South Korea with an unsure heart and accompanying injury. At the same time, Y/N is as far from home as she has ever been due to a falling out with her family, working as a barista at a café in Seoul while trying to finish her degree. As if by fate, the two meet, and Namjoon makes it his goal to make Y/N see the magic of the holidays -- one Christmas adventure across Seoul at a time.

Warnings — minor language, brief anxiety attack, mentions of ptsd related symptoms

A/N — This year has been a very difficult one for us all. For my fic in this Christmas collab, I wanted to acknowledge all of that and give a little mental health break for everyone. All of our experiences have been different, but one thing we all have in common is that 2020 was unexpected, painful, and heavy. Please, no matter what holiday you celebrate, let yourself have as much rest and healing as you need. If this little, probably-needs-more-editing-than-I-had-time-for fic can help you get there — even just for the twenty minutes it takes to read — then my job is done ❤️ I love you all, and I know I speak for the others when I say I hope 2021 treats us all so much kinder, and I hope we learn to love ourselves in spite of our worlds around us.

Playlist — Link here.

Christmas Collaboration — this fic is a part of the Christmas Collab by @kooala (link coming soon!)

"Hey—Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Raising your head slightly, your eyes widening as you realize you've zoned out again, focusing on the snowfall outside instead of the next customer in line. The woman waving her hand in front of you is as foreign to South Korea as you are, but her expression is entirely that of an angry American. Her scowl has etched deep lines into her skin, where smile lines should be.

Unfortunately, her face is all too familiar. Usually it pays to be one of the only native English-speakers at your café; however, when Americans come in, you're the one pushes to take their orders and serve them.

Even the most difficult ones.

"S—Sorry, Ma'am," you mutter. Shaking your head, you force a customer-service smile. "I was just admiring the snowfall. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Oh, yeah," she retorts sarcastically. "So beautiful that it's making travel home nearly impossible. Can you please just make my drink so I can leave?"

"I—I didn't hear it, Ma'am. Can you repeat it please?"

While the woman rolls her eyes, she repeats her order swiftly, muttering something along the lines of, "Baristas these days, I swear to god," under her breath. "Make sure to get it right this time. Every time I come in and order a blended cappuccino, you guys end up giving me a latte, which is not what I ordered."

"And every time, we have to explain that all a latte is, is a blended cappuccin—"

"—I don't want to hear it!"

With a sigh, you ring up the total for the "blended cappuccino, not latte" and let the woman pay. From the sidelines, your co-worker Lisa stands with a glare and a tin of heated milk ready to go for your order.

"Ms. Blended cappuccino again?" she asks as you turn towards her with a note written in perfect Hangul.

You nod, running a hand over your hair in frustration. "I hate being the only native bi-lingual person here. Means I get to deal with her every damn time."

Sensing your downtrodden spirit, Lisa pushes you out of the way, giving you a gentle shove towards the back room. "I got this one. Go take a breather in the back, okay?"

"But—"

"—Ah! No buts. I know enough English to get by."

From the front desk, the woman pipes up again, demanding her drink be made faster. Lisa marches past your, arms herself with the imaginary drink, and says in perfect English, "You're in Seoul now. Speak Korean."

Knowing Lisa can handle the absolute hell-spawn that is an angry American Karen, you turn your back to the drama and shuffle to the break room behind the "employees only" door. An exasperated breath escapes as you revel in the silence, pushing away the muffled café sounds on the other side of the door. Being the only one in the break room, you spot your favorite white chocolate mocha on the side table, with a smiley face sticky note indicating it's from Lisa beside it.

You smile gently at the sweet gesture, and shove the sticky note into your pocket as a reminder to yourself to thank her later.

Taking the mug between your overworked hands, you settle down on the window seat and watch the December sky slowly shift from violet to navy. The mocha is just slightly sweet with a hint of peppermint, just like you like it. It's almost enough to illicit the Christmas spirit lying dormant inside you.

There's something incredibly painful about this particular holiday season, you think to yourself as the cars pass swiftly on the street outside. The glittering lights, the beautiful carols, the crystalline snow — none of it feels the same as last year. The holidays are supposed to be a time of comfort and renewal, but this year — after moving halfway around the world by yourself — your heart is starting to wonder if that part of you has died.

Maybe it's the loneliness you're feeling, or maybe it's the fact that you're so far away from home. Or maybe it's the fresh-in-your-mind arguments and falling out with your family over the summer. That bitter taste lingers still in the back of your throat, not unlike a dark espresso. A Christmas season without your parents and siblings; you never thought living your own life and following your happiness could hurt so much. For better or worse, that nostalgic feeling family and friends bring is long gone. And now you're nostalgic for nostalgia itself; what kind of messed up feeling is that?

You've had twenty-four wondrous, magical holiday seasons. Is it part of growing up that your allotment of joyful Christmas days is limited?

Is twenty-five the year that the magic just...stops?

When the night sky becomes unchanging, the door to the café kitchen opens. Lisa peeks her head inside, side-bangs falling in her face. "How's the mocha? Did I get it right?"

You take the last sip with a grateful smile, then place the mug onto the coffee table. "You nailed it. Thank you, I needed that."

Pride swells in Lisa's chest, and her shoulders straighten as she enters the room. "Well, good news. Karen's gone," she announces, "and your favorite customer is here!"

"Who?"

Lisa places her hand horizontally at her hip-level. "About this tall? Loves peppermint hot choco?

Bolting from your seat, all your concerns are momentarily gone. Your co-worker doesn't have to utter another word to get you to exit the back room and reenter the kitchen.

Across the counter, a mop of black hair is barely visible. Dark brown eyes peer over the granite surface; they twinkle and shine at the sight of you. Tiny hands splay on the surface in an attempt to make the small child taller. He's around seven to eight years, you estimate. Nine or ten at the very most. Definitely not out of primary school. And he's your very favorite customer, because unlike most, this child comes in with a toothy grin almost every single day with enough money for a peppermint hot chocolate. He's never late, and he's never unhappy. If the Sun were to bless the world with a ray of sunshine in human form, this kid would be it.

"Ahjumma!" the little boy shouts, a grin plastered on his face.

Instead of having him crane his neck, you walk around the counter, bend down on one knee, and ignore the other customers behind him. Pulling one of the tiny baked goods from your apron pocket, you offer the sweet to the child with a wink.

"You're here awfully late, Yeongu. You're usually here right after school lets out. It's already after dark."

Yeongu digs through his pocket and pulls out several crumpled won, enough for his beverage of choice. "Tomorrow is the last day before Christmas break, so dad picked me up and took me skating. I'm with mom and her boyfriend for the rest of the month 'cause Dad's going to Busan with his new wife. I don't like her that much. She frowns too much. And she smells like soju and taffy."

You exchange the won for the baked treat, laughing softly as you invite the boy onto the corner table nearest the hot chocolate machines. "You don't like taffy, do you?"

He makes a face and takes a big bite of the delicacy. "My teacher tells us that if we eat taffy, it will help us remember things. I ate too much of it last year, and now I hate it. Dad's new wife must always be forgetting things, because she always smells like it!"

After finishing the simple drink, you slide the mug across the table and plop down in the seat across from the small boy. "So does this mean I won't get to see you until after Christmas?"

Yeongu shakes his head. "I'll be by tomorrow after. Mom wanted to visit my cousin before we left. He's back in town for Christmas, and we haven't seen him in a long time."

"Oh? What does he do?"

"Sports."

At that, the boy changes the conversation. "What are you doing for Christmas, Ahjumma?"

"Yeah, Ahjumma," Lisa pipes up after serving the final to-go customer for the night. She flips the sign on the front door and turns back to the two of you, hand on her hip. "What are you doing for your first Christmas in Korea?"

Shrugging slightly, you turn your attention back to the small child across from you. "I'll probably spend the day with Mochi — my cat — probably studying so I'll be ahead in the new year for my next classes." Lisa gives an empathetic look at the mention of your kitten, which causes you to roll your eyes playfully. "Don't give me that look! I'll be fine. Probably best for me to have a relaxed, non-hectic couple of days. This year has been a rough one."

"That sounds sad," Yeongu states bluntly, earning a snicker from Lisa.

"Kid's right. Absolutely dreadful, [Y/n]. What a lame Christmas."

"What about you, then? Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

At the question, Lisa's smirk drops and she perks up. "Well, I'm sure you know, but Christmas in Korea is pretty different from America," Lisa reminds you, and you nod your acknowledgement. "It's more of a couple holiday, so my boyfriend Jungkook and I are planning to take the week off and do a ton of holiday activities together. Mostly outdoors stuff. Y'know, snowboarding, skiing, snowball fights — the usual."

"Sounds like a blast," you laugh.

"Oh, it will be." She gives a wink, then nods to Yeongu. "Are we about done here? I need to head out if you're okay with locking up for the night."

You give a wave of approval as the child nears the end of his glass. "I got this. Say hello to Jungkookie for me."

Lisa flashes a set of extravagant finger hearts before disappearing into the back, where she gathers her personal items and exits out the rear entrance. In her absence, Yeongu tugs on your sleeve and holds up an empty mug.

"Thank you for the hot choco, Ahjumma," he grins, showing the dark stain on his upper lip.

Taking the mug, you use the edge of your apron to clean the mess from his face. "If you come by tomorrow before you leave with your Eomma, I'll make you another with extra peppermint, okay?"

The boy's smile grows, and he hops up from the table with a swift bow. "I'll be here!" He heads for the door with a skip in his step.

"Will you get home all right?" you call after him.

Yeongu turns and grins. "I will, don't worry, Ahjumma!"

And then he's gone, out the door in a rush of energy and giggles towards his home nearby. You merely shake your head; there's no point in going after him now.

Soon after, you're following in his step. It doesn't take you long to clean up. By the time you lock up and exit out the back, snow has begun to fall. You brave the cold, tugging your coat tighter around you, burying your face into your scarf. The journey to the subway is short, and your feet take you quickly. Even still, you stare upward at the snowy clouds in hope that they might spark a semblance of Christmas joy in your heart.

Tonight, like every other night, nothing changes.

You heave a sigh, and the breath billows out as a visible fog as you enter the station. Going through the motions to get to your apartment is easy. A swipe of a card, a short ride to the edge of the neighborhood, and a trek up the set of stairs. Once through the door, you're greeted by a mewing shadow of a cat.

"Hi, my baby girl," you greet with a soft smile, bending down to scratch the tiny fur ball behind the ears. The black cat rubs her chin against your palm and follows you when you waltz to the kitchen. "You hungry?"

As if responding, "Yes!" Mochi speeds up and meows a bit louder than last time.

Her antics bring a smile to your face as you turn on the television for background noise. You find the nearest Korean news station, finding the program in the middle of a report on Korea's favorite rap duo and their upcoming tour: Suga and J-Hope. Your intention with the selection is two-fold — first, to continue to enhance your skills of the Korean language, and two, to continue learning about the culture and world of your new home. While you had extensive knowledge of both before moving to Seoul — despite the process being rather quick due to the fallout with your family — nothing compares to being immersed in the country itself.

As the musical entertainment section ends, you begin pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cupboard. "What do you think sounds good, Mochi? How about teokbokki?" The black cat perches her paws on your right leg, purring pleasantly. "I agree, sounds great after a long day."

You toss a bag of rice cakes onto the counter as the news changes to sports. Even as you prepare the sauce for the meal, you actively listen to the voices in the background.

"Unfortunately, RM Nam's ice skating season has been cut short due to an unforeseen injury he sustained during practice this summer. At the time, the damage to his shoulder seemed unnoticed by the athlete and his coach. However, as we saw earlier this October at the Grant Prix Series: Skate America, Mr. Nam's mishap on the ice turned out to be far more damaging than originally thought. Thus, the position representing South Korea at the next in the series, Skate Canada, was shifted to his rival, Kim Seokjin, and RM Nam returned home to Seoul to recover."

You can't but help a glance up at the screen. The skater in question has his back turned to the cameras as he heads into the airport. Behind his sunglasses, mask, and beanie, he offers a polite smile and wave to the reporters. Moments later, his coach guides him into the building, out of sight.

"That doesn't sound fun," you mutter to yourself as the report moves onto politics.

After you finish cooking, you plate yourself a portion and move into the living room. Besides the tiny tan sofa and the television propped up on a box, most of the room is bare. There are a handful of boxes strewn across the apartment of the few things you either had shipped from the States or that you bought in your six months since then, but for the most part, you've been putting off all of it. Most of your time is spent at work or at school; you haven't had the time, energy, or motivation to do any of it. Even at Christmas, despite Lisa gifting you with your very own tiny tree and twinkle lights to spread across the home, you've yet to unpack any of it. The tree remains in the slender box beside the TV, and you doubt it will go up this year at all.

Heaving a sigh at the thought, you turn the channel to VIKI put on your favorite drama. This particular one is a reincarnation plot with two male leads played by Korea's golden boys: Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. Paired with the bowl of teokkboki in your lap and the kitten curled to your side, it's enough to drag you thoughts out of homesickness and back to the present.

This might just have to be the Christmas you forget and hope that the next year is a kinder one.

A lot changed in your life this year. In some ways, the changes were good. In others, not so much. Most of the turbulent times were in the heat of the summer, but things began slowing down once you moved to South Korea in September. You were now away from toxic family members, away from a life you never wanted, and looking ahead to an uncertain but certainly hopeful future.

In late October, the seasons began changing for the better — and not just in the physical sense of the falling leaves and cooler breeze. Lisa was right about your favorite customer; it truly was little Yeongu. However, there was another that you looked forward to seeing, just as much as the elementary school boy.

This person was older, around your age, with a deeply dimpled smile that made your stomach flutter. Eyes as slender as his body proportions, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't an attractive man. Hair the color of the snowflakes he walked through, eyes the color of the beverage he'd always order, skin the color of warmth in a cozy fireplace. Even his voice was warm and deep; at every conversation, while you are completely fluent in Korean, you find yourself just wanting to listen to the soft timbre.

Over time, this man — whose name you'd quickly learn was Kim Namjoon — became a regular at your little coffee shop. He'd come in at the oddest hours, either super early or super late. Hours you often worked alone, when there were fewer customers. Every time, he'd strike up a conversation as you took his order and crafted his beverage of choice (a heavy coffee brewed dark and bitter, with just a splash of cream and almond whip.) He was sweet, and eventually you opened up. He'd hang around the counter long after the transaction was completed, sometimes until another customer stole your attention away. It didn't take long for you to realize that he was far more than merely a pretty face.

In those weeks leading up to December, you found yourself smiling a bit more. Joking a bit more. Shoulders lightening a bit more. You looked forward to the increasingly insistent days where he'd waltz in — sometimes covered in raindrops, sometimes in crisp leaves, sometimes in snowflakes — always a crystal blue umbrella under his arm and a charcoal grey scarf around his neck.

It's the same person standing at the entrance now, the man currently shaking the rain from his umbrella and platinum locks. Lisa gives you a smirk as she nods her head towards the register and steps away from the counter, as if silently saying, "You're up, m'lady. Holler if you need me; I'll be doing an order in the back."

You brush your hair back into proper place, display a genuine smile, and take your stance behind the register. When Namjoon's eyes meet yours, his smile deepens and creates dimples on either side of his mouth.

After the customer in front of him pays and leaves with his order in hand, you greet him with a simple, "You haven't been in, in over a week. Finally trying to break your caffeine addiction?"

Namjoon gives a deep laugh and shakes his head. "Not in the slightest. I like being able to function as an adult in society, thank you very much." He pulls out several won from his wallet. "I'll have..."

"The usual?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "You remember?"

"Of course," you grin, and type his drink of choice into the register. Taking his money, you add, "How could I forget your order after the hilarious reaction when I suggested a mint mocha?"

The boy thinks back to the first day he walked into the café, and recalls that conversation with a groan. "Oh god, was I that bad?"

Handing him his change, you tap your chin and reply, "Well, maybe a bit. I'd never seen someone so horrified at the idea of mint chocolate."

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck with an awkward smile. "Sorry about that. Pretty terrible at hiding my disdain for that flavor combo."

"No worries! Made me laugh."

Seeing that there are no other customers behind him, you turn to the brewing station and usher Namjoon to take a seat on the bar stool across the counter. It's a position you've taken several times before. When the customers are low, as they are at this hour of evening, the platinum-haired man tends to linger and converse far after his drink is finished.

"What brings you in today? Just wanted a pick-me-up or?"

Namjoon heaves a sigh. He watches you closely but casually, silently admiring the skillful way you begin to brew the dark beverage. "I've had a lot on my mind lately, and coming here always helps me de-stress."

"Coffee helps you relax?" You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment.

"And the company."

Heat rushes to your face, and when you glance up to meet his gaze, the warmth only increases. "You're smooth, Kim Namjoon. Very smooth."

Brown eyes widen, and he bows his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. "That's not what I meant at all!"

"Calm down, you're fine. Wanna talk about what's on your mind, though?"

In all your conversations, the two of you have only ever talked on the shallow surface of various topics. You don't know much about Namjoon, and he doesn't know much about you — despite having shared extremely vague information about your year, your jobs, and your education. You feel very open with him, but most of the time, those conversations can't be had in a fifteen minute discussion at a café.

"It's a long, complicated story. I'm not sure you'd wanna hear it." He raises his hands defensively as he realizes how his words might be construed. "Not that you wouldn't understand! I just wouldn't want to be a downer."

You select the cold brew setting on the machine and let the device begin to whir to life. "Well, I've got at least the time it takes to make your drink. I'm all ears."

Namjoon shakes his head as he settles his elbows on the counter. "You're persistent."

"Honey, I've been called far worse."

Seeing your eagerness, your companion heaves a sigh and shifts his gaze from you to the window at his right. As be begins to speak, his demeanor falls a bit. He's not as happy-go-lucky; there's an err of anxiety about him that you can't quite nail down. "I've been thinking about a change in career recently. Things haven't been unfolding this year like I wanted...and I'm starting to think I'm not meant to do what I'm doing now. Maybe I need to retire — from this industry, I mean, and move on to another."

Even with that small confession, you can't help but mirror his emotions. "I hear you. I've felt similar feelings this year."

His gaze shifts back to yours, and he tilts his head in surprise. "Really? How so?"

"I told you I moved to Seoul in September, right?" Namjoon nods. "That's because I wanted a...a fresh start. I enrolled in Yonsei University, got a job here, and just...moved."

"That's pretty brave, and that's really awesome you're at Yonsei. They're a fantastic school."

"Thanks," you grin whilst popping the canister of cold brew out from under the brewing machine. "I needed to get away from certain people in my life that weren't letting me move forward, so moving was the best choice." You pour the dark beverage into a small mixer and pull out the vanilla creamer. "Sure you don't want mint this time? Last chance."

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow as a silent challenge; the expression makes you giggle to yourself as you pour the very non-mint add-ins. "Hilarious."

"Hey! Just offering." After giving the mixture a whisk, your smile falters.

Nothing gets by the observant person across the counter. "I feel like your story has a 'but' after what you ended with."

"You're good," you reply, gesturing to him with the handheld whisk. "I'm not talking too much, am I?"

Namjoon shakes his head adamantly and flourishes with his hand for you to continue. "I mean, we're practically friends now. Please, go on."

Reassured by both his calming nature and genuine interest, you continue talking. "But after getting here...let's just say it's hard to make friends and get out there in a country where you look so different, where your language isn't native, and where you know literally no one. So...ah, this year's been a pretty lonely one, and I know I still made the right choice, but now that the holidays are here..." You trail off and offer a small smile. "All that to say, I know what it's like to second-guess yourself and not have things go the way you thought."

"Seems we have a lot in common," he chuckles, leaning his chin on his hand.

The comment causes the mood to lighten, and you let a laugh slip out. "Yeah, seems so."

Before the conversation can continue, the front door opens. Yeongu enters, a couple of other customers behind him. As if on cue, Lisa enters from the back room and greets the adults with a smile and a swift, "Hi, welcome! What can I get you this evening?"

As the child approaches the adjacent counter where you stand, his grin widens. You perch your elbows on the counter and lean over. "How's my favorite customer?"

"I'm finally free from school, Ahjumma!" Yeongu cheers loudly.

"Congrats! I'm sure you're relieved." He nods affirmatively. "t's freezing outside. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I promise. But can I get a mint hot choco?" He holds up a crumpled bill with a toothy grin.

"Of course, you can. Extra mint, just like I promised." You nod towards the seat closest to the window. "Sit in your usual spot, okay? After I get this nice man his coffee, I'll get your hot chocolate."

As Namjoon turns to look at the child, Yeongu's eyes widen in surprise. "Namjoon-hyung! I didn't know you were here."

Much to your shock, Namjoon reciprocates the affection and hops down from his chair to bend down to Yeongu's level. "Yeon-ie!" He teases the boy by ruffling up his hair, which Yeongu scowls at him for.

"Um... You two know each other?"

"Yep!" Yeongu grins. "He's my cousin, the one I told you about yesterday."

"Oooh, that makes sense. Didn't realize my two favorite customers were related."

Yeongu laughs at the comment and hops into the chair beside Namjoon. "But I'm your favorite customer, right?"

"Of course," you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

"Oh! I almost forgot. Ahjumma, can I please have mine in a to-go cup? Mom told me to come right home so we can finish packing for our trip."

"Of course, give me just a second to get you a lid." You turn to your first customer with an apologetic smile. "Namjoon, I'm almost done with yours. Just give me a moment."

"Actually, do you mind putting mine in a to-go cup as well?" He jerks his thumb towards Yeongu. "I should probably walk him home. He lives just around the corner from me. I'd feel better if I did."

"Oh, sure, I can do that."

"Would you walk with us, Ahjumma? Pleeeease?"

Your gaze moves to Namjoon. "Do you mind?"

The elder cousin hops up from his chair, shaking his head adamantly. "Not at all! Can you?"

"Sure, I'm about at the end of my shift anyway! Let me grab my coat. I'll come with." You turn quickly to Lisa, murmuring, "Can you watch—?"

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. "—Go! I can close up for the night. But if you don't come back with a date planned, the invitation to spend New Years with Jungkookie and me is rescinded."

With a playful eye-roll, you peck her on the cheek and run to the back for your coat. Once you return, you find Namjoon scuffling Yeongu's dark locks with a dimpled smile. Looking back up as you return, the expression doesn't falter.

"Ready?"

You nod and follow behind through the exit, trying to ignore the wink and dual thumbs-ups Lisa flashes you as you pass.

Once on the street, Yeongu walks ahead of you and Namjoon. The first few minutes are silent between you two. From ahead, you can hear the small child talking to himself, or perhaps his hot chocolate, and then occasionally to the adults.

As you cross the busy street, Namjoon clears his throat. "So...you have any plans for Christmas?"

You scoff under your breath and shake your head. "Why does this topic keep coming up?"

"Hope I didn't offend," he laughs. "Yeongu said something about a café girl not having plans last night. I figured it was you."

"Trust me, you're good. But yeaaah. Kinda new to Korea. I spent the fall settling in and trying to start over. Between work and school, didn't expect much. Holidays sneaked up on me, I guess."

There's a pause as the trio rounds the corner. Yeongu finishes his hot cocoa along the way and hands the empty cup to Namjoon. The elder doesn't even hesitate to take it, and the boy rushes ahead to what you assume is his home. Over his shoulder, he shouts, "Thank you for the choco, Ahjumma!"

You grin widely and wave. "You're welcome!"

Yeongu turns to Namjoon, sticks out his tongue in a playful manner, then disappears into his house.

"Aaand that's the thanks I get." Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention as the sun sets behind Seoul Tower. "I have a crazy idea."

"Oh, really?" You cross your arms over your chest and cock an eyebrow. "Those are my favorite kind of ideas."

"Cheesy," he grins. "Well...I don't have any plans either. Maybe we spend it together?"

"No plans, huh? Do I look that pitiful?"

"No! No, it's not that at all, god." Namjoon's smirk falls from his face as a horrified expression drowns out any humor. "Sorry if that's how it came off. I just—You seem really nice, and it's been a while since either of us just enjoyed someone else's company. No strings. No pressure."

Tugging your lower lip between your teeth, you shuffle in your step. "I don't know, Namjoon..."

"Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. I hate to see anyone's shoulders so heavy in December. How about this — give me three days to prove the magic isn't lost."

"Three days? That's it?"

"That's it."

"Okay then, Mr. Kim." You offer a hand in his direction. "Three days."

Namjoon's eyes lock with yours, as does his hand. "It's a deal."

The following weekend you wake to a phone call coming in from your recently-added number. Rolling out from under the covers to grab the device from the nightstand, you answer with voice still groggy with sleep. "Hello?"

"Are you still sleeping?" the caller laughs in a deep timbre.

"Shuddup." Peaking an eye open, the time on the screen reads just after eleven a.m. "It's not that late."

"Really?"

"Did you call me just to make fun of my lack of healthy sleep schedule, or did you have a point?"

"Ouch!” Namjoon exclaims playfully. “I actually did call, and it's actually perfect because I don't need you ready to go until around three this afternoon. So you can totally just go back to sleep."

You curl back under your heated blanket and revel in the warmth it provides. Beside you, Mochi curls closer, nearly sitting on your head. "Mmm sounds perfect. Wait—what?"

"You heard me." There's a hint of teasing in Namjoon's words. "It's Day 1. Be ready for an outdoor adventure by three. I'll pick you up then, okay sleepyhead?"

The butterflies rumble in your stomach at the nickname, and you clear your throat before replying. "Yep, got it. Three p.m. Outdoor adventure. Can't you tell me what it is or where we're going?"

"And ruin the surprise? No way. Just trust me, Jagi."

A squeak slips out, and you throw your hand over your mouth to hide it. "Okay, see you there—I mean then!"

You can almost hear Namjoon shaking his head as he says his goodbyes and ends the call. Despite still being sleepy and warm and cozy in your nest, you lie wide awake in bed for the next half-hour, replaying his voice over and over in your head like a well-loved record.

The day flies by, and eventually it's approaching three. You've dressed to impress while still trying to keep it casual. Despite this being a date, it's still casual. You like Namjoon a lot, and you hope he likes you as well. However, outside of conversations at the café, you haven't spent a lot of time together yet. This is as good a second-first impression as any, and you intend to make the most of it.

Grabbing your winter coat and scarf, you scurry down the stairs and spot Namjoon lingering by the entrance with two cups in his hands. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater with a dark grey jacket over top, his usual scarf looped twice around his neck. A beanie covers his head, but bits of his platinum hair still stick out in places. Slung across his shoulder is a brown leather backpack. He always looks nice, that much you know, but the fact that today he looks nice for you makes you sickly happy.

He flashes a smile as you bound out the door. "You look rested," he teases, then offers you one of the cups.

Taking it with a nose scrunch, you look down at the order on the side, seeing that it's your usual order. "How did you know!"

He shrugs. "I have my ways."

"Was it Lisa?"

"Maybe..." He straightens up and nods his chin towards the nearby station. "Follow me for our first adventure!"

After boarding the train to Itaewon, you can't help but wonder where he might be taking you. Your mind goes through all of the things to do in Itaewon, but the list is lengthy. From his excited and proud expression, you know Namjoon has been looking forward to this all day, just as you have.

After exiting fifteen minutes down the line, Namjoon reaches for your free hand. "May I...?"

Your fingers close the distance, glove-covered palm clasping his. "Lead the way."

Namjoon grins, then tugs on your hand as you exit the station. Once outside in the frigid air, you see your breath come out in puffs of fog. You tighten your scarf around your neck and allow your companion to usher you down the sidewalk, towards a clearing in the colorful buildings of Itaewon-do.

Another block or so, and you see the direction in which he's heading. A large sign along the way reads, "Grant Hyatt Seoul Ice Rink" in bold Hangul. Your eyes widen as the realization hits you, and the excitement inside you grows. "How did you know I've wanted to go ice skating!"

Namjoon shuffles up to the ticket counter, replying over his shoulder, "Um...lucky guess?"

As he purchases your tickets, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. The trees are glowing from the lights covering every branch and trunk. They surround the rink and give a glow from within that is so much softer and more intimate than the harsh lighting of the city. The Hyatt Hotel stands as a black silhouette against the horizon. In the opposite direction, you can see N. Seoul Tower already lit up as the afternoon lighting shifts to evening. Projectors shine shapes of glittering snowflakes across the ice, giving another layer of ambient lighting to the rink.

"I haven't been since I was a kid," you add, staring at the exterior of the open-air rink with awe. Namjoon hands you the ticket, which you use for entrance and skates before shoving it into your jacket pocket. "Have you ever been before?"

