#how else can they watching their man play in those awful away kits and still stan

[aastraeus]

.

[kithtaehyung]

Last November (M)

title: last november (m) post date: december 14th, 2020, 8pm est  ⤷ revamped/extended: march 27th, 2021, 10pm est pairing: seokjin x reader(f) genre: angst, smut, exes to lovers au summary: you two broke up on good terms. even seeing each other on your friends’ yearly end-of-november trip was never awkward. so why did this trip feel so different? and why does it feel like the end of something that wasn’t even there in the first place? warnings: angst, bad puns and jokes, mutual pining, light dom/sub undertones, oral sex (m/f receiving), nipple play, hair-pulling, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex (pls be responsible!), dirty talk, spanking, creampie, seokjin is a consent king, did i say angst?, did i also say bad puns and jokes? mobile users: alt link if this doesn’t open in tumblr ➛ AO3 word count: 23.7k 24.7k !!

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On the last Friday of every November, your group of friends piled into two cars and set off into the mountains. 

Ever since you all graduated from high school years ago, everyone branched off into their individual, intricate walks of life. Different towns, different jobs, different social circles. 

But before those grand adventures started, each of you promised one thing: a yearly trip to keep the friendship alive.

This time around, you happened to be in the “decidedly more fun” car as Jimin, Taehyung, and your longtime friend Rin jammed the backseat with singing and road trip games. Since Seokjin took driver, you claimed navigator, leaving the front of the vehicle a bit muted compared to the other half. Which was fine - you always loved relaxing on the sidelines while your friends played with chaos and hilarity. 

Namjoon kept you company from time to time, too, so you weren’t completely alone in your preferred space.  

The only thing that could’ve made the ride awkward was if you and Seokjin were on bad terms. 

It wasn’t every day you found yourself sitting beside your ex, after all. 

But that simple fact didn’t phase you. The truth was that your breakup was clean and painless - a massive relief to your friends. Back then, it would have torn everyone to pieces picking sides. 

The split was so organic that you couldn’t recall an awful reason why it happened. Separation proved as natural as the changing of seasons: you had moved away for university and he powered through his own medical pursuits. Over time, the relationship simmered to a text every few days, resulting in the night in which you decided that it was better to remain friends.

What sucked was the fact that, over the course of time after the breakup, you fell for Seokjin. Annoying, charming, incredible Seokjin. 

You didn’t come to terms with it until last November, when you watched his eyes sparkle under an indigo ocean of stars and it just clicked. Agony carved into your heart some nights when you thought about nothing else, but you couldn’t admit your feelings. Not when you two decided that your river had run its course. You couldn’t risk smothering the last embers of your relationship, so radio silence remained your lonely swan song. 

Of course you wanted to admit it. You wanted to tell him. Because no matter who came after, they all fell short. Every smile flashed your way, every pair of arms wrapped around your torso, every night spent between the sheets. Nothing compared to what you got from Jin. That man created a hole in your heart that lingered in his wake, a hole through which all of your subsequent relationships plummeted. 

The truth was simple: you didn’t want to ruin what you had. Even if what you two would always be was just friends, that endgame was enough for you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Every night when you couldn’t sleep, and every morning when you woke up to an empty bed.

Your vision snapped into focus as your phone screen bloomed. The maps app signaled for a turn, so you relayed the direction to Seokjin, who repeated the direction out loud before following through.

Just like always.

The road in front of you melted into a different scene entirely as you recalled why he started that habit. It sprouted from one of your car rides to a diner situated on the other side of your hometown. 

During the drive, you did your best as navigator, but your boyfriend was so into the music playing that he missed some turns. One errant right later had you both terribly lost, the surrounding area swallowing the car in darkness. On instinct, you dove into defense mode, trying and failing not to outright panic.

“My maps won’t load,” you stuttered, hitting the screen with your finger, “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Don’t worry, I can just—”

“Don’t tell me not to worry,” you bit out. “Let’s just get out of here.” You hated how pure paranoia pricked at the corners of your eyes. Getting lost was completely irksome and going back home was more appealing to you than moving forward with the date. 

“Okay. I won’t,” Seokjin assured you, turning the wheel and rolling the car out from the shadowy street. “How can I help instead?”

“Oh, umm.” With grateful eyes, you stared at your boyfriend and admired his consideration. You’ve never been asked that while upset before. “You could, uh, repeat the directions before following them? That might help.” 

His lips curved into a smile, and streetlights flooded the car to bathe his sincerity in a warm glow. “Repeat directions, you got it.”

The memory faded as you blinked and observed the endless mountain range enveloping the road. Snow topped the summits in white caps; coniferous trees swallowed the steep slopes. As if reminiscence clogged your ears, the music in the car seemed louder outside your broken reverie. 

Taehyung, as always, took charge of the aux. He usually had an eclectic mix of tunes on rotation but, that time, nothing but upbeat Christmas music was queued. You had to admit: merry music coating the car windows and mountainous scenery claiming your entire vision put you in the best mood. 

It was even better when Seokjin sang along. You really did like his singing voice. 

“I like my singing voice, too.” 

Your eyes snapped toward the driver, expression freezing over as you drank in his delight. Did you really say that out loud? You knew Seokjin enough to know that he was never going to let that go. 

“Yeah, well…” You lazily swatted his grin away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Seokjin chuckled, his hands comfortably resting on the wheel. “Are you offering to do that for me? It’s minimum wage, but I’d hire you.”

Rolling your eyes felt like the only appropriate response, so you did exactly that, your exasperated gaze looping around to land on your phone. “Relish this moment, Seokjin,” you advised, zooming out in the maps app to make sure you were still heading in the right direction, “Because it won’t happen again. And take the next exit. We’re almost there.” 

“Yes, yes, next exit.” You missed the smirk on his face as he scanned the roadside for the telltale sign. “Moment relished,” he quipped, “But I prefer my moments with ketchup and mustard.” 

Your groan drowned in his boisterous laughter, but the hand on your face betrayed you since it couldn’t quite cover up the glee that formed right after. 

An hour later, everyone had unloaded the vehicles at the campgrounds and pitched the tents. While Hoseok and Jungkook worked on starting the fire pit, Namjoon and Jimin took their time organizing the food and snacks. Rin had disappeared with Taehyung somewhere, but Yoongi said he spotted them taking pictures a ways off. 

“They should be helping,” he muttered. “There’s a lot to do before it gets dark out.” 

Squatting down to rotate sizzling meat on your portable grill, you waved him off. “They’re shot-swapping since it’s golden hour.” 

The silence that followed gave you pause. When you looked up in curiosity, Seokjin and Yoongi regarded you like a foreign language coated your tongue, their struggle to decipher it earning a chuckle of pity. 

“They’re both huge influencers, so they know how to take pictures. They always do this when we get together,” you explained, spinning the kebab onto another side, “And golden hour is around sunrise and sunset. It looks like everything is soaked in gold, and it makes your pictures look pretty. But that’s an old term already! You geezers should keep up.” 

Yoongi simply raised an eyebrow and kneeled to turn his designated stick. Smoke from the charred meat wafted into your noses as he declined, “I’ll pass. That sounds stressful.” 

A rapid clapping of tongs next to your ear preceded Seokjin’s offer, “What are we waiting for? Let’s golden hour swap!” 

Why did he have to be so endearing? A cough escaped your throat, disjointed laughs following right after in their awkward escape. Beside you, Yoongi flung condescension Jin’s way, his voice stocked with disappointment as he warned, “Don’t speak. You age yourself.” 

You transferred your kebabs to a foiled plate before standing, blood rushing to your lower legs. Seokjin was unleashing a hearty tirade at the other man grilling when you intervened, “That sounds nice, actually. I’m in a photography class so I was planning on taking some photos anyways. Lemme just get my camera.” 

As you walked away, you couldn’t escape the abrupt change in atmosphere hovering over the grills, its looming tension caressing the back of your coat in a slight push. The words exchanged were soft in volume, but their possible meanings stayed clanging in your ears. 

“Did you tell her yet?” 

“No.” 

“Do it. She deserves to know.” 

You slipped out of your tent with a heavy jacket and lightheadedness. Medicine would’ve helped with the latter, but the med kit Seokjin packed remained strictly for emergencies. Besides, you couldn’t quite slap a bandage on what was truly bothering you anyways. 

As you inspected your class-registered Polaroid, you continued to wonder what Yoongi meant earlier. 

What was he implying? You deserved to know what? You couldn’t say the feeling swirling around your gut was a positive one. After all, there was a distinct difference in what a person should know, and what a person deserved to know. What was so important that Yoongi practically ordered Seokjin to spill? 

Was there another person in his life now? That was one thing that crossed your mind, but you filed that under the “should know” category, even though it twisted your stomach to think about.

The news had to be something urgent. 

Was Seokjin getting married? 

Without your permission, vessels in your heart shriveled, squeezing life from your already battered soul. A betrothal was entirely possible with his pursuit of a medical degree and coming from a well-to-do family. Maybe he was in an arrangement? 

That possibility dropped an anvil on your chest. You couldn’t say that you were completely fine were that the truth. How could you be fine with something like that if you loved him? Of course, you would be happy if he was, but your heart would require recuperation for an extended amount of time. Give or take a few years. 

You wandered so far into the depths of your mind that Seokjin’s sudden appearance kicked you back to shore, a yelp leaving your mouth at the same time your Polaroid left your hands. If the camera wasn’t hanging from your neck, you would’ve been in deep shit with your professor as soon as it hit the cold soil. 

Its bulky frame definitely bruised your lower chest on the downswing, though. “Ow. Geez, Jinnie, you can’t just sneak up on people like that.” 

Your eyes widened in realization. Jinnie? Shit, you hadn’t called him that since you guys were dating. Quite obviously, the stockpile of thoughts and worries involving his secret were blocking your brain from better judgment. 

And apparently you weren’t the only one affected by that nickname because Seokjin’s eyebrows shot into his dark locks, his peculiar glance shifting away. Odd. 

After an awkward second, he cleared his throat. “Does it hurt?” 

Is it supposed to? You knew he was inquiring about your injury but your thoughts drifted to what hadn’t been divulged yet. “No, it’s fine,” you lied. “Let’s pick a spot before we lose the light.” 

You don’t remember how long you walked, but the pair of you ended up far from the original campsite. 

In your defense, it wasn’t like you planned that outcome. The trees matched at every turn, so you kept wandering until you found a good clearing - or at least some rocks to break the forested monotony. 

A foil to your pickiness, Seokjin voiced his thoughts every ten paces, his votes of confidence constantly crushed by your boots. If you had a cent for every time he declared a spot “the one,” you could actually afford the Polaroid dangling from your neck. 

It was at a calm clearing with some patches from last snowfall where you decided to settle. 

Unhooking the strap from your neck, you ushered, “Let’s do this quick. It’s almost over.” 

“I wanna do it first!” You thought Seokjin meant to take the camera from you, but instead he scuttled into the clearing, striking a pose once he reached its center. Of course the fool meant that he wanted his pictures taken and not the other way around. How was any other idea plausible? “Hurry up, you said!” 

“The ‘S’ in Seokjin stands for ‘Selfish,’” you yelled, positioning the Polaroid against your eye regardless. His face enlarged in the lens and, to his credit, you couldn’t argue that he was the clear model between you two. The man could pursue a career in fashion instead of medicine and you wouldn’t bat an eye. 

He looked handsome merely standing there, cheeks dimpling at nothing in particular and his charm ever effortless. Even the slight bags under his eyes didn’t take away from his natural beauty. 

Par for the course with Seokjin. That unbothered self-assurance was one of the traits you liked and hated about him. 

At least, initially. The more you got to know him, your outlook on that defining characteristic was one of admiration, not hatred. You simply needed to start shoving some of that confidence down your own throat like a different type of vitamin C.

After a telltale camera snap, the man threw out his coated arms in another pose. “And the ‘Seok’ stands for ‘Seok in my presence!’” 

“I think I’ve been in it long enough. My fingers are pruny,” you droned while lowering your Polaroid, ignoring his wiggling in the background. It seemed you were still accustomed to his ridiculousness. 

Yet another thing you gave him credit for: he was never afraid to be a dork. When you first met him, you admittedly thought he was faking it. Over time, you recognized his authenticity, and you grew fond of everything wrapped in the gift that was Kim Seokjin.

You waited for the picture to materialize in your hand. When your impatient model approached you and asked why you weren’t shaking the polaroid, you informed him that you should, in fact, not do that. “It’ll damage the final product!” 

“So that song is…” 

“Wrong. Yes.” 

Pure shock flashed across his face. “What other lies have I been told?”  

The captured memory started blossoming, and you watched as the color bled into life. “That you aren’t the funniest person on the planet,” you answered, earning a scoff. 

“In that case, you’ve just been misinformed.” Seokjin huffed before offering an outstretched palm. “Now hand over the camera, it’s your turn.”

“Me?” You didn’t think he was serious when he said swap. In reality, you just assumed he whipped up an excuse for you to take pictures of him. 

And you didn’t mind. It was nice to have that charming smile directed at you, even if only through the lens of a camera. The Polaroid would be your shield, blocking Seokjin from the pain swimming in your eyes, barely afloat in pools of regret and guilt and loneliness.

“Yes, woman! When was the last time you had your picture taken?” 

Slowly, embarrassment swelled across your cheeks when you realized it had been a very long time. Legitimately long. You never asked others to take your picture; rather, you were always the one behind the lens. The last time someone actually offered was… 

“When you took one,” you stuttered out breathily, “At that park.” 

It was during one of the last dates you two went on before you left for university. There was a carnival you were dying to visit, and Seokjin surprised you with tickets and a kiss. 

You remember being so elated while traversing through the whimsical booths, failing fantastically at the rigged games, scarfing down sticky, billowy cotton candy. Squeaky horns and childish laughter filled your ears, and you could still feel Jin’s gentle fingers on your hand as he shyly tugged you under glowing stringed lights. 

The main attraction was a carousel keeping everything else in orbit, its charisma shining like a golden, spinning sun. When night fell, you too gravitated toward its charm, standing behind its barricade to watch horses and teacups endlessly turn. 

It was so captivating that you forgot yourself and where you were - who you were supposed to be spending time with. Swiveling in fear, you scanned the bustling crowd for your boyfriend, realizing that you needn’t worry at all. 

Seokjin simply waited behind you, holding up his phone and telling you to pose. You were so caught off-guard in that moment that your face contorted hilariously right as he snapped the photo. In his eyes, it was the greatest picture of all time. 

However, it wasn’t that well received by its subject. You begged Seokjin to delete it, and he finally caved on the grounds that you took a replacement. Conceding, you stomped back to the gate guarding the twirling attraction and pranked your boyfriend with a blank expression. 

But as soon as Seokjin drawled “You look like you don’t care-ousel,” you burst into laughter - your unabashed mirth becoming his background on every device he owned. 

The scene faded from your eyes as the current Seokjin stood in front of you, gripping the Polaroid instead of his phone. Gone were the lights and sounds of the theme park and, with them, your fleeting moment of solace. 

“Oh,” was all he stated in return, and you swore the temperature chose to drop in that moment just to mock you.

“You know I don’t prefer it anyways.” Your heart was losing its grip, sorrow evident in your shaky tone. You folded your arms to shield your body from the weather and unwanted emotions. “I’m definitely not as photogenic as you.” 

“Nonsense,” Seokjin shot back. “Now hurry up, it’s only golden minute now!” 

And just like that, his warmth melted any awkwardness like spring chasing away winter. 

In retrospect, he probably regarded that moment at the carnival differently, or he just wanted to keep those memories in the past where they belonged. It hurt to be the only one so strongly affected by them, but Jin had the right idea. If there existed a standard list of activities to do with an ex, talking about the past wasn’t one of the options. Especially if you had feelings for said ex. 

Plus, you didn’t forget that there was something he had to tell you. It seemed like you were going to have to wait a little longer for that, and your anxiousness wasn’t pleased.  

As you ambled to the center of the clearing, you focused more on the crunching sounds your boots made rather than your feelings. With a quick survey of the area, you surmised that it really was a pretty spot, the mountain range peeking behind the trees adding depth to the setting. Adjusting your outfit, you took a breath of courage before staring at the eye of the Polaroid.

Seokjin moved the camera from his face and called your name, roping your gaze to his concern. “Smile, okay?” 

On instinct, your throat constricted. You couldn’t hide behind the lens that time. But smile you did, and you hoped Seokjin thought it genuine, silently pleading him to not notice the anguish lingering behind your crescent eyes. 

The fire pit your friends constructed blazed bright as you both made it back to the campgrounds. Everyone occupied the surrounding logs and, judging from the soft pop pumping from a portable speaker, Jungkook must have commandeered music control.

Jimin turned when he heard your footsteps, his expression indiscernible as he shifted his gaze between you and Jin. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything, only turning back to Yoongi to continue their conversation. 

Seokjin and you parted ways effortlessly: he slotted into the empty space next to Namjoon and you headed to your tent to stow your camera. 

And for some reason, that easy departure was hard to swallow. 

Your pitched space offered warmth upon entry, and you dumped yourself onto your sleeping bag without a word. A few quiet moments passed before you unzipped your backpack, the tiny action feeling so tedious, so difficult to achieve. 

After you finally stored your equipment and closed your bag shut, you just… sat there. Contemplative. 

Mentally, you were in a bad place. Your thoughts and emotions banged into each other, their war rendering you powerless - captive. Fidgeting with the plasticky fabric of your sleeping bag, you thought back to what happened after you two left the photo spot.

It was an uneventful walk back for the most part. The polaroids turned out nice, all thanks to the very rare and very expensive camera you borrowed. Seokjin claimed yours and handed you his, and faced with your sudden curiosity, he sheepishly offered, “You don’t have to keep it.” 

You were more questioning of the fact that he stored yours in his jacket, but you didn’t want to broach that subject. It was beginning to scare you. Maybe it was the fact that he was acting strange, coupled with the other fact that he was hiding something from you. 

Why were you suddenly afraid to confront him? You two were open with each other during your relationship. Were you also wanting to put this dreaded conversation off as long as possible, too? 

If he was with someone else, though, would he still be keeping your picture? 

It was too much to think about, so you tried to lock everything in a box and sit on it. 

You saw the light of the campfire after a few minutes of walking through the woods - a handful of silent, crawling minutes. It was bugging you that Seokjin didn’t say anything on the way back. A quiet Jin was a Jin knee deep in thought, and not in good circumstance. In a moment of weakness, you almost offered out your hand to grab his, but you instead crammed it inside your coat pocket. 

When you both rejoined your friends, it seemed so easy for you guys to separate, like you didn’t just go off and do something so intimate. Even though that wasn’t the word you wanted to use. 