"Yeah, a...few times. Hey, what size shoe are you?" When you tell him, Namjoon grabs a pair of skates from the shelf beside the ticket booth and gestures for you to sit on the bench across from it. "It can be tricky to lace your skates properly," he commentates as he kneels down in front of you and begins to untie your boots. "It's really something you have to adjust yourself, so let me know when I'm close?"

Not having any words to respond at his sudden closeness, you nod the affirmative and watch in silence as he puts one boot to the side, slips the skate on with ease, and begins to adjust the laces like a professional. After repeating the movements with your other skate, he taps your knee and looks up at you.

"Too loose? You want them to be as tight as you can handle to keep your ankles steady."

Moving your feet, you shake your head from side to side. "A bit more. I'd hate to have Day 1 turn into a trip to the E.R."

"Definitely, nothing says ‘Christmas magic’ like an emergency room visit," he laughs, adjusting your laces as you requested. "How's that?"

"Much better, thank you."

After lacing up your skates as tight as you can handle, Namjoon stands and offers you an arm. He helps you waddle over to the entrance, gently sliding you onto the ice despite your shaky knees and flailing arms. You soon realize that it might be best to hold tight to the barrier and stick only to the periphery.

He doesn't follow you on at first. When you turn and look back for him, he waves you on. "You go ahead. I need to grab my skates first."

"Mmm fine, but if I break my neck trying to catch your ass, you're paying for ramen after. Got it?"

Namjoon gives you two thumbs ups as he lets you go onto the ice. "Loud and clear."

Eventually, you begin tugging yourself along, trying but failing to keep up with the traffic of more experienced skaters. Even compared to those half your age, or even less, you're the child on this rink.

About half-way around the rink, you spot Namjoon making his way towards the entrance. Waving your hand, your smile widens when he sees you. He waves back, nearly bumps into the person ahead of him at the gate, and you murmur to yourself, "This should be good."

Namjoon hits the ice. He's not like the barreling disaster you are, but like a graceful swan. It catches you off-guard; if anything, you expected him to fall flat on his face or tumble over a child on his way over to you on the opposite side. He needs no assistance from the railing, nor does he struggle to cross the center and come to a full stop in front of you. His skates make a graceful scraping sound, and his stance is one of a professional. Even his skates are different than yours; they're custom, and you realize that must've been what he was carrying in his backpack.

You assume the awestruck look on your face is the reason for his smirk and laughter. He does a spin for dramatic affect as he closes the distance between you. "Surprised?"

"For starters! How the hell are you so graceful? You're literally twirling around on one foot on a frictionless surface, and I can barely make a left turn!"

The platinum blond gives you a look like you're still missing the point, then extends his hand. "C'mon, I can help you more than the railing can."

"Promise not to sue me if I break your face by crashing into you?"

"Promise, now grab my hand and skate!"

Your hands in his, you take the leap of faith and separate from the barrier around the oblong rink. Namjoon slowly skates backwards, carrying you the whole way. Your eyes remain glued to your trembling feet, careful not to have the blades deviate too far out to one side or the other.

"Look at you!" he cheers, ever the positive one. "A whole two minutes on your feet."

"Shut up."

You won't deny that your progress surprises even you. Despite having to hold both his hands for the first ten minutes, then eventually one as you skate side-by-side for the following half-hour, you're more adept at skating than you thought you would be.

"You think you can try on your own for a lap?" he inquires.

Giving a hesitant nod, you let go of Namjoon's hand, saying, "Don't leave my side, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Taking a deep breath in, you push one skate out in front of the other and move yourself forward. The other follows after, and you get about twenty feet before you stumble and nearly fall face-first. Luckily, Namjoon keeps his promise and wraps his arms around your waist before you crash.

"Good try!" he exclaims, keeping his arms around your middle even after you regain your balance. "You got pretty far, actually."

You give an awkward chuckle and lay your nervous hands over his at your hip. "Maybe I'm not quite ready for a free-skate yet."

"No worries." He lets his arms drop and retakes your hand to steady you. The dimples appear next to his smile as he adjusts your beanie on your head, which had nearly fallen off in your almost-fall. "But I gotta say, you didn't have to fall for me on Day 1."

"So smooth!" You roll your eyes and give his shoulder a playful shove, only to gasp and reach back for him when he naturally skates backwards at the push. "Nevermind, I take it back. Please don't leave me in the middle of the rink."

Namjoon lets out a loud laugh, nearly doubling over as you cling to him. "You're so cute."

As you skate together, you keep getting the feeling that Namjoon has spent far more time on the ice than you previously assumed. After you get the hang of it yourself and are able to wobble along beside him without a constant hand to hold, he smiles a proud, wide smile.

"See? I knew you could do it!"

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Still nowhere near close to you."

"That's what a lot of people say," he brushes it off.

"Way to brag there, Joon," you snort, then immediately freeze in place so suddenly that you nearly fall over again. "Wait—you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Namjoon's smile shows his dimples, and they deepen with his reply. "Not a bit." The song changes, playing the symphonic piece "Noel on Ice." Namjoon's face lights up, and he turns back to you with a wink. "Watch me?"

Nodding affirmatively, you release his hand and let him skate towards the center of the rink. His gaze remains on you as he spins to a stop in the middle, then turns his gaze downwards. Arms still at his sides, and his shoulders straighten. You await with bated breath for the next note.

The melody lifts, and Namjoon's arms follow suit. Piano notes drip across the chilled air, and the violin prompts an extension of his hands upwards. Then he moves, gracefully flowing from one movement to the next, as if this has been an ice dance built into his very being. The harp and cello urge him to move faster, spinning like a dancer across their stage.

Namjoon spins into the air, fully coming off the ice. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth out of fear, but he lands it with ease, shifting into his next series of steps like a professional. Flawless and practiced, he's caught the attention of everyone at the rink. As you look around, you see everyone else focused intently on the skater. Some even have their phones out to record. Not just one or two people, either; you see at least a half dozen with their cameras trained on Namjoon.

That in particular has you perplexed. Brows pulling together, you shift your eyes back to Namjoon. The piece is nearing its close, and he's moved back to the center of the ice. Twirling in place, he's moving like a spinning top. Always in a single place, so fast you can barely see, gracefully shaving ice under him so that snowflakes fall around him. He lowers, nearly sitting as he continues to twirl on one foot. The music grows to its crescendo. Slowly, he rises up and extends his hands towards the sky.

And then it hits you.

There's a reason why his face, his voice, and his presence is so familiar to you. You couldn't put your finger on it until just now, but the way he moves on the ice like he's the only one in the room — like it's a second home — brings you back to one of the first days you had in Seoul. That first day, at the Incheon Airport, the man you saw being bombarded with press and fans. Then again on the screens in the lobby of the immigration center. And again a few nights ago on the news.

RM Nam. South Korea's pride and joy, their greatest skater, the man bound for the Winter Olympics until a training injury earlier in the year put him out for the season. You're not into sports, but even you knew him by name and the tragedy that had occurred.

That legendary skater was the one in front of you now. He hadn't mentioned it, and you didn't suspect a thing until today. While definitely a shock, you can't help but be in awe of him even more. He isn't just good on the ice — he's like nothing you've ever seen.

As the music comes to a close, Namjoon skates to a halt. His spin finishes, and he ends with a ending pose bow. Clearly out of breath and shoulders heaving, his gaze shifts to you once again. Your smile widens, and you throw your hands up as you cheer. The others around you begin to clap, but you're by far the most enthusiastic one there.

Suddenly, Namjoon's persona returns to that of a shy and humble one. He bows again in the directions of the viewers, then scurries out from the center and back to you. Eventually, those around you begin to skate once more, ignoring the fact that one of the biggest sports icons in all of Korea is among them.

Namjoon runs a hand over his bleached hair, his smile sweet and his eyes a little nervous as he approaches. You shake your head in awe, letting a surprised laugh slip out.

"Okay, I see exactly what you're doing now. You suggested ice skating because you're Olympic-level! That's totally cheating, by the way."

Namjoon skids to a stop in front of you, as graceful as his takeoff. Without thinking, you reach your hand for his, which he gladly takes. "Figured it out finally, did you?"

"Call me stupid, but I honestly didn't see it until just now." You shove his shoulder with your free hand, only encouraging his teasing reaction. "RM: Guessing that's a stage name?"

He adjusts the beanie over his hair and gives an affirmative gesture. "Yeah, mainly to protect my privacy. Skating world can get pretty intense, sometimes."

You move your chin towards his shoulder, recalling that's where the injury occurred over the summer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, totally okay. I go to PT a couple times a week. Mostly healed up, just can't compete for another few months. My coach has made me swear off skating until the New Year, but I figured it was worth throwing a little extra into trying to impress a pretty girl." He tilts his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "Did it work?"

Instead of responding verbally, you curl your finger towards you, a mischievous smile on your face. Namjoon lowers his head and skates closer to you. When he's within arm's reach, you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. A giggle slips out as his eyes widen and his cheeks flush.

"So... Is that a yes?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air and nearly falling over for the hundredth time that night.

Namjoon returns the chaste gesture to your temple as he helps you recover your balance. "Skate with me some more then?" he murmurs, adjusting your scarf around your neck with gentle fingers.

Your face hot and your stomach fluttery, you nod your response and loop your arm around his. "Only if you show me how to do that fancy twirl there at the end."

The idea has Namjoon laughing loudly. "That's my variation on the basic Scratch Spin, which took me about three months to nail perfectly in a routine."

"Then you'd better prepare to be here 'til February!"

After skating for hours, until both of you are exhausted and ready for food, Namjoon takes you to a nearby ramen shop that's close to the train station. It's a hole-in-the-wall, with less than five tables, but with ramen you're able to find a park bench and settle down there with your backs to the city lights and your eyes on the stars overhead. You each mostly in silence, just enjoying each other's company and the delicious food. You make sure to tell your companion how great the choice was, and you insist on coming back again soon.

After wrapping up the meal and seeing the late hour on your phone, Namjoon suggests you both start heading home. "Hate to have to take a bus at this hour instead of the last train," he snickers.

Fully in agreement, you let him take your hand again as the pair of you begin to walk back home. First on the train, then on the sidewalk the short distance to your apartment building.

As you turn the corner onto your short street, your apartment in sight, you rest your head against Namjoon's shoulder and sigh happily. "Thank you for today. It was just...magical."

"Christmas magic?"

You nod against his jacket, wistful and content. "Definitely."

Stopping outside your apartment, you turn towards him, not letting go of his hand. Namjoon gives you a content smile as he looks at you, one where his eyes glisten at his coming words. "Then I have a chance."

"At what?"

He reaches yet again for your scarf, moving it from around your lower face so he can cradle it in his hands. "Restoring your hope in the holidays, and your hope in yourself and your choices."

"Ooof, that's getting ahead of it, I think." You bite the inside of your cheek as a small tug of anxiety and sense of being lost pulls at the back of your mind.

But Namjoon is relentless in his pursuit, and for that you're grateful. "That's why I have two more days planned."

"Already?" you laugh.

"You bet!" he exclaims. "In fact, I'll pick you up at nine on Saturday, but don't wear a dress or skirt. Are you free then?"

"For you, absolutely."

His teeth show through his grin, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyebrows. The gesture is gentle and sweet, made even more so by the warmth of his hands on your cheeks through his gloves. Nevertheless, it leaves you breathless.

After a moment of silence, he pulls away and lowers his grasp, but you crave the contact as soon as he relinquishes it. He nods towards your apartment, as if saying, "I'm not leaving until you're home safe."

You take the hint and give a tiny wave as you enter your building. "Have a great night, Joonie," you whisper through the cracked door. "And thanks again."

Namjoon waves back. "Goodnight, [Y/n]. Sleep well."

Saturday can't come quickly enough. You find yourself smiling more often, a joyful feeling in your heart as you go about your work shift and college classes. Even the smallest and insignificant things feel a little easier. The weather wasn't just cold anymore; it was full of beauty and hope and Christmas spirit.

Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe he was helping you turn a corner.

Right before you're ready to head downstairs to meet Namjoon at the entrance, your phone begins to buzz. Lit up on the screen is an international number, but the area code is that of your old home. The butterflies of excitement die almost instantly, shriveling up into tiny balls of anxiety in your stomach.

Even though you ignore the call, you can't resist listening to the voicemail left behind. Putting your phone on speaker, you're shocked to hear your mother's voice wishing you a Merry Christmas, saying that she and the family miss you, and that they wished you would visit so you could clear up everything that went wrong over the summer. Your throat constricts at the sickly sweet tone; her voice always did drip in honey when she wanted something, she she was trying to manipulate her child. Between her conniving control and your father's lack of respect for privacy and personal boundaries, you remember all over again why you left.

You jump as your apartment bell rings, and the small screen by the door shows Namjoon at the entrance. "[Y/n], are you up there? I texted twice...not sure if you got those."

Looking down at your screen, you see that he's right. You have two unread texts from the last five minutes that you missed due to the unexpected caller. Shaking yourself out of it, you shoot him a quick response, close everything out, and head for the ground level.

"There you are!" Namjoon greets with a grin that almost makes you forget your mother's call.

Almost.

Forcing a smile and reply, "Sorry, I don't know why I didn't see your texts."

"No worries." He waves his hand as if to say it's nothing to worry about. "Are you okay? You seem bothered about something."

You glance up at him, unable to deny he looks slightly concerned. You mirror his laissez-faire attitude and brush it off. "Totally good. Heading to the station?"

"Not this time." Namjoon gestures towards the bike parked by the corner of the building. "You ready to go?"

"Both of us, on that? Are you sure that's safe?"

"Oh yeah! Trust me." He kicks the stand down and mounts the bike, patting the extended seat behind him. "I once rode up Namsan Mountain with Seokjin on the back of this thing, and let me tell you, he's a hell of a lot bigger than you."

Knowing he's probably right, you settle yourself on the seat behind him and wrap your arms tightly around his middle. It's probably not the most well-balanced thing in the world, but you trust Namjoon more than you buy into your fear of falling. "No skirts or dresses, huh?"

"Now you get it," he laughs, pulling out onto the bike lane on the street headed into towards the older side of the city. "Unless you'd like a wardrobe malfunction."

He picks up speed and gets to an easy pace down the street. It's fast enough to get to your location speedily but slow enough that you're able to stare at the beautiful buildings and wondrous landscape around you. Even the people have an aura of happiness caused by Christmas. Had it always been this stunning? Or had you been blind to it until just now?

"Seokjin, as in Kim Seokjin, your rival?"

"So you do watch the news," he sighs. "They aren’t portraying us as friends these days, are they?"

You shake your head and rest your chin on his shoulder. "Not really. I didn't know you were friends."

Namjoon shrugs his shoulders slightly, his voice monotone. "Yeah, well, we've known each other since we were seven, got into skating together around that time, and have been friends ever since. While I wish I didn't have to sit this one out, I couldn't be happier to have him representing South Korea at the Worlds — sorry, that's what we call the World Figure Skating Championships."

"Yeah, they're kind of painting you as opposites."

"That's just what the news does, I guess. Gossip and tabloids and fan-wars. I fell on the ice and hit my shoulder pretty hard; it had nothing to do with Seokjin. He and I talked before I left, too. We're on good terms. Most of us from South Korea are friends, actually. We only get represented as enemies because it's a competition. But a lot of times we're on the same flights, in the same hotels, in the same training areas, you get the idea."

Namjoon pulls up to a stoplight at a near empty intersection, waiting silently for it to shift colors. "Is that what you meant by change of career?" you inquire.

"You're observant," he chuckles.

You turn to rest your cheek on his back. "For what it's worth, and keep in mind that I don't know the first thing about figure skating or your injury or anything like that, but as someone on the outside looking in, you're still so talented. Last week, when you were skating alone, I couldn't tell at all you were injured, and you looked like you were really enjoying it. I don't know if that means anything to you coming from a novice, but if you're still in love with skating and want to get back out there, I think you should go for it. You're still spectacular to watch, Joonie."

There's a beat of silence, but then Namjoon glances over his shoulder and winks at you. "Would you come see me perform live if I did?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you state, "Why not?"

He laughs at your silly expression, then begins to move the bike again as the light finally shifts. "That actually means a lot, [Y/n]. Thank you."

The rest of the ride is quiet, at least until you begin to hear the sounds of a bustling outdoor market. Namjoon turns the final corner, and you're elated with the stone street in an older part of Seoul. Vendors in various booths stretch out in every direction. Some sell food or drink, some sell trinkets or clothing, some even sell vintage books or vinyls or movies. Every nook and cranny has something special to offer. The sights, smells and sounds bring an enormous smile to your face as Namjoon steadies the bike to a stop beside the bicycle rack.

You hop off with his help, nearly bouncing up and down from excitement as he parks and locks his bike on the stand. "This is amazing!" Turning to him, you catch him off-guard with a tight embrace, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him down to you.

Namjoon seems amused by your eager reaction, and he pulls you closer to him. "I thought you would like it. There's nothing quite like Christmas than a market."

After letting him go, you press a kiss to his cheek as you lower back down to your level. Namjoon's hands tenderly cradle your face, just like last time, only today he's glancing away from your eyes and down to your lips. As your heartbeat quickens, you pull him back to you, fingers grasping at his winter jacket.

His voice is deep and soft as he asks, "May I...?"

Your cheeks flush as you nod your approval. Namjoon's dimples deepen as he lowers his face to yours, barely brushing his lips against yours in the gentlest kiss you've ever had. You close the distance, tugging at his jacket so he moves closer. He gives a tiny laugh against your mouth, then follows your guidance to deepen the kiss. One hand slips back to your hair; he gently plays with the strands.

A moment later, and you're sighing as he pulls away, both light-headed and light-hearted. Namjoon smiles down at you, gives you a surprising second peck, then pulls back with a chuckle. "You're a really cute kisser, y'know that?"

You drop your head and hide your face in the front of his coat. "Shut up."

Your companion's laughter echoes in the air around you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and places his lips briefly on the top of your head. "Are you hungry? I know where we can get the absolute best Tteok-kkochi."

Eventually you lift your head and nod, feeling your stomach rumble at the thought of rice cake skewers. Namjoon moves his arm from around your shoulders, taking your hand instead, and ushers you into the first aisle of the Christmas market.

If it was magical from the outside, it's even more so from within. Somewhere in the distance, you hear holiday music playing. Not the commercial Christmas songs you're used to, but instrumental music that plays perfectly with the sounds of the market crowds. You're awestruck by every single booth you pass, and Namjoon promises to take you back to all of them after you grab a bite to eat.

Which are well worth the walk into the interior of the market. The Tteok-kkochi are cooked to perfection, drowned in a sauce, and by far the best you've ever had. Even after circling back to the booths you missed on the way, you beg Namjoon to lead you back to get another set.

"I've found heaven," you exclaim dramatically, taking the next two from the cook behind the counter and hanging one to your companion. "I'll never have rice cake skewers this good again."

After paying, you spot a section of the market decorated with lights and colorful orbs, much like the decorations you're used to seeing in the West. "Can we go over there next?"

Namjoon spots where you're pointing and eagerly agrees. The pair of you make your way towards the greenery and decor, amazed at the giant Christmas trees decorated to perfection on the periphery of the market.

"That's a massive tree," he gasps, staring upwards. "Are those normal in America?"

"Maybe at a mall or outside a hotel or something," you reply, equally as taken back. "I've never seen one that big in person in a long time."

As you peruse the Christmas section of the market, slipping from booth to booth as the clock strikes Noon, Namjoon asks, "Have you decorated your apartment at all? I know it can be kinda hard to find stuff in Korea like you're used to."

"Not really," you admit in passing. "Between work and school and, y'know, starting a new life in a foreign country, the holidays kinda fell on the back-burner."

Namjoon taps your shoulder, ushering your attention towards the old, American Christmas movies booth a few spots away. You gasp and rush over with renewed excitement, eyes scanning eagerly over the shelves. They have just about everything, from the classics like "It's A Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Carol" to movies you grew up on like "Home Alone" and "Elf." The more you sort through the outdated DVDs, the bigger your smile gets.

"What's your favorite Christmas movie?" Namjoon asks, casually looking through the Christmas vinyls on the booth next to the movies.

"Without a doubt, Ron Howard's 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas.'"

"The one with Jim Carrey?"

"You know it!"

He laughs. "Yeah, my little sister and I watched it a lot when we were kids."

Your head perks up at the mention of a sister. "I didn't know you had siblings, either."

Namjoon nods. "Yeah, she's in college, too. Studying to be a psychologist."

"She sounds amazing."

"Yeah, the family is very proud. I know I am." He pulls out a vinyl for one of Frank Sinatra's Christmas records. "Do you have siblings?"

At the question, your gaze shifts back to the movies, hands preoccupied with finding the perfect one. "I do. A brother and a sister."

"Older?"

"Yeah..."

"What are they like?"

"A lot like my parents," you sigh, moving on to another shelf, turning your back to your companion. "Which is part of the reason I left, so..."

Namjoon senses your anxiety around the topic and rests a hand on your shoulder as he passes by. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"

You cut him off with a casual wave of your hand. "It's no worries, really." Spotting the record under his arm, you ask, "Find one you like?"

While he doesn't seem to buy your act, he lets the conversation go and holds up the vinyl for "Tales of Noel on Ice" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, as performed by the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra.

"You don't already have that one?" you gawk in surprise.

"I don't actually," he admits bashfully. "The title composition is one of my best free skate performances, and I have a record player at home, so why not?" He gestures to the movies. "Did you find one?"

"Oh, I don't need one! I was just looking. I don't even have a DVD player anymore."

"I do, so pick one out and maybe we can watch it sometime."

You shake your head at him, trying to subdue a chuckle. "A record player and a DVD player? You're so odd."

"But to your benefit," he reminds you with a wink, pulling out a single movie nearest him. It happens to be your favorite with Jim Carrey in all his hilarious glory on the front.

Cocking an eyebrow, you give a tiny round of applause at the luck of pulling that film out of all the others. "Well, you're going to have to invite me over sometime then."

"You can count on it."

For the next couple hours, Namjoon and you make your way through the entire market, hitting all the shops that interest and intrigue you. All the while, you talk about a plethora of things and get to know each other letter. For instance, you find out that he was born in Ilsan, not too far from where you are now, and that he hates seafood just about as much as mint chocolate. You also find out that he looks like his mother, who was the one that got him into skating to begin with. And to no one's surprise, Namjoon is actually very funny. Not only is he smart, athletic, and good looking — which alone would have caught your attention — he's got a wicked sense of humor to top it all off.

Likewise, he learns more about you. You tell him about the city you grew up in, the friends you had in high school, what you studied before you came to Korea. You tell him that along with your studies, you're really invested in writing and try to make time for that as well. It hasn't been so easy since the move, but you're hoping to get back to it in the new year.

As you approach mid-afternoon, and the final leg of the market, your phone begins to buzz. Your screen lights up with the same foreign number as before. Instantly, both your feet and your heart stop. Your shoulders tense up, and you turn to a blissfully unaware Namjoon, saying, "Hey, I gotta take this. You go on ahead."

"Are you sure?" he asks, the person in front of him not the same happy-go-lucky one as before.

You give him a nod of reassurance. "I'll catch up."

Before he can reply, you've turned and moved towards the massive Christmas trees, where there's an opening and the crowds are quieter. Despite what you told him, you don't intend on answering. Whoever is on the other end of that line, be it your mother or father or siblings, you want nothing to do with them. You do, however, want this to be over. You promise yourself to hear the message, block them, and then go run an errand after the holidays to get a new number.

After the call drops, you wait with an anxious feeling building in your stomach. Maybe they didn't leave a message. Maybe it wasn't your family after all. Maybe —

A soft ping alerts you that you have a new message. Selecting it, you raise your phone to your ear and hear your father this time. He repeats all of what your mother said, only with a layer of frustration and authority that she didn't use. He's borderline cruel as he spouts the same old lies that you're trying to unlearn; it's your fault, it's because of you, you're the cause of it. What it is, depends on the day. This time is has to do with your family not being the same and their world falling to pieces. He uses colorful sentences, well-crafted insults, but all you hear is blame, blame, blame.

Tears prick your eyes as the voicemail ends, and you realize you should've just deleted the message when you had the chance. A small part of you still hoped they would change, even after all this time, but you see now that it's not possible.

They will never change, and neither will you.

The pit of depression weighs down in your stomach, and loneliness tingles at the back of your throat. Why now? Out of all the times, out of all the days, why are you feeling these things now? You're out having an adventure with a man who you really like, and who you know likes you, in a city you now call home. You're far from any sadness or trauma or family or friends that once brought you down. You've left your past behind. You'd started to feel like there was hope in the holidays and in the future again, like the last year was worth the pain, like everything was starting to turn around.

But suddenly, that snake is wrapped around you again, pulling you back into old habits and old ways of thinking. It's grabbed on tight and is pulling you back into the dark, away from people you care about, away from people who care about you.

Even as you glance up at Namjoon a few stalls away, completely naïve to the painful flickers going through your mind, you feel the need to draw back. Pull away. Stay away. Go back to the security of the known, of the sad, of the lonely. It's warm and comfy, even if it hurts.

Clenching your fists, you try to silence the noise in your brain by shaking your head. The thoughts only grow louder, and the pit in your stomach gets heavier. You haven't felt a depressive episode like this in a long time. You thought they were long gone, especially now, especially with him...

"[Y/n]? Are you okay?"

Looking up, you see Namjoon's approaching you in the clearing. One hand carries the movie and vinyl he purchased for you both, but the other is outstretched towards you. While you don't pull away from his touch, you taste bile in the back of your throat.

"I—I need to go home," you mutter. "I'm starting to feel sick."

"Oh, okay, hold up I'll go get my bike and I'll take you home."

Feeling your breath quicken, you pull your gaze from Namjoon and nod shakily. The walk back to the bike rack is silent, even the crowd outside fades to a low background murmur. Namjoon places the purchased items in his bicycle carrier, then mounts it.

You follow suit, regret beginning to pile up inside you. Running isn't going to help anything, and you know he must be hurt and confused. But to you, the only thing you can do right now to protect yourself is get away from it all and go back to the place where you feel safest.

Tears burn your eyes as you curl up against him. Namjoon pedals speedily to your apartment, making the trip faster than last time. When he pulls up to the curb, you hop off without a word.

"Do you need me to walk you up?" he offers, worry causing his brows to pull together.

You shake your head and put distance between you both. "No, I'm fine. I'll...text you later, okay?"

Without another word, you turn and enter through the front, leaving Namjoon behind on the other side. Trekking up the stairs, through the door, past a mewling Mochi, you curl up on your bed and let yourself finally feel all the sadness piled up inside.

Fifteen minutes later, the waterworks flow when your phone lights up from an incoming text. Knowing exactly who it is, you grab it and text a swift message to Namjoon.

"I'm so sorry I left so suddenly. And that I ruined our day. Not feeling like myself."

"That's okay. I just got home, so I wanted to check up on you. I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Do you need anything?"

"No, but thank you."

"Okay... Maybe we can try again some other time? I'd hate to let you down on Day 2."

Unable to reply, the phone turns black and you let it fall onto the duvet.

The days leading up until Christmas Eve were long and full of guilt. You closed the café for the final time the Monday before the holiday, and with no classes to attend, you mainly stayed inside and watched the snow fall outside your tiny apartment window. Mochi kept you company, but even the small fur ball could sense that something had changed for the worse. Even she had gotten used to you being happier this December; you'd taken two steps back while attempting to take a single step forward.

Every morning, you'd spot Namjoon riding his bike past your apartment on his way to the rink where he trains. Every day, he'd stop and gaze up at the building, never sure which frosty window you were behind but melancholy just the same. He'd call and text; the former, you would never answer, but the latter, you did sporadically. Mainly at night when you thought he wouldn't be up.

He usually was.

"Was it something I did?" he asked that Tuesday before Christmas. "Did I move too fast? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"No. It's not you."

"Then tell me what it is. I don't want to come across as pushy, but I thought we were getting closer...and then you pull back and hide from me. From everyone. I know I don't know everything about your past or what happened before you came to Seoul, but I promised you three adventures. I still have one to make good on before Christmas."

"Joonie..."

You couldn't bring yourself to write more. The tiny part of your brain that told you that maybe this can work, maybe it's worth trying, maybe things can be different now, it was silenced by the overwhelming majority of your mind. It remembered everything from your past, from the hurt and pain, from the loneliness and fear. Despite your wish to make things right again, it was drowned out by the pure terror of being wronged again.

"Don't shut me out. Please. Let me show you things can be different now. You don't have to go at this alone, [Y/n]. Not anymore."

Pushing down the urge to cry yet again, you move your fingers to type a swift and cold reply. "I'm so sorry I wasted your time, Namjoon. I really am. I thought I was ready, but it's clear that I'm not. Please, spend Christmas with your family. Don't waste any more time on me."