You resigned yourself to the big picture nonetheless: it wasn’t like what Taehyung and Rin did. Your best friend was insanely popular on social media with her carefully curated feed and relatable-yet-unachievable style. Taehyung had his own massive following for different reasons, and you couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what he was doing to gain the hearts of many. They were snapping photos for each other to show millions of anonymous beings across the world. 

You and Seokjin just took photos for each other to have. No one else was going to see those. 

Why did you feel like that was significant? 

The edge of your sleeping bag began to fray under duress, so you plucked your body off the ground and slipped back outside. What you expected was the temperature dipping a couple degrees in nightfall. What you didn’t expect was Jimin waiting for you, puffy jacket and all, leaning against a tree. 

When he saw you emerge from your tent, he straightened and regarded you with caution. “Everything okay?”

You adjusted the front of your coat before fishing a beanie out to cover your ears. “Yeah, why?”

“You were just in there for awhile,” Jimin explained, his eyes searching yours, “And you were with him for a long time.”

“I don’t like being interrogated, Park,” you sighed.

“I know, I just…” He mirrored you and huffed his own breath toward the ground. A quick glance had you noticing that his own beanie was knit as thick as the fog in your mind. “I just want to make sure.” 

Jimin was whom you considered closest next to your best friend and formerly Seokjin. After your break up, Jimin regularly sent you texts to check on you, despite your constant assurance that you were okay. It got to a point where you phoned him and pleaded reprieve - to reach out only if he had something critical to say. 

His broken reply? He only texted you because Seokjin wouldn’t. 

You ended up crying after that call, and the tears annoyingly persisted a couple nights following. 

He was also one of the only two people in the world that knew you loved Jin. Rin was the other, and that’s only because you let it slip during a girls’ night over cheap wine and period piece movies. Something about an early morning confession in a dewy meadow was enough to loosen your alcohol-mottled tongue.

After you ran your fingers over your head, you responded, “Can I ask you something?” 

Your friend’s eyes roamed over your face. “Of course.”

“What’s he hiding from me?”

Jimin instantly clammed up at the question. His dancer frame assumed a rigid position, each limb locking, including his jaw. “It’s not my place to say,” he answered gravely, pulling anger from your center.

“Does everyone else know this secret except me?” You really couldn’t take it anymore, especially knowing that something you supposedly deserved to know was possibly public knowledge. 

“Just the guys,” Jimin divulged, and you scoffed. 

“I can’t believe this.” You made to walk away, in the opposite direction of the campfire. Into the woods again.

Jimin said your name like he just wanted you to understand already, halting you mid-stride. “I’ve been trying to get him to talk to you. Trust me, I have.”

“He’s a grown man, Park. His decisions aren’t your problem,” you whispered. 

“But aren’t they yours?” 

“Not anymore. We aren’t together right now, if you don’t recall.” You knew you were spitting bullshit, and Jimin did, too. If Seokjin wasn’t giving you problems, you wouldn’t have been hiding in your tent or literally and figuratively walking away from him. Guiltily, you turned back to face Jimin and give him his credit. 

He was this way for everyone in your group: the glue that hung on and fought to keep people from breaking apart. Whenever a fight broke out between warring parties, Jimin was the middle man. Always. 

Sighing, you relented, “I’m sorry I’m taking this out on you. I’m just so confused, and the longer he hides whatever he’s hiding from me, the more restless I’ll be.”

“Everyone is on your side in this,” Jimin replied. “He just needs to, I don’t know, woman up.”

A breath of laughter escaped you at the tweaked phrase, the tension coating your shoulders slowly sliding off in clumps. “Did you say ‘woman up?’”

“Men aren’t shit,” your friend explained, pointing a gloved finger to punctuate every syllable. “At least women get things done.”

“I would totally drink to that if I had a bottle in my hand, Jimin.”

“Ah, well that can be arranged!” The boy’s eyes crinkled as he spun on a heel. “Let’s go. Jungkook and Taehyung brought out the drinks awhile ago. I missed out on a few bottles already talking to you.”

“Oh, I feel so remorseful,” you cooed, your voice worthy of giving kids cavities. “Almost as if I cared.” 

“Ass,” Jimin snapped, but he could only laugh. When you joined his side, he turned and whispered, “But seriously. If he doesn’t talk about it by the end of this trip, I’m giving him hell.” 

The temperature dropped again at that moment, and the wind blowing through the pines cut straight into your bones. Your shoulders hunched on instinct and you blinked to get needed moisture. Was it going to snow? The skies above did look intimidating. Was it going to storm? 

A sudden trepidation settled into your gut. “Did we check the weather,” you queried, shuffling through your brain to see if you monitored it yourself before the trip. 

“Uh-umm, I did,” Jimin answered through chattering teeth, “But I didn’t see anything other than it being cold.” 

You pulled out your phone and regretted doing so, your fingers freezing over instantly. You were lucky you all chose a location that was still in signal range - really, thanks went to Rin and Taehyung for incessantly demanding it every year.

Pulling up the weather app after a few tries, you cursed at the oncoming forecast. “Well, there’s more to it. Snow’s coming in,” you relayed to Jimin. “Let’s pack up and find a place to stay.” 

The car ride to the nearest lodging felt immensely different than the ride to the campgrounds. Some people focused on defrosting, one person worried about the people in the front, and the two said people in the front weren’t talking at all. 

It was you that broke the silence when you steadily gave directions, and Seokjin would repeat them like always. Selfishly, you wanted the car ride to keep going just so you could hear his voice. He wasn’t saying anything otherwise, and there wasn’t music playing for him to absentmindedly sing along to. 

The first snowfall was light as your caravan entered the small town nearby, which relieved you. Tiny snowflakes clung onto the windows and you lost yourself in their geometric patterns. Lights from the shops and other stray cars reflected in the slick roads to create a symphony of color, and white patches already settled on trees that lined the main way. 

Seokjin spotted the lodge first, and he rolled into a spot towards the entrance, Jungkook’s car slotting into the next space. Your driver rolled down his window and repeatedly pointed his finger down to signal for Yoongi to follow suit. “Let’s go in and make sure they have our rooms first,” he called out, and Jungkook leaned over his console to shout a hearty okay.

You hoisted yourself out of the car and waited for the boys to follow. Seokjin went to stand next to you, but instead of Jungkook popping out of the other car, it was Namjoon that emerged. You could only guess that the youngest slyly started a game to have the loser get out. 

Your stomach turned when you realized it was most likely because no one wanted to be left alone with you and Seokjin. 

Remorse burned your throat. This trip was supposed to be fun, but it just felt strained. Were you overthinking? Or was your churning gut correct in its assumption? 

At the very least, you hoped everyone else was having a better time than you were. 

It seemed that the man beside you had the same feeling that a challenge was pitched. “Rock-paper-scissors? Or nose goes?”

Namjoon just laughed at the ground as his face flushed. “Nose goes, and I put my finger on my mouth so, umm, that’s that.” 

You chuckled while you three made your way to the door, both of them towering over you on either side. Seokjin opened the entrance for everyone and, when you stepped foot inside, you were hit with a wave of warmth mixed with an undercurrent of gingerbread. The entirety of the main entrance bathed in plaid or embroidered throws, and there was an obvious affinity for Christmas on display with the plethora of garlands, lights, and a towering Christmas tree in the front bay window. 

Namjoon and Seokjin quickly got distracted by the toy train running through a snowy village setup. Adorable, but not helpful. 

Alone at the front desk, you received confirmation that your group had four bookings, and you thanked the concierge while you gathered the keys. 

The rooms weren’t next to each other. One of them sat on another floor, and the rest were separated but shared the same level. 

A container of pamphlets caught your attention, so you grabbed one before strolling away. “Guys, let’s claim our rooms. After that, you can watch the train all you want,” you called out, tapping them both on the back with the thin brochure. 

They swiveled their heads to your retreating form before following you out the door. 

“No. We are not doing that again.” 

“Come on, hyung, it’ll be fun!” 

“I’m with Yoongi on this one. We could all end up in the same room.” 

“But what if you get a room to yourself?” 

“Why can’t we ever just pick like normal people? And Hoseok-hyung, you laugh but you have the worst luck out of all of us.” 

“Excuse me! That’s only because you all psyche me out!” 

“Let’s just pick something. My phone’s almost dead.” 

You stood next to Rin while you two watched the boys decide how room assignments were determined. It was a sight to see: them crowding the small hallway, bags littered around their bulky shoes. You both were thankful they were courteous enough to let you two keep a room to yourselves. They even made sure yours wasn’t on the other floor, just so that you girls wouldn’t be alone. 

They were going to pick random rooms one-by-one, not knowing which options the others picked until they opened a door. If you and your friend also had to choose, you were risking the possibility of being stuck with Seokjin, which was the last thing you wanted. 

On a day where your friendship was actually normal, that wouldn’t have mattered one bit. But right then? The tension surrounding him would have been detrimental. 

He had something to say; he wasn’t saying it. You were a sitting, fidgeting duck. 

Jungkook whipped his phone out to search the internet for a random coin flip generator. “Here. Heads, we do it. Tails, we don’t.” 

Yoongi just snickered in defeat and already started picking up his bag. “I call picking first.” 

His intuition proved sharp as the generator pulled up Heads: they were going with the random room assignments. Taehyung kicked his head back with a sigh, and Jimin and Jungkook burst into laughter while the elders collectively groaned.  

As Rin giggled at their misfortune, you sent a rueful smile Seokjin’s way out of habit. You were still friends, after all, and he seemed so distraught over the prospect of horrid results. His eyes locked onto yours and, for a brief moment, he offered a shy grin in return.

The fluttering in your chest was quickly shooed away. 

It was while everyone relaxed around a public lounge area that Jungkook hurled an accusation, his eyes alight with the flames licking the nearby fireplace. “Hyung cheated.” 

Seokjin immediately sat up in his plush chair and retorted, “Take that back! I did nothing of the sort. You all were just too lazy to take the stairs to the next floor.”

Taehyung shot him a side eye and shared his own eloquent opinion. “Seems sus.” 

A whole new wave of bickering erupted, and you redirected your attention to the snow storm blustering outside tall windows. 

You were thanking every deity above that you guys decided to leave in time. It would’ve been hell in the campsite during this weather, or even while squeezed into the cars. 

Though the original plans were derailed, you were pretty happy with the current lodging situation. Who knew a small town would have a humongous lodge? It had to be assumed that this was the main business keeping the town running. Rin was absolutely drinking it in and stated she even wanted to bring her family there, her thoughtfulness curving your mouth upwards.

Another good thing that came out of this trip proved to be the room assignments that Jungkook ended up loathing. They had you clutching your sides when all was said and done.

Four of the boys managed to pick the same room, and Hoseok and Yoongi snagged a room to themselves. These results resulted in one Kim Seokjin speeding up and down the hallway, wholeheartedly shouting with glee. Yoongi almost crumpled to the ground in relief at the end, and Hoseok fell over in laughter when he entered the full room. You could feel the desperation in Namjoon’s muffled voice as he begged Seokjin to let him change rooms. The only reply he received was an ominous “If you behave.” 

“Don’t blame us,” Yoongi laughed out, both hands lightly gripping the arms of the rocking chair he chose. “This is what you young people get for trying to be cute.” His relief from only having to bunk with one other person left him chipper, you noticed. To his credit, it was amusing that the youngest four ended up in the same room. 

“Okay, gramps,” Jungkook snapped, earning a laugh from Jimin on the seat next to him. “But she definitely gave hyung clues!” 

You whipped your head around to shoot a confused look toward your accuser. “Me?” 

Multiple eyes darted between you two like pinballs, and you didn’t have time to brace for his next words,

“You know you won’t see him again after this trip, so you—” 

“—Kook!” 

All oxygen abandoned you as Jimin rushed to shut the younger man’s mouth, practically slapping his face. Eyes popped out of his head as Jungkook paled in realization. 

The rest of the boys bore glares into the youngest one’s countenance, but Seokjin turned directly towards you with concern. 

What just happened? Your fingers gripped the varnished wood of your chair as you slowly locked eyes with your ex, and your heart dropped like a stone when he shifted his gaze to the floor. 

What the fuck was happening? Your brain was going haywire. What did Jungkook mean? You wouldn’t see Seokjin after this trip? The man that you couldn’t wait to see on the last Friday of every November? That was bogus. He was joking. It was a joke, right? One more weekend before Seokjin was gone from your life forever? Impossible. Ludicrous.

Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? 

Beside you, Rin clutched one of your tense fists in her soft palms. Addressing the group, her sharp tone demanded an answer when she asked, “What the hell is going on?” 

The silence that followed was palpable. Not even the pleasant music drifting through the lodge was enough to damper the tension. 

“I think,” Yoongi finally murmured, his words ice, “This is our cue to leave.”  

“No need,” your friend snipped, “We’ll go.” She whispered your name before softly tugging you to vacate your seat. 

When you pried yourself from the cushion, it took a moment for you to control your legs to actually move. You knew all the guys were watching you, but you were too embarrassed to acknowledge them, too upset to look any of them in the eye. 

Rin led you away from the lounge, making sure you were heading toward the nearest staircase before spinning on her heel. “To the unfortunate soul that gets to explain this to me,” she bit, clutching everyone’s attention in her underlying threat, “Text me where to meet you in ten minutes.” 

Both you and Rin occupied the carpet, backs against the cookie cutter sofa that existed in each room. 

You two pushed the furniture around so that the couch faced the windows instead of the plain TV, and you surprised your friend by dumping yourself onto the ground instead of the cushions. Rin didn’t question you, though. She only followed suit. 

The curtains were shoved to the side to reveal the relentless storm, and you watched the swirls and streaks of white until your head fell onto Rin’s shoulder. 

“I should’ve been paying attention to you,” she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, the motion feeling awkward in its tilt. “No, no. You’ve been having a fun time, so I’m happy I didn’t ruin that.” Your laugh was dry. “Until now, at least.”

Rin lowered her shoulder so that you rested more comfortably. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’m going through a breakup again.”

Fuck. You didn’t realize until the words left your lips that it’s how you really felt. 

It had been a few years since you guys ended things. Throughout that whole time, you didn’t feel awkward one bit.  

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The “date” that Seokjin brought to the Christmas party last year made you want to tear your hair out. But, that was because she was obviously after his finances and that was the year you realized you loved him. 

The conversation you had with Seokjin turned sour, but you really wanted him to see the big picture. You could still recall that night with clarity, the snow falling much lighter than what you currently witnessed outside. 

“Seokjin, do you honestly think she likes you?” The red dress you wore was so vibrant that it glinted off the dinnerware spread across the decadent table nearby. 

When you pulled your ex aside that night, the only quiet place you could find was the dining room, long abandoned once everyone got their seconds. Up until this point, it was obvious Seokjin wasn’t understanding you. You tried to tell him how you saw it, and he would just brush things aside. 

“You sound like you care more than I do,” he accused, his eyes looking everywhere but your face.

Before you responded, you scoffed. “I’m your friend. Of course I’m going to care.” 

You remember the strong emotions you suppressed that night. You couldn’t let more things slip than necessary. Yes, you could show him you cared. Yes, you could show him he needed someone else. Just as long as you didn’t give too much of your own feelings for him away. “You deserve someone that at least likes you, for you.” 

Seokjin finally stared back at your stormy features, his eyes filled with something unsaid. You sucked in a breath. What else would he say? You liked him for everything he was, but that relationship didn’t pan out. Obviously. You would’ve been going to this Christmas party together if you still dated. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have been having that conversation - it was already hard enough for you to say you were his friend. You wanted to be more than that. Again. 

“I know she doesn’t like me,” he finally admitted, running a hand through his bangs. The urge to caress his ever soft strands filled you with grief. 

You really did like his hair, and it looked even better when coupled with his Nutcracker-esque attire. 

“Then why…” You struggled to find a reason why they were even there together. It was a Christmas party with your friends. Why would he bring someone that he didn’t like? 

“She’s interested in Namjoon.” Seokjin’s eyes quickly turned into crescents when he witnessed your expression, and his full lips pursed to contain his laughter. “I was trying to get her off me the whole night, but she was trying harder than she needed to to make him jealous. I’m irresistible, you know.” 

“Irritable is more like it,” you growled, playfully shoving him aside. “Ass! I was just trying to protect you and you knew this whole time!” 

“It’s nice to know you’re looking out for me!” The man beamed as he made his way out of the dining room. 

“Yeah, well,” you whispered, tensing slightly when he stopped. “They have to be perfect. It’s what you deserve.” And you really did mean that.  

Seokjin’s smile faltered, and you shot him a half-smile before exiting the room yourself. 

That was the last time you guys had an argument, if you could even call it that. The rest of the moments you had with him were completely fine. You wondered if Seokjin could see through you during that conversation. He was perceptive, sure, but you may have gotten away with looking like just a good friend. 

It was just worrisome since you couldn’t control your emotions that night. You only got to see him in person during these November trips and Christmas parties when you went home, after all. Seeing him again after realizing you loved him ignited something within you, and it took the whole night to put that fire out.

This looming news just felt way too heavy to handle. Was it because you reached where the sidewalk ended? You weren’t going to see his face in person or hear his laugh out loud. There wasn’t going to be off-the-cuff, awful dad jokes thrown your way every end of November. 

A nagging idea, far in the depths of your mind, kept tapping your shoulder. But you brushed it off with a scowl. 

Even if you acknowledged the concept, there was no way Seokjin felt the same about you. Neither one of you said you loved each other throughout the time you were dating. Were there times you thought you did? Admittedly, yes. Did you ever think about telling him? Another yes. But he never hinted that he felt the same, so it would’ve been awkward for you if it turned out he didn’t. The absence of a confession kept you from revealing yours. So of course even now, you couldn’t tell him. Especially since he was apparently leaving.

Rin didn’t speak for awhile, but you knew she wasn’t the best at comforting people. She was number one at standing up for you and protecting you, but when it came to the softer parts of consoling, she did flounder. Which was endearing and calming in itself.

“How can I help,” she simply offered, and you nuzzled further into her neck. She always smelled so nice, your guardian Rin.

The adrenaline from Jungkook’s bombshell, your swift exit, and the constant stream of thoughts started to wane. Exhaustion slowly took its place like honey sliding into a jar. Softly, your eyelids drooped and you whispered, “This room is a castle, so be my big bad dragon and don’t let anyone in.” 

The last sound you heard before falling asleep was a tinkling laugh followed by a small “As you wish, princess.” 

When you regained consciousness, you discovered that you were strewn across one of the beds instead of the ground. You couldn’t even estimate how much time passed while you were out, but the storm outside was still thrashing and the only light in the room was the emergency one by the door. 

You groggily propped up weary limbs in search of your phone, eventually swiping it from the nightstand. Still half-asleep, you barely registered the pain meds and glass of water sitting on that same table, their dark silhouettes waiting patiently. 

Bright pixels mocked your drool-covered chin. Scrunching your face instinctively, you scrolled through your notifications while blinking sleep from your lashes. You received multiple texts, but you didn’t want to open the threads completely, so you opted to check them from the Home screen. 

Jiminie [7:20pm]: Fuck, I’m sorry that happened. Please be okay. Love you.

Tae [7:21pm]: free hugs whenever you need. you know the drill. 

Rin-Rin [7:36pm]: I know you said not to let anyone in but I literally couldn’t carry you to the bed. Forgive me!

Yoongi [7:37pm]: He’s in his room. I kept telling him to tell you. I know it’s shit to find out this way so if he doesn’t explain things to you, I will. 

Hobi [7:39pm]: we’re here for u love!! let me know if u need anything. there’s a small concession stand downstairs so if u need smth i can run it up!!

Jiminie [7:40pm]: Kook is in bad shape. He swore he thought hyung told you already. Don’t worry tho. I’m not letting him off easy.

Rin-Rin [7:43pm]: Hey, love. Just spoke to Seokjin. I think you need to talk to him yourself, but only if you feel up for it. 

Joonie [7:45pm]: I gave Rin a bottle of pain meds we had in our room 

Joonie [7:45pm]: Go ahead and take some when you wake up

Joonie [7:45pm]: We can count this as an emergency

Jiminie [8:21pm]: Let me know if you’re okay, okay?

Kook [8:33pm]: I’m so sorry 

Rin-Rin [8:48pm]: Grabbing us some snacks from downstairs, I’ll brb. 

Your battered heart sank even more when you noticed a distinct absence amongst the names. Seokjin didn’t send you a single message. 

What had gotten into him? Did he still not want to talk to you despite you knowing his secret? You clicked your phone shut without opening any of the messages and sunk into the pillows. It was 8:49pm, so you had barely missed Rin’s departure. Her exit was probably what woke you. 

Unwittingly, you found your device in front of your baggy eyes again, berating yourself for hovering over Seokjin’s thread. The last text he sent stared back at you in a mocking set of pixels. 

Kim JokeJin [Thursday, 9:23pm]: Let’s make this one the best one! 

With the previous context, this was just a regular message about the yearly trip. With the right context, these words tied your throat in a knot.  

You were sure you loved him, but what you were feeling now was even stronger. If you were honest with yourself, you would say that this is what yearning truly felt like, what something deeper than love felt like. 

But you were a fool and a liar, so you convinced yourself it was only because you wouldn’t see him again. 

As soon as you were about to give up and lock your phone, the thread updated with a new text from Seokjin, and you stilled. 

Kim JokeJin [8:51pm]: You’re probably still asleep, so I don’t want to wake you. 

You immediately clicked on his message, your anxiousness protected by the absence of Read receipts. The typing bubble kept popping in and out of the screen and, with bated breath, you waited to see if a second text slid into the thread. A hard exhale whooshed from your throat when the second message came through. 

Kim JokeJin [8:53pm]: But I owe you an explanation so come up when you can. 

Fingers locked your phone in an instant when the door creaked on its hinges. Rin entered with an armful of chips and various candy bars, and as you started to get up, she tutted.  

“Sit down, lady.” Packages crinkled as she dumped them onto your covered legs in a processed, sweet and salty heap. “Did you take the medicine?” 

You shook your head, very sure that you looked like a cranky Troll doll. 

“Go ahead and eat something really quick so the medicine will work. When you’re awake enough…” Rin’s voice trailed off, but you filled in the blanks yourself. Go talk to him was what she wanted to say. 

“Can’t you just tell me what he said?” You were hopeful that Rin would save you the pain of confronting Seokjin yourself. In reality, she denied your request. 

“Not this time,” she murmured, “This is something that needs to come from him.” 

You figured as much, but it didn’t hurt to try getting out of it. It was a conversation that you both wanted and dreaded to have. Under your goosebumps, your bones trembled.

If you were frightened by the mere gist of it, how were you going to react to the real thing?

The reality was that you needed the closure Seokjin was offering. You didn’t think this vacation - or your friendship, for that matter - could regain normalcy until you had this talk. “Sorry I ruined this trip,” you whispered, playing with a corner of the closest bag of chips. 

“I’m sorry, is your name ‘Jungkook?’” Rin laughed. “I’m kidding. It’s not ruined. At the very least, it’s salvageable. Maybe.”

“You should be a weather girl with these confident forecasts,” you joked, coaxing a laugh from your friend. You offered a small smile in return, but your heart wasn’t in it. She kinda forgot that this is the last trip you guys would have with Seokjin. If anything, it was doomed from the start. 

Little striations ran across the door greeting you, shallow cuts skirting up and down the frame. You roved your eyes over the rough texture; contemplative, lost in the mahogany brown expanse. 

If only you were a sturdy tree. You wouldn’t have to worry about any hard conversations in life. All you would’ve had to worry about was possibly becoming a rickety chair for a spoiled brat, or one of Namjoon’s tables that he would eventually damage and lament over. 

With a breath, you finally knocked. 

It didn’t take long for Seokjin’s freshly showered form to answer, and when you saw him dressed down to a plain white shirt and black pants, you quickly shifted your eyes to the floor. Didn’t he know that outfit was your favorite? Your weakness? 

“Hey,” you simply said. “I’m awake now.” 

He nodded and let you in, the door closing with a soft click. When you crossed the room, you stopped in front of the couch, anticipation already caking onto your clothes. There wasn’t much to say on your end, you figured, so Seokjin had to take the lead. 

Instead of launching into topic, he walked towards you and grabbed a bottle from his nightstand. “Do you want some water?” 

You could only stare at the plastic in question. “Did I come here for water, Seokjin?” 

There was a heavy pause before the man planted his offering on the nightstand. “No.” Sitting on the longer side of his bed, he clasped his hands together, blank eyes glued to the floor. “Jungkook is right. I won’t be able to go on these trips anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“I, umm,” Seokjin answered, his words fumbling, “I kinda got into Harvard Medical School.” 

“What?” Your anxiousness was forgotten as you gawked at him. That was what he was holding back from you? All this time? That amazing, fantastic, crazy news? Without thinking, you bounded toward him and crushed him in a hug, careful to not push him back onto the bed. “Seokjin! This is what you couldn’t tell me?” 

His arms remained at his sides. When he responded, his explanation bounced onto your shoulder, “I literally won’t have a life once I start. None of you will be able to see this face, isn’t that enough to be sad about?” 

Another moment of weakness came over you, and instead of overcoming it, you gave in. Your arms tightened around him and you whispered, “No, I’m so happy for you. You’ve worked so hard…” 

There were bags under his eyes for a reason. You knew the nights he got three hours of sleep far outweighed the nights he got more than that. The reason you two didn’t get to see each other was his relentless studying and discipline, and you didn’t want him to have to choose between you and a future career. You both were way too young for those rash decisions. 

It was with this memory that you were reminded of why you broke up: you wanted him to focus on his goals and you would do the same. “Really, I’m so proud of you.” 

Why you hadn’t let go of him at that point was a mystery to you, but you couldn’t seem to stop. The feel of his body against yours consumed you, held you captive even if his arms didn’t. 

But after a moment, you felt strong limbs wrap around your sides and emotion wrap around your throat. 

You don’t remember the last time you two truly embraced. It was a given that the last time you did, you were both completely different people. Both so young. Both so naive.

“Thank you,” Seokjin breathed, his head finally a beautiful burden on your shoulder, “But there’s more.” 

Tension froze your veins, taking the color from your complexion. Of course there was more. There was no way that was the big reveal, even though it was a monster in itself. “Oh,” was all you managed to squeak out. 

Seokjin’s arms gently pushed your body away so that he could look you in the eyes. You already missed his stronghold, but you listened as he spoke. “My parents want me to go back home. To Korea.” 

You blinked. “Even though you got into Harvard?” 

“No, no, after that,” Seokjin expressed with a level of confidence only he could achieve. Like it was inconceivable that he wouldn’t get his doctorate. He then searched your face, the pause holding weight. “So, I don’t know if I’ll see you guys again.” 

The wind howled outside and you shivered as if you were standing out there in the cold. There was so much that you wanted to say, but all the thoughts you had in your head melded together into sludge. Words struggled to leave your mouth. Nothing processed correctly in your brain. 

Seokjin wasn’t joking - not this time. He really was going to be swamped in work and work and more work. Even the holidays were going to be crammed, and you were sure he wanted to use those rare rest periods solely to recharge. 

Yes, he would still be able to text and call everyone, but that would be the extent of communication. He wasn’t big on social media. Even if he was, there would certainly be a dip in his activity now. 

Just like you felt earlier, you really did feel like you were going through a breakup again. Only this time, the last remains of your relationship were at stake. 

You didn’t want that. 

“We’d still be friends,” you weakly offered, wondering if you were just saying that to convince yourself. 

An empty chuckle startled you, and when you looked at Jin, he directed an empty gaze toward his nightstand’s lamp. “Yeah… We’d still be friends,” he repeated, and the way he said that made your shoulders sag. It was almost as if he didn’t believe you. 

“But Seokjin… You should be so happy. I mean, you’re incredible,” you whispered, a heavy feeling weighing down your chest.

“What if I’m not?” 

You sucked in a breath, suddenly not knowing what to do. Was he saying that hypothetically? No. There wouldn’t be a reason for him to ask if he truly was. 

How were you supposed to respond to that? Being a doctor was his goal - you were sure of it. If he got accepted into Harvard of all places, then his future glimmered as bright as his charm. “What do you mean,” was what you decided to say. Because you needed more from him than that. 

“You said I should be happy. What if I’m not?” 

“This is what you’ve been working towards your whole life!” It didn’t make any sense. None of this was making any sense. Who wasn’t happy that they got accepted to one of the most prestigious medical programs in the world? “You did everything you could, and now you have something to show for it! We even broke up over this. And that’s fine,” you quickly added at the end. You didn’t want Seokjin to feel bad for that at all. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” you continued, wanting to get every logical word out before more irrational ones escaped. “You’ve gotten everything you wanted. You deserve to be happy.” 

You could feel the doors of your heart scraping shut. Even if you wanted to try to be with him again, you would have to give up on that dream. There was no way it was going to work if it didn’t pan out last time. 

Fists clenched, you hated how your heart gravitated towards Seokjin on this damn trip, loathed how your brain produced its own highlight reel. Somehow, they both knew this was the end before you did. 

“I don’t have everything I want, but you’re right. I’ll be happy.” He sounded bitter. Why did he sound so bitter?

“What more could you want,” you blurted, the question materializing between the two of you in bold letters. You were just getting frustrated at this point. 

This was his dream. The ultimate goal. The one thing he wanted out of life.

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does to me.”

“Well, it’s none of your concern.”

“I don’t care if it is or not.”

“You really want to know?” Seokjin shot off the bed, immediately towering over your small stature. As your eyes reached his face, you watched as his lips twisted, your shocked features taking in his frustration. “It’s… It’s love, okay? That might sound weird to you, but I’ve realized that all of this is pointless without it. That’s what I’m missing. I want to love again.” He shoved a hand through his hair, his forehead slightly wrinkling under duress. 

The first thing that threw you off was the mere mention of the word. That was so brave of him to even bring it up. With you, of all people: someone he’s dated before. It must have taken so much courage for him to admit that. 

But there was another word in there that stood out amongst all the others.

Again. He said again. Did he love someone before? He couldn’t have been referring to what you guys had. You never once said those words to each other while you dated. So who was he thinking of? And why did it hurt to know that he had loved before and it wasn’t you? 

“I didn’t know you wanted that,” you replied, your voice painfully small. “But I don’t think it’s weird.”

You wanted nothing more than to just confess to him already, but you had no clue what he would say if he didn’t want something with you. The moment escaped like a thief in the night.

“Ah, well, if you knew the whole story,” Seokjin sighed, his breath shaky, “You would definitely think it’s stupid.”

“Why did it end the first time?” You wanted to get to the bottom of it. Maybe through his explanation, you could find something salvageable. You cared about him - so damn much. Seeing him in a state of utter helplessness seized your heart and gripped it tight. “With the one you… you loved. What happened?”

Seokjin’s indiscernible stare pierced through your soul, his silence screaming that he didn’t want to talk about it. 

And you understood his reluctance. The list of activities to do with an ex didn’t include this as an option, either. 

You felt the steely aftertaste of guilt on your tongue. Maybe he wanted you to just leave him alone already. Besides, you already pushed him to tell a multitude of truths that night. Asking him about a past love life was most likely crossing the line. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, uprooting yourself from your spot to leave. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll leave you alone.” 

You made it three steps before Seokjin responded, “She decided to end it.” 

A vice clamped your chest. You stood in your new spot closer to the door, eyes boring into the floor. “Even though you were in love?” 

That must have been awful. If you loved him when you two broke it off, it would have absolutely hurt. Very much like what was happening to you now, in fact. Because fuck, were you absolutely disintegrating like a paper on fire. 

“I don’t think she loved me,” Seokjin disclosed, his words tightening the clasp around your lungs. “But I loved her.” 

“I’m so sorry, Seokjin.” Tears brimmed across your eyes, but you didn’t want him to see you break. You thrummed with so many emotions in that moment, swept by the current of his words, his heavy tribulations.

He loved someone in the past. You loved him in the present. If only you both harbored a love for each other in at least one point in your lives. 

“That must have been hard.”

“It wasn’t, for the most part.” His brittle words crumbled as they appeared. “I saw it coming.”

You chewed on your lip. Seokjin’s confessions were so full of pain - the amount of love he had for this person was obvious. Looking back on your relationship, you remember your split being mutual. It was mutual, right? There weren't any feelings involved. Whichever other situation Seokjin was referring to had to be sometime after you. 

Maybe it was someone during his college days. But wouldn’t you have at least heard about them through the friend circle? Their name must have just left your mind. You knew Seokjin flirted a lot but he needed to be serious to really start a relationship. This one just sounded tragic. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted sincerely, your chest about ready to collapse, “Other than don’t give up. You can do it. Love again.” The joints in your knees threatened to give out. Telling the one you loved that he could find someone again was too much. Too, too much.

“Ah, yeah. Well.” Seokjin turned away from you in a shrug. Even the back of his profile was perfect. “Thanks for being a good, uh, friend.” 

Friend. Could you teleport to your room and stay there? You couldn’t be the one to give him what he wanted, especially since he was about to be gone for a very long time. No matter how much you wanted to. Oh, how you wanted to. 

You swung around to face the door once again. Critical words almost freed themselves from your lips, but you held them back, swallowed them down. “I’ll always be your friend.” 

Head storming, you commended yourself for keeping your voice level. The tears were able to recede - which relieved you, since you wanted to make it through the rest of the conversation with dry eyes. With one tiny head shake, you whispered, “Let’s get some sleep, okay? I don’t want us to ruin the rest of this trip. Like you said before, we have to make it the best one.” 

Seokjin got up and made his way over to you, and you turned around with a fresh face once you knew he was close enough. The smile he wore was manufactured, but you didn’t want to pry. Instead, you repeated your advice as you both approached his door. Because you wanted him to understand. “Seriously. Don’t give up, you hear me?” 

“Don’t give up,” he echoed as he pulled on the handle, like you were just giving him directions. He stilled for a moment in deep concentration before looking your way. Dark eyes bore into yours and you could almost hear them speak, but he gave one final nod and vowed, “Okay.” 

Little striations met you again when you gave Seokjin’s closed room one last look, and you swore they regarded you with pity. Finally breaking, you let your tears fall the whole way back to your floor, wishing to be made into a sturdy tree in your next life so you never had to feel that way again. 

The next morning found all nine friends situated in various places around Seokjin’s room. You thought it amusing that the boys never really settled for normal seats, always choosing a table or windowsill perch instead. As an avid fan of the floor yourself, apparently, you were once again plopped on the ground in front of the sofa. Only this time, you weren’t drowning in the depths of your past.  

“Looks like the snow piled up high last night, so we might not be able to use the cars,” Namjoon observed after his long fingers created a tiny crack in the curtains. His argyle sweater blended in with the burgundy fabric and the sight put a small smile on your face. 

The action surprised you since you spent the whole night swathed in a blanket of regret, your arms caging your ribs in an attempt to stopper your bleeding heart. If only you were so bold as to allow a confession to fall from your lips. Three words to solve two peoples’ problems.  

But the risk involved was too high. The hurt following an unrequited love confession would haunt you through every sunrise and sunset. 

Jungkook’s exasperated voice sliced through your thoughts. “What are we gonna do then?” You glanced at him right as he threw himself onto Seokjin’s bed, bouncing the other two occupants  like buoys amongst waves. 

“What we can do: stay in,” Yoongi responded while repositioning himself against the headboard. 

Taehyung’s sigh mingled with Rin’s tsking noise, Jungkook’s deeper groan almost in harmony with the both of them. Their melancholic concerto almost pulled a laugh out of you, but the next suggestion came from Hoseok, “I brought some board games we could play. Cards, too.” 

Seokjin quickly shot him a look. “You don’t play board games. Or games. Or cards. Actually, what do you do?” 

“I look after all of you.” Hoseok’s head always bobbed when he spoke to accentuate his points. “Hence why I brought board games and cards just in case!” 

You couldn’t refute the man’s claims, either. Hoseok always made sure everyone packed what they needed before trips but brought extra stuff in the event that the group needed something else. Helping was just part of his nature. Yesterday was one example. Rin got the snacks last night, but you were sure he would have woken up at any point in time to be your comfort food delivery man. If being a leader were a sport, Hoseok would be the dark horse that you never saw coming until they finished first. Then you couldn’t deny their talent and skill. 

Taehyung didn’t let the dark horse live, though. “Thanks, hyung. Did you pack a snowblower, too?” 

Rin’s laugh could always be heard amongst your friends, but not because she was a girl. Hers was just so distinct and heartwarming, like a cozy throw or the thought of cookies in the oven. It was only slightly better than Jimin’s. 

Speaking of which: Jimin was eerily quiet throughout the whole meeting, his gaze lingering on you more than once. You noticed it ever since you burst into Seokjin’s room and lauded the man’s scholastic advancement. Which couldn’t be helped. No matter how painful last night’s conversation was, you still wanted him to know how proud you were. After all, a person could be sporting a dagger through their heart but still have love to give.  