And that was the end of it. You muted his notifications, ignored his calls and texts, and eventually he went silent. The day before Christmas Eve was the first you didn't hear from him, and it was the first day you felt like you'd truly fucked things up for good.

On Christmas Eve, you got an unexpected call from Lisa. Deciding to take a break from staring at an empty Word document with ever-growing frustration, you answered the call, only to be bombarded by Lisa's rambling.

"Oh, thank god! I didn't think you'd answer! I need a huge favor, and I hate to bother on such short notice on Christmas Eve, but this really cannot wait and I'll love you forever if you—!"

"—Okay, okay," you chuckle, shaking your head at her antics.

"I need you to run back to the café and grab something for me. Jungkook is on his way there, but he doesn't have a key."

"What could you possibly have left that's this important?"

"My fucking credit card."

"You've been out of town for two weeks and only just now realized you left your card?"

She heaves a frustrated sigh. "Please, just, do me this favor?"

Rolling your eyes, you pull yourself from the sofa and grab your keys on the counter. "Fine, but you owe me."

"Yes, yes, I know."

You leave the apartment in a hurry, taking the next train to the café. In less than fifteen minutes, you're at the front door. Lisa assures you that Jungkook is on his way, only twenty minutes away. After unlocking it, you make yourself at home in the lobby with a fresh white chocolate mocha. It reminds you of Yeongu, and you smile at the thought.

After about a half hour, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Lisa's text has you halting in place.

"I'm sorry to do this. You didn't really give me another choice. I crossed a line, but I think you'll thank me in the end."

Your fingers are swift typing a response. "What did you do?"

"You remember how you gave me a spare key in case you ever got locked out? Or in case you were kept at school too long and needed someone to feed Mochi?" A pause, then she adds, "He came to Busan, [Y/n]. He asked me in person what to do. Do you know how out of the way that was for him? Give him another chance. Please."

"You didn't."

"I did. I'm sorry, but you've talked about how you pull away when you get close to people. It's gone on for almost a week. It's Christmas Eve. You can hate me all you want later, but please. Go home, kiss and make up, then try to salvage Christmas."

A huff of air exits your nostrils as it hits you. Lisa's given the spare to Namjoon. Jungkook was never on his way; this was all a rouse to get you out of your apartment long enough for him to get inside. But to what end?

"He's good for you; I can tell that much already. If you ever were to give someone the benefit of the doubt and place your broken pieces in someone's hands, he's the best you're gonna find."

A pang of truth rocks through you, and while you have still a semblance of willpower, you shoot her a swift text and rush back for the station. "I'm still mad at you, but we'll talk later. I need to get home."

"Go get him!"

The series of stairs up to your apartment never felt so long. Out of breath and winded from rushing home, you find the door unlocked. Pushing through, the place you left less than an hour ago isn't the same as it was before.

The entrance hallway is glittering, multi-colored strands of twinkle lights hanging along the periphery. Fake snow lines the trim, and paper snowflakes are tossed across the furniture. Each one is unique and hand-crafted.

As you venture further, a rainbow array aurora covers your living room and kitchen. There must be at least a dozen lengthy strands of Christmas lights hung across the few items you've unpacked, circled around the sealed boxes, and framing every window and door. Fake icicles hang on the windowsill, fake greenery lays where curtains should be, and a small Christmas tree stands at your height in the corner.

Jovial, English holiday music plays softly in the background. And humming along to the tune of The First Noel, Namjoon stands with bent-back facing you. He's finishing his final touches on the tree, ensuring that each sparkling orb and shimmering tinsel is perfect. He adjusts the star on the top with a smile to himself, oblivious still to your entrance.

For a moment, you stand in silence and watch him. Your heart is heavy but still beating. If anything, seeing him in the midst of such a sweet and selfless act makes it flutter. Even after cutting his well-planned adventure short, ignoring him for over a week, and telling him to stop speaking to you, he's still here. He came back, and he's trying to prove to you the truth he's been spouting all along.

Eventually, you blink out of your stupor and clear your throat to alert him to your presence. Namjoon turns on his heel, elbow grazing the tree just enough to send it toppling backward. He curses and lunges for it, grabbing it by the star just in time to keep it upright. His characteristic clumsiness prompts a snicker from you, one that you attempt to hide with your hand over your mouth.

Namjoon adjusts the tree and turns back to you with a bashful expression. His lips pull into a side-smile, a single dimple popping out in the process. "H—Hi..."

"Hi," you repeat back to him, letting your hand fall. Your eyes follow suit and drift to your damp, snow-covered shoes.

A beat of silence passes where neither of you knows what to say next. Then the both of you break it at once, words tumbling over each others several times in a row. You laugh to yourself and look back up at him; Namjoon smiles down at you, shaking his head at the awkward reunion.

He gestures silently to you. "Go ahead."

You clear your throat, then say, "I...I wanted to say that I owe you an apology."

He shakes his head firmly, extending his hands in a olive-branch manner. "No, you don't—"

Your feet move back, putting space between you both. "—Can I explain and finish, please? Just...hold your forgiveness until then." At your request, your companion falls silent, letting his hands fall respectfully at his side. Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment, you re-calibrate your mind and prepare for your admission.

"There's a lot you don't know about me yet," you begin softly. "Ah, shit — That came out super mean. I mean, you know a lot about me. You kinda know why I moved to Korea, the situation with my family back in America, that whole thing. You know where I work and what I'm studying. You know my favorite drink of all time is a white chocolate mocha, and that my favorite customer is barely four feet tall. You know Lisa is my shield at work, and that we've become pretty close in less than a year. You know I'm a homebody and that my favorite thing to do by myself is play with Mochi and watch dramas."

You release a huff of air and raise your eyes to meet his, a wistful smile tugging the corners of your lips. "But there's a lot I haven't told you — or anyone for that matter. I've gone through...a lot of shit this year. When I moved to Seoul, my mental health was in the trash, and my self worth was in shambles. I'd just been shoved from everything I'd ever known into a foreign place."

When you pause for a moment, Namjoon's small and steady voice pipes up with a single inquiry. "I thought you left willingly?"

"I did," you state. "I've wanted to move to South Korea for a long, long time. Since I can remember. But I never thought I'd lose everything before then." Tears prick your eyes, and you lift your sleeve to wipe your nose. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Namjoon gestures towards the small sofa, and you follow his lead. You perch on a single cushion, legs folded underneath you. He takes the adjacent one, far enough to for personal space but still close enough to rest a hand on your knee. This time, you don't push him away as you catch your breath. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, I do, but maybe not now." You take another breath in and focus your thoughts. "I didn't mean to start all that with the intention of being the victim and making you feel bad for me. I...I told you that because I wanted you to know that there are reasons why I push people away. I've been on a journey to heal that trauma all year, but it doesn't happen overnight. But even with that, I never should have just left like that. I never should have ignored your calls and texts. I shouldn't have made you feel like you were the bad guy, or that any of this was your fault, or that you did anything wrong. You were—"

You struggle to find a word that fits what you're truly feeling, one that doesn't feel overwhelming, but the only one that comes to mind is... "You are perfect, Joonie. You're sweet and kind. You treat me like a normal person that's worth something, and I think part of me was scared of that. Especially around the holidays, I feel very fragile, and I run from things I think might hurt me."

"I would never, ever hurt you." Namjoon flashes a soft and empathetic smile. "Can I ask why you got spooked so suddenly? You looked off when I picked you up, and I know you said it was nothing, but..."

You pull your phone from your pocket and play the message for him, the one from your mother. And when he remains silent, you play the second from your father. While he listens, you watch him. The hand on your knee turns to a fist, and his jaw clenches. Part of you is relieved that someone else is reacting negatively to the messages, yet another signal to you that your choice is validated.

"I got the first that morning, but the second right before I left," you murmur. "I didn't respond, and I've blocked the numbers, but I've felt unstable since then. That's why I shut down, and why I left."

He nods, then turns off the phone. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. That's emotional abuse and manipulation. No one should have to go through that."

"I know, but I was wrong. I'm sorry for doing that and for hurting you. It was wrong, and I don't deserve you coming back again and again...even if you concocted this up with Lisa."

At your light-hearted comment, he chuckles and bites the inside of his cheek. The fist on your knee loosens back, his fingers tapping gently against your skin. "She told you, did she?"

"Yep," you chirp. "I'll thank her later."

After a moment, Namjoon's eyes flicker back up to yours. For a moment, he almost looks worried. "Are you mad?"

"Meh." For a moment, you're able to hold your composure long enough for your companion's eyes to widen in horror. "I'm just kidding," you relent, and Namjoon looks visibly relieved. "How could I be mad? Look at all this!" You gesture to the magical space around you. "It looks like a wonderland in here."

A crimson hue fills his face, and he's all of a sudden very shy about the accomplishment. "I wanted you to feel like you had a Christmas, even if it was just for one night."

Leaning your head against the back cushion of the sofa, you stare at him with a bittersweet smile on your face. "Are you mad at me?"

He shakes his head, expression more adamant about that than anything he's said so far. "Not a bit. I was worried, yes, and maybe a little disappointed. I think most of that was tied to the fact that I thought we were on the up-and-up. I saw you slowly opening up and having a good time."

"Gahhh," you groan, eyes fluttering shut with frustration at your past self. "I really fucked it up, didn't I?"

"Not really." His hand slips up your knee, and he weaves his fingers through yours. The squeeze he gives and the gaze he locks gives emphasis to his next words. "I know I don't know everything about you, just like you don't know everything about me, but I'd be lying if I said you aren't the most joyful thing I've experienced in a while. Being around you makes me happy, and the fact that this has you so down makes me want to be there for you — if you want me to. I don't blame you for anything you've done, so you have nothing to be sorry for. Honestly, after hearing those messages and some of what you've been dealing with this year, I know I would've reacted the same way. But, if it helps your peace of mind, then I forgive it all."

"Thank you," you whisper, trying to blink away the tears pricking your eyes.

Namjoon's gaze softens, and he tugs on your hand. "C'mere." You scoot closer, and he pulls you the rest of the way onto his lap and into his arms. Your legs dangle off the side of his thighs, and your head nestles in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. One hand holds tightly to yours while the other circles your waist, dipping under your sweater to rub soothing circles on your skin. Your free arm wraps around his waist, pulling him even closer than before.

"Sometimes terrible, inexplicable things happen to us and it takes us months — even years — to process." Namjoon's timbre is quiet and deep, rumbling against your ear as he speaks. "Everyone goes through that, even me. But it's so much harder to face it alone. Sometimes it takes a lonely, awful Christmas to see just how out of sorts you are. I don't know everything, but if you'll have me, I'd like to stick around to find out."

"You'd still be willing to get to know me more, even after seeing me at my worst?"

"Jagi, if this is your worst, then I would hate to introduce you to sixteen-year-old Kim Namjoon. That boy was a train-wreck."

Letting a watery smile show as laughter escapes your lungs, you reach upward and wrap your arms around Namjoon's neck. He pulls you closer, hands splayed on your back and waist. A sense of relief, and something like home, floods through you. Burying your face in his neck, you allow yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. Ever patient, your companion just holds you close as you come back around.

"Enough with the heavy," he breaks the silence, pulling back and wiping his thumb across your cheeks. Nodding towards the front of the space, where your television is, you follow his line of sight. "I brought your movie and the player. If you're okay with me staying over, do you wanna watch it?"

Leaning forward, you bring your face closer to his, murmuring, "I'd love that."

Namjoon closes the final distance. Both your eyes and his flutter shut as your lips meet in the middle. You tug on the collar of his sweater, encouraging him closer as his arms tighten around your waist. In a burst of bravery, you run your hand through his platinum hair and nip at his bottom lip. He inhales abruptly, and you giggle in response.

"You're gonna be the death of me, [Y/n] [Y/l/n]," he laughs, eventually pulling back to catch his breath.

You grin mischievously at him, biting your lower lip. "Still sure you wanna stay?"

"Definitely. Oh! And I placed an order for takeout, which should be here any minute."

You burst into laughter, resting your forehead against his shoulder as joy fills your body. "You really put all your chips on me coming to my senses, didn't you?" When he shrugs, you add, "What if I had said no?"

"Then I would've been eating for two alone in my apartment," he groans.

You shake your head at his antics and playfully poke the dimple in his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Joonie.”

His smile deepens at your words and gesture. “Merry Christmas, [Y/n].”

Just as he promised, food arrives at the front of your apartment a few minutes later. Namjoon hops up and volunteers to get it from the entrance, and you pop the movie into the player. Silencing the music on his phone, you select the "Play" option from the menu, and the credits begin to play over Anthony Hopkins' narration as your companion returns.

He serves up the food and delivers it to you on the sofa. With a rumbling stomach, you take it gratefully. Just as the singing begins, Namjoon settles into the seat beside you, hooking your leg over his so you maintain closeness as you devour the takeout. Neither of you have seen it in so long, and thus both of you are laughing whole-heartedly at every joke and hilarious mannerism.

After the meal is finished and the dishes are on the makeshift box side-table, you find yourself slowly slipping closer to your companion. Namjoon gladly pulls you closer, and by the middle of the movie, you're back in his lap. With the blanket wrapped around you both, his chin on your head, his arms around you with one hand tracing absent-minded patterns on the skin above your pants, you know you've never been more at home in Seoul than you are right now.

"I'm sorry I ruined your grand plans for Day 3," you murmur after a while.

Namjoon's hand on your waist halts, then changes to a reassuring, tapping pattern. "Be glad you did; this is way better than anything I had planned."

"While I have to agree, what did you have planned?"

You can hear his smile in his voice. "Well, honestly I hadn't decided between Lotte World or Seoullo 7017. You said you hadn't been to either of those, and at Christmas, they're magical. All the lights, the music, it's an absolute winter wonderland."

"Well, if I get to see you skate live, then we can definitely go to those after the solar New Year. Maybe...Maybe even call it a date?"

Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead, one that makes you grin to yourself and sigh peacefully. His reply is loud and clear, a promise reverberating through his chest. "I think that sounds perfect."

As the movie continues, you relax and think back on everything that's happened this year. All your concerns and worries you had a few weeks prior, at the beginning of December, they all seem so far away now. Even those anxieties brought up recently feel as if they're resolved. he sense is comparable to that of a chapter ending and a new one is being written. And this time, you're the one holding the pen.

At the resolution of the film, you realize that what Namjoon set out to do over a series of adventures truly did come to fruition. Be it luck or fate or whatever you want to call it, he really has given you that spark of hope in the Christmas season. It's something you thought you'd lost, or perhaps you'd left it in America along with many other things. He's brought it back to life, and so much more along with it.

All that magic, all that wonder, all that love and hope and joy — Namjoon is right. It hasn't disappeared from the world, and you haven't outgrown the things you used to feel during the holiday season. It's all still right here, in front of you and around you, waiting to be taken with grateful hands and heart. Maybe it's not in the form it used to be, nor is it in the place it used to be, but neither are you. Both you and your home have changed this year. But despite it all, you are still here, still striving to love yourself and your new life, still trying to let the magic find you.

And this year, because of a wonderful person named Kim Namjoon, you had all the love and magic you could ever need.

120 notes · View notes

cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Whumpas In July: Secret

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~5910

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Sleep deprivation, dissociation, it-happens-in-a-dream domestic violence, blow jobs, hallucinations, stalking, night terrors, nightmares, therapy, mental health issues, lying, secrets, open ending, TBC

A/N: It's a day late, but it happened! I may have missed a tag or two, please let me know if you catch something I'm posting this and I'm very tired :(

A sequel to “Support”

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

Sitting against his new headboard, in his new bed, alone in his new house, Iruka tips his head back to the ceiling and sighs heavily through his nose. It’s late, and he has classes to teach in the morning, but gods he can’t sleep. He wants desperately to blame this bout of minor insomnia on Kakashi’s absence; his partner left a week and a half ago on a mission above Iruka's clearance, which can only mean S-rank. And yes, of course he’s worried, but Kakashi’s also still within the clocking estimate for the mission parameters, so he’s not… he’s not that worried. Kakashi’s the best for a reason. He was assigned to the mission for a reason.

That’s not why Iruka can’t sleep.

His hands rest on his thighs, lower back aching. He’s been sitting here, in this position, for hours. First he was reading, then he was meditating; now he’s… shit, he’s not sure, but he’s definitely keeping himself awake deliberately at this point.

Because every time he falls asleep, he sees Mizuki hovering over him again. And he can’t. He can’t sleep, knowing that that’s waiting for him in his dreams.

It started ten days ago—the same day Kakashi left for his mission, oddly enough—when he brought the mail in. He wasn’t expecting much; junk, new utility set-up, perhaps a polite correspondence from the principal mentioning his move. What he hadn’t expected was a letter from the Konoha prison.

At first he thought it was for the previous tenant, that they had failed to file the paperwork required to forward their mail in time and so the post office sent Iruka the wrong mail. A perfectly normal mistake. But. The letter was addressed to him. Umino Iruka. It even had the new address written out, not his old one; so it hadn’t been forwarded.

That was what made Iruka pause and his heart throb and his breath stutter. He hadn’t yet filled out the mail-forwarding paperwork either, a task he meant to do that night and file in the morning. No one besides the utilities and the Academy had his new address listed as official. The prison certainly didn’t.

He went inside and put his back against the door, locked it and set the wards, and only when he felt safe did he open the letter.

DID YOU REALLY THINK LEAVING WOULD RID YOU OF ME

Iruka dropped the paper and slid down the door. He blacked out.

“How is the new house?”

“I’m adjusting,” Iruka says. “It’s a lot more space. It’ll be better when Naruto comes home.”

“I understand Hatake-san is out of the village.”

Iruka nods.

“I also understand that you have the clearance to know the clocking estimate, but not the mission details.” Rikona holds up her hand to stop his question. “I don’t know about it either. You know more than I do, actually. Having once had Sandaime’s ear has put you in quite a unique position, hasn’t it?”

Iruka settles. “It does. Tsunade-sama also trusts me with a considerable amount of information well above my rank.”

“Do you feel that this is a source of anxiety for you?”

“No. I would worry more if I didn’t know.” Iruka scratches his scar with one finger. “I worry anyway, especially if the shinobi out on mission are former students of mine. But I think it would be worse if I didn’t have the clearance to check what they were going into.”

“Some of your students will be of age soon to be tapped for ANBU service,” Rikona prompts.

“I try not to think about that.”

“Your file says here you also were considered for service, should you advance in rank,” she leans her head into a propped hand, elbow balanced on the edge of her desk. “You could have met Hatake-san much earlier.”

“I’m not a good fit for ANBU, Rikona-sensei, and we both know that,” Iruka grins. “I’m… too soft.”

“Hmm. I don’t think that’s true. I think, maybe, you’re too human.”

“Too—?”

“ANBU, being the Hokage’s sharpest tools, have to separate themselves from their own humanity.” She smiles. “We’ve only been doing these sessions for about two months, but in my professional opinion, that separation would be particularly difficult for you.”

Iruka nods hesitantly. “I understand. I… I can, should a mission require it, but…”

“But that separation doesn’t come easy enough.” Rikona makes a note—a scribble, really—in the notes on her desk. “In our world, that weakness is pretty significant. But for your own profession, as a teacher of young people, that humanity is essential. Keep holding onto it.”

“Thank you,” Iruka nods. “I’ll certainly try.”

“We have five minutes left. Is there anything else you want to discuss quickly before we part for the week?”

Iruka thinks, briefly, about the letter in his genkan. He hasn’t been able to move it. It’s stuck under the edge of the table against the wall, one placed specifically for dropping keys and gloves and mail and hitai-ate onto when he gets home. The very edge of it laughs at him every time he leaves or enters his house.

“No. Nothing else comes to mind.”

Rikona nods. “Then I’ll see you next week, same time.”

“Thank you, Rikona-sensei.” He stands and bows, and then sees himself out.

He turns his face with the force of the slap—they learned that punches left bruises, but slaps only left red marks that faded by morning. His back meets the wall, the bookshelf, a picture frame; something crashes.

“Do you like making me mad Iruka?”

He’s pulled up by his shirt and slammed back into the wall again, this time the back of his head hits hard and he stands dazed for a moment. Mizuki cups his cheek, red and hot from the slap just a minute ago, and kisses him.

“I hate hurting you, but it seems like it’s the only way to make you listen.”

The kiss turns into a bite, Mizuki gnawing at his throat. He gasps, sobs, tries so hard to be quiet; they’re not in the bedroom yet why is Mizuki doing this they’re not in the bedroom yet—

“I give you all you could want, and you can’t even spare one evening for us to be alone?”

Mizuki won’t punch him in the face anymore; that doesn’t mean he won’t punch him elsewhere. His fist digs into Iruka’s stomach; he leans over, hugging his middle. He starts to slide down the wall at his back, the fabric of his shirt riding up as it scratches against the texture of old paint.

Mizuki halts him with a hand in his hair. He lets out an involuntary, soft cry.

“You only have me. Stop trying to replace me, so I won’t have to remind you who you belong to.”

Mizuki softens his voice, but tightens his hold on his hair.

“I don’t like hurting you, Iruka. But you make me so mad I can’t stand it. I’m the only one who can love you, okay?”

“Mizu—”

“I’ll be in the bedroom. Don’t make me wait too long.”

Then he lets go of his hair and Iruka slumps the rest of the way to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his head in his arms. Gods what did he do to anger Mizuki so?

…

Iruka wakes with tears stuck to his cheeks and eyelashes, his mouth dry as his own attempts at baked goods, and a deep-set chill which no amount of tea and blankets will stave off.

He really hopes Kakashi comes home soon. This sleeping alone thing is bullshit.

Iruka doesn’t sleep for the rest of the weekend. On Sunday evening he fills out a request for a substitute and leaves it on the principal’s office door, and then heads back home. It’s the sloppiest form he’s ever filled out, but he needs to try and sleep. He’s hoping he’s exhausted enough, being awake for over forty hours with the aid of food pills and meditation, that he’ll sleep dreamlessly tonight and tomorrow.

And then he goes to unlock his door and a pair of arms encircle him, and a soft voice rumbles in his ear, “Hello, Love,” and fuck he’s glad his reflexes are shit right now because his instinct screams danger! but his heart cries Kakashi—

He slumps back into Kakashi’s arms, sighing. “Welcome home,” he murmurs.

“Iruka?”

“Hmm. Really tired.”

“Me too. Bed?”

“Just to sleep.”

“Of course.”

Kakashi walks them inside and sets the wards while Iruka drops his keys and vest and takes off his sandals. The letter glares up at him from under the table; he subtly toes it further underneath, so Kakashi doesn’t see it.

The man already has it out for Mizuki. This would just push him over the edge. Better not.

Warm hands slip his hitai-ate off his head and gently untie his hair. He hums, and leans into Kakashi’s chest beside him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” Iruka says. “Just having an… adjustment period. With the new place. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Ah. I understand.”

He takes Iruka’s hands and kisses his wrists. Just about a month and a half ago, they’d been torn up with rope burn from the three days he’d spent in captivity. Now, there are just a few pale scars there. Kakashi kisses them every chance he gets.

He pulls Iruka along to the bedroom. “Do you need to eat first?” Iruka asks.

Kakashi shakes his head. “I had a ration bar on the way home. I’ll be alright until morning.”

Iruka opens the door and leads the way in, turning to face Kakashi once the door is shut behind them. He brushes his fingers along his partner’s mask, asking, “Is this—?”

“Take it, Love.”

He wets his lips and pulls the fabric down, and gently thumbs at pale cheekbones, lips, the mark at the corner of Kakashi’s mouth. More than anything else, getting to bare Kakashi’s face feels so intimate, so charged. He kisses him softly, chastely; Kakashi holds him around his waist and walks them back to the bed.

They strip each other quickly, touches and kisses growing heated. “I thought we were just going to sleep?” Kakashi chuckles.

“I missed you,” Iruka murmurs, moving to trail kisses down his jaw and throat, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He follows, dropping slowly to his knees and dragging kisses across the expanse of Kakashi’s pale chest. “Maybe I missed you too much,” he presses into Kakashi’s skin.

“Gods, Iruka, you—you don’t have to—oh, please,” Kakashi leans back on his palms, breath starting to come heavier. Iruka swirls his tongue around one nipple, bracing a hand on Kakashi’s lower back.

“I know I don’t have to,” Iruka sighs, licks his way to the other nipple and sucks harshly to pull a strangled gasp from his partner. “But I definitely want to, if it’s alright?”

“Yes. Yes, please, absolutely alright.”

He dips his head lower, nosing at Kakashi’s stomach and letting the man fall back onto the bed; first, to his elbows, then all the way flat on his back. He mouths around the base of Kakashi’s cock, breathing him in, feeling the lithe muscles of his thighs under his palms.

He’s still exhausted. But this. This he can stay awake for.

Iruka asks, lips against Kakashi’s reddened cock, “Can I put you in my mouth?”

“Please. Please, yes, yes, Ah—fuck, oh-oh shit—”

Normally, Iruka would simply slide Kakashi into his throat and hold him there, comfortably in his mouth, until Kakashi needs to come. Tonight, though… tonight he tries—more. He slides his lips down, down, down until they meet wiry curls, until the head of Kakashi’s cock, indeed, slips down his throat. And then. Then, he moves.

“Ah, yes, so nice. Perfect, Iruka; love you, love you, love—oh, oh shit, love what are you—OH GODS—”

Kakashi throws his fist into his mouth and bites down to keep from screaming as Iruka starts fucking his mouth on his cock, gliding up and down with spit-slicked lips and such warm, open, wet heat—it’s… it’s…

And then Iruka starts to speed up. He braces himself on Kakashi’s hips and bobs his head just out of Kakashi’s range of view—he could open the sharingan and see it perfectly but gods that would be cheating and he has no doubt in his mind that knowing he’s not being watched is actively helping Iruka avoid an episode so he won’t, he can’t. But oh, he wants.

“More. More, please. Whatever you can give me, please love,” Kakashi whines. “Fuck, Iruka.”

Iruka hums, tongues at him more, and pulls him into his throat to hold him for a moment. Breathes, in, out, in—out, and his mouth slides back up the shaft to the head. He stays there for a while, sucking and lapping at his slit and Kakashi pants heavily, reaching down with one hand blindly to touch Iruka’s hair. As Iruka begins to bob slowly again, Kakashi reaches even further to thumb at the corner of Iruka’s mouth, stretched around his cock. Iruka tips his head just slightly to the side, to lean into the touch.

“Can I—” Kakashi licks his lips, his breath hitching, “Can I use the g-word tonight?”

Iruka taps his hip… and then taps it again.

Kakashi nods. “Okay. Okay, Gods, but. Just. Oh. Fuck. Amazing. Literally Breathtaking, Iruka fu-uck.”

Iruka hums along his length; it sounds almost like a laugh.

“I’m. I need to. Love, please, I—”

He picks up his rhythm, faster now. His hand comes into play, touching his thighs and cupping his balls and fuck; his other hand holds the base of his cock and together with his mouth, Iruka—“Iruka, oh just-just like that please.” He’s not going to last. Fuck, he never lasts long with Iruka but this… this is turning out to be embarrassingly short.

“I’m gonna come. I’m gonna. Please. Iruka, Love, I know you don’t like—oh-oh-aah—like to swallow, but-but can I come in your mouth? Please, please don’t stop, please,” Kakashi knows he’s practically sobbing, but it’s staggering how wonderful this is, and he wants to come so bad but he’ll hold back until he has Iruka’s permission.

One tap on his hip. He waits. And waits. No… no second tap.

One tap means yes.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, oh yes, Iruka—!”

The flood of come in his mouth, while he is prepared for it, is still extremely unpleasant. He holds Kakashi’s dick as it pulses, until his mouth is full, and then he quickly pulls off and continues getting him off with his hand. He turns his head aside, pulls close a box of tissues from under his nightstand, grabs a handful, and spits. Once his mouth is clear, he pulls another few tissues from the box and starts cleaning Kakashi up.

He made quite the mess. Iruka smiles. His chest is heaving through his glow, both eyes gently closed. Iruka wipes away come from his groin and off his softening cock, also sopping up a bit that landed on his stomach. He bends over and presses a kiss to Kakashi’s navel, and says, “Be right back.”

Kakashi hums in response.

Iruka chuckles, and leaves for the bathroom. Tissues are fine to get rid of much of the mess, but it won’t clean up the residue. Plus, even if he didn’t just have come in his mouth, he’d have to brush his teeth.

He brushes quickly, washes his face, and as he lifts his head to look in the mirror—his heart stops.

“Sucking someone else off doesn’t mean I don’t still own you.”

Iruka turns, arm tight in a fist and aimed for the throat. But—all he hits is air.

All he hits…

Oh.