You didn’t know why Jimin was acting strange. The big secret was unveiled but you would come to terms with it. Was he afraid of how you would be feeling? Or was he just sympathizing with you because he assumed you weren’t exactly fine? Talking to him later to iron things out was going to be essential. The multiple glances he threw your way proved too much.  

“I have a pamphlet we can look through,” you responded, waving it in the air like a white flag. The decision to bring it just in case proved to be the right one, even if Rin threw a small fit from having to fumble through her bag for the room key again. Warmth from the thick hoodie swallowing both your body and your bent legs validated the first time you went back into your room. 

Rin stuck her tongue out at you but smiled right after in her best Sour Patch Kid impression. Cute. You breathily laughed before unfolding the flimsy paper. Shifting your eyes along the colorful pages, you started listing out the lodge activities. “Okay, so we have… Kayaking: no. Lake yoga: no. Mountain biking: no…” 

Even though the lodge boasted a huge amount of things to do, the majority of them required there to not be four billion inches of snow outside. Only a few remained, and majority rules determined ski slopes the winner. 

The only issue with the slopes was that they only allowed groups of three at a time. To remedy this, groups were formed and a rotation was set based on a heated tournament of rock-paper-scissors. And while Hoseok didn’t play board games, cards, or even video games, he seemed to be a pro at that. 

He picked Seokjin and Yoongi for his group, and they were going out first, to the eldest’s horror. You saw his anxiousness coming from miles out - tackling snow with one board was much more up his alley than tackling it with two. 

Next, Jungkook chose Namjoon and Jimin since he wanted to somehow “win” on the slopes. They gave him much grief for that. 

And that left you with Rin and Taehyung, but they wanted to check out the spa area first, so your group was going to catch up later. 

Which wasn’t ideal for you. You wanted to watch Seokjin ski. Or really, you just wanted to see him as much as possible before the trip ended. Seok in his presence, like he said. Maybe being pruny in this case was a beautiful thing. 

Room Service knocking on the door interrupted your thoughts, and Jimin let them in to serve the breakfast Seokjin ordered for everyone prior. While the dishes were distributed, the group was already firing bets and insults and digs at each other as if a clear winner would emerge outside. And you welcomed every bit of their energy. Chewing on food while basking in everyone’s competitive nature was enough of a distraction from your woes. At least, until you caught Jimin deep in thought again.

The spa was decent, so you three ended up staying for almost an hour. Both the sauna and facial massage served to ease the thick layer of tenseness under your skin. If only you could transport yourself into a cloud of steam every time you thought about Seokjin. Maybe that would’ve helped with the anxiousness and guilt you felt every time you thought about confessing. 

And you were grateful for Taehyung tagging along because he really did offer free hugs often. Even while Rin scanned over the receipt for everything you guys did, the man slung a lean arm around your shoulders. 

His voice glided over your hair when he leaned in to ask, “How did it go last night?” 

You sighed before responding, debating on how to answer him. You decided to take the easy route. “Good. Better than I expected. I just can’t believe it took him that long to tell me! I was so worried this whole time.” 

Taehyung squeezed you gently. “Finally. We kept telling him to just admit it already.” 

Rin was in the middle of paying when you smiled. Her hair gleamed in the incandescents, and you reached out to touch it as you admitted, “It’s just weird that he wanted to hide that from me.” 

“Well, you’re his ex, so he thought it would’ve been awkward.” 

A laugh shot out of you, and Taehyung gave you a look. “Seokjin’s so strange. He knows I’ve been rooting for him this whole time. I mean, Harvard? That’s incredible.” 

Normally, friends would converse about achievements and be sincerely happy about them. But something else happened in that moment that set alarm bells off in your head. Whether it was Rin becoming a block of ice in front of you, or Taehyung slowly peeling his arm off of your shoulders, you suddenly got a feeling that something wasn’t right.  

When Rin spun around to face you, the expression painted on her face reminded you of those Renaissance pieces you saw during one museum date with your ex. Her eyebrows artfully scrunched; her full lips twisted. Was she on the side of the angels, battling demons? Going to war? 

No, she was just trying to clarify something. “He didn’t say anything else?” 

You gulped. “I mean, yeah?”

“What did he say?” Taehyung furrowed his dark brows, his own face a work of art in itself. 

“That his parents are making him move back to Korea when he’s done with his doctorate,” you revealed, suspicious of the both of them and Seokjin now. You kept your tone level to hide any emotions under the surface. “Why, is there more?” 

Once again, you were swept under the wave of confusion. The waters there were dark and cold, and you felt like you couldn’t swim to safety this time. It was as if cotton clogged your ears and a thin film coated your vision. You didn’t even register Taehyung furiously typing on his phone while Rin led you all out of the spa’s reception area. 

“Do you want there to be more,” was all she offered before sitting you down on an earthly toned loveseat. The fluffy rug under your shoes snagged most of your attention. 

“I don’t know how to answer that, but I guess not,” you finally grunted, feeling angrier and angrier from being left in the dark again. Comparable to a disease, this dangerous feeling was taking over you, trickling into your veins drop by black drop. “Honestly, I kinda just want to go back to the room until we meet for dinner. Whatever you guys are hiding is starting to piss me off.” 

“Let’s go,” Rin agreed, urging you to get up and follow her to the room. But you shook her off. 

“I’ll go by myself.” Buzzing with anger, you shuffled through your bag to grip your key. “Just let me be alone for a bit.”

Taehyung looked absolutely livid, but he nodded along with Rin. You didn’t watch the two of them share a knowing glance as you drug your crumpling form to the stairs, hoping pieces of you didn’t crumble off before you reached your temporary bed.  

From the moment your tired bones hit your comforter, time traveled at a strange pace. You didn’t know how long you spent lying prone on the sheets, your head lolled towards the window. Watching the light snowfall outside did nothing to bring you out of your dark space. 

Being left out, confused, and feeling betrayed left you mentally drained. How long were you going to feel like this? Like you were just going to keep being lied to? Maybe you weren’t outwardly lied to, but omitting something was still considered a lie. The truth was still held captive and you couldn’t even pay it a visit. 

Rin and Taehyung reacted strongly to what you said. That had to mean whatever else Seokjin was supposed to say to you was big. You weren’t stupid. At least, that’s what you concluded. 

But what if you were this time? 

You loathed this feeling. You hated being looked at with pity. Even Rin knew what was left unsaid this time, so you were truly alone in the dark. 

A dark monster within you rose to life, and you ripped yourself from the sheets. Snatching your coat from the couch, you jerked your arms inside, striding toward your door with purpose. A ball of fury, you were determined to march up the slopes and confront Seokjin. Everything was getting ridiculous. 

Tugging the door open, you flinched at the figure waiting on the other side. A brief moment of silence and bewilderment and worry washed over you, quelling a small part of your harbored anger. “What happened to you?” 

Seokjin stood in front of you wrapped in his puffy coat, hair in disarray and a small gash on his cheek. His nose was red with the cold and a small cut, and his eyes looked as if he had been holding back tears. Tears? Was he crying? Even now, it seemed like a few were threatening to fall as his gaze lowered. A ghost of a voice wafted from his mouth as he replied, “Jimin.” 

You winced. Remembering the glances the younger man gave you this morning, you should have seen a conflict brewing. Your friend wasn’t lying when he said he’d give Seokjin hell. Something must have broken out when they were on the slopes, or anytime you weren’t there with them. “Shit. I’m sorry.” 

If you didn’t have that revelation with Rin and Taehyung, you would have been absolutely thrown by Seokjin’s appearance and the cause of it. But it seemed that both groups found out what he told you last night and neither were pleased with the result. What that result was, you couldn’t determine yet. But based on your own categories, “I got into Harvard” and “I’m moving back to Korea” fit in the Should Know box. The Deserved to Know box was still accepting applications. 

“Come in.” Your fury had to simmer on a proverbial stove for the time being. “I have a first aid kit in my bag.” 

You hurried him into the room before making a beeline for your duffle. The adrenaline built while you were fired up was still thrumming your bones like guitar strings. Nothing more was said as your bag crinkled with your rummaging, even though you wanted to just wring answers from his neck already. 

But you couldn’t. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts, both the past woes you were fighting and your current worries. 

As Jin awkwardly stood in front of your bed, you kept pondering. What the hell happened out there? How did it end up in a physical altercation? Did Jin fight back? It was already obvious Jimin initiated it, but you wondered if he sported any bruises, too. Not from Seokjin, though. Because you couldn’t ever see him throwing a punch. You were more curious about someone like Yoongi. The elder one was incredibly protective of Jin.

When you found the kit, you spun around to start tending to your ex’s face. “Bed,” you ordered, pointing towards yours with the first aid box. Your tone was harsh, but you weren’t holding it back.

The man was silent as he delicately sat on the comforter, and you instantly noticed how he refused to look at you still. 

No matter. Treating his cuts was a priority, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to force him into confrontation right after. Seokjin wasn’t going to have a choice. 

Perching yourself next to him, you propped one leg up to steady yourself, clicking open the small kit next to you. It wasn’t as fancy as the one he carried along, but it housed the basics. Fetching some antiseptic and cotton first, you told him to turn towards you so that you could start. 

And despite your anger, your exasperation, your frustration, the hands you lifted to Seokjin’s face were nothing but calm. 

Throughout the time you dusted his cuts, you kept your gaze on his cheek, his mouth, his nose. A wall erected around you that you refused to take down. After all of the hurt Seokjin had caused, the turmoil he had put you through, it was pertinent you wouldn’t let him in. You had your soldiers’ arrows at the ready, directed right at his wounded face. 

But if you so much as flitted your gaze toward his eyes, your walls would crumble to dust. Your gates would slam open in surrender. 

Because having him this close to you after all this time was like coming home. And you harbored that feeling ever since the scent of his cologne consumed you. Your face hovered inches from his, your fingers gently pressing his features. All of the nights you yearned to be this close were so lonely and cold, and his warmth was tugging your heart by multiple strings. 

His looming absence was hitting you deeply then. If you gave in only to lose him again, the pain would surely hollow out your soul until you were a mere shell of yourself. You wanted nothing more than to sink into the mattress and slip down into the soil underneath the lodge. 

Suddenly, a hand cradled your cheek, and you shook on impact. Without thinking, you locked eyes with Jin, and it was then that you realized he was wiping hot tears from your face. 

“If I’m the reason for these,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.” 

Something strangled escaped you, and you finally caved. “You are,” you exhaled, unable to stop the tears from falling. “You really are.”

You tore yourself from the bed, instantly feeling the lingering warmth of his fingers fade. A chasm was created between you two: your chest heaving on one side and his face crumbling on the other. The mountain of thoughts and feelings you created broke down under pressure, emotions roaring down its slopes in a cathartic avalanche. “I’ve been looking like a fool this whole trip, and apparently everyone is feeling so fucking sorry for me. Why can’t you just tell me everything? What did Yoongi mean? What do I deserve to know? You told me you got into Harvard and have the audacity to say you aren’t happy? What the hell is that about? We’re supposed to be friends, so why am I feeling like you’re letting that all go?” You choked on your tears and clasped a hand over your mouth, a burn blossoming in your chest from the dry sobs. 

Seokjin’s eyes ringed with a burgeoning shade of pink, both of his pupils glossed in guilt. “I’m not… I’m not letting that go, but--”

“But what, Seokjin,” you gritted out, “Please stop and just tell me already.” 

“But I was too scared,” he admitted, “I’m still scared.” 

“Why are you scared?” The question drifted to his face, and you could tell he was struggling to answer even that one. It pained you to be this close yet so far from the answer.

“Why are you scared, Seokjin,” you whispered again, realizing that his hands were shaking. 

“Because…” You watched as he clenched them on his thighs, and he struggled to get the words out. “Because it’s going to happen again.” 

Enough with the obscurity. Frustration reached a boiling point. “What’s going to happen again?” 

“Exactly what happened last time!” Seokjin declared as his eyes pleaded with you, eyebrows furrowed and kneeling in anguish. The skin encasing his watery eyes remained that same dusty shade of affliction. 

You couldn’t for the life of you understand what he was saying, until you remembered last night. When you asked him about the time he loved before. 

Wait.

Your hand made a slow descent from your face as you matched Seokjin’s stare. A million words skittered across your eyes, transforming into liquid and sliding down your skin. You were sure you looked an absolute wreck with your tear-stained cheeks and reddened nose, but that didn’t concern you at all. The only thing you could hang onto was Jin’s words, just short of a confession. 

But you had to be sure. You weren’t settling for five words that could mean a thousand other things while arranged the same way. “The one from before,” you more stated than questioned, “Where is she now.” 

Seokjin never broke his gaze, doing an incredible job of keeping tears at the edges of his eyes. Heavy breaths caused his chest to swell with each pass. Voice low, he finally, finally caved, “She’s the one on the polaroid I have in my room.” 

The entire conversation from last night struck you like a freight train. So many realizations hit you at once and you didn’t know how your trembling legs were keeping you upright. 

It was you. He was talking about you. 

Your coat smothered your limbs like a cage, your whole being rattling inside like an animal starved. 

That was what he was truly hiding from you. That was what he had buried deep down into his chest. And you couldn’t blame him one bit after you realized it was exactly what you were holding from him, too. 

No matter the reason, you still kept your own truth hidden. It occurred to you then that you couldn’t be angry - that would just be hypocrisy. There was bravery in confession, and even more so to someone you no longer were allowed to feel that way about. 

You were the one that forced the truth out of Seokjin, and now you only felt like a coward. 

Movement in front of you snapped your vision back into focus. He was getting up to leave. Why was he leaving? 

“I knew this would happen,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ll go. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” 

Oh. He assumed your silence was from guilt. Guilt that you didn’t feel the same. And he was about to walk out with that egregious misconception. What an absolute fool.

But no matter how hard you tried, the words wouldn’t budge from the back of your teeth. 

You had two choices here. One, you told him. You laid everything out and you admitted that you felt the same. Then tomorrow, he would leave your life and you may not see him again for years. And you tried this before - being in two separate schools and living different lives while holding onto your relationship. It obviously didn’t work last time, and you still saw him from time to time. This situation would be a thousand times harder. 

Which brought you to the second option: you let him go. You let him leave without telling him how you felt. Rip the bandage off right there and then. Leave him to pursue his dream, and with that the freedom to go and find someone else to love. Was that what you wanted? Was this your own sick version of loving him? All the villains in the universe would applaud you as you lied to his face while telling him not to give up. How fucking cruel would that be?

“Seokjin,” you called out, and your chest subtly heaved when he turned to stone by the door. His broad back remained still as you took a step towards him, and only after you roamed your eyes over his shoulders did you notice small movements. But he didn’t face you. It was almost as if he didn’t want to.

Agony consumed your entire being as you made your decision. 

You shut your eyes, clenched your jittering fingers into hard fists. 

“See you at the campfire,” you whispered, your voice unfamiliar even to yourself. 

The only response you got was the soft opening and closing of your door.

Compared to last night’s lion of a snow storm, tonight was but a mere cub. There were small flakes here and there taking their time to descend, and the fixtures from inside the lodge were the only light source beside the fire pit you were approaching downstairs. 

Situated in the center of your friends, the flames danced across their jovial smiles as they passed bottles around. The drinks weren’t the lodge’s, but the ones you all brought and snuck out of the rooms - the telltale green glass was enough of a hint. 

After Seokjin left, it took you a couple minutes to let everything out, and about thirty minutes crying into Rin’s shoulder once she witnessed your crumpled form on the floor. She listened to your recap of the conversation and Jin’s final secret, and through broken sobs you told her you couldn’t tell him yours. When she asked why, you told her your reasoning. When she called you an idiot, you wholeheartedly agreed and cried even harder. 

But you still stuck with your decision. It was for the best. You loved him so much that you wanted what was best for him, and that was to let you go. 

“Promise me one thing,” Rin murmured, earning a nod from you. “Only go through with it if you know you won’t regret it.” 

A sharp pain sliced through you then, but you acquiesced. “I won’t.” 

She then grabbed your Polaroid from the bed. It was Namjoon’s idea to bring it to the campfire once he heard you brought it on the trip. “Are you okay with this?” 

“Yeah,” you gulped, regarding the old piece of the past with heavy eyes. Seokjin confessed to you with the help of that camera. You weren’t okay with the mere idea of touching it. “Yeah, it’s fine. I want everyone to enjoy themselves tonight, so. Yes.” 

Even if that meant you suffered. This was Seokjin’s last trip with everyone, not just you. Why keep them from making good memories just because you were a walking dark cloud?

You reached the bottom of the rickety stairs, the squeaky noises catching the attention of the boys. Most of them raised their bottles to you, but you caught Jin staring at the fire instead. 

If you got through this night in one piece, it would be a miracle.

Namjoon stood as you and Rin settled into your seats. “Okay. Since we’re all here now, I say we start.” 

As everyone gave their cheers, the eldest just looked confused. “Start what?”

“Something for you,” Yoongi explained, his body already comfortable in his Adirondack. “Since you aren’t joining us for these anymore.”

“Ah, yah,” Seokjin protested, “You don’t need to do anything—”

“Don’t lie, you already love this,” Jimin cut in, all smiles despite the companion bruises and cuts on his face to Jin’s. “Although, your opinion may change in a second.”

Jungkook paused his leg bouncing to shout, “Let hyung explain!” 

You smiled as the group settled, but noticed that Jimin was looking at you strangely. You didn’t have time to process it, though, since Namjoon headed things off while a bottle rested against his chest, “Jin-hyung. We just want you to know that we’re proud of you. Even though we may not see you for awhile, you’ll be in our hearts and on our minds. Starting tomorrow, you’re already Dr. Kim to us, so I say we all call you by name tonight.”

Laughter and claps filled the air, drowning out Seokjin’s weak protests. 

Namjoon cleared his throat to calm the air, and you watched small flakes catch in his hair as he continued, “We’ll each do two things: give you advice, and ask for advice. Since you’re clearly educated, we figured you’d have a lot to say.”

“Oh, I’m just lucky.” 

“And keep sharp, everyone. Miss Photographer over there will be taking pictures.” Namjoon nodded at you, and you gave a short smile while holding up the Polaroid. You were fine doing this; behind the lens was your safe space. 

The boys and Rin slowly got through their questions and advice, and you were shocked by how insightful Seokjin was being. You never truly realized the magnitude of his intelligence. Every person around the campfire hung on his every word, and it didn’t help that you all took a swig after every good point he made - many, many times. You diligently fired away on your camera, making sure to get Seokjin with everyone so they could all have a moment captured with him. 