Iruka sags back against the vanity. He’s gone so long without sleep he’s hallucinating. He thought he saw—Mizuki—

A hand shoves the bathroom door open, Kakashi there with sharingan open and a kunai in hand. He takes in the room quickly, and then steps in and stands in front of Iruka. “I felt killing intent,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Iruka, through a rapidly drying mouth, mutters, “Just. I think I really need to get some sleep. Sorry. Thanks for coming and checking on me.”

Kakashi slowly crosses the bathroom to him, and presses a kiss to his forehead; he says, “If you’re sure,” and then leads them out.

Iruka fights the chill that runs down his spine as he turns off the light. He lays down, rests his head on Kakashi’s shoulder, and breathes in his partner’s comforting scent. All the while, he accepts being bundled in lithe arms and a thin blanket.

“Sure I can’t reciprocate?” Kakashi asks, voice hopeful.

“Not tonight,” Iruka mutters, pressing a kiss to Kakashi’s collarbone.

Maybe, if I can get some sleep… soon

He closes his eyes and lets his breath even out.

Kakashi wakes to someone flaring their chakra—he’s instantly alert and hovering protectively over Iruka, reaching for the same kunai he had grabbed earlier, kept at the edge of the mattress. He takes in the room quickly, searching for the threat… and finding none.

Below him, Iruka whimpers in his sleep, and his chakra flares. Kakashi sets the kunai down and eases himself back to Iruka’s side. A glance at the alarm clock shows that they’d barely been asleep for an hour. There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes; Kakashi carefully brushes them away.

“I’m here, love,” he murmurs. “It’s just a dream.”

He lays an arm over Iruka’s waist to draw him closer—

Iruka, still asleep, pushes back. He thrashes, grits his teeth and nearly screams; Kakashi takes his wrists to keep Iruka from hitting him.

“Iruka, dear, wake up,” he tries again. Iruka, now on his back with Kakashi hovering over him again, his wrists pinned by his head, tosses his head side to side, crying in his sleep. It makes Kakashi’s chest hurt to see his partner so scared, so pained. “Love, please; it’s just a dream, shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—”

Iruka’s chakra flares dangerously, like it does when he’s about to activate a seal. But there’s no…

That’s never stopped him before.

Kakashi flickers away from Iruka, across the room, landing in front of the closet in a crouch. Just in time, it seems—the modified barrier seal pops into place where he had just been. The seal hangs, empty, like a bubble, for two or three seconds; and then flickers away once it registers the lack of a captured chakra signature.

Iruka’s breath stutters from the bed and the crying quiets; Kakashi approaches carefully. His hands are covering his face, and he’s turned onto his side, curled gently in Kakashi’s direction.

“Iruka?”

He sniffles, curls tighter. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Are you awake?”

Iruka nods. “Gods, I hope I am.”

Kakashi frowns. “Have you been having night terrors like this since you moved in?”

Iruka doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually shrugs. He takes his hands away from his face. “Not always… like that. Sometimes I remember the dreams. Those times are worse, honestly.”

“You don’t remember what happened just now?”

Iruka shakes his head. “Just the fear. The horrible, overwhelming fear.”

Kakashi sits on the bed beside Iruka and lays a hand on his shoulder. “What do you dream about, when you remember?”

“I… Kakashi, I’m just tired, can we do this tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re just going to have another nightmare or night terror as soon as you fall back asleep.” Kakashi usually wouldn’t press, but that… that honestly shook him a bit, seeing Iruka in the throes of his night terror. Talking about it won’t make it magically go away, but maybe Kakashi can help ease his mind a little.

Iruka sighs. “It’s so stupid.”

“Love.”

“Just. It’s Sato, okay? I don’t know, a change of scenery and now I’m just. Thinking about it again.”

Kakashi glowers. He leans down and presses a harsh kiss to Iruka’s hair, his temple, gently nudges him to his back so he can reach the rest of his jaw and face. “We never have to worry about that again.”

“I know.”

“I’ll never let that happen to you again.”

“Don’t promise me that,” Iruka says. “You can’t promise me that.”

“I’ll promise you what I need to to make you feel safe.”

“Promise to try your best. Promise to do everything you can.” Iruka sniffles, and wipes at his face, and then with his other hand he carefully cups Kakashi’s face. “I love you, but you can’t always be at my side. You can’t promise to keep me perfectly safe; that’s not how the world works.”

Kakashi leans into Iruka’s hand, turns his face and kisses his palm. “I’ll keep you in one of your own barrier seals if I have to,” Kakashi whispers with a grin, knowing Iruka will hear the humor in his voice.

Iruka, indeed, chuckles. “If you can even use them.” He tugs on Kakashi’s hand, and Kakashi comes back to lay down next to him. “I don’t remember having more than one dream each night,” he mutters. “We should be okay for the rest of the night.”

Kakashi hums and leans his head on Iruka’s chest. His pulse is finally settling down. He closes his eyes again and falls back asleep to Iruka pushing fingers through his hair.

Iruka gets the mail again the next day, finally feeling mildly refreshed after sleeping most of the night. Kakashi left before he was supposed to leave for school, so he didn’t have to explain himself at least. There’s only one letter in his box, unmarked with a forwarding stamp and in a standard white envelope, not the blue ones in which utility bills are sent. It’s been twelve days in this new place; maybe it’s from his landlady. She mentioned sending her tenants bills for rent around mid-month, to remind them to pay by the first.

It’s not.

He gets inside, and the letter is return-addressed from the Konoha prison. Iruka leans his back against a wall and scrubs a hand down his face. Looks at the letter in his hand, then to the ceiling, and back to the letter.

He puts it down on the kitchen table. This is going to need some pre-emptive cleaning.

After the kotatsu has been vacuumed and the quilt changed, all the floors swept and mopped, and every piece of wooden furniture Iruka owns has been polished—only then does he dare look at the contents of the letter, undoubtedly from Mizuki.

He takes it in quickly. And then he drops the paper and slides back out of his chair and turns to tuck his face into the sink to throw up.

Mizuki wants him to visit. For a conjugal visit, specifically.

He can’t… he can’t keep this to himself now.

He rinses his mouth, gathers his wits and the letter, and then also grabs the letter from under the table in the genkan. He takes his time putting his vest and hitai-ate on.

Iruka heaves a sigh, and leaves his home.

Rikona-sensei said he can visit anytime in an emergency. This… this feels like an emergency. He feels floaty and loose, like he could slip away and dissociate at any time. He hopes he makes it to the hospital first.

Kakashi is just about to take the mission scroll from Tsunade when a rapid, unrepentant knocking comes on the office doors. Tsunade motions for Shizune to let whoever it is in, and keeps holding the scroll out for Kakashi regardless.

“My apologies, Tsunade-sama,” the hospital messenger says, bowing deeply. Then, she turns to Kakashi and says, “I have a message for you, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi turns and gives the messenger his attention, leaving the scroll hanging from Tsunade’s fingers. “Go ahead.”

“As of 14:21 today, Umino Iruka has checked himself into mental health crisis care with Rikona-sensei. He’s listed you as his emergency contact for the duration of his stay.”

Kakashi dropped his hand away from the scroll. “I’m needed elsewhere,” he says, and waits only until Tsunade gives him a single nod before jumping out of the window and bounding across the village to the hospital.

What the fuck happened between last night and this afternoon that Iruka felt the need to-to—

He should have stayed. He should have slept in, should have held him longer, tighter. Whatever happened, Kakashi could have stopped it. Could have prevented it.

...Right?

He stops at the front doors and walks in, waving to the nurses at the administration desk while he moves to the stairs. Rikona-sensei’s office is on the third floor, along with the rest of the mental health clinic.

When he gets there, it’s quiet. Not many people use the mental health services the village has, himself included. But there are a smattering of civilians, and a single pre-teen genin bouncing her knee anxiously while she sits in a corner. The admission desk has a receptionist filing paperwork in manila folders. Kakashi taps on the desk to get her attention.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

“No,” he says, “I’m here to see Rikona-sensei about my partner, Umino—”

“Rikona-sensei is in crisis management right now and is unreachable,” the receptionist drawls. “If you want to leave a message I’ll see that she gets it as soon as she’s available.”

“Miss.”

“Hmm?”

“Please look at me.”

She rolls her eyes behind her glasses, tosses pale blonde hair back over her shoulder, and picks up her chin to finally look at him. Her eyes bulge and her mouth drops open—just a bit, just enough to notice.

“Hatake-sama,” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“I’m here. To see my partner, Umino Iruka. He’s with Rikona-sensei. Please, could you point me in the right direction, that I could go see him?”

She visibly collects herself, and then says, “I’m very sorry, Hatake-sama. But Umino-sensei is in crisis. That means he can’t be disturbed until Rikona-sensei gives him a clean bill of health, or unless the Hokage overrides and calls him to service.” She ducks her head and pulls out a folder, opening and seeming to reference it. “He did list you as an emergency contact, so if his health takes a turn for the worse you’ll be notified, and if he becomes unable to make decisions regarding his own care you’ll be brought in to conference with Rikona-sensei to decide the direction of his treatment. Until then, the best thing you can do is be patient and wait for a messenger.”

Kakashi sighs. It was worth a shot.

He shrugs, and turns away. He takes a careful, chakra-enhanced sniff; Iruka’s scent is faint, but here, and tinged with fear-sweat. Kakashi leaves the clinic waiting room like he’s going to follow the receptionist’s instructions, and once he’s in the hallway he ducks out a window and walks along the outside of the building until he comes to the window where Iruka’s scent is strongest.

He stays beside it, not daring to look inside yet. The fear-scent lingers in the air here. Rikona must have aired out the room recently.

Kakashi flares his chakra, knowing that Iruka will feel it.

…

And then a small flicker comes back in return, and Kakashi can breathe easy again.

“I need. I need to know how he found me.”

“As soon as you’re calm, I will find that out for you,” Rikona says.

She closes the window and sits back down beside him. He'd needed air flow just a minute ago, but now that the panic threat has passed, he asked her to close it again.

He should have grabbed his fūinjutsu kit before leaving the house. He needs to seal the room.

“I am as calm as I'm going to get,” Iruka says.

“You have been having a moderate anxiety attack since we settled in this room. You are safe here.”

“I was supposed to be safe at home!”

“Iruka-sensei, please. I understand your frustration, but yelling is only going to work yourself up even more. You need to settle yourself.”

“When can I see Kakashi?”

“When you’re out of crisis.”

Iruka gets up and paces the width of the small office. “What if. What if he never stopped.”

“Iruka—”

“What if he has other people following me, watching me. ‘Did you really think leaving would rid you of me.’ Of course not,” Iruka laughs. “Of course he wouldn’t let me just-just move—”

“Mizuki is in prison. He has had no control over you for years, if he ever had any at all,” Rikona says. “Moving was a choice you made, not only to get away from the memories of Mizuki in your old apartment, but there were other reasons, were there not?”

Iruka pants, his rant having been halted but his heart still pounding. He stops his pacing and taps his fingers against crossed arms. “I… yeah, but—”

“What were those reasons?”

“I really don’t—”

“Saying them aloud again would be beneficial. Please, sit. Fidget, if you must. But sit.”

Iruka takes the other chair and faces the window. Drumming his fingers along his arm and fighting back a flush, he says, “Naruto is going to need a bigger room when he comes home.”

“That’s right. What else?”

“Kakashi likes to cook, and my old kitchen wasn’t… he commented that it didn’t have a lot of counter space.”

“And the new house, you made sure it has plenty of space in the kitchen for your partner.”

“He loves the new kitchen,” Iruka says.

“Anything else?”

“The yard.” Iruka stops fidgeting, shifting forward to put his elbows on his knees. “Kakashi’s ninken ran laps around it the first day for three hours. The whole pack. They’re so sweet. You know they call me ‘Boss’s Boss’?”

Rikona laughs. “High praise, I’m sure.”

“Kakashi hates it,” Iruka chuckles along softly. “He was like, ‘My boss is the Hokage?!’ and Pakkun—he’s the pack beta, I think?—he says, ‘yeah, for missions. At home, Sensei’s Boss.’”

Rikona reaches out for his wrist. He lets her touch his pulse quietly for a few seconds. She smiles.

“Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Iruka leaves his hand palm up on his lap within easy reach. With his other hand he rubs at his scar. “It just… it felt like the time. I’d been in that apartment since after the Kyūbi attack. Mizuki moved out as soon as he could, but I… I stayed. I liked the stability. Until I was chūnin it was subsidized by the village, so I could spend my money how I needed instead of worrying about rent. Now, though…”

“Now?”

Iruka sucks in a breath. “Now I’m moving forward. I have Naruto when he comes home, and I have a place for him when he gets here. And… and if I’m ever ready to take the step to ask Kakashi to move in with me, I’ve already secured a house that I know he likes.”

“You’re providing for your future. That’s amazing progress.”

“But Mizuki—”

“Is behind bars in the village prison. He is not a threat.” Rikona takes his wrist again, frowns, and says, “I want you to say that aloud for me.”

“He sent me letters. He knows where I live. The prison shouldn’t have been updated on my address change before the post office—”

“Deep breaths. I understand your concern, and I will help you figure out what has happened. But Mizuki is not a threat. He is in prison. I want you to say that.”

Iruka hugs himself with his free arm. “Mizuki is not a threat. He’s in prison.”

“Can you trust in our system?”

“Yes, but—”

A brief flare of chakra interrupts his thought. He knows that chakra. He fights the smile that tries to creep onto his face.

“But?”

Kakashi

He can see Kakashi once he’s out of crisis

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He flickers his chakra, directing it to the window. “I’m. Yes. Okay. Please, just… I need to know how he found me.”

Rikona nods, and takes his wrist again. She smiles. “I’m going to get you some medicine, to help keep you relaxed. And then we’ll go see Tsunade-sama.”

She leaves and locks the door behind her from the outside, like he’s not a shinobi and doesn’t know how to pick a lock. Once she’s gone, he darts over to the window and opens it. He sticks his head out and looks to each side, but Kakashi’s not—

“Hello, Love.”

He smiles and turns his face skywards. Kakashi holds himself to the hospital wall with one hand and both feet, and then eases his way down to the open windowsill and perches on the edge. Iruka backs up and makes room, but doesn’t let Kakashi come into the office.

“Are you alright?” Kakashi asks.

Iruka’s instinct is to say that he’s fine, and he opens his mouth to say it; but a glance at the deeply worried look in Kakashi’s eye changes his mind. “Not… no.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Don’t do anything rash?”

“Don’t do… Iruka, what happened?” Kakashi's eye turns dark and he lifts his palm to press along Iruka’s cheek.

He shakes his head. “Please, just—”

“No, Iruka.”

He is stopped, both of Kakashi’s hands on his face now.

“You. You’re in crisis management. I’m not even supposed to be here, not even allowed to see you yet. You don’t—you don’t get to just tell me to hold off, or stay back. I’m here to help you. Please, gods, let me help.”

Did you really think leaving would rid you of me

Sucking someone else off doesn't mean I don’t still own you

…Conjugal visit…

“I need to do this myself, Kakashi,” Iruka murmurs. He leans forward to press their foreheads together and continues, “Just keep… keep being steady for me. I need you to be a safe, sturdy place for me to fall in case this all goes wrong.”

Kakashi whines softly. “I don’t like it. I want to help.”

“You are helping.”

“More. I need to help you more.”

“Kiss me?”

Kakashi doesn’t take down his mask, but presses their lips together anyway. Iruka melts into the kiss regardless, and then trails his mouth up to Kakashi’s eye and kisses his brow.

“Please trust me. I’ll tell you everything once it’s over.”

“I do trust you.” Kakashi sighs. “Please, though. If you need me, send for me. I’m going to stay in the village until you’re okay.”

Iruka nudges their noses together. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He turns to the door. “Rikona-sensei is coming back. I have to go.”

“Water my plants for me?”

“Of course, Love.” Kakashi leans in and kisses him once more, and then falls off of the windowsill. Iruka watches him go, crossing his arms and resting his shoulder against the open window.

The office door opens and Rikona comes in. In one hand she holds a cup of water, and in the other a small orange pill. “Are you ready, Iruka-sensei?”

He sighs quietly, and closes the window, then turns to her. He takes the pill, drinks the entire cup of water, and then sighs, “Yes. Lead the way, please.”

#whumpmasinjuly #secret #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

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skeeter-110 · 3 years

Text

I Dreamt About You Every Night

Tony Stark has been dead for seventeen years due to a mission gone wrong. He’s survived getting blown up, palladium poisoning, terrorist attacks, and even Thanos himself, and he gets killed by - what was supposed to be - a simple day-to-day mission. Or, so everyone thought.

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two || || Chapter Three || || Chapter Four || || Chapter Five ||

Chapter Six

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

"Okay, so what's the game plan?" Peter asks three hours later when they finally were able to find the old base. When Tony said he had a rough estimate, he really meant a rough estimate. "Tony?" Peter calls out again when the scientist didn't answer him.

Glancing over next to him, Peter saw Tony blankly staring at the base. Very hesitantly, Peter shook Tony's shoulder, not wanting to startle him out of what - Peter was assuming - was a PTSD episode, but also wanting him to come back down to Earth.

"Hey, Tony, snap out of it. It's okay, you're safe. You're not going back here so they can continue to do what they were doing to you." Peter tries to calm, confusion washing over when when Tony began walking towards the base.

"Tony. Hey, Tony, what are you doing?" Peter harshly whispers, trying to get the older man to stop walking away. Making sure his guard was still firmly up, Peter followed Tony into the base, coming to the conclusion that this was no longer PTSD induced and something else was causing this.

Peter soon found him and Tony standing in a wide open room, the door slamming closed behind them. There was only one singular light hanging above them, making it difficult for Peter to look around and see what was around him. The only thing Peter knew for sure was that his spidey-sense were going off the charts, making him feel like they had just fallen into a trap.

"Even after all of these years, it still surprises me how easy it is to control his mind." A man's voice echoes all around them, making Peter turn around in circles in attempt to get even a small glance of who was speaking.

"It also still surprises me how strong your loyalty remained, even with Stark gone." The voice continues. "Maybe the loyalty runs so deep and that's why it was so easy to get into your children's minds. Or it could just be because they're simply that; children."

"Where are they? What have you done with them?" Peter growls, hating the fact that all that seemed to do was amuse whoever the voice belonged to.

"Nothing too life altering, yet. They're mainly just pawns needed for this exchange." The voice says.

"What exchange?" Peter questions, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer to this question.

"Your children's lives, for Starks."

"Show yourself!" Peter shouts, wanting to know who it was exactly that was black mailing him.

Slowly a man began walking out of the shadows, revealing himself. It was the same man from the videos, and even though Peter has seen him a million times before, it was still jarring to see him in person. If Tony wasn't standing there completely blank, Peter was sure he would make another comment about how much this guy truly looked like a vampire.

His skin was a shade of grey that you only saw on the living dead, his eyes glowed red, and his teeth were almost as sharp as a shark's.

"Who are you?" Peter questions, his confusion growing more when all the man - creature? - in front of him scoffed in disbelief. "Doctor Morbius at your service." The man greets, rolling his eyes and continuing when Peter didn't show any kind of recognition. "What, my good pal Doctor Octavius didn't tell you about me? God knows he wouldn't shut up about bringing you down. But, then again, I guess he wasn't around for too long before I got rid of him; he really was useless wasn't he?" The man - Morbius - rambled. "What do you want from us?" Peter asks, hoping to stop Morbius from continuing down whatever messed up trip down memory lane that he was going down. "Isn't it obvious? Look at me! I wasn't supposed to end up like this! I was supposed to be curing the rare blood disease I had, but Octavius had other plans. He made me into this and I want it fixed. I've seen what Stark can do - how he was able to build a new element to save himself - and I will stop at nothing to make sure he does the same for me. Even if that means having experiments on your son to figure out a cure." Morbius threatens, instantly making Peter see red and blast him to the other side of the room with his taser webs; Peter secretly thanking whatever gave him the idea to make webs strong enough to hold even Steve against a wall.

Apparently, blasting Morbius to the other side of the room broke whatever mind control he had on Tony because the man quickly snapped out of the trance he was in and began frantically looking around the building.

Unfortunate, at the same time, Morbius whistled and called in a bunch of his goons for reinforcement.

"Wha- Pete, what's happening?" Tony asks, instantly fighting the people surrounding him along side Peter.

"Long story short, scary vampire man wants you to stay with him for all of eternity - or at least until you're able to cure him - and we need to figure out a game plan to make sure that doesn't happen." Peter explains, rolling his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the bewildered look Tony was giving him. "Yeah, you kind of missed the whole monologue villains like to give."

"Okay, game plan." Tony huffs, continuing to fight off what felt like hundreds of HYDRA soldiers. "I think I've got an idea." Tony shouts, Peter moving towards Tony as best as he could while simultaneously fighting off all the soldiers.

"You better tell me the plan quick; it feels like they're multiplying by the second." Peter pants as he kicks one of the soldiers clear across the room.

"Right, well, I remember when those vampire movies began coming out, Pepper made me watch them with her, and they said that the best way to kill a vampire was with fire." Tony says, making Peter scoff.

"You can not seriously be comparing this situation to Twilight." Peter snarks, grunting in frustration as they continued to fight.

"You got a better idea?" Tony snaps back.

"Okay and how do you supposed we go through with your plan?" Peter asks on lieu of an answer, shooting another string of webs at Morbius when it looked like he was beginning to break free from the first round of webs.

"I'll distract the cult and their leader while you go out and find the kids. Once you do, get the hell out of here because I'm going to blow it up." Tony tells Peter, making him shake his head in return.

"No, not happening." Peter quickly disagrees.

"Peter, Kid, I need you to work with me on this one." Tony pleads.

"No! Come up with a plan that doesn't involve us splitting up." Peter says, making Tony realize the real reason Peter was being so stubborn about all of this.

"Pete, I know you're worried about what happened the last time happening again but you've got to trust me on this." Tony pleads, although it didn't do much to persuade Peter like he wanted.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you again- I can't leave you again. Tony I can't lose you again, I just can't." Peter practically cries, and in that moment, Peter felt like he was eighteen-years-old again. All of a sudden he was back there, back to the night where he saw his father-figure for the very last time.

"Pete, I understand that us splitting up failed miserably the last time, but I promise it's going to be okay now. You've just got to trust me." Tony says, Peter's breathing picking up as he began to look around the room, realizing how screwed they were currently.

Making a quick split decision, Peter threw his last three taser webs at Morbius, sticking him further against the wall and zapping him. Just like with Tony, Morbius' control on all of the soldiers released, causing all of them to fall down to the ground.

"That'll give you about ten minutes. If you're not outside within that time, I'm coming back in and dragging your ass out myself." Peter sternly says while Tony just pants and stares at him in disbelief and a bit of annoyance.

"You couldn't have done that a bit sooner?" Tony huffs, making Peter roll his eyes.

"Well I couldn't have just wasted all of them. We needed to figure out a plan first." Peter defends. "Now, go!" Peter says before running down a random hall.

He made sure to get far away from the previous room, trying to find a quiet spot so he could use his super hearing and figure out where in the world his kids were.

Peter could faintly hear their voices coming down from one of the halls, booking it as fast as he could down it; only stopping every now and then to see if he could hear their voices again.

Peter soon found himself lost, turning around in circles when he found himself in a hall filled with rooms, half tempted to just start busting through them when he heard a crash coming a bit further down the hall.

Taking that as his hint, Peter began running towards where he heard the crash, quickly coming up to a crossroads. Closing his eyes, Peter tried to block out all the rest of his senses to try and hear better where the kids were.

"Out of all the times for you two to quit being chatterboxes, now is not the time." Peter whispers to himself, smiling when he heard the familiar whines of Ben and Annie arguing.

Peter ran towards the closed door he heard their voices behind, fully ready to scoop both of them up into his arms and never let them go again. Just as Peter was reaching the door, the whole building began to shake beneath him, practically making him fall to his knees.

"Damn, Tony, you couldn't have found a subtler way to tell me to hurry up?" Peter grouses as he regains his footing. Figuring he needed to be as quick as possible, Peter slammed open the door, instantly ducking the limp that came swinging at him.

"Woah, hey, woah! It's me, it's me!" Peter shouts, grabbing Ben's arms which were basically just flailing in Peter's general direction rather than actually throwing punches in defense.

"Dad?" Ben asks in surprise once he gained awareness.

"Yeah, it's me, now we need to go and we need to go fast. So be quick, hop on my back. Annie-May, you can come out now and come here." Peter rapidly says, wrangle his two kids together and making sure he was able to carry both of them out of the building.

"What's happening?" Annie asks once Peter starts booking it down the hall.

"Long story short, the bad guys that took Grandpa Tony wanted him back and so now Grandpa Tony is going to blow up the building." Peter shortly answers, more focused on making sure Annie continued to hold onto his neck since he had to hold onto Ben.

"He's going to blow up the whole building? Why?" Ben questions, shivering slightly once they exited the building and the cold night air hit him.

"Kid, I'm going to teach you a very important life lesson." Peter braces, running a bit further into the filed, really making sure there was a bunch of distance between them and the building. "Never, ever, question your grandfather." Peter says, flopping down on the ground and protectively pulling both of his kids to his chest.

"Really? That's the important life lesson?" Ben chuckles as Annie lets out a bunch of giggles.

"Trust me, it took me a really long time to learn that sometimes you're just better off letting him do whatever it is he's going to do." Peter says before sitting up and looking his children all over.

"Dad, Dad. Dad," Ben stops, continuously pulling away from Peter's curious touches "we're fine." Ben reassures once he manages push Peter away slightly.

"Well I just want to make sure you both-" Peter began to defend himself, the rest of his defense getting cut off by a giant explosion going off in the building. Peter rushed to pull each kid behind him, shielding them from the heat and debris flying everywhere with his body.

Once he was sure the kids were again, Peter whipped around, expecting to see the Iron Man suit flying out of the flames. But instead, he saw nothing. There was nothing but building anxiety and all Peter could do at that moment was scream.

"Tony!"

Tag List: @spideyspeaches @lost-lunar-wolf @joyful-soul-collector @hatakehikari @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderson #fanfiction #presumed dead

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booksandgalore · 4 years

Text

A Day Late, A Dollar Short

Your old life ends on the day you accidentally notice the white paint on Taehyung's face—and those red lips of his colored into a mischievous, all-consuming grin.

PSYCHOLOGICAL, HORROR, inspired by the JOKER

Yandere!BTS preview with a female reader

SPECIAL THANKS to @cakebite for the header. This upcoming one-shot is a gift for you (estimated date: before the end of summer—end of July or early August)! You’ve always been cheering me on.

PREVIEW OF FINAL ONE-SHOT

Grades were still important despite the college acceptance letter in your hand, so, like you told your mother, you really did go to the library to study, even if your studying just happened to last for five minutes before you stumbled upon the yellow brick road to Jeongyeon’s house, where it was conveniently—no, coincidentally—shy of a minute’s walk from the library in the first place.

Now, now, details didn’t need to be disclosed.

Minuscule effort had to count for something in your senior year, especially when your days should be simple, mundane, free of worry, merely existing to count down graduation. You did study against the finer essence of things, did you not?

Similarly, senior year perpetuated the same beliefs in Taeyong. Always pushing the limits of when he would start his Calculus homework, your classmate preferred Animal Crossing over graphs and lines that seemed to bend one way more than the other, but was it such a bad thing, pray tell, for him to do what he wanted to do at his own pace? And for you to do whatever you felt like doing because it was your God-given right?

You scratched the sole of your left foot with your right and scrolled through the random slime videos recommended on your feed. Somehow, you became addicted to watching these dessert items being smushed by hands, disrupting the illusions of the cakes and cookies to reveal that the items were, in fact, slime, much to your surprise.

From the corner of your eye, however, you noticed Jeongyeon’s chest rising and falling to every deep breath, her shoulders slouching and her fingers curling tightly around the electric fly swatter she had been waving around for a good ten minutes.

You sank deeper underneath her blankets, the thick weight relaxing the tension in your muscles.

“Did you get it yet?” you asked, accidentally double-tapping a random advertisement from scrolling too fast.

“As you can see,” Jeongyeon swung at the air, “no.”

“Hurry up and kill it.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Aggravating her was always a fun pastime.

But maybe it wasn't as fun when your legs were suddenly being crushed by the weight of Jeongyeon’s body and, GOD, was she heavy. When she wiggled around, the pressure amplified.

“I need water,” she demanded, soft brown locks clinging to the sweat on the sides of her face. “I need snacks.”

The epiphany struck you late, but you realized how some words were never meant to be spoken when Jeongyeon leered down at you with her petty, little eyes.