When Jimin’s turn came, he shot you a glance before looking at your ex. “Jin. That sounds weird to say. Jin-hyung.” He looked at the ground before continuing, and you knew it was to compose himself. “My advice to you… Sorry,” he buried his head in his elbow for a brief moment. Yoongi looked away. 

“I kinda gave you advice already,” Jimin trudged on, “And you took it. So, my next piece of advice would be to, uh, keep going.” 

You were rooted to your chair. Seokjin didn’t spare you a single glance during that exchange, but you knew it was about you. It had to be how he ended up at your door earlier. He even said Jimin was the one responsible for his wounds. 

“Thank you, Jimin,” Jin replied. “As for my advice to you, it’s okay to let people figure things out on their own. You don’t have to put it on yourself to be the one that keeps people together. If something ends up breaking, you’re going to think it’s your fault.” 

Jimin regarded him with watery eyes before nodding and wiping his freezing tears. And when he looked your way, he saw you only looking at Seokjin. Your face was slowly cracking, and the shadows in your facade were exacerbated by the flames. 

It was your turn; everyone else went. The Polaroid felt like a boulder on your thighs.

You blinked before setting the camera down and clutching your bottle. Since Seokjin was on the other side of the fire, you had to stand to see him, your tenseness on full display. 

What could you possibly say in that moment that he wanted to hear? That he was willing to listen to? You were certain you took his heart and slammed it into the ground earlier. It would be better if you just didn’t say anything. 

“Seokjin,” you started, pausing to collect yourself. “My advice to you is to forget the advice I gave you before.” 

Several pairs of eyes looked at you then. Even Jin finally regarded you, the most aware of what you were referring to.

“What I’m trying to say is: it’s okay to give up sometimes, because not everything that you want to happen is going to happen. There will be times you will just have to let things go. And that’s okay. Because maybe letting things go would end up for the best.” 

Jimin’s eyes bore into your soul. He sat so still that it put all the statues throughout history to shame. 

Seokjin grabbed his bottle with both hands, elbows resting on his knees. “Interesting advice.” His eyes danced as they took in the warm flames. “I might even follow it.” 

Both of your lungs threatened to give out at his words. Your hands almost dropped the glass you were barely clinging to, but you never looked away from Jin. It was as if your attention was chained to his body, your soul weighed down by his earlier confession and now his possible break. 

If he followed your advice, shouldn’t you be happy? It’s what you wanted in the end, right? You would let him go, and he wouldn’t look back. 

Snow drifted onto everyone’s chairs and the fire crackled in front of you. A small breath left you in a wisp of white. Warmth did its best to help you, but the cold was too strong. No amount of fire in the world could melt your icy conscience - you truly left Seokjin in the dark. He practically admitted that he loved you, and in return you gave him nothing. Of course he would consider your advice.  

“But I like the sound of not giving up. It has a ring to it that exists beyond the sound it makes when someone says it,” he cut himself off, the silence deafening. Inside, bells rang in your head. What was he implying? Seokjin’s voice was as clear as blue skies when he continued, “So, I guess I’m stealing your advice and giving it to everyone here.” 

Your gaze shifted to the side as everyone turned towards Seokjin. This was something you weren’t prepared to digest. Settling back down into your chair, you tried to even out your breathing and neutralize your shaking fingers. 

Your feelings were warring with each other in a confusing battle. If you wanted him to follow your advice, why were you relieved when he said he liked not giving up? Did that mean you hoped he still waited for you? Years and years and years from now? 

“Take it from me: don’t give up,” he advised. “But what I mean by that is to not give up until you’re happy.” 

Guilt squeezed your eyes shut, clamping your lids down. He was going to wait. Love was the one thing he wanted to be happy. And you held your love for him tightly in your hands, behind your back and hidden from sight. 

But even still, in the midst of your silent rejection, this man wasn’t letting go. Without saying the words, Seokjin was going to wait for you. Because he still loved you. 

This was too hard. 

“To being happy,” Jimin boisterously cheered, startling everyone and causing your bones to rattle. His glass remained high in the air, and everyone joined in with their own proclamations. 

“To being happy,” you whispered alongside the others, quickly taking a swig.

Yoongi was the next one to pipe up as he declared, “Okay, now that all that’s done, let’s just drink for fuck’s sake.” 

Amongst the laughter and “thank god”s thrown about, you quickly downed the rest of your drink like it was your lifeline. You needed more than liquid courage to get through the rest of the night. The camera by your feet was snatched up by Jungkook before Taehyung could get to it, and you prayed to every higher power that they kept it in one piece. 

As everyone made their way back to their rooms, you noticed Seokjin joking and laughing with the others like normal. It was a continuation of the rest of the night, since after the advice conversation it was nothing but fun. Your Polaroid almost ran out of film, for one, but watching everyone fight over the photos was entertainment in itself. There were digs toward Jin until he turned red, jabs thrown at Jimin’s fragile emotional state, and Rin’s warm laughter coating everything in a soft glow. 

And it was a bittersweet event. There was nothing more you wanted than to capture that moment and place it in a snowglobe. The world wouldn’t interfere with your friends, and none of you would ever leave. 

Seokjin was about to head up the stairs to tuck in for the night. Full of soju and stupidity, you blurted, “Leaving already?” 

He stilled before turning toward you. “Oh. Yeah.” He regarded you with a look you couldn’t completely decipher. “Long day tomorrow.” 

“Right,” you replied, hating the sudden hollowness you felt. Or didn’t feel. 

“Well… Good night.” Seokjin tapped the banister twice before heading up, and you softly wished him good night before speedwalking to your room. You were only tipsy, so the fast trip didn’t bother you. The camera in your hands kept your center balanced the whole way back.

By some strange miracle, you kept it together the whole time after everyone’s campfire speeches. You imagined yourself as an ice sculpture, surrounded by the guests of honor. Everyone gave you a glance and thought nothing else of you. They could only see composure and poise. Only when they got closer could they see you slowly melting, rivulets of remorse cascading down your entire frame.

Rin was in the middle of her skincare routine when you entered your room. As soon as she heard your footsteps, she made a noise indicating she had something to say. The product around her mouth didn’t let her yet, though. Which meant you had to wait. 

You stood in the doorframe of the bathroom, vision spinning just a smidge. This was probably a talk you didn’t want to have, but you gave your friend her podium. It was only fair. Her serious talks were few and far between. 

But she didn’t have much to say when she finished getting ready for bed. In fact, she only said three sentences. 

“It’s 11 o’clock,” she stated plainly, her tone indicating she was done with the calmer approach. Bluntness was more her style. 

“Okay?” 

“We leave at 7 in the morning.” 

“And?” 

“It means you have eight hours to decide how you’re going to feel for the next ten years.” 

Silence. 

All you could respond with was silence. 

Dead air. Sober. You were sober now. In that moment, you may have held your breath for a century. Too many thoughts flooded your brain, from past memories at a carnival to future images of an empty apartment with a bed fit for one. 

It was stark. Blank. There wasn’t going to be a future with Seokjin, no matter what you said. 

But when Rin put it that way, would you feel better if he knew the truth? Or would you keep this idiotic stance and lock your feelings away forever? 

For the third time that night, your fingers rattled. Rin took them into her comforting palms. 

“Go,” she murmured, and she smiled as she witnessed you burst into the hall. 

Your strides were incredibly long as you hurried down the corridor. The doors blurred on either side of your vision, the pattern of the floor elongated with your fast pace. Your camera thudded into your chest over and over. Step after step after step got faster and faster as your anxiousness bubbled into your brain. The last turn before the stairs made you skid, and you rushed up the rickety steps. Your heart was thrumming, scratching at your chest to set it free. 

When you got to his door, you were certain you woke sleeping neighbors with your rapid knocking. But you couldn’t stop yourself. Nothing could possibly stop you now.

You had no plan. There wasn’t time to think. All you wanted was to see him. All you could think about was letting everything out. Eight hours. You had eight hours.

Seokjin tugged the door open, pausing mid-swing when he saw your face. He looked so beautiful. Full of warmth. Like home.

“Jinnie.” 

You didn’t mean to call him that, but you didn’t take it back. You weren’t taking anything back anymore. His eyes roamed over your features multiple times, searching for any indication that this was a dream. But it wasn’t. The words finally slipped from your lips. 

“I’m not following your advice. Or my own.” 

His eyebrows furrowed, but you pushed on. 

“I’m giving up. But I’m giving up because I can’t let you go.” When Seokjin stared at you, it was impossible to look away. 

His response came out in a rush, “What are you… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you.” You huffed out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Damn it, I— I just love you. I love you so much it hurts.” 

A shaky exhale left you at the look on his face. The quick descent into realization formed in the corners of his eyes, tears pooled at the edges before quickly streaming down his cheeks, collecting at the crux of his chin. Glassy orbs bore straight into your soul in search of answers, of truth. And if he wanted those answers, you already admitted the biggest one, so words were easier to come by.

“I’ve felt this way ever since our trip last year,” you started, slowly inching toward the wreck of a man. Not like you fared any better with the streaks forming on your own cheeks. “And I know it’s the stupidest thing to tell you now since you’re leaving, and we failed at long distance before, but--” 

Seokjin breathed out your name, and his next words would stay imprinted in your mind forever. “I still want to try. And I’ll try as many times as you’ll let me.” 

“I know. I know that now,” you whispered. 

Passion and warmth bloomed in your chest, spiraling out into the far reaches of your limbs. Hundreds of nights imagining him accepting you again didn’t prepare you for this feeling. Nothing was holding you back; your walls came crashing down. 

You finally broke and shielded your face in your hands, and you felt sturdy arms shield you from the world. The cruel, beautiful world that brought you two together right before he disappeared from your life again. You cried, and sobbed, and wheezed. The elation from his confession only magnified the pain of his departure. 

You felt the weight of the Polaroid leave your chest as Seokjin lifted it from your neck. “Come inside,” Seokjin whispered into your hair, earning a hiccup from your chest. “Please.” 

It was only then that you noticed you were still out in the hall. A small nod from you was all he needed to guide you into his room, and your throat constricted at the bags lying open on the bed. 

Seokjin was already packing. Packing while thinking he was going to go through the same thing he went through last time. You felt absolutely sick. How could you even think of doing this to him? If there was a way to make it all up to him, you would do it. “I didn’t want to tell you before,” you confessed, burying your nose into his chest. “But that was wrong of me. You almost left without knowing. I’m so sorry.” 

Strong, lean fingers traveled through your hair as your camera was placed on a table. The heavy clunk it made reached your ears, and a whisper followed. “I didn’t want to tell you, either. You don’t need to apologize.” 

“If I told you earlier, we would’ve had more time. Now I’m just sad.”  

“Look at me.” Jin caressed the back of your head, naturally lifting your gaze. His watery eyes took yours in, and he leaned forward to kiss the top of your hair. “We still have tonight, so if we’re going to be sad, let’s wait until after.” 

“But you’re crying, too,” you observed, feeling slightly better from his words. How Seokjin was able to have that effect on you, you would never understand. 

A light huff from him made you melt. “That’s because I’m so happy,” he confessed, softly laughing again and wiping his eyes with both hands. 

He was happy. Seokjin was happy. You looked at the growing smile under his fingers, and you had no choice but to grin and join in his laughter. 

Not because it was funny. But because it was unbelievable. You were able to gift him the last piece he was missing - he was finally able to find that happiness. How were you about to deny that from him? Now it seemed unfathomable.

When you looked at his hands again, you noticed there were lingering cuts. Worry washing over you, you cradled one in your palms and asked as Seokjin looked at you, “Should I take care of this, too?” Though the man had more than enough knowledge on playground injury care, you still offered because you wanted to be there for him in any possible way.

He replied instantly, “I took care of everything. Jimin, too. You saw him being his usual self earlier.” 

“He said he’d give you hell if you didn’t talk to me on this trip. I didn’t think he would go this far, though.” You reached up to run a thumb along the small gash on Seokjin’s cheek, the blood drying into a deep red. “I’ll make him regret it later.” 

Jin leaned into your touch, causing sparks in your skin. “Don’t,” he whispered, “He’s the reason I ended up at your door.” 

You just nodded and lost yourself in the feel of his soft face. It was incredibly smooth under your fingers, even better than when you held his cheeks all those years ago. To think that this man loved you ever since then, and continued to do so until now, was unbelievable. But it was true, and no amount of words could account for how you felt about that. 

Those eyes overflowing with adoration and affection were solely for you, and diving into them felt like being immersed in sunlit waters. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The simple question took you by surprise, but you gazed at his lips. They only looked inviting, so who were you to deny him? “Please,” you sighed, and your eyelids closed shut at his pillowy touch. 

Color sprang from your heart at his confession, but heat burst from your chest at his kiss. The moment his lips met yours, every worry wrapped around your conscience snapped in two. Vines of doubt, regret, and anxiety withered under the warmth of Seokjin’s touch. It was cleansing. Powerful. Searing. 

A hand captured the back of your neck, and Jin took advantage of your gasp by dragging his tongue around the edge of your lips, a wordless plea to let him in. You gave in immediately, leaning forward and deepening the kiss, roping his tongue and eliciting a groan. 

Heat rushed between your legs and you echoed his sound with a soft moan of your own. Unwittingly, your hands found their way to Seokjin’s chest and you reveled in the feel of him under the thin material of his shirt. Without breaking your lips from his, you skirted the cotton hem with your fingers.  

Jin knew what you wanted, and his grin against your mouth only made you flush with desire. He broke from your lips to fully remove his shirt, and seeing his bare chest wiped the air from your lungs. You could only stare as you took in the lines of his solid build, wondering how the hell he had the time to achieve that look. 

Seokjin smirked at your reaction, tossing his top and hauling the bags off his bed while you were taking time to process everything. “Do I need to charge you?” 

You shook your empty head like a zombie. Your brain was currently mush, purely focused on the way his muscles rippled and slid against the confines of his skin. “No, don’t. I didn’t bring any money with me.” 

Laughter erupted from the other side of the bed. After Seokjin placed the last bag on the floor, he straightened and clarified, “I meant plug you in. You seem to be buffering over there. Low battery?”

“Shut up and get on the bed,” you teased, shrugging off the coat you still had on. You didn’t even get to change since coming in from the campfire. 

“Shut up and get on the bed, yes,” Seokjin fired back mercilessly as he sat on the comforter. He knew exactly how to push you. Even though you laughed, you made you way over to him and stood between his legs. 

You were silent then. No matter how happy you were, his departure tomorrow was weighing on you. The time you had with him was short. 

You wanted to make the most of it. Bringing your hand up to his face, you made sure to lightly skim over his gashes before mapping the rest. You wanted to ingrain every curve, every dip, every feature into memory. Every second was precious. The polaroid you had of him would still be no match for the real thing. If only you could capture the warmth of someone and keep it frozen in time.

Sure fingers clasped your hand, and Seokjin softly pulled you closer. Your first instinct was to rush in and hug him for dear life, and he immediately did the same to you, snatching the breath from your lungs and tugging tears from your ducts. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and lamenting all the time you spent worrying over the smallest things. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Seokjin whispered, squeezing your heart. 

“I know,” you choked. You didn’t have much else to say.

“I just want to make sure we use it to do what you want.” 

You loosened your hold on him, astonished by his consideration. The growing bulge under his pants was more than screaming his wants. You felt it ever since the first kiss. But even still, he wanted to accommodate you. Your needs before his. 

It just made you fall for him even more. 

Reaching down to skim your fingers along his cock straining against his pants, you hovered your lips over his neck. “I want you,” you whispered before descending upon the smooth expanse of skin and earning a groan. 

Without warning, Seokjin tightened his arms around you. In one smooth motion, he effortlessly lifted you to straddle his thighs. You didn’t have time to think as he followed up with grabbing your head, pulling you down for another heated kiss. Your fingers latched onto his shoulders, scraping them when he thrust his tongue into your mouth. 

“Don’t do that yet,” he grunted, and you didn’t need to ask why after feeling a twitch in his jeans. 

You obeyed for the time being, cupping his neck with both hands. When you rolled your body against his, the hard feel of his stomach made you whimper. It was when you settled back on his hardness that your eyes widened. You were sure he was aching despite his silence. Maybe you could help him out a bit. “Jinnie,” you whispered, a firm hand on his chest, “Lie back for me.” 

“I love hearing that again,” Seokjin admitted through a content smile, starting a fire across your cheeks. He leaned back after giving you another peck, and you plucked yourself from his thighs to take your shoes off. 

But time was your biggest motivator to strip most of your clothes at that moment - not just your boots. Your pants were first, followed by your sweater, and finally your shirt. The whole time, Seokjin stayed propped on his elbows, watching you intently. He couldn’t hide the adoration in his eyes even if he tried. As he watched you stand there in nothing but your set, he smiled. “You’re beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered in return. “Still not as great as you, though.” You started unbuttoning his jeans before he could defend his stance, and he lifted his lower body to help you shrug them off with his underwear. When Seokjin’s thick cock sprung free, your heart jumped at the sight. It had been so long since you felt it, tasted it, rode it. Was he thinking the same? Taking his velvety length in your hand for the first time in a long time, you felt a burst of confidence at its familiarity and his response.

“Baby,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Please.” 

You didn’t need another word. At the sound of the familiar pet name, you already started hovering over his cock, admiring how pretty it was before diving in. Licking around the head, you used the slick to glide your mouth far down his shaft, rolling your hand along the bottom to coat the rest. 

Seokjin jolted at the sudden pleasure, and you felt a pang in your heart. You wanted him to remember this night. And you were much more experienced than you were before, though you would only get so much time to prove your growth. 

Coming up for air, you used your hand to gather the rest of your spit and slide it down his cock, rubbing it a few times before diving down again. The stilted, garbled noises coming from your filled mouth were even getting your own underwear soaked, but they weren’t a match for Seokjin’s. His delicious grunts and moans sent you close to the edge. They were deeper than you remembered, and he wasn’t one to shy away from showing you how turned on and pleasured he was feeling.

The prominent veins of his cock were the roads along which your tongue traveled, and you made sure to love them all in between stuffing him fully in your warm mouth. He was so big, but you wanted to take every inch, tears welling in your eyes with your efforts. 

You fought through even when you felt him rock the back of your throat. Seokjin took that moment to sit up, causing tears to leak fully down your cheeks at the deeper thrust. His hands dove into your hair, but he didn’t force your head down. Instead, they tugged you off his cock, and he gazed down lovingly at your wrecked expression. Jin’s voice dipped an octave and came out coated in sin as he asked, “Can you go a little more for me, beautiful?” 

Your body tingled on instinct. You nodded and, when he smiled, you gripped his drenched dick in your fingers before descending your mouth onto his balls. Seokjin bucked his hips forward in a jolt as you grinned, lapping at his salty skin and delighting in the tremulous groans rolling down your back. Your hand squeezed the tip of his shaft before you straightened again, taking his cock captive without pause.