“This is your house,” you emphasized, and you reluctantly adjusted yourself out of these blankets to shove Jeongyeon away from her own bed. ”Guests should be treated like kings.”

“You raid the fridge every time you come. It’s time you return the favor, you freeloader.”

That was not true. You raided her cupboards as well.

“Oh, yeah?” You huffed, straightening your shoulders and puffing out your chest. “Would a freeloader do this?”

Releasing a wistful sigh, you smoothed the crinkles on her pillow before dropping your head dramatically on it, her one-hundred-percent-cotton fluff being put into good use.

Jeongyeon loomed over your body. “Go and do what I ask. . .” she brandished the swatter close to the tip of your nose, ”or else.”

You raised your hands. You were just messing around, but she didn’t have to go that far. The circular light on the handle was still green, and with one wrong move, one wrong step, she could fry off your skin.

Jeongyeon continued staring at you, and for a second you thought she would bring it closer—out of pure curiosity to observe what it was like for flesh to burn—until you blinked and the racket was nowhere near your vicinity.

Unconsciously, you started laughing. “Good one!” you said, the repressed stammer lodged in your throat doing you a favor.

As Jeongyeon stood back, the evening sun filtered through the seeps of her blinds, ironically highlighting the shadows of her face instead of the soft planes of her lips, or the curve of her long lashes. Gone was the girl you viewed her as moments before, her cheeks now sharp, strong, and. . .gaunt, if you were allowed to confess this.

When she smiled, it felt a bit lopsided. “You’ll be a good friend, right?"

You thought her teeth seemed sharper for a moment.

“You’ll get me what I ask for, won’t you?” Her eyes were a little too wide for your liking.

But then you blinked again, and this funny interpretation of her vanished.

Jeongyeon puffed out her cheeks and placed her index fingers on top of them. “Jeongyeon”—she whined—“wants some snacks and some water!”

Oh, a horrible sight!

You threw a pillow at her. “Don’t ever act cute.”

Begrudgingly, you made your way out of the comfort of her bed as she applauded you for your efforts, each slow and calculated smack of her palms against one another lingering in the air mockingly, matching the pace of your own beating heart. You wrenched the door open and navigated yourself down the stairs, nothing but the creak in the wooden floor boards accompanying you now with each step, before you arrived into her kitchen.

There, on the table, laid an unopened bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, but your tongue already shriveled up at the taste. Nevertheless, you grabbed what Jeongyeon requested, snatched an extra water bottle for yourself, and were about to hightail it back to her and her room and her oh-so-comfortable bed when a sharp noise reverberating from the hallway ceased your movements.

You turned your head around curiously, retracting your foot from the first step of the stairs to listen, but the sound never returned.

Deeming it to be nothing, you brought one foot on top of the steps again when it resumed, louder this time, and you recognized that it was some sort of rough laughter, vaguely manic, oddly bitter in nature.

Jeongyeon did have a twin, but it wasn't any of your business to disturb him.

With that in mind, you craned your neck back to the stairs in front of you, yet the same rough laughter ricocheting off the walls had shifted into that of a faint, sorrowful tone, hardly distinguishable to the human ear, the change so slight it was a miracle you had picked up on it just barely.

Was it encroaching on his privacy if you checked up on him?

Conflicted, you let out a breath. It didn’t help how Jeongyeon had confessed, very vulnerably, might you add, that she felt disgusted when her friends would talk to her brother. You couldn’t blame her—not when she gave you detailed stories about her classmates back in Korea, who befriended her for the sake of getting closer to him.

“And if you can understand me,” Jeongyeon had told you after school one day, her voice hoarse and lips downturned, “can I trust that you will do this for me?”

And you did comply to her request like the good friend you were—for four years now and counting.

But when another rumble of laughter, tinged on the edge of what seemed like despair, echoed mindlessly, it tugged at your heart, dragged its teeth for good measure, and reminded you of a memory you worked so hard to suppress—of your father and the hollows underneath his eyes and his desolate gaze.

Perhaps Jeongyeon could make an exception this time. You weren’t like them.

Quietly, you ambled down the hall, stopping short when you noticed the generous slit of the bathroom door, revealing Taehyung who. . .

You felt your breath hitch as your heart leapt in your throat.

A question, colored in red, was written on the mirror:

WHY SO SERIOUS?

You traced the edge of each letter, but it became increasingly difficult to breathe.

“AH HA HA!”

Taehyung covered both of his eyes with his hands momentarily. Then, he peered at his reflection again through the gaps of his fingers, as if unable to do nothing but stare and stare forevermore. His entire face was smeared with some sort of white paint chipping along the edges of his jaw, the flakes dropping to the odd, purple suit he adorned as a green tie rested around his neck.

“AH HA HA!” He leaned in closer to the mirror. “AH HA HA!” he repeated, each forced laugh willing his shoulders to heave up and down with every breath.

Taehyung’s lips extended unnaturally from cheek to cheek, a thin red line, wavering slightly at the ends, drawn on to resemble an everlasting mischievous grin.

You had to go back to Jeongyeon. This. . .this wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal.

You stepped back, but you should have known better when the floor creaked and Taehyung’s gaze pierced into your very being through the mirror.

You expected him to speak, to part his mouth to sputter out a few rushed words, but he didn't. Instead, he simply stared at you with that crazed, inhuman glint in his eyes, and with those curved lips of his that just would not stop smiling. Slowly, he dragged his tongue across the expanse of his skin, never once breaking his transfixed stare, as a sneer escaped through the clench of his teeth.

You were unable to distinguish if his smile was truly painted on, or if it was replaced by something else entirely, a viscous liquid in its stead, the crimson color plastered across his face switching to a shade darker, a shade sinister against its nature.

Much to your relief, however, the light fixture in the bathroom had flickered off. For a moment the darkness binding your vision provided you with a small sense of comfort, while the sound of your labored breathing, shallow and quick, reverberated throughout the halls.

But just as suddenly, the light flickered on again, and Taehyung’s smile stretched impossibly wider through the mirror this time.

“You ever get tired of life?” Taehyung smacked his lips, speaking to you with his reflection. “When the razzle-dazzle isn’t cutting it out anymore? Hmm?”

It was hard for you to see past his paint.

#yandere bts

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undeadsnorlax · 3 years

Text

Can Anybody Tell Me Why I’m Lonely Like a Satellite?

heyyy my first fic for @badthingshappenbingo. starting things off with my favourite space boy

Ao3 link

Prompt: Loneliness

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, angsty as hell

Wordcount: 2603

A day in the life of Luther on the moon.

***

Wakey-wakey.

“Urgh…” Five more minutes…

Come on. You need to get up.

Luther groaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at the blank metal ceiling. It took him a few more minutes to open his eyes properly, and a couple more to roll over and check the clock with another groan. 22:47.

“It’s early,” he mumbled, swinging his legs around and rubbing his face down. Well, early in his sense, at least.

Fifteen minutes won’t kill you. Means you could go to bed earlier later tonight, technically.

Luther considered this and nodded, slowly getting to his feet and walking toward the door-

Thunk!

“Every time!” he cried, rubbing his forehead. He’d learn to duck eventually.

He stretched his arms until his fingers brushed the ceiling, then placed a hand at the bottom of his back and arched it, grunting at the dull crunch his spine made.

With a few more stretches, he dragged his feet over to the counter, smiling at the small potted umbrella plant there.

“Evenin’ Ben,” he said softly, large fingers stroking the leaves before picking up the tiny watering can.

Hey Luther.

Luther let out a sigh, tapping one of the radars beeping away on the workstation below the plant.

Something wrong?

“Nah, nothing.”

He shrugged and went about doing his other ‘morning’ chores. Checking the base’s oxygen levels, collecting any trash, seeing if there was any response from home.

Nothing. Of course.

Luther dressed in his space suit, taking the bag of trash out and dumping it with the rest.

He allowed himself a moment of freedom, pure gleeful joy as he bounced light as air across the moon’s surface. He’d been up here two and a half years and this part still never got old. He was in space!

He pushed off from the ground hard, floating a foot higher before landing with a weightless thud. Grinning behind his helmet, he tilted his head to look up at the Earth in front of him.

It was awesome, thinking about how one planet could contain so many billions of people going about, living their lives.

Including four of the ones he’d grown up with. What would they be doing right now? Vanya would definitely be going to bed, and maybe Allison was doing a late night movie shoot. Klaus would probably be partying and Diego doing...whatever he did.

Luther let out a heavy sigh, his grin fading. No use in wondering like that. Just reminded him of how everything fell apart.

He was brought back into focus by his stomach rumbling. He clasped at it for a moment, staring blankly at the stars, before trudging back to base to eat.

Running low on those.

Luther narrowed his eyes as he opened a packet of soy paste, slumping down heavily on the nearest chair.

“I know,” he said quietly, squeezing every last drop into his mouth ravenously.

He also knew this would do nothing but numb his hunger for only a few hours, knew this wouldn’t have been enough food for him even before his accident. For as little as he did physically up here, his body still craved energy, and this shit just didn’t cut it.

You asked Dad for more, right?

“Every time.” Luther glared at the plant. “I’m due more soon, okay? Today or tomorrow…”

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring at the empty packet. Reluctantly, he went to the box and got another, pretending it was something more elaborate instead. One of Grace’s amazing dinners, a rich beef casserole in a thick red wine sauce, with potatoes and vegetables, maybe some kind of pie for dessert, with ice cream-

He groaned, swallowing the mouthful of saliva he’d formed at the mere thought.

Not helping?

“I miss real food.” He rubbed his middle, feeling at least a little more full, enough to concentrate on work.

Have you checked your bandages?

Luther licked his lips, before shaking his head, looking away like a naughty schoolboy getting a scolding.

Do that. Please? It’s been a few days.

“Okay, okay.”

He went to the cramped bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror first. He looked rough.

Dismissing that observation, he slowly zipped down his top, careful to not get it stuck on his body hair.

How’s it look?

“Better. Honest.”

The bandage itself, on his right side just above the ribs, looked a little grubby, dried dark brown stains having seeped through. Carefully, he picked at the medical tape keeping it in place, wincing every time it caught a stray hair, but managed to rip it off and inspect the wound underneath.

A laceration done in such a way there was a small chunk of flesh missing, but it was healing nicely.

Luther reached for his first aid kit, pouring out some antiseptic onto a cloth and pressing it down. He winced again, gritting his teeth, but knew it was all worth it to help it get better.

As he prepared clean bandages to patch it up again, Ben chimed in.

It was scary when you did that. You were so scared.

Luther’s gut churned with unease, remembering the frantic, near manic state he went into a few days prior. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either. A sudden burst of wild emotion overwhelmed him, forcing him to his knees as he tried to let it pass, but the feeling inside him just got worse and worse.

Are you okay now?

“I don’t know.”

He bandaged himself up again, before he traced along a similar mark on his stomach, healed now into a bright pink scar.

His fingers curled into a fist, zipping up his top again before he could do more damage to himself. Ignoring the urge hadn’t done much good the last few times, but maybe this time he’d figure out a way to not hurt himself again.

Doubt it…

He went back to sit at a console, rummaging through the mess of paper cluttering the table.

What’re you doing today?

“Going through these.” Luther scratched his chin as he thought, eyes skipping down the page. “Need to arrange them in order, rewrite them neater...pretty boring, right?”

What work isn’t?

Luther chuckled, splitting the paper into small piles. “Got that right.”

And then silence. Luther became engrossed in his work, only moving to either stretch his back or use the bathroom, and even that wasn’t often.

Sure, it was boring but...it was his kind of boring. One of his earliest memories was pouring over a book on the solar system, using it to try and figure out the constellations he could see from his bedroom window. Him and Five raced to have their hand up first during their physics classes.

It became a one man race after he vanished.

Luther tapped his pen against his temple, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind was drifting, thinking of his siblings again.

He tried not to think of Five too often, but he still wondered what the hell could have happened to him. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had just settled somewhere. Gotten taken in by a nice family who looked after him.

He didn’t like the alternative. The portrait that hung in the living room reminded him every day for over a decade of the alternative.

That’s how he tried to feel about Ben. He was in a better place. He was at peace. Happier, maybe.

Again. Better than any alternative.

He wasn’t even sure he believed in an afterlife.

With a heavy sigh, Luther pressed his head down against the desk, closing his eyes for a second...

Luther…?

He jolted to sit up again, muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxed, picking the piece of paper that had stuck to his forehead. “Wha’?”

Drifted off bud. Not long.

“Ah. Right.”

You have been working hard for a while.

“It’s not that long-“

Luther cut off upon seeing the time. Eight hours had passed since he started. “Oh. Dang.”

You deserve a break.

“No, I’m...I’m nearly done, it’s fine.”

Luther…

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t mean to snap. He flinched the moment he did, putting his head in his hands.

Look, I get it.

“No you don’t. You’re a plant.”

Luther turned on his seat to face said plant, scowling at the thing. “You’re a voice in my head.”

Helps though, doesn’t it?

Luther wrinkled his nose a little, turning away and tapping a finger against the desk.

Helps to have someone to talk to.

“Crazy Luther Hargreeves, all alone on the moon with a plant that sounds like the brother he let die,” he muttered.

You know that’s not true.

“It’s true enough.”

He suddenly became aware of another console that had been letting out several beeps. Luther gritted his teeth and made his way over, reading the screen.

DELIVERY INCOMING

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 0823

“Told you more food was coming,” he said, going to suit up once more. He’d missed it landing with his quick nap by about ten minutes.

Out on the moon’s surface, Luther tilted his head back, taking a slow deep breath. He could see the pod the package came in at the usual spot, but he desperately needed some quiet.

Inside his base, there was always some kind of noise. Little things, the consoles and monitors gently humming away in the background, the soft drip of a tap he might have left on. Constant.

Even back home in the mansion after everyone left, he grew used to the creak of floorboards, the structure settling around him. Every opening door making him perk up and hope someone was walking through, coming back.

Outside, on the surface, it was silent. It was like he could hear his body working, every thump of his heart that sent blood coursing through his veins.

In space no one can hear you scream…

So he did. He bent his knees, and took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs. Everything contained within his helmet.

Straightening up, he screamed again, a rush of catharsis overwhelming his brain. It felt good to scream. He should do this more often. Better than hurting himself.

His chest ached a little as he caught his breath once more, staring dazed at the ink black sky above him.

So much...nothing. The night skies were never this clear back on Earth and maybe now he was glad because being confronted with such a sheer vast nothingness every day was sure getting to him. Would explain why his plant was talking.

Luther scrunched his eyes tight, and went to get the delivery. He dragged it inside, changing from his suit once more and tearing the box open.

Anything good?

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes, before getting out smaller boxes of soy paste. He sighed, inspecting the writing. They always said they were different flavours, but he mostly got the same soggy muesli or stale bread taste with every packet he consumed.

That…doesn’t look like a lot.

“Shut up, I know…”

Luther set one aside and put the rest in his food cupboard. He didn’t take a chair this time, just slumped down on the floor and gently squeezed the contents through the packet, huffing heavily.

Luther, that’s not going to last.

“I’ll make it last,” he mumbled, unscrewing the top and sucking gently, trying to savour it, “I have to…”

He tried to focus on the gentle hum of the base instead, closing his eyes to help. He wasn’t sure what had happened in recent months that his food packages were becoming less frequent, and less in amount, but it didn’t help anyone to dwell on that. Dad was busy, he had stuff to do…

C’mon big guy. You know that’s bullshit.

Luther glared up at the ceiling. That was new. Hearing Ben’s voice had happened surprisingly quickly, the moment he decided to name his plant after him. He never heard anyone else’s voice, but having Diego’s growling in his brain was almost a welcome change.

Almost.

You really think he’s that concerned for you up here?

“Shut up…”

Should’ve gotten out when you had the chance.

“Shut up!”

Luther slammed his head back against the console, grunting from the quick hit of pain. When Diego’s voice didn’t go away, kept taunting the same message of should have gotten out when you had the chance, he did it again...and again.

Until there was silence.

Too much silence.

Using the counter for support, he got to his feet and went back to his desk, staring at the piles of paper in front of him.

“This mission is of the utmost importance, Number One.”

That’s what his father had told him after explaining he was going to the moon. He’d blankly affirmed, not pointed out how pointless it was to refer to him by his number when it was just him left (because look what happened last time he said that), and gone along with it.

His whole life, Luther had been raised to lead a team and save the world. His team had left one way or another, and the ‘world saving’ work he did was mostly thankless.

But here he was. On the moon. Part of the mission. Everything was part of this lifelong mission. All the data he was collecting, the experiments he ran, they were important for...something.

Luther stared at his hand, the greyed skin and dark fur that kept making him forget it was his hand. This was all part of it too, somehow. It had to be.

Otherwise…

He finished his work. Filed away the pages neatly and made plans to send them out tomorrow.

For a moment, he hesitated by the umbrella plant, reaching to touch it’s delicate leaves.

“...Ben?” he said softly.

Nothing. Of course not.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself back to his bedroom, grabbing his personal notebook from the side table. He flicked through the pages until he landed on the poem he’d been struggling with for the last week, tapping his pen against the words.

Constellations are families, each star has their purpose, their name and position.

They work together as something bigger, part of the galaxy’s nightly exhibition.

There must be times where they can do nothing but fight,

When it grows so tiring to always be shining so bright.

Luther clicked his tongue, frowning at the words. Of all the hobbies he could have taken to pass time up here, he never anticipated poetry, but he was really getting into it, having filled pages already, some of which he’d sent back...just in case Dad was curious.

He could just see his plant on the counter through the door. He went to call Ben’s name again, but he cut himself off and shut his eyes, focusing on the hum of the base once more instead.

The voice in his head was never Ben. Ben was dead. Five had gone long ago. Allison, Diego, Klaus and Vanya were back on Earth living their lives. Had been living their lives quite easily without him.

He’d managed by himself. He was exactly where he wanted.

In space. On the moon. Just him.

Number One.

By himself.

Like it had been for years now.

Tomorrow he’d wake up and go through this again. The self-doubt and the spiralling and the focusing on work so hard to forget what was really happening. Maybe his plant would start talking to him again.

But really they know that no matter how much they argue and moan,

Being a family at odds is far better than being one star all alone.

#the umbrella academy #trope: loneliness #tua fic #luther hargreeves #undeadbthb #badthingshappenbingo

21 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Study Sessions

Calum’s always wanted to go back to school and it’s the first midterm that makes him realize just how long it’s been since he’s been in a class. Thankfully, Noa’s nice, albeit a little too organized, and more than happy to help.

Who asked for a 21 page long fic about Calum, Valentine’s Day, smut, and poetry? Bc I got one hot off the presses.

There is 18+ content in this fic. Please, no one under the age of 18 interacting or reading. Thank you!

You can support me on ko-fi. I’m saving up for graduate school.

____________________________________

Noa really wants to kick herself. She always left her pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack. Everything had a system; everything had a place with Noa. The placement of the full-length mirror in the corner of the dorm room, the cleaning supplies, the rotation of who cleaned what, making sure her books were always in the same spot, and always, always putting the pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack was important to Noa. She was sure it drove her roommate up the wall in their dorm room. But Brooklyn, Noa’s roommate, could be just as anal retentive about the trash and boxes from their addictive online shopping, and keeping the room free other people past 11 pm. Their crazies matched. So things worked out well.

Maybe Noa was panicking a little too much about a pencil pouch. That didn’t really matter though. Her system was out of whack and she would have to backtrack to the science building on the other side of campus before making a loop and going to the library after class. Her printer refused to print properly and while it was annoying having to go to the library at the end of the day to type up and print out her notes to study later, it made catching group dinner with her friends easier on Thursday’s because she didn’t leave the west side of campus to go to her dorm. This did, however, mean that when Noa was going to get a lot more steps in today. Not bad, but not ideal.

This also means that she’s going to have to use a laptop. She hated using her laptop because it meant she’d have to rewrite her notes so there were no gaps in her notebook. Noa could see that it was a very contrived system--at the end of the day, all she needed were the notes. That’s it. But it mattered to the deep recesses of her mind. It had to flow from handwritten notes to her laptop, no matter how she had to backtrack

“Here, I have an extra.”

Noa blinks at the hushed voice. A black pen slides in next to her open notebook. The hand is tan and tattooed. She knows those initials anywhere. Calum. She smiles and looks up to him, even if the shadows cover his face thanks to the bucket hat. It’s a staple she’s noticed over the course of the semester. “Thanks. Promise I won’t steal it,” Noa grins.

Calum exhales his laughter. “I’d be a little upset but they are really good pens to write with. So I’d understand.”

“I’m a woman of my word, though. So you won’t have to chase me down.” Noa dates the top right corner of her blank page and then pulls out her book. She hates the book. She wasn’t able to get a copy to rent and had to kick out 50 bucks for the anthology for class, one she never really use again either.

Calum gives a hum in response, his own pen twirling around his fingers. The professor, a man in his late sixties at the youngest, with thinning white hair and thick circular glasses walks in through the doors. There’s still five minutes before class starts and the chatter amongst students quiets just a little but doesn’t stop. Calum looks to her notebook, the way she’s written the poet’s name at the top of the page, her handwriting is tight together with a lot of width for each letter. It’s pretty with a little mess to it.

He’s noticed that she normally uses purple ink for her notes and part of him feels bad for not having a purple pen for her. “Sorry it’s not a purple pen,” Calum states turning to face her.

How the hell did Calum notice that? Sure she had a color for every class she took each semester. But surely no one else would’ve noticed that. It had only been three weeks of the semester. No one could’ve known that besides her group of friends and her roommate. “No, no, it’s okay. I forgot my pencil pouch in my last class so you really saved me from having to use my laptop.”

“Don’t like it?”

Noa shakes her head, feeling some of her Senegalese twists falling from the bun she put it up into on her walk across campus. Though this part of campus was walkable the heat of summer was dry and it took no prisoners some days. “I remember everything better if I write it down in my own words instead of just typing everything down the professor says. It’s like I’m not learning anything.”

He gives another nod. Though Calum studied for his high school diploma on some late nights, on tour buses, hell even in the studio, he liked sitting in class. He liked processing things and attempting to get the right words together to understand the core of things. He liked the sense of normalcy. It was nice to be learning not just from a textbook but from everyone else in the room. Sure this is just a poetry class, and sure he hadn’t really known what to expect with a title like “Modern Poetry from 1920” but he was straddled in and was surely going to see until the very end.

Before Calum can respond, the professor clears their throat. He fishes his book out of his bag too and flips to the poems that he read the night before. “Hope everyone’s having a great day,” the professor starts. Even from the fifth row of the tiny room, Calum notices the shakes in the older man’s hands. The room is full of three to four gray rectangular tables pushed together to create rows. They sit two at each table comfortably. Each row sits about forty students comfortably.

“A quick reminder, your first midterm is next week. All the poets we’ve discussed including today’s poet is going to be material that I will pull questions from. I’ll be providing the excerpts if a question calls for it. I’m saving about ten minutes at the end of class for us to discuss it more in-depth.”

With a quick dab to the corners of his mouth, he finds a volunteer to read the first poem up for discussion. Once the first reading is concluded, the professor looks around for another person to read. Noa lifts her gaze and she locks eyes with the professor. A fucking rookie mistake. Something she knew better of in her eighteen years of being in school. But here she is making it. They smile at her and point at her. “Miss Noa, right? Why don’t you read for us?”

With a nervous habit of biting her pens, Noa puts Calum’s pen down and picks at her nails underneath the table. She nods and lets her eyes drift down to the page. “When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s/ edge, unseen, the salt ocean/lifts its form.” Her voice is a little shaky and though William Carlos Williams's poem is short, she becomes more confident by the end.

Calum watches her reading more than he listens. In the three weeks classes have started, she’s never read. Neither has he. But it’s already a little awkward to walk around campus, being in a classroom isn’t too bad but it’s a confined space. He knows people are looking. He knows that they know who he is. He does what he can do just blend in and even hide. He likes listening to her reading. Her insights in class have always kind of blown Calum away too, now that he thinks about it.

As discussion opens up, Calum finds himself taking fewer notes than usual and waiting for Noa to speak again. She doesn’t say much about the first poem but the second about the death of a cat she cuts in to make reference to Robert Frost’s poem. “I know there’s a literal connection of fire and ice in each poem but there’s death in both pieces too. Frost and Williams’ are on opposite ends of the same spectrum in a way. Williams is talking about fleas that couldn’t escape death and Frost mentions that nature is powerful that if it doesn’t take you with the sweeping fire then it will swallow you up with water. Williams's titled his piece, ‘Complete Destruction,’ and he details the destruction of a pet, of maybe even memories. While Frost is more metaphorical with some religious undertones too about the destruction of society and earth.”

Calum grins a little, watching the way she shrugs at the end of her thought. As much as if she weren’t so sure of herself. When she glances over to him, he nods at her, writing down a condensed version of her thought. The class goes on and the professor ends early like they stated. There are a few questions about the style of the midterm but not too many about the content. So the professor pulls up a small canvas bag. “Before you leave, feel free to grab a piece of candy. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and you guys may or may not still have classes after this. So I hope it helps your day just a little. I have chocolate and non-chocolate options.”

He upturns the bag gently, shaking the wrapped candies onto the table next to the podium. Laptops are shut, people get up to venture to the candy. Noa slides the black pen across the gray table to Calum. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Without much thinking, in the shuffle of packing up belongings, Noa lets what she intends to be just a thought fall over her lips. “I haven’t had a Valentine’s in so long, candy from a professor feels special,” she jokes.

Calum laughs a little, pocketing the pens and stands. “What’s your poison?”

Noa looks up at him, the cut of his jaw and the soft smile on his lips, puffing out his cheeks. “I’m a dark chocolate fan. But anything chocolate is fine.”

He nods and shuffles, backpack thrown up over one shoulder. Calum gets to the table and picks up what he estimates to be the two biggest Hershey's kisses on the table. He picks up one for himself too. Noa finally gets her backpack zipped and she slides out from between the tables. Calum drops the kisses into her hands when she pauses at the door to the classroom. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart shouldn’t flutter like it does when Calum smiles at her. She pulls the twists down and slips the silk tie around her wrist. “I’m sure you’ve got someone to get too. But thanks, though.”

Calum pushes open the door to the English building and holds it open for her. “See that’s where you might be a little wrong on your analysis.”

Noa scuffs, attempting to bite back the smile. The kiss doesn’t last long before she’s biting into the candy. She shakes her head. The joke is cheesy but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t like it. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

They pause at the end of the pathway that leads up to the building. Students are carrying on around them, to and fro they scuttle across the asphalt and brick. “Do you have another class after this?” Calum asks.

“No, it’s my last one of the day.”

“Since we’re both lonely on Valentine’s Day, do you mind if we study together? For the midterm? It would really seal our fates.”

Noa nods. Who is she to say no to Calum Hood? She could say no of course and it’s as the breeze kicks up another heavy and slightly stale pocket of hot air that she’s reminded of her misplaced pencil pouch. “Shit, I have to go to the science building. I left my pencil pouch there. I have no clue if there’s another class in there and like I need that.”

“I-I can walk with you. If you’d like. I don’t get to see much of the campus.” Calum keeps his schedule to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He’s here from about eleven to four most days and then he heads back home. Hanging around campus would only serve to get Calum caught but he knows it might be awkward to offer his place to study.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of far and I’m not a slow walker.”

Readjusting his hold on his strap, Calum nods. “Lead the way.”

Noa ties her hair back. “Less scenic route to get there. More scenic route on the way back.” When she steps, it’s more like a run. Noa cuts straight across, over the grass and dodging the bushes. Calum wasn’t sure what he was expecting but her power walking like his mother when they go to the grocery store wasn’t it. He keeps up though, regrettably passing by the dogs playing fetch without cooing at them.

They cut behind buildings. A less-traveled path Calum can tell but it’s well known amongst though that have to use it to get to and from classes. He watches the others power walking past him and he’s glad he was able to keep most of his classes in buildings close together. Though parking was terrible and required him parking sometimes a block away, it was better than this walk, especially on the short time they had between classes.

His thighs start to burn just a little when they reach the towering brick building. It looks almost like every other building on campus, minus the sign hammered into the ground--it’s the only thing that denotes its uniqueness. Noa takes the front stairs two at a time. “Holy shit, how do you do this every other day and still live?” he huffs once they enter. The lights are bright against the sterile white tiles and marble. Another marker, he notes, the older buildings on campus have dimmer light, less white. This has a more modern feel to it.

“I don’t. I die about three minutes into the walk.”

He’s laughter leaves him in bursts, as he attempts to get his breathing back. Thankfully she stays on the first floor. Any more stairs and Calum’s sure he would’ve just opted to wait at the doors for her. The room she stops at does have some students piling in but she doesn’t stop for too long. When Noa ducks her head inside, she notices her pencil pouch sitting on a folding chair at the back of the lecture hall. Not where she left it. But she’s glad she doesn’t have to go sifting through some three hundred seats in the classroom.

She’s quick to grab it. She can feel the eyes of the other students looking at her. Because she doesn’t raise a ruckus, the stares don’t last long and she closes the door quietly behind her. “You all good?” Calum asks.

She holds the black pouch with roses up and grins. “All good. I just hope I didn’t kill you with that trek.”

He watches her slip into the front pocket. “I mean, I died about two minutes into it. But I’m okay now.”

Noa sucks on her teeth, a tsk falling over her lips. “Gotta keep at it. You’ll be a pro at it in no time. Is the library cool? Doubling seal our fates?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The walk back is less intense. They take the asphalt paths and go the long way around in front of buildings. They stop for a moment to just watch the dogs running on the green. They loop back around to the English building and continue on down past it. “So are you getting a degree or auditing classes?” Noa asks.

“Auditing. I thought about going back full time but it works better for me to just audit them. The whole getting grading thing still kind of gets to me.” Calum likes to fulfill his curiosity. He just didn’t want the fear of failing to hinder him. And while he had loaded his schedule at nine credits, which was only three classes, it was more than enough. He was tempted to drop one of his classes and though Calum wasn’t super fond of the intro to psychology class, he wanted to tough it out. Prove to himself that he didn’t have to avoid the obstacle but could instead tackle it head-on.

Noa gives a hum. “Gives you time to still work on music?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t shocked that she knows. He is glad though that she doesn’t treat him differently. That she hasn’t made a huge deal of his fame. He wishes he could cloak that, at least here at school. “What about you? What are you studying?”

“I was Community Health Sciences. I switched to Public Affairs last year. So I have another semester tacked.”

The trek to the library feels somehow too short and too long at the same time. Calum’s sure it’s his thighs still angry at the stairs to get inside the science building. He learns she has an older brother and that’s she the first one in her family to go to college. She worries about the extra semester and the finances but her parents have encouraged her to keep going. Noa finds out that Calum has a dog and if he had to pick something to study it would probably be in English. He could see himself in Religious Studies. Calum’s not sure though and he’s glad he doesn’t have to be sure. He can just take whatever for the moment.

Inside the library, Noa goes to make a beeline for the open computers and then stops. “We can book a study room? I’m not sure if you just want to be, like out in the open?”

Calum looks around. It’s nearing about 5 in the evening. No one is really in the library. Most people have plans. There’s no reason to sit inside the library on Valentine’s Day when one can drink in sorrows or be out celebrating. “Whichever you prefer.”

“Let’s just get a room. I doubt anyone’s going to be hanging out here on a day like this. But I doubt you’ll be back here at all. So why not go for the full experience? The only thing you're missing is final’s week and hunkering down in a study room where you pull an all-nighter and show up to your class in your pj’s and with your pillow in your backpack.”

He doesn’t want to believe that actually happens. But she says it so matter of factly. “You’re kidding right?”

“I am speaking from experience.” She walks one of the open computers and pulls out her laptop. She logs into both of them and then pulls up the scheduling system for the various study rooms located throughout the library. “We can only technically schedule in thirty-minute blocks for up to two hours. But there’s a trick around that.”

Calum logs in as he’s instructed to do on her laptop and they agree on a room. She books it, for every hour and when the blocks show up gray for Calum on his refresh, he goes in and books it for every half hour so that they have the room from 5 to 8. “So the library has pretty strict rules about noise. Generally, the higher the level you are the quieter you have to be. The second floor is as far as I go. You can talk inside the study rooms but nothing super chatty unlike the ground floor,” Noa explains on their ascent. “I have my notes from the other classes printed out. And I was going to type up the notes from today before working on a study guide. How does that sound?”

“Anything sounds good right about now because I literally have no clue how I’m supposed to study for this at all.”

Noa grins, cracking open the door to their room. It’s tucked towards the back of the floor, in a corner. It’s behind the bathrooms and not too far from the stairs so it’s not hard to navigate to and from for bathroom or snacks located in the vending machines on the first floor. “Trust me that’s my entire college experience. You kind of figure out what works best for you as you go along.”

The room isn’t big by any means. The white table sits in the middle of it with two trash cans near the door and a whiteboard that holds the left behind lettering of study sessions past is the complete setup, not including the four chairs pushed into the conference length table. Noa drops her bag into a chair and finds her pencil pouch, she pulls out a couple dry erase markers and an eraser in a plastic bag.

“Do you want to write down the different poets we’ve studied on the board? Start there at the very least.”

Calum, putting his bag down in the free chair, nods. It’s when he glances down at his phone just to check the time that he worries for a moment that he should get home to Duke but after shooting a quick text to his roommate he confirms that someone is there to take him out and feed him. Noa opens up her laptop, notebook and pulls the textbook out too from the depths of her backpack.

Calum’s handwriting is mostly uppercase and narrow. But it’s mostly neat. The markers thankfully don’t squeak on the board. He draws columns for each poet, thinking that will at least help contain the guaranteed mess of ideas during this window. He even goes a step further and creates squares for each poem, scribbling down the titles into corners

The room’s not even that hot, while Calum browsing through his notes. Noa’s been typing for a while since he finished setting up the drawing board. But suddenly from the walk around his jacket is too warm. He knew he shouldn’t have worn it but out of some sort of habit, out of routine, Calum snagged the extra layer and now he was regretting it. It’s like his body finally caught up and he slips out of it.

“I thought we were studying, not getting a show,” Noa teases. The thought slips through her lips with a grin. She’ll admit that she does find Calum attractive. Most times he didn’t really flaunt his body or even his status in class and that made him even more attractive. But she didn’t think she’d ever have a shot. She didn’t really think she had one now all things considered but he was the one that asked her for help. But he had started it and she was just going to see if it would continue.

Calum feels the heat immediately flooding his cheeks. “It’s just warm, is all.”

“Kidding, sorry.” Her gaze flicks up from her screen. Her fingers are still going, the taps echoing amongst the silence of their room.

Calum recognizes that gaze, the smirk that tells him she is joking, but she is also not joking if he’s willing to take that step. Calum goes back to his laptop, he’s on nothing right now just staring at a blank google doc. But he makes the initiative to break the tension and ask her what her school email was. “We can just use a Google doc to make things easier.”

As she rattles it off, Calum adds her. Maybe Noa completely misread this. Maybe he really only wanted to help to study. It definitely was a hit to her pride. She almost felt like a deflated balloon as she typed down the last bullet point in her notes. “I’m going to print these out. I’ll be right back.”

Calum nods, watching her leave with her laptop in hand. His brows knit together. She sounded hurt and Calum feels like he could absolutely kick himself. Of course, he found Noa attractive. He would’ve made a move and even though he wasn’t technically getting a grade for this midterm he wanted to at least feel confident going into. God, he was an idiot. Even after all the partying, and all the girls before, Calum still finds a way to fuck something up--even innocent flirty.

Standing at the printer, Noa exhales. Just a hit to her pride, a hard hit too. But she wouldn’t chicken out. That’s for sure. She’d march back up there and she’d see this study session through. She could do that much. Maybe she could convince the girl to her left to switch seats come Monday. That way at the very least she wouldn’t feel awful going to class. She couldn’t drop the class now--not without a Withdraw showing up on her record. Professors weren’t too keen on adding students this late into the semester. Withdrawing, would thankfully, not hurt her graduation credit hours.

She almost wants to laugh. Just because some guy rejected her does not mean she had to drop a class. All she had to do was keep a level head about all of this. Even though asking to switch seats would be blasphemous, she still enjoyed the class. It was one of the few classes she could take each semester that were just for fun. She would not give that up just because Calum turned her down. As the last of the pages spits out from the printer, she grabs her stack. All she has to do is go over the notes. They don’t even have to stay in the room until 8.

The stairwell is stuffy as she ascends back to the second floor. She’s always hated them in the summer, the way the air clung to the sweat and humidity of the temperatures outside. Noa wasn’t sure who designed it but it was only ever the library stairs that felt so awful in the summer and even the early fall. She can see Calum with his head in his hands from the glass walls that separate open library from the study room. For half a second, she wonders if something is wrong--like with his dog. If that were the case, he could’ve just left.

“You alright?” she asks opening the door.

Calum, not even hearing the door, pops his head up. His heart thunders in his chest. He was wallowing in his own misery a little too deeply. “Yeah-yeah, I’m good.”

With a nod, Noa pulls at the silk tie around her twist and stares up at the quadrants on the whiteboard. “So the best place to start studying is just as the beginning of the coursework. Lame I know. But professors usually start there for a reason.”

There goes his window. Gone all within two minutes to print notes. He nods and flips to the starting poet. “So we have Frost,” Calum starts, the blue dry erase marker semi firmly gripped between his fingers.

“Start with basics. The year he was born, maybe what his life was like, his most famous works.”

Calum spins his chair to face the whiteboard, attempting to recall some of the biography from memory. It’s when the lulls hit that Noa steps in. He hears the table creak but he doesn’t turn. He can almost feel her leaning into it. He can see just how the tops of her exposed thighs, not dared to be hidden by her denim shorts, would squeeze and smush against the end of the table. The weather is still warm. It’s still perfect weather for shorts and skirts.

He turns his attention back to the task at hand though, listening to Noa speak behind him. “I’ve had this professor before. He’s a kind of lenient grader. But he wants to make sure you can back your shit up with context from the poem. You can’t say someone’s trying to talk about rainbows in their poem when they’re clearly allusions to chickens.”

Calum snorts at her point but nods. “Understood. Now this is going to sound dumb--”

Noa’s quick to cut him off. “No such thing as dumb questions.”

Calum turns, seeing her leaning on her hands on the table. One knee is resting on the chair she once sat. Her gaze is stuck on the whiteboard. For a brief second, Calum lets his gaze fall. The jade green of her top nestled against her dark skin and the way her breasts are almost threatening to spill over the flimsy material almost makes Calum forget his question. She was not wearing that before. She wore a white shirt, tied in the front. There was something green underneath it--he knows that. He clears his throat. “I assume you don’t mean illusions like magic tricks and I’m a little confused.”

Noa finally brings her gaze back down, pushing back upright realizing the position she’s in. “Allusions, they’re like indirect references. So you’re talking about a thing without actually stating what it is.” She picks up a different colored marker and writes the word down in the corner of the whiteboard not holding any information.

Calum watches the way her undershirt rises a little as she stretches up to write but flicks his gaze to the floor. “Think he’ll ask about those on the midterm?”

“He could,” she says and then leans against the table again. Calum stands. She’s too close and he’s at a bad angle to keep his focus on the material at hand.

Facing the spread of her notes, their laptops, and textbooks, Calum looks out over the sea without really seeing any of the details. He wants to make a move that shows he’s interested without it being too subtle or too brazen. Resting his weight onto his palms, he shakes the thought from his head. It’s probably too late now. “So, like, for example, a question could be what are allusions in whatever poem of his choice?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably ask something more like compare and contrast.” Calum nods. He definitely feels a bit better about going into this exam than he did before. But he still feels like an idiot with Noa.

Noa turns her head just a little. Not a lot. Just enough to see the bucket hat still on his head and the way his face is almost entirely hidden. She knows though. She knows the cut of his jaw and the way his lips are a little chapped but mostly plump. As she stares at him, she does feel the urge to apologize. At least just to let him know that she didn’t mean to cross any lines and that she hopes there are no hard feelings. She can feel her heart thumping in her throat as she gently rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry about earlier,” she whispers. His head never raises and she drops her touch before going back to the whiteboard. “That was a poor taste joke.”

Calum’s breath hitches. It catches right on his inhale and he nearly chokes on it. “You don’t have to apologize.” His voice is soft, so much so that she barely catches it before turning to grab her phone to take a picture of their notes on the board.

“What?” She’s not believing her own ears. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought--I was sure I had crossed a line.”

“No, it didn’t make me uncomfortable.” His gaze is soft when it lands on her. Her brows are pulled together and he has to stop his hand from raising to smooth them over with his thumb. He feels the twitch, the pull to take her hand and he lets himself to that. Just gently brushing his fingers over her hand pressed into the table next to his.

“But-what?” She could’ve sworn the way he diverted the topic was a sign that she was pressing her luck.

“Really, I didn’t mind. I don’t mind.”

Noa shakes her head, the twist slipping over her shoulder a little. “I know I’m not a math major but this isn’t adding up.”

Calum really can’t tear his gaze away from her lips. They glisten a little, dark brown and a hint of pink from the saliva on her tongue as she licks them. It’s really lame, he thinks, that he’s this hesitant to make a move on her. But she hasn’t pulled away from him just yet so that must mean something. Maybe he could show her what he meant. “Is-Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Fuck. Oh fuck. Noa nods, she’s sure her eyes are blown wide. She’s not sure however that she’s breathing properly until the whisper of “Yes” falls from her lips. They inch closer together. Like stuttering traffic that stops and starts and soon there’s no more space to be hesitant. Their lips brush, slightly parted too. He can smell the chocolate she had earlier and it’s so sweet in his nose. Before the first kiss truly ends Calum reaches for her waist, turning her into him. He leans into the table, his back facing the door, and she leans into him.

Her arms loop around his neck, nails trailing at the edge of his t-shirt and his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine when her nails scratch at his skin. Calum encases her waist with his arms, pulling her into him. Her kiss tastes like the Hershey kiss and her skin is so soft beneath his fingers. When he breathes in, his nostrils are lined with the smell of coconut. An intoxicating scent if he’s going to associate it with her at all.

The sounds of their kisses, lips meeting and pulling apart before meeting again echo slightly around the room. She reaches up, pulling away from his lips just a little. Calum stretches out for her though, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. She laughs, mostly from her chest before she gives in and recaptures his lips.

His cologne isn’t too strong. It’s got a hint of musky to it with some more floral overtones and Noa thinks she has to figure out the exact scent because she would love to just bathe in it. She doesn’t stop her previous movements though and pulls the hat up. Calum ducks his face into her shoulder and chest.

She didn’t expect a buzz cut but it looks good and she runs her hands over the back of his head. “Can’t kiss you if your face is buried in my shoulder.”

“But I can kiss you,” he counters, gently capturing the juncture of her neck and shoulder between his lips. The touch is so feather-light, almost as if her skin were made of glass. But it makes her hot and her heart strums steadily in her chest. It’s almost sad how the softest touch is turning her own. She’s glad for the moment Calum can’t see what effect this is having on her. It’s shameful how wet her underwear is.

Noa lets her head go as Calum kisses across her throat too, his tongue trails after the places his lips have touched first. Her hair brushes over Calum’s fingers, as they start to travel down to her ass, cupping her over the denim shorts. They hardly do much to stop the imagination from running wild. His fingertips run across her skin, digging into the crevice between the line of her ass and the tops of her thighs.

A moan escapes her. Noa doesn’t even feel the shame anymore. Not as her hand reaches between their bodies and trails up his chest. She cups his throat and pushes him up. His grin is lazy on his face, eyes heavy with lust. “So I see you really didn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” The vibrations of his voice tickle her palm but she doesn’t drop the hold and Calum doesn’t duck away from it. Would Noa let herself go? She could attempt to bring Calum back to her dorm though she’s not sure if Brooklyn is in the room. If so, that’s definitely an awkward shuffle to text Brooklyn and then walk all the way back to her room.

She drops her hand from his throat, before running it up under his shirt. He tenses for a moment at her touch but grins. Noa decides not to think too much about where things go and where they wind up at the moment. Instead, she kisses at his neck, running her tongue over his adam’s apple. Calum has to bite his lip just a little to keep the groan from escaping him so loudly. He knows she knows just what she’s doing as her nail scratch at his lower abdomen right along the band of his boxer briefs.

“I have another question,” Calum asks, a soft sigh escaping his lips when she kisses up to his ear.

“Which is?”

“I can only assume we’re not studying poetry anymore. But I just want to make sure it’s okay if I study your anatomy?”

Noa snorts, her laughter shaking her shoulders as she presses her face into Calum’s chest. “I told you I wouldn’t be won over by academic pick up lines but I’ll be damned if you don’t keep trying.”

“They seemed to work,” Calum takes the sides of her face into his hands. There’s still a grin on her face when she lets him pull her upwards a little. “Is that a yes though in all seriousness?”

“That’s a yes,” she sighs, enjoying the slight roughness at the tips of his fingers as he brushes them over her cheeks.

“How likely are we to get caught in here?”

“If we don’t make too much noise, pretty low. I mean, who else is coming to the library on Valentine’s Day?”

Calum presses her in close before pushing up with his hips and spinning them around. He clears away a spot before hoisting her to the table. “I must admit, I like the sounds of those odds.”

Calum stands between her legs. She spies a set of chains around his neck and pulls them out, gently holding the gold and silver chains in her palms. She’s not sure what they mean, the symbols on the black enamel or the gold plate but they look good hanging around his chest. “Sentimental?”

Calum runs his fingers over the strip of skin just under the edge of her green tank top and the top of her shorts. “Yeah.”

The subject is dropped rather quickly and she kisses the underside of his jaw. Her fingers find the hem of Calum’s t-shirt. He pulls the black tee up without much thought and she lets her hands wander of the expanse of his chest. She lingers at his tattoos. She doesn’t question those either. Just admires them and the way the black ink stands out on his golden skin. There’s a moment, in the back of her mind, that she’s acutely aware of how much darker she is compared to him. It's a thing she’s always been aware of for sure, it’s a general fact about herself that is generally inescapable. But she’s not sure why it matters now.

Calum can see her mind wandering and he tips her chin. “You can always say no. It’s okay.” He doesn’t want her to feel pressured. It won’t hurt him at all if she backs out of this. He’d rather her protect herself than worry about him.

“It’s just--a thing, a small thing. Nothing to do about this.”

“You sure?”

Noa nods, flicking her twists over her shoulder. Calum raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question. “I’m very sure,” she says, tugging at the band of his pants.

There’s a soft chuckle he gives and nods, satisfied with her answer. “I was going to break out another taboo pickup line.”

Noa gets a grip around his neck and brings him down. Her kiss is soft and slow before she pulls back just a little. Their lips brush as she speaks. “As much as I hate those, they are effective. So I hate that fact a little more.”

Calum dares to bring his hands down, under the shorts and underwear. What he finds makes him groan into her lips. She’s dripping onto his fingers. “Very effective,” he whispers, teasing her heat with his fingers as he collects just a little taste of her onto his fingers. She watches through slightly hooded eyes as Calum licks his fingers. “God,” he huffs.

He goes back to get yank the shorts and panties. She pushes herself up to assist and Calum wastes no time slipping down to his knees. Noa reclines back, hands pressing down into the table and the edge of a notebook. Calum takes a generous lick from her. She’s sweet on his tongue and all he wants is to drown in the arousal she drips.

Noa shudders at the first touch and she’s glad she’s facing the whiteboard and not the window because the look on her face, of pleasure and also desperation is a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone. Her breakup sophomore year kind of scorned her. She’s had the offers at parties or even out at bars, but never took them. Right now, the way she’s responding to Calum should be embarrassing but it’s the last thought on her mind.

All Noa wants and can think about is how Calum’s tongue flicks against her clit, the way his lips wrap around it to give it a gentle suck before planting a kiss. “Shit,” she heaves, trying to keep from being too loud. It’s not lost on her that too much noise will get them caught. But god is her rock shaking at the feeling of Calum’s tongue working at her. It’s going to be the end of her, she thinks, staring up at the ceiling attempting to keep her breathing under control.

Calum feels her thighs starting to shake and he throws them over his shoulder. She falls deeper into her recline. Every lewd slurp echoes. The first finger into her is all too easy to get inside and he works the second one in while teasing her clit with his tongue. It’s a moment, with a breathy instruction of “Back and up,” before he’s brushing over her g-spot. Her vision spots for a moment and she presses her lips together to swallow down her own moan.

“Fuck,” she whines when Calum sucks at her clit. The knot in her stomach grows, she can feel the heat radiating from the top of her head to her toes. She’s going to make a mess. She can feel it bubbling in her lower stomach but she can’t find the words to warn him as she works to keep her cries in her chest.

It’s evident though when she finds the edge and falls over it. Her legs close in around Calum’s head. He works her through the orgasm, gentle licks. Calum kisses over her inner thighs before pulling his fingers from her. She’s spent above him, panting. But she stops him-- a hand tight around his wrist and brings his fingers to her mouth.

“You wouldn’t?”

Noa says nothing before licking her own arousal from his fingers. Calum shouldn’t be so turned on by her tasting herself but he swears he could nearly come from just the way she hums around his digits. It makes him wonder for a moment what else she can do with that tongue. She grins when she releases his fingers from her mouth with a lewd pop. “I would.”

Calum stays on his knees, watching carefully as she slips off the table and back into her underwear and shorts. She taps at the chair. “Take a seat.”

He pushes up and into the chair. “You really could’ve just left those off.”

Noa bites her lip at the thought. “Even though I’m young, I’m not dumb. I never re-upped on condoms in my backpack and unless you have some. I think you’ll be pleased with my compromise.”

Calum mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing away the key. He nearly forgot about that and that’s not a risk he wants to take either. No matter much the idea seems tempting he knows that the potential consequences are not worth it. Noa doesn’t waste any time, to tie her hair back or get Calum’s pants and underwear down either. She’s not really sure what she expected but he’s more than he lets on and her mouth drools at the thought.

She kisses his tip, the tip leaking just a little. Calum sighs, dropping his head back on his neck. He doesn’t really want her to tease him like this. But it does feel good. How gentle she’s being. The way she’s slow to coat him with her saliva. He exhales harshly when he slips into her mouth and when she doesn’t stop but continues on Calum groans. “Fucking hell.” It’s as if she could just swallow him whole and her mouth is so warm too.

Noa hums a little at the taste and weight of him. She looks at through her lashes and keeps her eyes nice and big, playing innocent at the way Calum huffs above her. He blinks his eyes just enough to see her batting her lashes and he’s so tempted again to pull out of her mouth and just fuck her right here. He’s sure her pussy is just as good as her mouth, if not better. Another moan is crawling up his chest and Calum inhales to keep it from falling over his lips. She pulls back from him, swirling her tongue just around the top. Her fist pumps at him. Calum knows he won’t last. His head is starting to float and he’s reaching out for anything and everything to keep ground.

He finds Noa instead, the very thing lifting his consciousness from his body. But it’s all he has to attempt to ground him. Calum lets one choked moan fall over his lips. “God,” he heaves like he’s been underwater for too long and is getting the first gulps of air again. His eyes screw up as she takes him back down and bobs her head along his length. The sounds of her slurping up her excess saliva are a little loud but he prays that they don’t echo too much before he cums.

That’s all he wants. Just release. That bliss of orgasm. His toes are curling and he’s holding a little tighter to Noa he knows. But he can’t help it. His hips raise up from the seat, bucking into her and she has to readjust her angle to keep him down. But Calum’s so fucking close. He can feel it. His thighs are tensing and he’s nearly in tears with how badly he desires to cum. She’s toying with him, speeding up to build up that pressure--that need, but slowing down just enough to keep it far enough away.

“Oh, please, please,” he begs. There is definitely a prickle of tears. Noa knows she’s playing with fire but she pulls back one last time, watching the way his jaw tense and he hisses, the air sucked in between his teeth. “I wasn’t-I wasn't this mean to you.”

Noa winks at him. Calum knows he’s going to have to do something to wipe that smirk off her face somehow. “Wanted to see how much you could take.” She says nothing else and finally takes him back into her mouth, hand and mouth pumping at him. He goes barreling towards his orgasm. He halfway expects her to pull away again when he finds his hips bucking again but she doesn’t. Calum holds her head tight and pours down the back of her throat.

Noa brings him over the edge and she’s gentle, slightly suckling to get down every drop. When she finally brings her head away, she does leave a small kiss. The air is thick and Calum exhales, attempting to bring his vision back into focus. He nearly has to make sure that it’s actually his soul that comes back to him. Noa hands him a tissue and then excuses herself for just a moment to the restroom.

When she returns, the table is clearned for the most part. Her books are neatly stacked and her laptop is sitting on top of the sleeve. The dry erase markers and erasers sit at the top of her pile too. Calum is dressed again, leaning against the table with the bucket hat back on his head. He watches her open the door with a tiny smile. The whiteboard’s been erased too. “Did you get a picture of the--” Calum nods before she finishes the full question.

She’s not sure if she should move from the spot at the door but Calum’s gaze is intense so she waits. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it,” he grins. “How far away do you stay from here?”

“I live on campus actually. It’s like a fifteen minute walk to the other side.”

“I’m parked not too far from the English building. How about a ride and a round two?”

“For studying poetry or anatomy?” There’s no hiding her grin as she asks the question.

Calum’s impressed at the wit. “I would say, after what I’ve seen and tasted today, I would call it poetry.”

She has to cast her gaze down. Because if not, she’s going to explode at delivery of the compliment. “Just don’t make any joke about tasting desire twice or I might nickname you Frost and I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Calum laughs and reaches out a hand. She takes it, stepping into him. She gazes up, the shadow of the bucket hat making the moment seem more private. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Of course you are.”

The ride over is nerve wrecking. But the gentle pressure of Calum’s hand on her thigh keeps her just enough on the string that it doesn’t matter. Brooklyn agrees to give her the room until 10. It’s a little after six currently. Plenty of time but still. It’s not fun being sexiled. Noa makes a mental note to grab a few snacks on her next grocery run as a thank you to Brooklyn. The AC blasting in Calum’s car is Noa’s saving grace. The slight chill is welcomed to the warmth still radiating from her body.

She directs him to turn right at the next intersection. “It’s pretty out here,” Calum notes. The buildings follow the same brick patterns as most other buildings on the campus. But there are some trees that stand tall and it feels a little cozy. Noa hums and she directs him down to a parking lot. It’s not that far down from her actual dorm. The walk feels longer though for Noa, feeling Calum right behind her. Calum follows with quick glances the way her ass shakes a little with her gait. The shorts are definitely higher than they were before and he’s sure that was done purposefully.

Noa fishes out her keys and swipes into the building before directing Calum up the flight of stairs on the side. Their shoes echo as they ascend. Her room is the first one once they step outside from the stairwell. “I apologize now if it’s a mess,” Noa says with her key in the door. She’s praying that Brooklyn’s side isn’t a disaster.

Thankfully at the first crack, the room is cool and clean. She carries past one bed to the second pushed against the wall near the window. Calum notes the white and black comforter and the posters decorating her wall. There are string lights and after a moment they twinkle off the white plaster of the walls.

“Putting on the full works, huh?” Calum drops his hat and bag next to her desk. They shed shoes. Her bed is raised so she pulls out a step stool.

“Something like that.”

Calum cups her jaw. “I’m flattered.” Their kisses are still heated but less desperate. Both of them are aware of what’s happening and what’s going to happen. Calum pulls at the knot of her white shirt and pushes it off her shoulders. Maybe it was a little insane. Maybe it was the fact that Calum was a little tired of being lonely on Valentine’s Day even though he hated the whole institution of the holiday.

Whatever it was that brought him here to peeling Noa out of her shirt and revealing her breasts to him didn’t really matter. Because he was okay with it. He cups one of her breasts, teasing the bud with his fingers and he kisses along her neck. He feels her heart races with his tongue. “Love it don’t you?”

Noa hums, pulling around his shoulders. “Maybe.”

He laughs into her skin. She climbs up onto the bed first and Calum sheds his shirt before climbing up behind her. On the corner of her desk near the bed, he spies the box of condoms. Multiple boxes actually. He reaches over her to one of them. He’s going to drag this out just to have her begging like she did with him. “This is quite the collection.”

Noa knows part of this is payback but she reaches up running her hands over his sides to get him to come back to her. Calum resists the temptation to look down and kiss her again. If she does all his resolve will break. He studies another box and she lifts her head from her pillow finding one of his nipples and sucking it into her mouth. Two can play this game. And Noa knows that while she’s aching for me, she might have a better chance of riding this game out than Calum.

Calum drops his head for a moment, letting the electricity of her touch travel up his body. One hand creeps up to his crotch, putting just enough pressure onto his growing erection. He’s so fucking screwed. Noa kisses across his chest, soft ones that barely make contact with his skin. “I’m going to be giving a pop quiz about the varieties I have. So study up,” she jokes before pulling her hand away.

His laughter is soft above her. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

“You were being stubborn and I had to try something.”

“You teased me. Don’t dish out what you can’t handle.”

“I can handle plenty,” she retorts pushing at his shoulder.