“Shit,” he grunted, his long fingers diving into your hair. His hands still didn’t push you down further, oddly, so you took the initiative and plunged down yourself. 

The feel of his cock in your mouth was so familiar. It was almost second nature how easily you sucked him off, knowing when to hollow your cheeks and pull him further down the abyss of ecstasy. When to sink further and hum, ripping a delicious sound from his throat. Even when to bob and swirl your head around, effectively shutting down his ability to function. 

It was then that you chose to really bring it home. You breathed through your nose as you took more and more of him in, even after you couldn’t breathe anymore. You felt your nose hit this pubic bone, and the long moan you got from Seokjin was worth the burn in your throat. His fingers tightened around your head, but when you came up gasping for air he didn’t stop you. 

“Come here,” is all he said, tugging you up to straddle him again. A trail of saliva swung from your lips as you came up, but you paid it no mind. If anything, it added to the building lust inside your bones. Your panties were absolutely drenched by now, so dragging your core along Seokjin’s cock caused both of you to twinge. “Fuck,” he gasped, fueling your heat. 

“Jinnie, please,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse. You wanted everything from him at once. You were getting impatient, and the overwhelming time pressure was stressing you the hell out. “I need you, please.” 

Suddenly, everything stopped as Seokjin cradled your chin and swiped the spit from your lips. “You have me,” he assured you. “You have all of me.” He kissed your nose. “And you’ll have me for a very long time.” 

Relenting, you leaned into his touch. “Now is what I’m concerned about.” 

“I know,” he agreed before kissing you again. “I just wanted you to know the rest.” 

“Okay,” you whispered before capturing his full lips with your own. When you felt him wrapping his arms around you, your heart leaped into your throat. When you felt him shift the both of you to lower you onto the bed, you already knew fresh tears were waiting behind your eyes. 

With great care, Jin slipped your underwear off your smooth legs. Your bra was deftly unhooked next - not without an eyebrow raise from you and a wink from him - and tossed from the bed. 

Staring at your naked form, Seokjin appeared completely lost in thought. It got to the point where you felt like covering yourself, but when you attempted to he swiftly denied any insecurity. “Don’t keep this from me,” he whispered. “I want to remember everything.” 

You kept it together until then. Something in you broke and you softly choked on a cry. So he was thinking the same as you. This was the last night for a long time. 

Starting from your shoulder, he kissed his way down along your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Taking one breast in one hand, he swirled his tongue around the nipple of the other. You gasped from the sudden burst of pleasure, which made Seokjin repeat the motion on the other side. He then lightly sucked on the nipple, releasing it with a small pop. 

You wanted to close your eyes and lose yourself in the waves of pleasure he was giving you, making his way down your body. But you wanted to relive this night again and again. So you had to keep your eyes on him. Only him. His mouth’s searing heat as it kissed along your stomach, and the stark cold left behind when he moved on. His soft touch as he gently pried your legs open, and dark, lust-filled eyes as he stared at your dripping entrance. You wanted to remember the way he kissed along your legs, nipping in some places to make you gasp. The way his beautiful lips connected with your heat in a reverent kiss before his tongue explored inside. Each flick of his tongue, squeeze of his fingers on your legs, noise from his lips. How you loved him through every second of him worshipping you. 

As soon as he brought his fingers up to caress your folds while sucking on your clit, you had to stop him. It was too much. You wanted to feel him when you broke. 

Seokjin wordlessly obeyed as he crawled above you. You pulled him down for a kiss, not caring how he tasted. Your hands then went to his shoulders as he positioned himself at your entrance. 

“Are you still…” 

“Yes,” you nodded, touched that he remembered. “I’m still on it.” 

“Okay.” He swooped down to capture your lips, and when you clenched your fingers around his shoulders, he grunted. “Are you okay to take it all?” 

“Go slow. For now,” you said, earning a nod. “It’s been awhile.”

Seokjin’s gaze was heavy as he prepared himself. “Same.” 

At the initial push, you whooshed out a gasp. It had been way too long since you’d been with someone. The intrusion indeed hurt. Maybe you should have let him prep you more, in hindsight. But Seokjin was nothing but tender as he waited for you to adjust. Once you were okay, he steadily pushed out and in again, going deeper. Slowly but surely, you were able to fully take him in. 

And the feel of him completely inside you was nothing like you’ve felt before. It was comfort. It was home. It was a perfect fit, and you wanted to stay like that forever. 

“God,” Seokjin groaned, “I don’t want to leave this room.” 

You chuckled, rolling your hips. “Hmm, pussy or Harvard. That’s a pretty tough one.” 

“If it’s yours, Harvard can wait,” Seokjin grunted before sending your thoughts spiraling with a huge thrust. You outright whined at him, but he pulled out only to spear you again with one long motion. “You still like it rough, baby?” 

Chills cascaded down your spine and pooled at the apex of your toes. This was the Seokjin you were waiting for. You wondered if he was still into that after witnessing everything he was doing for you beforehand. But oh, were you ready for the pivot. “Fuck, yes,” you moaned. “You know I do.” 

“You still have your word?” 

“Carousel, yes.” 

“Good girl.” That was all Seokjin needed. Grabbing the top of the headboard behind you, he launched into a rough and relentless pace that had you seeing stars. You felt so full, yet so weightless as you let your body go limp. The feel of Seokjin’s cock slamming into you repeatedly would continue to exist for months after tonight, the ridges of it sliding along your walls never forgotten entirely. You needed as much as he could give, and he knew that. 

Gripping one of your legs, he hauled it over his sweat-slicked shoulder and tilted himself to reach a deeper position, twisting his reddened face to plant kisses on your ankle. Mewl after mewl tumbled from your lips at the deep thrusts. 

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” Jin commanded while still pounding into you, and you wouldn’t dream of disobeying. Your fingers went straight for your jiggling breasts, teasing your nipples and tugging them for his blown out eyes. You moaned, and smirked when you saw Seokjin beginning to lose himself. 

His tell was his scrunched eyebrows, and his eyes shifting down to watch his cock ram into your tight cunt. You still knew, after years. 

You fell into complete ecstasy when he reached down with his free hand to rub your clit between your bodies, loving the way the veins in his arms protruded. Imagining licking along them all made you moan. And you didn’t care if the people around you heard. All of your mewls, moans, whines - they were all for Jin. He could have all of you again and again.  

After one particularly deep thrust, he tugged his cock out, leaving your walls fluttering around an agonizing emptiness. “Turn around. On your knees.” 

“Holy fuck, yes,” you rasped. He wasn’t letting the night go to waste at all. 

Before you even assumed the next position, you felt a hand come down on your ass. The smack jolted you forward in pain, with pleasure settling in its wake. 

“So pretty,” Seokjin whispered, ghosting his hand over the spot he spanked. He gave it another smack before gripping your ass cheeks apart. You assumed he was roving his eyes over your drenched core. “And still so wet.” 

“Just for you,” you affirmed. 

“Just for me,” he repeated before adjusting his knees on the bed to get closer. “But you might be too loud tonight, baby. I’m going to need silence from you this time.” 

Shit. You were never, ever good at this part. But you nodded. What you weren’t expecting right away was the initial stroke to be rough, right down to the hilt. You cried out immediately, earning you a harsh spank. 

Seokjin’s sudden laugh made you chuckle in embarrassment. He breathily joked, “Out of practice?” 

“Something like that,” you admitted, your elbows and grin lost in the sheets. “I’m rusty.” 

“Okay, let’s just do this then.” Jin leaned forward, stretching over you. You groaned at the feel of his solid chest on your soft back, your eyes rolling into your head feeling him completely mold into you for a moment. He got a fluffy pillow from the other side of the bed and let your head rest on it. “Can you bite this for me, my love?” 

The new name spread wildfire across your face. “Yes. That I can do,” you assured him. When you had the material securely in your mouth, you nodded to signal he could continue. 

“Good girl.” And continue Seokjin did. He went right back into the dominant Jin he loved being, and the one you loved being with. There was no mercy in his thrusts, stroke after stroke after stroke. If you lifted your back a little or lowered your butt, he smacked your supple flesh and corrected you instantly. “Ass up, baby.” 

With Jin’s relentless pace, your body went limp and hung on by a thread. Loosening up allowed for even more of his cock, and your muffled moans started getting louder the closer and closer you got to the edge. You could feel your core tightening, threatening to unleash the pent up tension. 

“That’s it, beautiful,” Seokjin praised, feeling your walls squeeze around him. “Do you want to come like this?”

You hastily shook your head. You wanted to see him when you came. And if you remembered correctly, he loved seeing your face when it happened, as well.

“Too bad,” he chuckled darkly, and you almost came undone right then. “Guess you’ll have to come again the way you want to later.” Reaching under you, he toyed with your clit as he kept the pace from behind. 

You let go of the pillowcase as you kicked your head back in a moan, your saliva trail slowly gravitating toward the sheets. Seokjin only let you breathe for a second before pushing your head back down into the thin material. “Make noise again and you won’t come at all.”

Fuck. You bit hard into the pillow, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you felt yourself losing control. His fingers felt divine on your bundle of nerves, his dick sliding through your folds over and over and over. The hand he placed on your head smoothed over your hair before bunching it and tugging. You reared back, dots swimming in your vision. “God, I want to choke you. Can I do that, my love?” 

You released the pillow from your mouth again. His consideration was top notch tonight. Too much? You couldn’t decide or really care. “Yes, just do it. Do anything. Please. I’m so close.” 

“Mm. Then cover your mouth.” Before you could follow his command, Seokjin pulled you up by a shoulder to be flush against his front. Sweat coated your back and your ass, causing you to slide down his chiseled stomach while speared on his cock. A strong hand wrapped around your throat, and the fingers that were teasing your clit mercilessly now ventured into the front of your folds. 

One of your hands shot up to clamp over your mouth right before you let out a long groan. You loved when he took control, and when he lost control. If both happened at the same time, it was heaven. 

You could barely last on your knees as his dick slammed up into you repeatedly. The hand around your airway was tight but only just, his praises in your ear being the real culprit of your stolen breath. Your pussy clenched harshly around his length, and you knew from the tight coil in your body that you were seconds from euphoria. 

Seokjin felt it instantly. “Come, baby.” And as soon as he relinquished your throat did you give in, waves of pleasure coursing through you and a white burn shimmering in your lungs. It seemed endless. Ripple after ripple thrummed through your body, your joints slowly unlocking from their initial freeze. Behind you, Seokjin groaned and sang sweet nothings in your ear, his arms wrapping around your chest in a scorching embrace. 

The high ebbed, but did not completely recede. You knew Jin still needed release, so you kissed his wrist next to your shoulder and whispered, “I want to see you now.”

“Whatever you need.” Seokjin slowly unsheathed himself, and you felt a slight pain. You watched as he positioned his back on the headboard. He knew what you wanted to do. 

You made your way over to him and hovered over his length. Locking your hazy eyes with his dark set, you kissed him lazily as you languidly sank back onto him. Seokjin groaned when you didn’t use your hand as a guide beforehand. And frankly, that turned you on, too.

“You’re so tight still,” he grunted, his hands coming up and grabbing your ass before settling on your hips. 

You rolled your hips before finding a rhythm. “You’re just big,” you mock complained, earning a deep chuckle. 

“Aww. You sound. So. Sad,” he teased, thrusting up into you to punctuate each word. Your mewls were welcome now since he was done with his role. Now he could just sit back and enjoy your show for him. And occasionally torture you. 

You found your rhythm again, rougher with him now with your hands in his dark, sweaty locks. One of your hands dropped onto his chest and raked down his breast, eliciting a higher moan than normal. 

The sound caused heat to pool between your legs again, and you upped the pace. Your thighs burned from the exertion, but you kept yourself distracted by diving into Jin’s neck and nipping in multiple places. His arms left your hips to wrap around your back, and your breath faltered as he took over again. 

Seokjin was close. He was always close when his limbs locked hard into place. His upward thrusts were fast and hard, and you could only moan in his ear and take him in. The coil that released once tonight was tightening again, and you murmured in his ear that you were close. 

Seokjin only needed to kiss you like his life depended on it for you to unravel again. The wave was weaker than last time, but it could still cover mountains. Your head felt light, dancing above the clouds with no intention of coming down. You pushed yourself from his lips, allowing him to see your flushed chest and reddened cheeks. The second orgasm faded and loosened your limbs, but your heart felt completely connected to his, your soul nestled into the comfort of his tender embrace. “I love you,” you sighed, and you immediately felt a huge twitch between your folds.

“Lie down, baby. I’m close.” 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, cradling his cheek. “Come inside me, Jinnie. I wanna feel you.” 

“Shit,” he grunted. His thrusts descended into madness. Your heart rattled at the sight of his dusted red cheeks, sweaty neck, heaving chest. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and the one you would overturn stars to find should you ever lose him again. 

When he gazed down at your joined sex, you took in the wet strands of hair on his forehead. When he kicked his head back against the headboard to look at you with lidded eyes, you bit your swollen lips. This wonderful man was your lover, your ex, your friend, and now your lover again. Only this time, you truly loved him back. And you wanted to think back to this moment forever. 

Tears sprung into your eyes as he pulled you in for a searing kiss, and his orgasm released into you in spurts. The thrusts he made then were slow and powerful, and your body bobbed with the swells. You kissed him harder than necessary, almost willing to bruise your own lips on his. The longer you held his lips captive, the longer he couldn’t see your sorrow. 

But Seokjin already felt the drops ping his chest. He just let you cry because that’s what you needed. Even when he broke from the kiss, he never said a word. He trailed kisses along your wet cheeks, your sweaty nose, and your glistening forehead. His poignant visage held nothing but stars, and it reminded you of the night you fell in love, crushing your spirit ever more. 

Touch after touch after touch only coaxed more tears from your eyes. It felt never ending as you sat spent in his lap, still on his softening length. Sheer willpower was what caused you to finally speak, your voice hoarse, “We should clean up. You still need to pack and sleep.”

“We should, and I do,” he whispered. He patted your bum. “Can you get up by yourself?” 

You nodded before extracting yourself from his firm thighs, lamenting the fact that human bodies had limits. As you waddled to the bathroom, you stumbled along the way, Seokjin softly chuckled while following you and steadying you when needed. Even when you shot empty glares at him, the smile in his eyes never left. 

The rest of your time spent in his room consisted of silence and kisses. Ever the gentleman, he let you lie down on his bed while he used the other half for the bags to pack. It didn’t take him too long since he was organized from the jump, so when he was done he cleared the bed and joined you under the covers. When you felt a weight on your stomach, you looked down to see your camera dumped on the comforter. 

Seokjin wrapped a strong arm behind your neck. “What do you call naked pictures taken with a Polaroid?” 

“Oh, no.” You turned your head to face him. “What?” 

“Just pictures. But that’s old nudes.” 

You punished him by attacking his sides instantly, yanking a batch of honky laughs from him. Knowing your own weaknesses still, he unleashed his own parry, and it took a minute for the both of you to settle in a draw. 

“Don’t tell me the only reason you brought this into the bed was to tell that horrid joke,” you chuckled, your head back to resting in your pillow. 

“Nope. I wanna take one of us.” 

After getting past all seven of your objections and excuses, Seokjin whittled your walls down and got you to agree. The end product existed on the last film in your Polaroid: a crooked snapshot of him kissing your cheek as you smiled with creased eyes, sheets held against your chest. And he conceded in letting you keep it after watching you clutch it lovingly in your fingers. 

You immediately sought comfort in his embrace after setting the photo next to your phone on the nightstand, and he stole multiple kisses from you way after your eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. 

“Get some sleep, my love,” Seokjin whispered. 

And despite your sound of protest, you were pulled into the abyss of sleep right as you felt pillowy lips caress your forehead.

Rin-Rin [6:40am]: You’re lucky I love you. I packed your stuff and left out an outfit for you when you come down. Just don’t be late or I’ll drag you back down myself :)))

Jiminie [6:45am]: RISE N SHINE LOVEBIRDS

Rin-Rin [6:46am]: Oh, yeah, I may or may not have texted Jimin. 

Jiminie [6:46am]: ABOUT TIME

Jiminie [6:46am]: !!!

Tae [6:47am]: jimins scream woke me up. i can only assume that means ill get to be an uncle soon. dont let me down i want this(: 

Joonie [6:48am]: Aaaaaaaaaa !!!

Jiminie [6:48am]: And I know you want to yell at me for yesterday so I am ready for that whenever you are

Kook [6:50am]: <3 

You smiled at your texts before locking your phone. Seokjin was already up and about, making sure everything was packed and accounted for. When he saw you stirring, he came over and surprised you with a kiss so deep that it revitalized your sagging emotional state. “Morning,” you chuckled, swinging your sore legs out of the sheets and wincing at the cold. “I need to head back down.”

“Yeah, Rin already sent the first round of threats. I’ll see you at the car, okay?” 

You pecked him on the cheek after you slipped on your boots and grabbed your Polaroid.  Stepping into the hallway, you kept reminding yourself to not completely lose it yet. There was still a whole car ride you got to have with him, and you were determined to slow down time however you could. 

Your phone buzzed again, and you assumed Yoongi and Hoseok were just now waking up and getting the gossip. Checking your notifications only validated your guess.

Hobi [6:52am]: AHHHHH HAPPY FOR U~!!!

Hobi [6:52am]: ASLSKDJSKDHSKDJ

Yoongi [6:53am]: I’ll make sure to drag him back sometimes. It’s ludicrous to say that we’d never see him again. Drama queen. Anyways, happy for you. If you need anything, let me know. 

Hobi [6:53am]: we’ll see seokjinnie again love. and if u miss him a lot then we can make sure you see him. im sure he’ll be missing u too

How you were able to win the friend lottery and meet these people, you had no clue. But you weren’t going to ever question the fact. All you would do was embrace your blessings and love them. 

The car ride to the airport was long, but still much too short for your liking. Between the loving gazes you directed at Seokjin as he sang along to Taehyung’s music, the looks full of mirth Jimin gave the both of you from the backseat, and the laughter of both Rin and Taehyung, you were the happiest you’ve felt in a very long time. 

Throughout the ride, you got the feeling that you were going to be okay. Seokjin was starting an insane adventure, but you were also going to be there every step of the way. Not just on the polaroid he decided to stash in his bag, but in his heart and on his mind like Namjoon said around the fire. 

There were still plenty of ways to see each other and communicate. And since he technically didn’t start until next summer, that gave you plenty of time to see him before then. The many possibilities made you question your hesitation in the first place. 