Calum straddles her lower legs, popping the button on her shorts yet again. “Is that so?” The question is punctuated by him pulling her shorts and panties off. His fingers waste no time to part her and circle her entrance. Her back sinks into the mattress and her hips rise. Calum catches the small hard exhale of all her air leaving her lungs.

Calum hovers over her, one arm keeping his weight steady while he teases her. His lips brush over her jaw. “What was that?” His question is answered by a moan that falls over Noa’s throat. He kisses down her throat, sucking just a hair too hard at the thin skin. It doesn’t leave a bruise but when Calum pulls way, there’s a red spot for sure on her skin.

Noa lets herself be consumed by the way his stubble scratches over her skin. Calum kisses down the valley of her breasts. His teeth graze over her nipples. Maybe he’s better at the game than she thought he was. She liked to think she was tough, but Noa knows deep down the softest touch can turn her into putty. She doesn’t find it within herself to care when he flicks her nipple with the tip of her tongue.

Calum drinks in every sound. She sounds so good beneath him at the mercy of his whims. Though he knows he’s going to give in soon. Soon his own tough act will dissolve and all he’s want is her to be thoroughly fucked. Calum carries down her body, kissing over her stomach before finding her heat again. All it takes is one lick, bottom to the top and Noa shakes, her thighs quiver and Calum knows he has her.

Her hands find his neck though. She pulls him up before pushing up and Calum falls into the mattress. She works his pants down and kisses over his thighs as she goes. Her teeth are sharp when she takes a bite, nothing too hard, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Calum to know she’s serious. He’s serious too. His arm hooks around her neck once the pants are fully disrobed. “Come here,” he murmurs and she settles on his lower torso.

Noa could lose herself in Calum’s kisses and never want to find a map out. Calum traces at her skin with the tips of his fingers as if trying to etch the roadmap of her into his memory. Noa reaches behind and strokes Calum’s length, almost too leisurely, like she knows she can just take her time with him. He lets her too. What else does he have to lose? What else does Calum have to do on such a bullshit holiday than just having some fun?

He does enjoy that this isn’t rushed. He’s also glad he’s not tipsy and neither is she. There’s something about alcohol and sex that never quite worked for Calum, though he’ll admit to some days waking with hickeys and blaming the vodka almost immediately. He likes the intimacy that they share, as crazy as it sounds. Like the way Noa looks at him after they break away from a kiss. She doesn’t look crazed or greedy, her eyes cradle him almost. She traces over his tattoos.

The questions linger on her lips. Like what does ‘Choose Life’ really mean to Calum? Who was Mali? To whom did those initials belong too? But Noa knew those were questions she couldn’t ask. And she kind of liked the mystery of it. She liked knowing Calum but not getting the full picture. She had the frame. She has the beautiful man in front of her but she didn’t have his mind. She saw bits of it in class for sure. When he finally decided to speak. But that was a piece that would always linger behind the curtain.

It was still a game for sure. Calum giving away what he wanted to give of himself but keeping everything else. Noa knew better than to think she could win that game. She knew better than to assume she could even be a player. It seemed cliche to think that maybe just maybe she could be the one to change that. That had to be loneliness talking though. It always crept in on days like this. At least for the moment, she was having her own fun.

Her own fun--that’s all she needs to focus on right now. Noa reaches across Calum’s body to her desk and he uses the moment to bring the nipple and even part of her tit into his mouth, to tease her for just a moment longer. She barely keeps her grip on the box of condoms at the shiver running through her body. “Fuck,” she breathes.

Calum hums at the praise and pinches her right nipple between his fingers. “You know,” he starts, tracing the swell of her breast with his fingers. “You do this thing when you’re thinking, where you bit the inside of your lip and you kind of zone out.”

Why is Calum so fucking observant? Why did he have to go and say that? He was really digging her grave. He might as well go and build the casket for her too. “I’m not backing out of this.”

“I was just saying,” he hums.

“When you’re thinking you tend to play with whatever is in your hands,” Noa returns and then glances down her nipple, the way his fingers roll it and pinch. A moan builds in her chest--she can feel it. Calum immediately pulls his hand away. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

The grin that takes over his face is shy. Noa kisses his nose before tearing a condom from it’s foiled package. “How about a ride?” she grins.

Calum has to laugh at the smirk and corny joke. But he agrees. “I hope I’m tall enough for it.”

“More than tall enough,” she laughs, rolling the condom done him. It’s the first sink, the stretch that makes Noa’s eyes nearly roll back into her head. Calum finds her hips, exhaling hard too at the squeeze and warmth of her.

“Fuck,” they both exhale. Her pace is slow to start but Calum brushes everything inside of her, even parts that she didn’t even know could be brushed. It’s a little painful but the adjustment happens and all Noa’s concerned with is watching Calum fall apart beneath her. His fingers curl into the fat and muscle of her hips and thighs.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo about the room and Noa releases the hiss, the only thing she can do at the feeling of Calum buried so deep inside of her. It’s true bliss when her pace picks up and Calum watches her tits bounce in time. “Fuck, just like that,” he encourages.

It’s not easy work Noa will admit but it’s rewarding to hear how strained Calum’s voice is. How much he’s tittering closer and closer to the edge. Calum brings his fingers to her clit and her yelp, part surprise, part an exhalation of arousal, he hums. “That what you needed? Just a little attention for a greedy clit?”

Noa sighs, holding herself upon his chest. “But you like it, don’t you? You’re coming to cum for me and my greedy clit, aren’t you?”

He is. Not right now, but soon. It’s creeping up on him and god, will it be sweet. He brings her head down to kiss her, to swallow down every filthy sound she makes and save it for later in his chest. Calum plants his feet into the mattress and meets her bounces with his own thrust. “Oh, shit,” she whines, her voice straining at the added sensation. Time starts to lose its grip. They are just feeling bodies.

It’s soon her face down into the mattress though, curling the sheets into her fist as Calum drives into her. “God, please,” she groans, feeling the twinge of her orgasm knotting at her lower stomach.

Calum brings her up, her back into his chest with a hand tucked around her throat. It’s not tight and soon it drops to her nipples again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” she exhales. “Just you, Calum.”

His fingers dance over her sex. She clenches once, a sign of the impending orgasm that will be crashing over it. Calum kisses along her shoulders and across her back, the twists in the way don’t even matter. Not when he can feel her occasional spasms. He’s not going to last much longer. But he wants to get her there first. With a little more pressure at her clit, Noa grabs Calum's thigh. Another whine falls over her throat and she again lacks the warning.

She cums with a heavy grunt scratching over her throat. Calum bites down onto her shoulder. His orgasm follows soon after thanks to her spasms. After they clean up, she falls into her sheets and Calum lays for just a minute. Just to catch his breath and he traces over the still red marks of his teeth. “Is it too much if I offer to buy pizza?” Noa asks, curled up into his chest. “Does seal the fate on Valentine’s Day as well when you’re single?”

Calum laughs. “It’s definitely sealed the fate on many of them for me in the past. But I should probably get home. Be an adult, even if I don’t want to be.”

Noa nods. It’s a little awkward when Calum has to crawl over her to climb down off the bed but all she does is giggle before kissing his cheek. Calum finds his shirt and she tosses him his underwear from the sheets. “I should write a personal note to Calvin Klein for that underwear. Your ass is ten out ten in those.

Calum shakes his head, his laughter loud. “And out of them?”

“Seven out of ten.”

“I should be offended.”

Noa shrugs, holding the sheets to her chest. “Alas, you don’t seem to be though.”

With the bucket hat situated back over his head, Calum shrugs. “Guess I’m not if it’s coming from you. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

She nods. “Sure.” Calum’s hand doesn’t quite reach the door before she calls out her next question. “You remember how to get out of here right?”

“Something tells me it’s like the same way I came in? But I’m not too sure.”

“Smartass,” she grumbles.

Calum chews on his lip for a moment to hide the smile. He was worried him leaving would be awkward. But he finds himself not wanting to go really. He thinks he could split a pizza with her. What would be the worst that would happen? But he doesn’t want to push any more boundaries or piss off her roommate.“Bye, Noa.”

“Bye, Calum.”

***********

Now Noa is definitely worried after not seeing Calum on Monday that he freaked out about their hookup. She didn’t have his number and emailing him was out of the question. Emailing wasn’t the format to have the ‘what-happened-and-why-are-you-avoiding-me’ conversation. Everything seemed fine when Calum left. He even sent a thank you email when she sent him the notes she typed up from their study session. He had included the blowing a kiss emoji. That had to mean something. It had to. Even Brooklyn said it meant something. Sure Brooklyn was no expert. But who sends that kind of emoji unless they mean something behind it?

Though when Monday rolled around, Calum wasn’t to be seen. Today was Wednesday, the day of their midterm. Noa books it from her class in the science building but because of some rain, there is a mud spot and she slips. She doesn’t fall, thankfully catching herself on the edge of the brick wall but she knows the feeling of her pants splitting literally anywhere.

Her shirt is most definitely not long enough to cover it and she can’t be late for the exam. So she carries on, wishing she had grabbed an extra layer to help save her from the embarrassment. First Calum ghosts her and now her pants rip. Today’s really not her day. Not that she needed it to be her day, but she would’ve liked it.

Taking a quick moment to assess the damage, Noa feels behind. The hole is mostly towards her inner thighs but it does gape a little to the back and she’s mortified that half her ass is hanging out. She hopes this is the icing on her cake. She’d really rather not have too much else to her shit cake. This was more than enough shit for any one particular day.

Just a few minutes before class starts, she opens the door to the classroom. The professor stands at the podium, exam in hand. Her eyes scan the room briefly and there’s Calum. His head down and she’s sure that he had to have heard the door opening but he doesn’t look up. There’s nowhere else to sit either, except for her spot right next to him. And she’s not going to cause a scene on midterm day either.

She’s careful as she sits, to avoid further splitting, and slips off her backpack. She keeps her back turned and fishes out a pen, black ink this time. Just as she faces forward, a Hershey’s kiss and peppermint are placed in front of her. Calum grins, pulling the wireless headphones from his ears. “My mum used to give me peppermints before a test. She said it was supposed to help. I don’t know the exact science.”

Maybe Calum didn’t hate her? It definitely is a shock for him to be talking so casually. She’s happy though. She’d rather not have to shun Calum. She liked his stupid ass jokes and maybe, just maybe, she was letting herself get a little too close. That was a disaster she’d deal with later though. “Were you sick on Monday or something?” Something was going around and if Calum had caught it, she did worry that she would too,

He shakes his head. “A gig ran late Sunday. I just emailed my professors that I wouldn’t be able to come in on Monday. I realized I needed the notes from Monday but I didn’t want it to seem like I was just using you. So I’m sorry about you not hearing from me after I said I would.”

Noa reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small bag of peppermints. There was just a misunderstanding. She can handle that. “My mom used to say the same thing.” She situates the bag between them. “In case you need another one during the exam. Also, I can give you my number.” She finds a scrap piece of paper and writes it down. Calum saves it fast and sends her a text too so she has his number.

As the professor starts to hand out the exam, only a list of four questions of which they’ll pick two to respond too, Calum feels the slight jitters coming back. Noa notices and slides her piece of chocolate over to him. They lock gazes for a brief moment and smile, both reminded of the last time chocolate was involved.

The questions aren’t too hard. The practice ones Noa came up with fall right in line with what she said the professor would ask. She finishes first between the two of them and leaves the bag of peppermints. Calum notices her awkward shuffle and the hole in her jeans. He can’t use his phone to tell her to wait up but he’s almost done himself. So he scribbles down the last few sentences for his question and quickly gathers his things.

From the pocket of his backpack, he feels his phone vibrate. He hands over his exam and slips out of the front door. Noa’s not in sight so he digs out his phone, stepping out into the bright sunlight. She’s not even halfway down the path, stopped by someone else as they chat for a moment. He thinks it’s her roommate, she looks familiar and the two laugh before going their separate ways.

“Noa,” Calum calls out to her and she turns. These stairs aren’t as steep and he’s quick to get down them. Calum reaches into his backpack, revealing a sweatshirt and hands over her bag peppermints. “You can use this until you get back to get new pants.”

“I have a meeting with my advisor and then a club meeting. I was just going to tell them I’ll be a few minutes late to our meeting.”

“No, no, keep it. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be late.”

“I won’t be able to get it back to you until Friday.”

“I could come to pick it up too before then?”

Noa knows that look, the glint in his eyes as she ties the sweatshirt around her waist. “My last class tomorrow ends at 2.”

“I’ll pick you up from class. Just text me the building. We can study. I heard it’s Valentine’s Day.

“That’s about a week late.”

“I was always bad at math,” Calum jokes. “You think I should sign up for one next semester?” Noa laughs as she steps backward from Calum. Of course, he would make another joke. They get her every time too. “Is that a yes though?”

“That is a yes. To Thursday and to you needing a math class.”

“Ouch.” He holds a hand to his chest, faking pain.

She twirls before throwing a wave over her shoulder. “Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Noa.” He wipes out his phone, watching her walk down the bricked over paths. Next time you don’t have to split your pants to get my attention.

She stops and spins around, fingers flying over the keys. I can and will take this hoodie hostage.

“That’s my favorite hoodie,” he shouts at her.

“Not my problem, sweetheart.”

“It absolutely is your problem.”

“My problem is that I’m going to be late.”

___________

Tagging: @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @glitterlukey

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homoose · 3 years

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: epilogue (OC)

Summary: An early morning, a doctor’s appointment, a new beginning.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: pregnancy (including like… probably incorrect math and science but my degree was in English and this is fanfiction okay)

Word count: 2.7k

a/n: I’m actually so emotional don’t look at me thanks ♥️

Series Masterlist

———

The sound of Spencer’s ringtone pierced through the early morning quiet, shrill and disconsolate. Maggie hummed against his chest, shifting as he clumsily reached across to the bedside table to answer it.

“Hey,” he croaked, voice still smothered in sleep. “Mm... When?” He paused, and she could almost make out the answer on the other end. “Got it. Yeah.”

He carefully set the phone back on the bedside table, and then his arms came around her shoulders. He let out a long sigh, the one she’d gotten quite used to over the last year and a half— the one that meant he had to go. She squeezed him around the middle and let out her own sigh. “Case?”

“Yeah.” He ran light fingers down her arm. “Jet’s taking off in ninety minutes.”

She glanced at the bedside table to the alarm clock that read 4:57am. They both knew he needed to leave within the next half hour if he was going to make it on time, but neither one made any effort to move. Instead, they breathed together in the pre-dawn stillness— a single moment of peace before the world and all its ugliness could crash through the fortress they’d constructed around their space and around each other.

“I don’t wanna go,” he whispered.

“I know.” She pressed a kiss over his heart through his t-shirt. “I know.”

“I’m gonna miss everything,” he lamented. “Appointments, and milestones, and firsts, and I— I’m gonna miss all of it.”

She lifted her head at the tears in his voice. “Hey.” She shifted in the circle of his arms to prop herself up on his chest. “You’re not gonna miss all of it. You’ll miss this one appointment. And it’s— it’s not even an important one,” she assured, gentle fingers swiping away the lone tear that had managed to escape over his lash line.

“Yes, it is.” He shook his head. “They're all important.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile, leaning forward to press a quick peck to his lips before sitting up and deciding to reassure him in the only way she knew how. “Okay, doctor. Eleven weeks. Tell me what we’re gonna find out today.”

She pulled him up out of bed, interlacing their fingers and pressing their shoulders together. As she led him to the bathroom, he explained, “Dr. Layton will do the first ultrasound, and Baby will look more like a baby now. At around ten weeks they made the transition from embryo to fetus. They’ll be about two inches long.”

She handed him his toothbrush and turned to grab his toiletry go-back from the linen closet, stifling a yawn. “Mmhm. What else?”

“Did you know they’re breathing now?” he asked, and she smiled at the way the excitement crept into his voice. “Between weeks ten and eleven, the fetus starts to inhale and exhale small amounts of amniotic fluid, which aids in the development of their lungs. It’s kind of like they’re breathing underwater.”

“I didn’t know that,” she admitted, turning back to set the bag on the counter. “That’s pretty amazing. What about the heartbeat?”

He nodded vigorously as he applied toothpaste to the bristles of his brush. “We should be able to hear it, although sometimes it’s too early— depending on the accuracy of the estimated date of conception.”

He ran the water over the toothbrush before popping it into his mouth. She kissed his shoulder and then moved back into the bedroom, shuffling into their closet for his go bag. She checked it over on her way back to the bathroom, ensuring it had been fully repacked after the last case. She set it on the counter and placed his toiletry bag inside, leaving it open for him to pack his toothbrush and then sitting on the closed toilet lid.

He rinsed his mouth and put his travel cap over the head of his toothbrush, gesturing with it and then dropping it into the bag. “They’ll do some routine lab work to test for things like gestational diabetes, and we can also choose to do additional screeners for chromosomal abnormalities and possible complications.” He looked at her then, and she saw the despondence creeping back in. “I should really be there, just— just in case.”

“Honey.” She stood and held out her hand to him, smiling a little when he accepted it with a squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He let out a breath and pulled her into his arms, and they held each other in the silence, the soft light from the vanity washing over them. His phone buzzed with an incoming message, and she knew he needed to get on the road. Still, she held him for a second longer, and then they shuffled through the door and into the bedroom together.

Maggie made her way back to bed, scooting down under the duvet to preserve the last remaining notes of his body warmth. She watched as he dressed silently, pulling on trousers, socks, a button up and cardigan. He skipped the tie in favor of coming to sit on the bed, bringing his hand to rest lightly over top of her belly over the covers.

She covered his hand with her own and laced their fingers together. “Maybe you could ask Luke if you can FaceTime with his phone. You can probably take twenty minutes, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “Maybe I should just upgrade my own phone.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Couldn’t upgrade for me, but once a baby comes along you’re ready for an iPhone.”

“That’s not— you— you shouldn’t have to do all of this alone,” he huffed, and she realized her joke didn’t land when his voice cracked at the end.

“Spence, I’m— I’m just teasing.” She lifted her hands to his face, pulling him closer and meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry; you’re upset, and that wasn’t nice.”

She leaned up to kiss his forehead, letting her lips linger and breathing him in. “But I’m not alone. With you, I feel— the opposite of alone.”

“Irritated?” he offered.

“No,” she laughed. “Supported, and cared for, and loved,” she corrected with a smile. “You’ve been all of that since day one. And I know that’s not going to change, whether you’re physically present in that doctor's office or not. Right?”

When he nodded, she continued, “I love you. The most. And you are easily the best baby daddy on planet earth. Okay?”

The term of endearment dragged a smile from him, as it always did. “Okay.”

She leaned forward to press her lips to his, both sets upturned and a little dry from sleep. “Now, you need to go, or you’re gonna be late.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, long and slow, and then pulled back to lean their foreheads together. He hesitated for another ten seconds before standing to grab his bag from the bathroom.

When he re-emerged, she reminded him, “Ask Luke about the FaceTime thing. I’m sure he won’t mind, and we can trust him to keep the secret. The appointment technically starts at 1:00, but I probably won’t be seen until at least 1:30.”

He crossed to give her another kiss. “I love you.” He crouched to press a kiss to her tummy. “And you.”

“We love you, too,” she smiled, fingers tangling in his curls. “And we’ll talk to you in a few hours.”

She kissed him one more time— couldn’t help herself. And then his warmth was gone from the bed, and the house was suddenly much too quiet. She snuggled back down under the duvet, her head on his pillow and the scent of his shampoo shrouding her senses and easing her mind.

Spencer really was supportive— endlessly so. Not overbearing, but interested and involved in every moment: reading all the newest research, bringing home her favorite treats, writing out a color-coded timeline of all the appointments and milestones. She wasn’t lying when she called him the best baby daddy. He was always there for her. So much so that the apprehension she’d had at the beginning of this surprise journey was nowhere to be found.

As she drifted back into sleep, there he was again— she could almost hear the jangling of his keys in the bowl in the entryway, his feet on the stairs, the rustling of his pants and sweater being discarded onto the floor of their bedroom.

And then she felt the warmth of his palm low over her tummy, coming to rest over the barely-there bump. She felt his lips on her shoulder and his chest pressed against her back. When she went to cover his hand with her own, her exhausted brain registered that it wasn’t a dream at all.

She turned her head, blinking her eyes open to see him smiling at her and drew her brows together. “What’s going on?”

He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, snuggling even closer and rubbing his thumb along her belly. “I’m, um— I told Emily I’m gonna consult from home on this one.”

…

“Okay, Mom, this’ll just be a little bit cold.”

Dr. Layton smoothed the gel over Maggie’s lower abdomen, and Spencer moved to thread their fingers together, shifting to stand even closer to the examination table. The ultrasound machine gave off a low hum as the doctor adjusted the wand over her tummy. She felt Spencer press a kiss to her temple and turned to smile brightly at him before turning back to the black and white screen.

At her first appointment five weeks ago, she’d been by herself— alone and uncertain and terrified— and she’d declined the option of the ultrasound. It felt wrong to see the baby before Spencer even knew about them. Now, together with him, with her soon-to-be husband— she was more than ready to see their baby for the first time. And she could practically feel Spencer’s excitement next to her, his body nearly vibrating with it.

“Ah, here they are. Hello, Baby Reid.” Dr. Layton pointed to a small, white figure on the screen. “Okay, right here, you can see their big ol’ head— perfectly normal size for this stage of development,” she assured, eyes deftly scanning the image in front of her. “Everything looks great! Now, I’m just trying to find…”

She adjusted the wand over Maggie’s tummy, and suddenly a wub wub wub came over the tinny speaker of the machine. “There we are,” Dr. Layton smiled. “Very strong heartbeat.”

Spencer squeezed Maggie’s hand, and she felt the drop of a tear on her shoulder. She brought her other hand over to cover their tangled fingers, rubbing her thumb along the skin of his wrist and kissing his arm.

Dr. Layton made a slightly perplexed humming sound, moving the wand again and losing the sound of the heartbeat, only to pick it up again— this time slightly faster. Maggie’s own heart stuttered a little as the doctor moved the wand again twice more and then cleared her throat. “Is something— is everything okay?”

She turned to Maggie with a kind smile. “Yes, yes,” she confirmed, and then she raised her eyebrows. “Just— do you hear the difference?”

Spencer tilted his head in consideration, drawing his brows together and straining to hear. The doctor shifted the wand once more, allowing them to hear the two distinct patterns.

Two distinct patterns, Maggie realized.

Dr. Layton pressed the wand a little more firmly into her abdomen, moved it just slightly. “Those are two different heartbeats.” She pointed to the screen. “And those are two different babies. There’s a matching set of Baby Reids in there.”

Maggie couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. “Is there—” She turned to Spencer incredulously. “Do twins run in your family?”

He shook his head silently, eyes wide. “Yours?”

“Nope,” she squeaked.

“This obviously changes things slightly,” Dr. Layton explained, cleaning up the residual gel. “I’d like to see you every three weeks rather than every four. Then at twenty eight weeks, we’ll see how we feel, okay?”

She smiled gently as Maggie and Spencer nodded dumbly. She removed her gloves and stood. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes. I’ll be back with your photos in a bit, and we can talk about any questions you might have.”

The door closed behind her, and the room was bathed in silence. Maggie sat up carefully and swung her legs over the side of the examination table. She looked down at her tiny, unassuming bump and felt a tear slip over her lashes.

“Are you— are you okay?” Spencer whispered.

She brought her gaze to his, found them teeming with barely restrained joy and yet the ever-present worry. “Well,” she started. “I, um— I always imagined two kids.” She brought her hands up to her sweaty cheeks and held her own face between her palms. “I guess this is— you know— just a quicker way to get there.”

Spencer immediately wrapped her in a hug, pressing kisses over her hair, her forehead, her shocked mouth. “Two babies. We’re having two babies.”

“Twins, Spence,” she breathed. “Twins.”

He replaced her hands with his own, cradling her face and kissing her sweetly, sighing all of his joy and adoration into her mouth. “I love you. So much. The most.” He lowered himself to press his lips to her belly. “All of you.”

She used gentle hands in his hair to tilt his face up, meeting his smile with a watery one of her own. “We love you, too, baby daddy.”

She could see the gears turning as he stood, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “About that.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Do you, um— how difficult do you think it would be to get everyone together this weekend?”

She paused. “You wanna get married this weekend?”

“Yeah, that’s probably too soon, huh?” He huffed out a sigh, then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh— what about next weekend?”

“That’s just as soon!” she laughed.

He furrowed his brow. “No, it’s not. There's a seven day difference.”

“You’re really in a rush, huh?” she teased.

“Well. I just— I figure you should really be on my insurance anyway,” he reasoned. “Especially now that it’s— now that it’s twins.”

“Mm, yes, I’m sure that’s the reason,” she grinned.

He let out a long breath, and she watched his eyes journey over her face— memorizing every curve and angle, every new wrinkle, every last inch of her. And she knew the reason.

“I know it’s just a piece of paper,” he murmured. “It doesn’t really change anything, but…” He used gentle fingers to brush her hair back from her face. “I just… really want to be your husband.”

She took her own minute to memorize the way he looked in this moment: her fiancé, the father of her children, the best man she’d ever known, the absolute love of her life. And she knew her own reason.

“The paper might not change anything,” she agreed. “But— you’ve changed everything.”

He squeezed her hips. “In a good way I hope.”

“The best way.” She brought her hands to his face, rubbing her thumbs along his cheeks. “The best way.”

He closed the distance between them to kiss her with all the honey and magic and reverence he always did. He broke away to lean his forehead against hers with all the warmth and devotion and love he always did. She sighed, and it was all joy and vulnerability and contentment like it always was. And she knew their reasons.

She kissed him again, and then murmured against his lips, “You know I’m still gonna refer to you as baby daddy, right?”

The laugh erupted from his chest and wrapped itself around her heart, tying tight and secure— a shield, and a haven, and a refuge— keeping her safe from every terrible thing.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

…

O no! Love is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @spenxerslut @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @enbyfaerie @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @lost-in-the-stars03 @reiding-recs @minervaonmars @radtwinkie @crimeshowtrash @dayho3 @reiding-rainbow @archer561 @maddievevo

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels

Series (x OC) tags: @linnyalou @mikewizkalifa

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #homoose writes #lhalc

92 notes · View notes

starrynite7114 · 4 years

Text

things you never knew: six

A/N: Good evening everyone! It’s been a ridiculous last few days, been working a lot and have not been able to finish the requests. But, this was done and I just want to give you all something before I post the requests. Hope you guys are having a wonderful week thus far!

Enjoy!

TYNK: Characters one : two : three : four : five

Word count: 6268

Masterlist

Request tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @carlaangel86 : @woahitslucyylu : @encounterthepast : @enamoured-x : @whyisgmora : @briana-mishell24 : @bribri-82 : @briannab1234 : @chibsytelford : @agirllovespasta : @twistnet : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @trulysuccubus : @jadert15 : @sammskellington : @cind-in-real-life : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @sadeyesgf : @thickemadame : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @gemini0410 : @elcococruz : @samcrobae : @sesamepancakes : @iambabyharry : @blackmissfrizzle : @soamayansfangirl : @1-800-imagines : @phoenixhalliwell : @lady-pswrld : @dazzledamazon : @getyourcrayoncas : @fvckthisbxtchup : @lukealvxz : @scuzmunkie : @lilac-tea-time : @danie1432 : @cocotheclown : @soaronmywings : @my-rosegold-soul : @buttercup812 : @itskiranbitch : @angelreyesgirl : @sheeshgivemeabreak : @vicmackeybullshxt : @bigcreatorwombatdreamer : @khyharah : @strawberrywritings : @cherry-icetea : @fuzzy-jellyfish : @losolvidad0s : @brownsugarcoffy : @courtrae89 : @prdsdjarin : @blessedboo : @marvelmaree : @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat : @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead : @thesandbeneathmytoes : @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind : @maddie-georges

Anyone who wants to be added to the tag list, please leave a message below or message me!

“Ever needs surgery.” Bishop informed Jin as they sat at Templo. His daughter. The one he had no knowledge of till her mother came to him, begging for help. Ever had a heart condition that required multiple surgeries. Her first one was when she was only a few months old. Karina, her mother, never told Bishop about Ever, knowing that she would never fit that lifestyle.

But things changed all the time.

“I’m willing to help you, hermano, especially after taking care of my niece. But I need a favor in return.” Jin took out his checkbook, writing a hundred thousand dollars with such ease, it made Bishop uncomfortable. “I need you to frame Ailee, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Frame Ailee?”

“Your weapons and drugs, store it in her coffee shop, I’ll call the police and take care of everything from there.”

Bishop’s stomach dropped. Ailee was the kid he watched grow up with Angel. They were two peas in a pod, hard to separate. She turned her back on the family business to stay with Angel in Santo Padre. How can he punish her for such loyalty? Then Ever flashed before his eyes, frowning at this harsh decision he was faced.