But none of that diminished how much of a struggle it was still going to be. 

When the car rolled to a stop in the airport parking lot, your chest constricted. When everyone got their bags out of the cars and started the trek to the shuttles, your hands shook on your straps. As soon as everyone started saying their byes and separating to check into their airlines, you found it hard to breathe. 

But a tender hand brushed through your hair, and plush lips connected with your forehead. In an instant, you felt okay again. 

Seokjin’s calm voice slipped over your features. “Your flight leaves in two hours, right?” When you nodded, he continued, “Okay. Come shop with me before I have to go to my gate!” 

You tried your best to keep a positive attitude while you watched Jin peruse different airport stores. When he would hold stuff up for you to approve, you would smile or dramatically turn things down. Even the cute neck pillow he really wanted got the dreaded rejection. 

But that was only so you could pay for it when he wasn’t looking and surprise him. The huge laugh and grin you got in return was worth the trouble. 

When it was time for Seokjin to head to his gate, you brought him in for a crushing hug. “Let me know when you land,” you demanded. 

“Of course, honey,” he said through a smile. 

“‘Honey,’ now?” You regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “You have so many nicknames for me. I can’t keep up. Do you have a favorite you could stick with?” 

Seokjin rested his chin on your head. “Ah, I have a favorite. But it’s not true yet, so I shouldn’t use it.” 

A fire ignited in your heart, the flames warming you from the inside. “And which one is that?” 

“Would you look at the time!” Jin’s body heat left you in a rush as he stepped away, and your instinctual pout made him laugh outright. He cupped your chin for a kiss that rocked your whole being before pulling away. His eyes held galaxies in them when he stared into yours. “Guess you’ll have to wait for the answer to that one.” 

“You’re a jerk, Jinnie,” you huffed, but you kissed him again. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“I really am. And I love you,” he responded. His hand came down to squeeze yours before he had to part. “I’ll let you know when I make it. Call me when you get home, okay?” 

“Okay,” you replied, and you watched his long strides with a heavy heart and a hopeful mind. 

As you told yourself again and again, you were going to be okay. It was going to be tough, it was going to be absolutely painful. But as long as you decided to keep loving each other, everything would work out. 

You knew better than anyone that love was a choice. And for Seokjin, you would choose it a thousand times over. 

And besides, the current state of technology was on your side. The possibilities of communication were too endless for you to dwell on the distance. Were there going to be days in which you only received one text? Most likely. Were there going to be weeks where you weren’t going to hear much from Seokjin at all? Definitely. But this time, unlike last time, you welcomed every bit of it. Your heart built a bridge to his that defied any sense of physical distance. On opposite sides, both of you were achieving success in your own ways. In the end, you would always come back to each other to celebrate together. Even though this was the last November trip you had with Seokjin, it was the beginning of many, many wonderful years to come.

It was later, while you were waiting for your own flight to finish boarding, that a message was sent to your phone. 

Jinnie [12:04pm]: Attachment: 1 Image

You couldn’t help but grin. As you gazed lovingly at the picture of Seokjin smiling next to your polaroid, another one came in before you could respond.

Jinnie [12:05pm]: Until you’re really next to me, this will have to do. Don’t get too jealous! 

You laughed to yourself, rolling your eyes while setting the image as your wallpaper. Locking your phone, you tapped the glass to see your screen light up, observing the picture again.

On a plane heading to another city entirely, Seokjin was doing the exact same thing. Except in his case, he was smiling down at a girl caught in mid-laughter, body aglow from the bright yellow lights of a spinning carousel behind her. 

-

-

-

a/n: whewww so if you made it to the end, hi! i seriously enjoyed writing this and i learned so much. it’s my first fic and first huge one-shot, so if you have any comments/concerns/constructive feedback, please let me know! my ask box is always open, too. lastly, here is my m.list if you want to browse! 🌨🌨🌨 ++ feedback box (added nov. 25th, 2021): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist 

[topazy]

Inside, outisde

Pairing: 10k x reader, Addy Carver sister!reader

Warnings: Blood, swearing

Chapter: 1.02

Slowly, you open your eyes, feeling the sweat sticking to your clothes as your eyes adjust to daylight. Groaning, you looked up to see 10k standing next to you. He was keeping watch with his hand wrapped securely around his gun.

Leaning forward, you noticed the cars had stopped moving. "What’s going on?"

"Ohh she finally wakes," Addy teases. "Warren has run out of gas."

As you jumped out the back of the truck, Mack motioned for you to get back. "Heads up," he pointed to the left. "We got company."

The group waited in silence as two men on motorbikes approached.

"That's right," Warren said quietly as she stared at them as they rode past. "Keep rolling and we all live to see another day."

The men started revving their engines before speeding off. Your eyes stayed glued to Casandra, who was trying to stay completely out of sight of them. You weren’t sure why, but something about that was off.

"We ran over some fun stuff," Doc chuckled, before Warren stabbed the z that was trapped underneath the wheel of her.

Warren turned and looked back at the town your group was leaving. "Even after all this, it's still beautiful. Take a good look. Might not be back for a while."

Addy let out a deep sigh, "so long New York. See ya in the next life."

—

Addy continued to take pictures and videos of the dead to document what was happening, while Warren and Garnet tried to figure out the group's next move.

You began scavenging for anything that could be useful in old cars. It was sad seeing all the belongings left behind, knowing all the owners were dead. You just hoped that somebody had granted them mercy. You felt slightly distracted from the task at hand when you overheard the conversation next to you.

"So what's your name, kid?"

"Ten Thousand."

"That is not a name," Doc laughed before pointing towards you. "It's a number. It’s almost as mad as her name."

"It's my name. I made it up myself."

Doc nodded, "Well I suppose you'd have to. Does it mean anything?"

10k just shrugged, "That's how many zombies I'm going to kill."

"How many have you killed?" You asked while looking through a kid's backpack.

"Already on 1,055."

Wow. That was impressive.

"So what happens when you get to 10,000?"

"Change my name."

For the short time that you’ve known him, 10k didn’t tend to speak much. His answers were usually short, and you got the impression he didn’t want to get too close to anyone.

"To what? Twenty thousand?" The older man laughed.

"Jeff."

Doc pulled a funny facial expression at you. Why Jeff? You wanted to know what his real name was, but decided against asking him at that moment. You were sure he wouldn’t appreciate any more questions.

You smiled at 10k, "I like that name."

Warren stepped down from the car roof she was standing on. She looked worried. "Where did everybody go? I haven't seen a survivor except for those two bikers."

"Black Summer," You eyed Cassandra carefully as she spoke, "Everybody starved to death."

"But you survived." You and Addy shared a look, "how did you survive?"

"Did what I had to do," Cassandra answered bluntly.

Frowning, you handed the bag with bottles of water you found to Mack before heading in the other direction to look some more. After a few moments, you heard a commotion, followed by a voice you didn’t recognize. You readied your bow and arrow as you walked back towards your group. One of the scruffy looking bikers from before was standing between Garnet and Warren. "I see you're scrounging for gas. You know, like we used to say, ass, gas or grass."

Murphy looked the man up and down, "Nobody rides for free."

The stranger looked smug, "I know where you could fill up."

"Now would be the time to share that information," Warren said, stepping closer to him.

"Place called Jersey Devil Refinery, maybe five miles off, just off the turnpike."

"How do you know there's gas there?" You asked, unsure whether to believe him or not.

"Got overrun day number one," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "All the tanks are still full, just rusting away."

"All right, take us to this refinery," Warren replied. "And if there's gas there like you say, you can ride with us to the next outpost."

The man grinned, "you won't be sorry."

Garnett looked unsure but went along with it anyway. "Let's get out of here. I'll be riding with Warren and a new guy. Everybody else load up in the truck."

Murphy groaned. "So are we just gonna pick up every sketchy loser at every place we stop?"

You scoffed, "well we brought you along, didn't we?"

Once you got into the back of the trunk, 10k leaned in to you and whispered. "You don’t trust him, do you?"

"There’s a lot of people here I don’t trust."

—

When you reached your destination, Murphy scrunched up his face as Addy parked the car.. "What’s that smell?"

"The undead and gasoline."

The group discussed the best way to draw the Z’s attention away from the pump that was drawing them in. Eventually, Cassandra pulled out a necklace that had a music box built inside it.

"That's great," Warren nodded. "You're our decoy."

"I'll go with her," the sketchy guy said.

"I’ll come too," you volunteered. Your gut instinct was telling you to not trust the two of them together.

Cassandra glared at you. "I don't need his help, or hers."

"No, you need cover. Take them." Warren paused and looked around before letting out a deep sigh. "Where'd that kid go?"

"He was here a minute ago," Doc said with a shrug.

You added, "His name is Ten Thousand."

"Well, he'd better be back by the time we're ready to go," the older woman frowned. "Change of plan. Astra, I need you to stay here with Doc, and Murphy." You opened your mouth to protest, but Warren cut you off. "No arguments."

—

"Wonder how it's going?" Doc asked. "I haven't heard anything blow up."

"Yet."

You kicked Murphy lightly in the thigh for his insensitive answer. "Don’t be such a negative jackass."

After watching Murphy and Doc play cards for a while, you turn to face the ‘saviour’ of the world. "How'd you get to be the savior of the human race?"

He let out a grunt, "you really wanna know?"

"Yeah."

"Truth is for a guy who's been wrongly convicted, I'm actually very civic-minded. I volunteered."

"So the doctors gave you the vaccine, and then they let the zombies bite you?" He nodded. You didn’t like him, but nobody deserves to have that happen to him. "How many times?"

"Eight."

You sighed, "I’m sorry that happened to you. It must have been awful."

He shrugged, "I blacked out."

"Shut up, you two," Doc said quietly. "We have some nosey neighbors."

As soon as you noticed the group of zombies that were starting to walk past the truck, you shuffled down in your seat, but Murphy started frantically yelling. "Call the others! Get us out of here!"

"Stop yelling." You frowned, "you're attracting them to us."

"Astra, keep him inside," Doc instructed you. "I’m going to draw them away."

"Wait, it’s too dangerous to go out there yourself!" You pointed out, "I’ll come with you."

The older man shook his head. "He might be our last chance. Whatever happens, keep him alive."

You watched as Doc disappeared into the crowd of Z’s. You just hoped he would come back.

—

You tried to try and calm Murphy, who was panicking loudly. The occasional zombie would bang into the car, but as long as you stayed out of sight and quiet they would hopefully pass by.

"Get us out of here!" Murphy yelled as the car began to move slightly.

"Stop being so loud, you're attracting them."

When a Z managed to get its finger through a crack in one of the windows, you leaped forward and cut its finger off, causing blood to spray onto the seats, and Murphy to be even louder.

Oh fuck. We are screwed.

In the distance, you could hear Doc shouting. "Ten thousand! Cover the car! Murphy and Astra are trapped inside."

Gunshots filled the air as the dead began to fall to the ground. You let out a sigh of relief. 10k, and Doc had your back.

"Hey, it's going!" you exclaimed, only to be cut off by the so-called saviour, who shoved you to the side and jumped into the driver's seat. You jolted back when he slammed his foot down. "Where the hell are we going!"

Losing control of the car, Murphy crashed into a wall. You let out a scream as you felt something cutting into your skin, before blood began dripping from your hand. "You stupid son of a bitch! You almost got me killed!"

The door to the truck swung open as Warren helped you out. You were vaguely aware of somebody helping Murphy to get away as well. You knew from the snarling noises coming from behind that the Z’s weren’t far behind. You made it back to the others just in time, as the truck you were just in exploded. At least it’s taken out some of the dead.

Warren raised her hand for everyone to be quiet. There was a ringing noise coming from a phone box. Garnett, who was the closest, answered it.

"Sergeant Charlie Garnett," he paused before continuing. "Please tell us where to drop him off - California? Hold on - That's not gonna happen," he turned back to face the group. "We need to go somewhere closer."

"Closer?" You asked questions.

What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

Shaking your head, you turned to face the other way. "Oh shit. Dead, coming right at us."

Addy and Mac held off the dead while the rest of you ran towards the only vehicle your group had left. "Wait, we can’t leave. We aren’t all here."

Doc looked around worried until he spotted 10k running. "Wait! Here comes the kid!"

"Found these."

You smiled as he handed Warren the small gas tanks he’d found.

As the group rode off, 10k’s smile fell from his face, and was quickly replaced by a frown. "What happened to you?"

You glared at Murphy. "I cut my hand with my blade when we crashed. I have some bandages in my bag, I’ll be fine."

Without saying anything, 10k began rummaging in your backpack and pulled out a first aid kit. He bandaged up your hand before returning the kit to you.

"Thanks."

He shrugged, "no problem."

You shifted awkwardly. You wanted to talk to him, but weren’t sure what to say.

10k took you by surprise when he leaned into you, and spoke quietly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What does Astra mean?"

A warm feeling spreads through you, "well…"

[ladyfogg]

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary:  After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist. 

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater​ and @kitwalker02​. 

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve. 

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is. 

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one. 

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better. 

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked. 

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask. 

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds. 

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient. 

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face. 

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death. 

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop. 

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages. 

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk. 

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return. 

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away.  He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head.  “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair. 

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers. 

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk. 

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon. 

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell. 

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet. 

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders. 

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back. 

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon. 

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.  

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

[haikyuu-appreciation-club]

oh my bad, i didn’t see you didnt write for atsumu or sakusa. can you do the same headcanons (s/o who’s smol and fragile) but with kuroo, bokuto, and oikawa? if possible, i would still like to see these headcanons with atsumu and sakusa <333

hey hey hey anon!! ty for the requests :)

I think this is such a cute idea (´♡‿♡`)

I just started watching S4 soo I'll save your other request for atsumu and sakusa in my inbox and get to that once I'm done!!

in the meantime, I hope you enjoy some of my favorite captains <3

btw sorry it’s definitely not my best, I was having major writers block so this is basically all I could manage :(

•Kuroo, Bokuto, and Oikawa w/ a Small and Fragile S/O•

warnings: none

genre: fluff

characters: kuroo, bokuto, + oikawa

•Kuroo•

Kuroo had teased you about your height ever since the two of you had become friends

it was his way of playful flirting, harmless really

“Ah, hey there chibi-chan, still need help with that chem assignment.”

“I thought I told you to quit calling me that.”

“Aw, but it suits you.”

It was all harmless until he began to actually fall for you 

the way your laugher erupted through the air at one of his stupid chemistry jokes or how you would never fail to flash a pretty smile and throw him a wave whenever you two were near

every single thing about you drew him in and he just had to make you his, so that’s exactly what he did you said yes obviously

even though he spent quite a bit of time with you before making things official, he never realized how prone to injury you were

seriously you got hurt so often it was crazy

at first he thought it was just bad luck until he noticed that you collided with the majority of things that were in your path

it was actually quite entertaining to him a lot of the time, but even if he let out a chuckle he would always take care of you

didn't matter if it was him grabbing the first aid kit from the gym or keeping you company in the nurses office while you got checked out

as much as he loved to tease you for everything, he was always right by your side 

even though he put on a calm and collected front, he got worried every time you got hurt

it didn’t matter how minor or major the injury was, he just wanted to make sure you were okay

he was always making sure you were taking care of yourself too

making sure you ate and drank water and took care of your injuries when needed

sometimes he’d even tease you by buying you a carton of milk and claiming that you needed it for bone growth

he definitely could be a huge pain sometimes, but it always brought a smile to your face

with your height differences, his favorite thing was to pick you up by your waist, hold you up high, and spin you around

he didn’t care who was watching, all that he was focused on in that moment was the lovely smile stitched on your face

he loved to lean down when you were standing around or talking with someone and rest his chin on your head and wrap his arms lightly around your neck

this was especially common when he noticed someone else trying to flirt with you, a piercing gaze followed as well in these situations

if anyone tried to tease you about your height he would pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, and run the opposite direction hey problem solved

as much as he teased you himself, he was always making sure to let you know how much he loved you just the way you were

he always eased you insecurities and whispered compliment after compliment in your ear when you were down

he was your #1 hype man no matter the time

he truly saw you as perfect and he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life letting you know

•Bokuto•

when you and bokuto first met, he was very upfront about your height

"HEY HEY HEY! Wow, you're super tiny!”

cue your pouting

bokuto noticed your change of expression and quickly saved himself

“OH! No no, not in a bad way, like a cute way, you know? Tiny and squishy!”

cue him pinching your cheeks like an old lady

Akaashi ended up dragging him back to practice but not before he turned your cheeks bright red, from the excessive pinching and his comments

after that incident, you saw bokuto a lot more

usually due to you bumping into him in between classes

you didn’t mean to but he was just so tall and you were just so clumsy

those situations usually ended with you both apologizing profusely to each other while bokuto walked you to the nurses office

overtime, you two grew closer and closer and eventually made things official 

despite all the energy he had, he was always very gentle with you

he knew he could get a little much at times and with how easily you got injured he wanted to make sure he was never the one causing you pain

his touch was always very soft and loving, allowing you to feel just how much he cared

since you would get hurt so often he would always carry bandaids in his school bag they had little hearts on them

he would drop anything he was doing and sit you down to place a bandaid and a kiss wherever the damage was

“There you go, Dr. Bokuto is always at your service Y/N.”

“Thank you Bo.”

if it was something more intense he would walk you to the nurse’s office, hair drooping and tears in his eyes

he honestly hated seeing you hurt or in pain

if he could, he would take away any and all of your discomfort

he just wanted to see you smiling, that was his favorite look on you

no matter how much you would tell him you were okay he still would not leave your side until you got fully cleared by the nurse and the rest of the day he would be clinging to you with a pout stitched on his face

he adored the height difference between you two

your small hand fit perfectly in his and the was your tiny figure molded into his when you two cuddled felt right

he knew that sometimes you could get a little insecure

he never really understood why you couldn't see yourself how he saw you but that didn't prevent him from bring you up and letting you know exactly how he saw you

he truly saw you as the most flawless person he’s ever seen

compliments were always followed up by a lot of hugs and kisses

he always felt like you deserved to feel like you were on top of the world so giving you piggy back rides or letting you sit on his shoulders was his favorite thing to do

he never missed the laughter that escaped your lips when he would pick up speed definitely his favorite sound ever

his main goal was to protect you from anything and everything and make sure you were loved

and he succeeded with that each and every day

•Oikawa•

oikawa had had a thing for you since middle school

you never really thought much of the way he would act towards you due to his high popularity

honestly, you just thought he was being polite

that was until he asked you out your first year of high school

ever since then you became aoba johsai’s power couple

you didn't really care about titles though, all that mattered was that you and oikawa were happy

and contrary to popular belief, oikawa was a really great boyfriend

he never failed to make you feel appreciated and cherished

he honestly just couldn’t believe he was with someone so perfect, and honestly the blush that spread across your cheeks was just too cute to pass up

this didn't excuse you from oikawa’s teasing, your height being a main target

“Y/N-chan, mind if I rest my arm here, it’s so tired from practice”

“Tooru, get your gross, sweaty arm off my head.”