Angel and Ailee would never forgive him.

But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

He had to do this for Ever.

“When shall I set it up?”

It broke Bishop’s heart, but he rather not cross Jin Rivera, he may be a part of a secret organization, but he knew that if he truly wanted to, he could wipe off the Mayans as if they never existed.

“You’ve made a good choice Bishop, it’s the reason you’re club president.”

“Ailee would never forgive you if she found out.”

“Well, me and you are the only person who knows. I would never disclose this with her, so I guess it depends on you if you would.” Jin slid the check over. “Whenever you need money, I will wire it to an account. I’m here for you hermano. I know doing this to Ailee isn’t ideal, but this is the best for her. She doesn’t belong in Santo Padre. You’ve seen her abilities.”

“Just like Angel’s brother.” Bishop knew that was the main reason Jin wanted Ailee. She had photographic memory, much like EZ but it was ridiculous how well it was. He’s seen it in action before. She could memorize pages of notes and recite it back to you verbatim. Her memory was impeccable and he may have used her skills in Vegas a few times.

“Have you told her?”

Jin sighed. “I think it’s best she never finds out.”

Bishop nodded his head.

“If Angel wishes to send her any letters, please let me know so I can give you an address.”

“So you can intercept?”

“Ailee is better off with us. There’s nothing in Santo Padre for her.”

“Don’t you think that’s her decision to make?”

“Yes, well, that’s why I have to twist her hand. Staying in Santo Padre would put you in danger as well. Theo hasn’t made a move, but he eventually will.”

“Her half brother?”

“Theo always has an obsession with Ailee. He was the first one to figure out she had photographic memory. It’s what made him interested in her.” Jin couldn’t put his finger on it but Theo at least had some underlying mental illness that was undiagnosed. He was always a kid who kept to himself, very hard to make him smile, but when he met Ailee, he changed. He always wanted to be around her, he dotted after her. It was endearing, until he heard him scold her when she didn’t want to memorize a transcript for him. He reeled himself in, but that’s when Jin knew something was off. Jin brushed it off until one of Ailee’s teachers told her parents of her extraordinary skill. They tried to keep it from Jin, but he found out and Theo’s scolding made sense then.

“Theo isn’t her real brother, from what you told me, it would seem to me that Ailee was beneath him.”

“That’s the thing, Theo is her actual blood brother.”

“What?” Bishop was surprised by this revelation.

“Ailee’s biological mother is Theo’s mother. She knew her husband would kill Ailee, so she gave her to her lover. It was the time Theo’s father had a stint in jail, ten months. He never even knew she was pregnant, which was why Ailee was able to come there when she was younger.”

“And you saved the day and gave her to your brother?” Bishop snickered. “It’s not like she was any better there.”

“I don’t expect for you to understand our methods, but my brother and sister in law loved Ailee in their own way.”

“Do you love Ailee?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

=============

Angel chuckled as Officer Rogan made his way out of Vicky’s place after another shot rang out. After his sit down with Ailee earlier, he definitely needed some R&R and Vicky’s place was the place to get it.

“How was your talk with Lee?” EZ questioned as he took Gilly’s seat on the table.

“It was fine,” Angel shook his head, letting go of the girl that was standing beside him. It felt odd talking about Ailee while he was holding another woman.

EZ wanted to discuss Melody, to learn about his niece, but he knew this was hardly the time and place.

“So is she as psychotic as Vince made her out to be?”

“No,” Angel sighed. “I don’t know.” How could he even determine that? When he spoke to her, she was different, but it’s been five years. He was certain whatever Maquina had her doing, it changed her. He saw the scars all over her hands, but they weren’t much.

Maybe he was still in denial?

“Did you ever watch the tapes Vince sent you?”

Vince sent Creeper tapes when this whole ordeal started. He wanted to show him just how heartless his sister had become, that maybe if Angel saw it, he would understand just how far the deep end she had gone. But who was he to judge someone? He wasn’t an angel himself.

“No, did you?”

“I did,” EZ nodded his head. “Shit in there is fucking brutal man, I don’t know how she can fucking sleep at night.”

“Worse than what we saw with the samoan?”

“She’s up to par with Galindo,” EZ wasn’t exaggerating, he watched one of Ailee’s men skin a guy alive as Ailee watched. She didn’t blink, flinch or anything, she just watched as the man cried in agony. She burned the body afterwards with a fucking lighter.

“You two talking about Baby Lee?” Coco questioned. “I can’t believe her kill count,” Coco shook his head. It’s not like he didn’t think women were capable of killing, but this was Ailee, it hit too close to home.

“None of us can.” Creeper chimed in. He had a talk with his cousins afterwards, who wanted to talk to him about Ailee’s daughter, Melody. They requested for him to keep things between them as Ailee didn’t want anyone to know about her daughter till she was ready. But he was family, so they had to tell him. This, they couldn’t keep from him, but Ailee becoming one of them, they totally could keep for years. He wasn’t happy with them, but right now, he had to play their game in order to get through Ailee.

They focused on the poker game then, messing with Creeper who was obviously taking his sweet ass time to recover. Angel couldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t mind being in here and not dealing with all the webs they had entangled. He knew no secret could remain a secret for long, but man was he hoping that many things remained a secret.

There was a knock on the door that broke everyone from their reverie. They didn’t expect anyone else to come unless Frankie was standing by his threat earlier. Riz went to the door, opening it and found Jin Rivera with Ailee trailing behind him. Angel immediately moved away from the woman that was standing beside him causing EZ, Gilly, and Coco to laugh at his failed attempt to look innocent in front of a woman who more than likely didn’t even notice the other woman.

“Jin, what are you doing here?” Bishop questioned, making his way over to the door.

“We heard gunshots, thought it came from here.” They all knew it was a lie, but it was good enough for Vicky and the girls to clear the room.

“Just roaming around the neighborhood?” Bishop quirked an eyebrow. He looked over at Ailee who was watching Jin’s back, a gun in her hand, an assault rifle to be more exact.

“Scouting,” Jin shrugged. “Do you know how far it is from here?”

“Maybe a few miles,” Riz estimated. “You guys going hunting?”

“Something like that,” Jin turned to Ailee who remained by the open doorway, he whispered a few words to her before turning back to the MC. “Vicky’s neighbors, do they carry guns?” The MC could see Ailee take out her cell phone and step away from her uncle. Angel wanted to go after her, but he didn’t want to bypass Jin.

“They’re all about guns,” Tranq chuckled. He eyed Ailee’s gun, brows furrowing. Were they going to waste the Reid family? “You two going to need some help?”

“No, I have Lee,” Jin turned back to Ailee who was still on the phone. “Figured you guys would be here, we were headed to Vicky’s neighbors when we heard the shots.”

“What business do you have with them?” Taza questioned.

Ailee stepped into view once again behind her uncle. They noticed that she was wearing an all black get up. “We heard about their patriotism, wanted to check it out.” She smirked. “I’ll leave you here, I’ll go survey the area. Any tunnels nearby?”

“No,” Bishop answered, giving Jin a questioning look. “You’re sniffing in our backyard, I feel that we have the right to know what the hell is going on?”

“We have a colleague here, just want to make sure he’s safe.” Ailee answered for Jin. “You boys have a great night, remember to wrap it up.” She winked at them before making her way out of the door again.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Angel followed after her then, not letting her uncle or any of his brothers eyes bother him.

“To do my job, Ignacio,” he cringed at her choice of name, indicating she was not exactly happy with his outburst.

“The fuck you are,” he caught up to her, grabbing her arm. He turned her towards him and placed his other hand on her other arm. “You can’t go out there alone, it’s dark, you hate the dark.” It was idiotic reasoning he knew that, but it was what he came up with.

“Can’t hate the dark when you’ve let it consume you.” She shrugged off his grip then. She took out some glasses from her jacket and put it on.

“At this time at night? Baby, you don’t know what’s out there.”

“I’ve dealt with worst, I’m just scouting the area Angel, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a fucking choice.”

“Angel,” they both turned towards the house and found Bishop and Jin standing by the stairs. “Let her go, she needs to work.”

“Prez, we can’t let her go out there alone, I don’t give a fuck what we read on that report, but she isn’t going out there by herself.”

“She’s one of my best Angel, it would be insulting if I didn’t let her go by herself.” Jin reasoned.

Angel wasn’t budging and Ailee knew there was no way she was leaving unless he was going with her.

“Can you just show him the feed so he can see I’m alive?” Ailee offered. She knew Angel’s protectiveness came from their years together and Melody. She always thought of Melody, which was why she wasted everyone to assure her survival.

“What feed?” Angel turned to her.

Ailee pointed at her eye. “I’m wearing a camera, it’s connected to my uncle’s phone. You can watch me while I survey the area. I’m sure the cops are already at the area where the shooting happened, I just need to see if an acquaintance of ours is around as well.”

“And who is that acquaintance?”

“None of your fucking business.” Ailee turned around then, making her way in the desert. “Liv, drone nearby?”

“Way ahead of you.” Olivia replied, the buzzing of the drone was heard by Ailee as it went in front of her, the line at the belly of the drone providing some light for Ailee in the distance. “We need to clean the area before the cops see that body, Cole’s acquaintances are becoming a liability.”

Ailee took out her guns. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “We waste these guys soon. Place a call to Cole.”

“Hold.” Olivia’s drown went further, leaving Ailee in the dark. The flashback hitting her before she could even control it.

=============

“Theo please, open the door.” Ailee tried her best to control her tears, but she couldn’t.

“We cannot let fear overcome us.” Theo’s voice resounded through the empty chamber he created for Ailee.

No windows.

No source of light whatsoever.

Every six nights, Theo locked her in, to get her used to the dark. To acclimate to the dark. To face her fears.

“And why do we face our fears?”

“Because a killer fears nothing.”

“There is nothing frightening about the dark, Ailee. The dark enables you to become invisible, to kill people without being seen. Once our plan is in motion, you can kill our competitors without being detected and you can take your rightful place beside me.”

The dark was consuming, suffocating Ailee as if she had no escape. She sat down, closing her eyes, sitting crossed legged. She tried to calm her breathing, zoning out the voices in her head telling her that there was something lurking around her.

Theo was conditioning her to become something she never wanted to become.

If she wanted to survive, she had to do it.

So she could see Angel again.

=============

“Ailee!” Olivia’s screaming broke her out of her reverie.

“Sorry.” Ailee sighed, scolding herself for letting such a memory befall on her when she was all alone in the middle of the desert.

“It’s the memory again?”

“What memory?” Angel’s voice ran through the comms pissing of Ailee.

“What is this? He’s not a part of Maquina.” Ailee hissed.

“I gave him permission.” Jin informed her. “Have you seen the body?”

“No point on going, the cop is there.” Olivia informed them.

“Ailee, retreat, we’ll handle this tomorrow.” Jin was not pleased, that much Ailee could tell.

Fucking Cole.

=============

Ailee looked at the car that parked beside her in the outskirts of Santo Padre.

Pure desert.

She slipped out of her car along with Andrew and Janine behind her, their guest slipped out of theirs.

“Cole, I told you those racist motherfuckers were going to make too much noise.” Janine immediately went in, making Cole chuckle.

“In my defense, Andrew led them my way.”

“Hey fuck you, you trying to say I’m racist?” Andrew glared at the man before him.

Cole rolled his eyes. “Ease up Ukraine, I was joking.” He looked over at Ailee. “Can I at least get a hello or some shit? I’ve had to deal with these imbeciles for seven fucking months, I deserve some appreciation.”

Ailee rolled her eyes and gave her old mentor a hug. Cole was a part of Maquina and ran the military division. He recruited in the military, training them as mercenaries for Maquina and other personal contractors who wanted their services.

“I had to neck check your baby daddy, but I figured that’s not an issue since I heard about you twos fight the other day.” Janine and Andrew chuckled at Cole’s words. Ailee looked over at them and they immediately went mum, looking anywhere but her. “He needs to mind his business Lee.”

“Technically, drug trafficking is their business.” Ailee sighed. “You have to waste them, they’ve out served their purpose. Uncle Jin is sniffing around now.”

“Can’t you do the clean up? I have business in Los Angeles the next few days.”

“We’re not doing your bitch work for you.” Janine scoffed.

“It’s not bitch work, thought you would be itching to put a bullet in someone. How long has it been? Four months?” Cole questioned. “I’m gift wrapping them for you, waste them and I’ll consider us even for Morocco.”

“This hardly makes us even, Morocco was a fucking shit show.” Janine snapped.

“Olivia is alive isn’t she?”

“Yeah, well she almost fucking died, so you should waste them for us and we call it even.” Ailee interjected before Janine could reply. “It’s an order Cole, as your commanding officer, you should waste the Reid family.”

“Well, as my commanding officer, you should help clean up my mess that I pursued at your behest, so I guess that puts it out of my hands.” Cole smirked. “Come on Lee, I got family business in Los Angeles, I would do it otherwise, especially with how much they’ve irritated me these last few days.’

“This doesn’t happen again, next time you pick some racist bastards, at least be smart about it. Oh that’s right, white supremacy is hardly intelligent.”

“You’re fucking telling me.” Cole shook his head. “So, how was the talk?”

Ailee rolled her eyes groaning. “Not fucking you too.” Andrew and Janine laughed.

“Hey, I’m glad Mel got to finally meet her father.” Cole knew of the situation with Ailee and Angel. He was sent here a few times to try and sway Ailee to Maquina. He saw the potential in her, that killer instinct was second to none. But at the same time, he knew why it was so hard to sway her. Losing your soul was a big part of becoming a killer. The less empathic and merciful you were, the better. Ailee was incredibly empathic and she hated the thought of becoming a killer.

Then he ran into her after Melody was born and it was a different fucking person. He watched all two hundred something kills. It wasn’t that it shook him, killing was a part of his job. But to see how she turned from this young woman who was against everything Maquina stood for to becoming the top dog? It was an eerie sight.

“So am I.” Ailee kept it short, she didn’t owe anyone any explanation when it came to Angel. “So, any intel?” Even though she fabricated the whole thing regarding Theo, it seemed that Theo has been sniffing around in Mexico, just not as worrying as she reported to her uncle.

“He provided the weapons for the Reid family. They apparently bought it from a third party who has been distributing Theo’s weapons in America.” Cole opened his trunk and inside were ten cases of guns, all high power rifles that should not be used by civilians. There was no reason for civilians to have such high-power automated weapons.

“Do we know the third party?”

“Yeah, Miguel Galindo.”

“Galindo? I thought he was all about the heroin?” Andrew looked over at Ailee who shrugged.

“I don’t have any care for the Galindo’s, but now, they’ve just appeared on my radar.” Ailee shook her head. “It can’t be Galindo. He might sell him weapons, but Galindo is far too preoccupied with heroin.”

“It’s the Sons of Anarchy.” Cole ran his hand over his head. “The IRA gets their weapons from Defande. It’s the sons.”

“What is up with motorcycle clubs? Are we missing something?” Janine questioned.

“Inconspicuous. They know how to hide things. No one actually believes they’re motorcycle enthusiasts, which is why they’re so good at hiding things.” Ailee explained. “But they’re sloppy and drink far too much alcohol, we can train people better to work under our command than use them.” Ailee knew this wasn’t true, but she much rather not involve them.

“We’ll waste them tonight.”

=============

The Mayans moved closer to the house, the eerie silence was slightly unnerving. All the lights were on, their vehicles were all here, yet, there was no sound coming from anywhere.

They heard the shots, Dennis screaming as the shots rang out.

“Get the fuck away from me!” They heard him shout as the front door opened.

They all watched as Dennis ran out, the person following him lifted their Mk 18, a gun Coco immediately recognized. It was deadly, efficient and light, making it quite easy to use. The gun was resting against their shoulder, stabilizing the gun. Before they could even blink, a few rounds rang out, Dennis almost immediately falling to the ground. The Mayans all pointed their gun at the shooter, their face covered by a black ski mask, blacked out glasses covering their eyes. The shooter looked at them, as they took off their glasses, slipping it in their pocket.

Angel knew those eyes anywhere.

“River, the house is cleared. Cleaners are on their way.” They heard a voice come from inside the house.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bishop demanded, his AK 47 pointed towards the shooter’s head.

“Ailee.” All the Mayans turned towards Angel when he uttered her name.

Ailee took off her ski mask and the collective gasp that the Mayan men took was nothing short of impressive.

Angel was right.

Ailee smirked, tucking her ski mask in her back pocket. “Good evening boys, hunting?”

They watched as three people came out behind her two women and a man. EZ locked eyes with Olivia, shocked to find her in black gear like the rest of the people with her.

“Did you find it?” Ailee’s eyes remained on the Mayans as she asked her team behind her.

Andrew’s eyes remained on the Mayans, unsure of what to make of the situation. It wouldn’t be difficult to eliminate them, but he knew they were familiar with Ailee.

“Nothing of significance. Is there a problem here?”

“Yes, there is, you’re in our backyard without our knowledge.” Bishop was surprised to see Ailee coming out of the house, even more so when she killed Dennis in cold blood.

“I wasn’t aware we needed permission to be in Santo Padre.” Janine scoffed, the gun pointed on the men on the left side of Ailee while Andrew’s gun was pointed at the right side of Ailee.

“Olivia, what the fuck is going on here?” EZ demanded.

Ailee felt for Olivia, knowing this wasn’t exactly how she wanted EZ to find out. Angel couldn’t believe Ailee was holding a fucking gun. Whenever they would go to a carnival, she would struggle tremendously with shooting games.

Now, she not only exhibited perfect aim, she was so comfortable with the gun.

“EZ, I can explain, right now just isn’t the right time.” Olivia grimaced, not knowing how she could even begin to explain their current situation.

“Take Olivia to the car.” Ailee ordered, making an out for Olivia.

Janine looked at the Mayans at her side then at Ailee. “Are these the men you were involved with?”

“Yes, now go.”

Janine led Olivia to the car, EZ making a move to follow after her, but the red dot on his forehead made Bishop halt his steps.

“Ailee, what the fuck is going on here?” It was now Angel who demanded some answers. Bishop, Hank and Taza all knew what was going on. Their hunch was all but confirmed. The information that they were fed by Ailee’s brother’s didn’t sink in, almost impossible for them to think that Ailee was crafted onto the perfect killing machine, but it made sense. Everyone knew of Ailee’s difficult childhood.

Things just fell into place.

“My brother fed you the information, you’re not an idiot, you know what’s going on.” Ailee turned to Andrew, gesturing for him to stand down. “Go to the car, we have to go to San Diego to be debriefed. Cole will meet us there.” The Mayans eyebrows furrowed, it was odd to hear Ailee speak a foreign language. It wasn’t Spanish or English that was for sure.

Angel and EZ weren’t surprised. They knew Ailee was fluent in many languages and it made that much more sense now.

“I suggest that you make scarce of yourselves before our cleaners get here. They’ll be here in thirty minutes.” Ailee advises them. “You are quite welcome for handling your,” she paused, looking back at the house, “patriotism problem.”

“Ailee, this is fucking insane, you wasted at least ten people in there.” Riz couldn’t believe the young woman who refused to kill a fucking cockroach just killed a grown man with no qualms. And this was saying if they killed the others, Dennis may have been the only one they killed.

“Seven, Cole took care of Alice and well, you saw what happened to Dennis.” The way she said it so nonchalantly, it caused chills to run up and down their spines. This wasn’t the Ailee they knew, it was fucking surreal.

“You're tying up loose ends. Who do you work for?” Gilly questioned.

“I could tell you, but I would have to kill you all.” The sinister smile on Ailee’s face made her even more unrecognizable. “Have a good rest of the night gentlemen. Enjoy Vicky’s.” She winked at Angel, following her colleagues to the vehicle.

EZ attempted to follow after Olivia, but Angel stopped him.

“Don’t, this is uncharted territory, we’ll talk to them both later.” Angel advised his younger brother. He was brimming with anger right now. Things were making sense. He used to laugh when Ailee would talk about a secret government agency that her tio ran whenever she had a little too much to drink. Angel didn’t believe her before, but now, things were clicking. The bruises, the injuries, the secrecy.

Ailee truly did sell her soul.

And now, Angel had to do everything in his power to get it back.

=============

Olivia walked up the stairs begrudgingly, not knowing how to fix things with EZ. He rarely became upset at her, but this time was different. She kept this secret from him and it was just something she had to do. EZ couldn't be told about Maquina, it was for his own safety. The less people who knew about it, the better they fair.

Opening the door, she sighed and took off her shoes by the door, closing it behind her. She locked it and made her way towards the kitchen to make herself a beverage. She walked past the living room and was startled when the lights went on. Her gun was immediately drawn out, but her gun went down when she saw who she was pointing it at.

"EZ, Jesus Christ, I could have killed you." Olivia put her gun away. "Are you taking a play from Angel's playbook now?"

EZ couldn't believe that his sweet, innocent Olivia knew how to hold a fucking gun.

"Why didn't you tell me?" EZ didn't want to beat around the bush. He didn't feel betrayed, well, maybe he did, but in some ways he understood why she kept it from him.

"Does that matter now?" Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going to apologize for not telling you,I had to do it."

"Can you apologize at least for never telling me that you could just disappear from the face of the earth without any fucking explanation at any given moment?" EZ frowned. "With Ailee, it made sense, her fucking parents trained her to be a killer, but you, it makes no fucking sense."

Olivia knew he wouldn't be happy if he found out the reason she worked for Maquina. But she figured she might as well rip the bandaid off. "I worked for Maquina to give you protection. They would have killed you. So I offered my services to Jin in exchange for your protection in jail."

Silence.

EZ just looked at her, unsure of what to say.

“What?”

Olivia walked over to EZ, unsure how close she should be. She wasn’t afraid of EZ hurting her, she just wanted to give him space.

“Liv, how could,” EZ stood up, shaking her head as Olivia tried to step closer to him. “How could you do that? Why would you sacrifice that for me?”

“Because you would have never survived inside EZ. They would have killed you.” Olivia remembered that dread she felt at the pit of her stomach as soon as the guilty verdict was given. She wrapped her arms around herself, the whole thing coming back to her.

=============

“Mr. Rivera, Ailee isn’t here.” Olivia informed Jin as she opened the door for him.

He walked in their shared apartment, impressed with the decorations the two had done.

“I didn’t come for her.” He turned around to face Olivia and smiled, it should have been sinister but it was friendly, welcoming. “I came for you.”

“Me? What can you possibly want from me?”

“I’m all about partnerships. I scratch your back, you protect mine.” Jin began. “I’m well aware that EZ has been incarcerated for killing a police officer. You know he would never survive in jail.”

EZ had been in jail for two years now.

“He’s in solitary confinement, they can’t harm him there.”

“The guards can.”

Olivia felt nauseous, her stomach grumbling at the possibility of EZ being killed. Her heart rate quickened, all these scenarios playing in her mind. Jin knew what he was doing, a true mastermind at manipulation.

“I can offer him protection, he would go crazy in solitary confinement. But I can get him protection to assure that he would never be harmed.”

Olivia knew his game.

For some time, he has been trying to recruit her brilliant mind to Maquina. She had always been reluctant and now, he had the perfect bargaining chip.

“I will provide protection for EZ if you come and work for Maquina. Five years in exchange of a lifetime of protection for EZ.”

Olivia couldn’t believe she was cornered, but she couldn’t bear the thought of EZ being harmed in jail, or worse dying.

“I’ll do it. I’ll work for Maquina.”

=============

“He manipulated you, just like he did Lee.” EZ breathed out, his chest tightening.

“He did, but I wanted to make sure you were protected.” Olivia looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

EZ sighed. He didn’t need her to do this, he did need her to make another sacrifice for him.

“Liv, how many years did you exchange for my protection?” EZ sat on her couch.

“5 years.”

“Your 5 years has been up.”

“It has, but it’s not so bad to work for Maquina, it’s steady income and I work mostly with Ailee.” Olivia stayed for Ailee, once she walked away, she was done too.

“I want you to leave, put in your resignation letter and walk away.” EZ didn’t need her to work for Maquina anymore. He didn’t care if Olivia was staying for Ailee, she’s put herself at risk enough. She was done with this.

“I can’t do that EZ, I told you, I work for Ailee, I’m not going to walk away from her.” Olivia sighed. “I get it EZ, you’re worried, but I can assure you I’m safe. I mostly stay back and hardly do field work.”

“Why were you there tonight?” He looked up at her.

“Um, they had to use me as bait so Dennis would open the door.” Olivia sighed. “Look, I was never in danger and I know how to defend myself.”

“I don’t five a fuck if you can, point is, you shouldn’t be in that position in the first place. I’ll talk to Ailee if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of Ailee, she’s my best friend, my sister, I stay for her. You don’t have the right to dictate my life Ezekiel. I get it, you’re worried, but this doesn’t concern you. This is my job and unless you can pay my bills, then you need to stay out of it.” Olivia stood in front of him, arms crossed on her chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not sorry I took the job. It kept you safe and it continues to keep you safe.”

EZ closed his eyes, not liking that Olivia couldn’t be swayed.

“Once you take down Miguel for the DEA, I’ll quit Maquina and we can start anew somewhere, anywhere. I’ll wipe your records clean, you can start fresh.” Olivia never told him this part of her plan. She wanted to get him away from Santo Padre, to give him another chance at the life he lost.

“You’ve given up so much for me Olivia.”

“You’re my best friend Ezekiel, you would do the same for me.” Olivia sighed. “You were here for me when my mom left me at sixteen years old, you’re my only family now.”

EZ stood up, walked over to Olivia and wrapped his arms around her. The faster he could get the information for the DEA, the better it would be. As much as he didn’t want to leave Santo Padre behind, he always found that he had a place in Olivia’s life, she helped him center himself when he felt that he lost everything while in incarceration.

She’s made enough sacrifices for him and he would handle everything now.

=============

Angel parked his bike, taking off his helmet. He took it with him as he walked towards the front door, Ailee’s empty eyes still haunting him. The door opened before he could knock, Vince opened the door for him.

“You owe me for this.”

“I owe you?”

“Right.” Vince sighed as he closed the door. “No amount of apologies will ever suffice, I get it, but just thread carefully, things are different now.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Angel placed his helmet on the table by the front door. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs, last door at the end of the hallway. Melody is sleeping in her room. I’m not sure if Ailee is still awake or not, but just in case, I didn’t let you in.”

Angel nodded his head before going up the stairs. After seeing that whole scene at the ranch, Angel immediately called Vince, he wanted to speak to Ailee, to be with her. Even though he watched her kill a man, it didn’t phase him. He knew what they did to her and he was gonna try his best to get her back.

He turned the doorknob and was happy it was unlocked. The room was slightly illuminated by a night light, which didn’t surprise Angel. Closing the door behind him, he locked the door. Toeing off his shoes beside the couch in her room, he took off his clothing as quietly as possible. He was left with his muscle shirt and boxers. Going to the left side where he usually slept, he tried to go in as carefully as possible, but he knew Ailee was a light sleeper. He wrapped his arms around her, knowing it could be a risk, but he didn’t give a fuck.

Ailee knew Angel was here. She wasn’t an idiot, she heard the bike and no one else would come here so late at night. She was drained and with every kill she took, the more her soul was chipped. She could give in for one night.

She missed Angel.

She wouldn’t get this opportunity again.

Turning around to her side, she wrapped her arms around Angel.

“I love you Lee, I know you can hear me. You may not want to fight for us, but I will. You’re still you Lee, you’re still the girl I fell in love with and wanted to marry.” Angel said to her. “It’s you, me and Melody, that’s all we need. Come home, come home to me.”

Ailee remained quiet, just burying herself in Angel’s arms, the familiar warmth making her cry. For years she yearned for Angel’s warm embrace, especially during the times she wanted to give up after all the blood she shed. She wanted Angel’s warmth when she would become frustrated of being alone while caring for Melody. She wanted his warmth when she would go to Melody’s appointments, hoping her little girl would be able to hear her voice one day. She wanted his warmth when she recovered from an attack Theo orchestrated in an attempt to kidnap Melody.

Every day, Ailee was reminded of the choices she made. Reminded of the abnormal situation she had with her family.

And every day, she was reminded that while she may dislike greatly what Maquina required of someone, she saw how beneficial it was to be a part of such an organization.

She couldn’t let Angel get sucked into this.

She couldn’t let Melody live a life like she lived.

She made the decision then that she would leave Melody with Angel and she would do what she did best.

Kill people to protect the ones she loves.

To love and watch them from afar since it was the best thing she could do for them. They shouldn’t have to pay for her sins and choices.

It would destroy her, but losing them due to her sins would kill her.

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc fic #mayans mc fanfic

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