“Ahh so mean baby.”

although he never missed the opportunity to rile you up about you height, he always recognized when to stop and followed it up with a bunch of compliments

he knew it could be an insecurity of your sometimes and he would never dream of making you feel less then perfect

if any of his fan girls tried to mention something involving your height, he didn’t hesitate to confront them

occasionally going the extra mile and pulling you into a loving kiss right in front of them

he didn’t care if they stopped supporting him, he had you by his side and that was more then enough 

although you usually got hurt quite often, that all stopped when you started dating oikawa

you honestly couldn’t believe it at first

all the scratches, scars, and bruises that frequently littered your body and slowly healed over time and no new ones took their place

you could not wrap your head around how he managed to do it

he was very observant and almost had this sixth sense when it came to you and your injuries

usually catching you before you fell, pulling you out of the way of something, or grabbing something and moving it away before it could cause you harm

you were practically like a small child he had to watch

he always followed up his smooth movements with a flirty remark

“Ah ah ah, you have to be more careful Y/N-chan, I'm the only one you should be falling for.”

although he loved spending any moment with you, his favorite memories had to be watching you in the stands during one of his games, cheering for him

his jersey was so big on you, he found it so adorable it always smelled like you when you returned it which was a huge plus

his favorite thing to do during games was throw you a wink before each serve he did, watching you laugh and wink right back

he always played his best when you were there

watching you from the court made him fall in love with you all over again

you were his world and he would make it his top priority to remind you of that each and every day

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[popatochisssp]

Hello Poppy! I hope you slept well! Here is the reminder you requested to create a mob au hc post like the cowboy post. Have a wonderful day!

Thank you, it’s finally time! I’m gonna put it under a cut immediately because having twenty skeletons makes every post with all of them automatically a long one!

Full disclaimer-- none of the boys are bosses, that falls on the monarch(s) of their universes... but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own roles to play~

(Warnings: mentions of crime, drugs, violence, sex, brief sexism [probably not the way you’d think] and ableism, plus all the usual mob-tropes I may have forgotten to mention)

Sans (Undertale): He’s a...humble purveyor of items, quality goods produced economically in order to pass those savings on to the crafty consumer who might not want to pay full, exorbitant price for ‘name-brand’ luxuries... Yeah, he’s the ‘you wanna buy a watch?’ guy and he spends most of his days (strategically) wandering around the city looking for customers to hock knockoff, lookalike watches, wallets and bags to. The fuzz know him by name but can never seem to find anything to hold him on, so he’s mostly just a harmless nuisance to be shooed along elsewhere if there’s been any complaints. (He’s real good at making friendly conversation with the law enforcement and keeping all eyes on him, and frankly, if there were any real shady business going on somewhere nearby... well, the cops certainly wouldn’t know about it, too busy hustling him along down the street, now would they?)

Papyrus (Undertale): An upstanding citizen, unlike his brother who’s always in some little trouble with the law or other. He is gainfully employed at a fitness center, and he commutes there by car, because paid for his license to operate one and practiced his driving skills and saved up until he could afford a very beautiful, shiny car of his own! It’s a very nice vehicle...so nice, even, that he doesn’t like to drive it for...recreational outings with friends, in case the paint might get scuffed. That’s why his friends let him borrow their cars when they go out, and let him drive very fast (but safely!) all over the city, even at strange hours or by ‘suspicious’ locations. He’s certainly never seen anything suspicious going on, he just waits outside, and if he happens to keep a First Aid kit in his glove-box, that’s just taking precautions, isn’t it? Accidents happen, you know! (He’s the best getaway driver in town and he knows it, but plausible deniability--the less he ‘knows,’ the better.)

Sky (Underswap Sans): Just your average, ordinary businessman, running a nice little bar for average, ordinary folks of all kinds. Well... he co-owns the place with a buddy of his, Grillby, but Grillbz is a free spirit and a real man about town, so really most of the ‘running’  is down to him. And he loves it! So many people (monsters and humans) to meet and chat with and serve... human food and alcohol, of course. Monster food and alcohol isn’t legalized yet to serve to humans, and a black mark like that against his little establishment would be just awful. He adheres fully to the rules and regulations set forth by human governmental agencies, no magic in anything he passes across the counter, skeleton’s honor! ...Total bullshit, obviously-- he’s running a speakeasy for humans who want to partake in a little monster food or booze, because it’s not harmful to humans and that makes it an even stupider regulation than prohibition was. Grillby taught him most of the menu and cooks on the rare occasions he’s in, while Sky handles the liquid menu and keeps an eye-socket out for snitches and inspectors trying to catch him in the act. He’s never missed a rat yet.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He works at his brother’s place. In the back. Only part-time, though, Sky’s got it mostly buttoned up there, so Paps has a lot of leisure time to wander around the city, hit up his favorite joints, chat with friends--and strangers that can become friends, he’s a friendly sorta guy. And if he’s ever seen sharing a cigarette or two with one of those friends, of course it’ll be a totally normal tobacco cigarette, and no exchange of money or anything else incriminating about the interaction. ...Doggo is the one that does the deals, he’s got the Dog Treat supply and a client base that’s steadily starting to include humans--but since Dog Treats are classed as Monster Consumables and illegal to distribute to humans, in spite of being non-addictive, only mildly affective, and non-irritant to lungs, things get a little more convoluted. Paps hits up Doggo at Muffet’s (a wholly monster establishment) for the Dog Treats and a client list, ‘refurbishes’ the Treats to resemble cigarettes, and then meets up with anybody who prepaid for their order real casual-like to fence ‘em. He gets a little cut of the profits, and a discount when he’s picking up for pleasure instead of business--like a (slightly) more illegal girl scout cookie racket.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Him? He’s just an average joe in all respects. He’s got a little auto shop, spends his days tuning up cars and bikes and such as the like, and most evenings out having fun with anybody else who’s out looking to have a good time--food and drink and maybe a little gambling, but small games, low stakes, for charity, yanno? Nothing illegal, he’d freely assure anyone concerned about the law. Yep, he’s a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen...as far as anyone can tell. If he does a little work on the side, when specifically requested to, by perhaps one of his monarchs or one of the parties they’d approved to ask for his...services... Well, he’s certainly too quick and clean about it to leave any hard evidence behind, and he’s always far away from...whatever may have happened...with too many witnesses all in agreement that he was there and couldn’t have been anywhere else, unless he could somehow make it across town in the blink of an eye. (His side-gig is as a hitman. He keeps his shortcut ability very tightly under wraps to make for perfect alibis, and takes his targets out with magic bullets which he can disappear afterwards. If he’s ever somehow implicated in anything, he’s happy to point out to the nice officers that he doesn’t even own a weapon. They’re free to look, but all they’ll find is a set of knuckledusters he keeps on his person, purely for protection--and look how shiny the brass is, never even been used, officers! Guess they’ve got nothing on him, after all...)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A law-abiding citizen. He must be--surely one can’t get more law-abiding than a lawyer...right? He actually does keep his (lack of) nose clean, but studying the convoluted mess that is human law doesn’t leave time for much else--even when your studies are funded by royalty and you’re given everything you need to open up your own practice as soon as you’ve passed the bar. Still, his skill and knowledge in arguing the law is very valuable and his services are in high demand, so he’s well-compensated for his chosen career and lives his life outside of it both comfortably and legally. His clients...are innocent until proven guilty and it would be an extreme failing of his duty to give any of them anything less than his best in the courtroom, regardless of their character, their associations, and what they happen to have been accused of. (Yeah, he’s a mob lawyer, used almost exclusively by Asgore and Toriel to protect them and anyone they send to him and all of their collective...interests. He respects the law, but values justice above it, so in spite of having a lot of clients who are definitely criminals in one way or another, he has no trouble sleeping at night.)

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’s an accountant, nothing more, nothing less. ...For Toriel, of course, so he’s paid well for his services. And he has quite a head for numbers and figures, so he plays the stock market and does quite well there, too, smart investments and reading the writing on the wall, and all that. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his very healthy finances and his lavish lifestyle--fur coats, fine suits, fancy cars, shiny gold pocket-watches-- it’s all expensive and almost over the top, but hey, he is the money-man and all the numbers check out. It seems that he’s just very good at handling and investing his capital, it’s no wonder the monster-queen herself hired him on... (He is, of course, running several money laundering schemes at any given time, taking all the less-than-legally-obtained money earned by constituents of the [former] Empire and layering it through official channels to make it look legal in such a convoluted, complex web that it doesn’t raise any significant red flags. He’s got his claws in a lot of pies, and he takes what he needs off the top to live a little luxuriously, with Toriel’s knowledge and permission-- a perk for the necessary service he provides.) Whatever else may be true, it’s a simple fact that he’s very, very good at his job.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): With the lucrative career his brother has, the lucky SOB doesn’t have to work a day in his life if he doesn’t want to, but he’s using the safety net to pursue his passion in art. Subjective as it is, it’s hard to say if he’s really any good, but people seem to like what he produces well-enough--not a household name, but people passionate about the subject might recognize his work and his pieces sell with at least moderate success. For all that it’s probably not going to make him famous or rich(er than his brother), he’s dedicated to his craft and regularly makes bulk purchases of his supplies, canvas and reams of paper and paint and ink and the like, to keep up his steady work and art sales. He seems like an altogether normal and down-to-earth sort of guy, nothing suspicious about him at all. (He’s a counterfeiter and works in tandem with his brother--they even hit a Bureau together to lift a set of plates for the one and only active crime he was involved in--and his art is just a really good cover for why he needs so much ink and paper and other supplies on a regular basis. He does love and care about his art career, that part’s not fake, but he’s also got a good eye-socket for detail and steady hands to replicate it, and if fake human money that looks really real can help monsters, he doesn’t really see why he shouldn’t.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s...been through a lot. All monsters have, really, but he was hit kind of especially hard and... Whatever Gerson, or Undyne, or whoever’s running things now up on the Surface are getting involved in...he doesn’t really want any part of it. He gets regular stipends for some unspecified ‘service’ he performed for the Queen, Underground, and while no human (alive) knows what that was, it’s apparently enough to live off of relatively comfortably without being employed himself. He has a nice little place with his brother on the outskirts of the city and he lives there quietly, peacefully. He rarely goes into town, just the occasional walkabout, stopping at restaurants or scoping out the architecture. (Part of his one concession to being left out of whatever illegal, mob-type business may or may not be going on: he needs a good mental map of the city and at least a few landmarks that he’ll definitely remember, because he’s the emergency evac should...anything...go especially south. The house phone doesn’t ring too often in the middle of the night, but when it does, he needs to know where he needs to be, and quick.)

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s, ah... not involved in any ‘business’ either, but he does spend a little more time out of the house, at the local hospital. He was allowed to make a study of human medicine and become a nurse by Very Special Exception--mostly due to some friends (or at least one) in high places, and some very backwards human attitudes about parts that constitute a ‘man’ and how a skeleton without any parts could perhaps be allowed into nursing--and he’s proven himself a valuable member of staff and even made friends with all of his coworkers. He’s happy at his job, and with his life, and returns home to his quiet, peaceful house every night with a smile. (He has a go-bag ready by the phone for those late night calls, though, full of healing items and medical equipment he may have subtly nicked from the hospital, just so he has everything he needs to treat a monster or a friendly human that may have gotten hurt...somehow...and for reasons they have no need to specify, can’t risk going to a doctor.)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Just a poor street musician...or at least, that’s what most people figure, ‘cause he doesn’t dress too well and the trombone he plays while sitting out on the sidewalk looks like it’s probably the nicest thing he owns. He gets a couple bucks from time to time, but rarely any second glances, and that... That works in his favor. You’d be surprised how much people talk about when they think nobody’s listening (or at least...nobody important) and he can pick up a lot of interesting information of what’s going on in the city just by setting up in the right spot and waiting for folks to talk business. He’s pretty quiet when he’s not tooting the ol’ horn and great at blending into the background, and that’s made him the guy to go to when you want to know something--like how much somebody else knows, or if there are any plans in place for say, a raid or a sting or some kind. (Law enforcement is the worst about keeping proprietary information ‘proprietary’ when they think their only audience is some nobody monster bum sleeping on a bench...) He’s also got something of a whole information network going on with the actual homeless people in the city, since he gives great tips about places who are hiring or somewhere to get a meal or a bed for the night and he always gives his earnings from busking to those who need it more than him. He’s paid for the service he provides and he’s got a home to go back to, it just seems right that the music-money goes to help somebody else.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a nanny for the Queen! Not too long ago, she might’ve opted to just stay home and look after her newly adopted child herself, while Asgore handled business with the humans, but... They’re freshly split now, and Toriel wants to be just as involved in things as Asgore as much as she wants to s l o w l y ease into being a full-time mother again. Yrus is the solution, already fond of little Frisk and a very warm and trustworthy soul who stayed bright even in the gloom of the Underground. He happily takes the job when asked and splits his time between supervising and caring for Frisk, and tutoring them in all the important subjects (math, history, magic, et cetera). He finds he has a passion for teaching and thinks he might go into that someday, when Frisk is older and Toriel has a little more time and confidence to no longer need him as a buffer. (Whatever it is, specifically, that takes up so much of Toriel’s time and keeps her out so late that he sometimes has to wait around well past Frisk’s bedtime for her to come back and ask after them... Yrus couldn’t fathom a guess and isn’t going to ask any questions. That would definitely be out of his scope as a simple child-minder and even if he knew anything, it would be an extreme violation of the family’s privacy for him to tell tales, which he’s happy to point out to anyone with a lot of questions for somebody so close to two of the Dreemurrs.)

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s on his brother’s payroll. It seemed like the best way to kill two birds with one stone: he’s a big, scary-looking wall of bone who isn’t well suited to a regular-joe sorta job, and his bro’s a very high-profile guy who needs somebody big and scary-looking to stand next to him and be a deterrent. Nepotism, maybe, but they’ve been looking after each other their whole lives already and it’s something Brick knows he can do--he’d do it for free, but if King thinks it’s better (and safer) to have it as his job description, he’s probably right, so Brick’ll take the paycheck for it. King’s also very likely the only one who could stop him if he...lost control...somewhere out and about, so sticking close to him makes Brick feel better and hey, maybe they’re actually killing three birds with this stone of an arrangement. Still, he mostly just goes about town with King, standing around and watching his back and staring people down when he needs to while his brother carries on with his conversations and business. He hardly ever has to do anymore than that...almost never. (One of his favorite places to go is a little hole-in-the-wall craft shop, where King always pretends to take longer than he needs so Brick can peruse the yarn and try to pick up a little sign language from the nice old deaf lady who owns the place.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Yes, yes, he’s very high profile--he did lead monsterkind for a time, getting everyone up to the Surface and settled there--but he’s since stepped down. He’s retired, and anything his successor may be involved in... surely, he couldn’t say. He and Toriel are barely in contact and the money he receives from her on the regular is a gift of goodwill, mostly for medical expenses (his leg, and his brother’s...well). All he does these days is collect for a charity, a pet project of his, Monster Reparations. Lots of people give such generous donations when he goes around to ask for them, maybe impressed a little by his fame, but he can’t feel too terribly about using it for such a worthy cause... (It’s a thinly veiled protection racket and the people and businesses who buy into it tend not to fall victim to ‘mysterious’ criminal activity. Toriel may be officially calling the shots now, but King, as the monster who put her back there, is in a very unique position of power in having her ear, an unofficial underboss totally off the books. Some ‘donate’ more than necessary when he comes collecting, hoping to earn preferential treatment, and sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t--it’s entirely down to King’s opinion of them personally. ...The old woman who runs the craft store pays about half the going rate, and the immigrant who imports the miniature trees he likes gets a heavy discount, too. The deli-owner he overheard hurling discriminatory epithets at a customer, however, pays triple. You get the idea.)

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a researcher. Highly confidential, he’s sworn to secrecy and even mentioning that he’s being funded by Elder King Shroomba is pushing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to talk about. Still, he has his own facility, and several assistants, monster volunteers and sometimes human ones--but they have to sign papers swearing not to talk about what goes on in the lab, too. From what they are allowed to say, the gist is just that it didn’t seem like anything sinister was going on; not even a blood-draw... Merc seems pretty happy to leave at the end of every day, though, and whenever it comes up, he talks very fondly about being able to finish the project. (He’s researching DT, specifically how it can be used to enhance monster physiology and make them more resistant to damage from intent. Merc’s misadventure with DT destabilized him, but from 1HP he’s now more durable than ever, and his second attempt with his brother had less dramatic but still noticeable and successful results. The king wants that safety net for more monsters, especially ones who are on the front lines of...potentially less than legal dealings...who could really be at risk. Merc is reluctant, but with the stipulation of informed, willing volunteers for DT extraction and infusion, he can’t bring himself to turn down the resources and funding to research his own condition and bring the possibility of being normal again ever closer. He still has a hard time with the idea of ‘enhancing’ monsters, but the fact that it’s at least being done safely, willingly, and with a whole team behind it this time helps a lot.)

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He’s in a wheelchair but not letting it keep him down, and he’s running a modest little newspaper stand on the corner--papers and magazines and cheap books--nothing all that special but boy, what an inspiration, good for him that he’s got a job and can run the place by himself! All kinds come and go from his stand, and sometimes he closes it up for a little bit in the middle of the day to take a...er...roll, with some people who must be friends of his, but he’s never gone too long, so nobody says anything to the poor guy about the inconvenience. He’s a dedicated businessman, or trying to be; won’t even let people help him with those heavy-looking boxes of deliveries he gets, and for a fella with no legs, he seems to be doing his best! (...The whole thing is a low-key smuggling operation and he is making bank off it. There’s a system of code-words in place related to the publications he sells for a ‘customer’ to indicate whether they’re buying or selling, and what--magic consumables, stolen/hot items, imported goods, the works--and where and when they want things to go down. There’s even hidden compartments in his custom-built wheelchair for some of the riskier stuff, because he knows no cop in their right mind would force a guy with no legs out of his chair just to search it with witnesses around. And that’s presuming any law enforcement were to even catch wise to his set-up, which he kind of doubts: he’s sly and subtle and even if he weren’t, he knows people see the chair before they see him. Why not take advantage of that?)

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He makes his living as a boxer, and a subsequent minor celebrity. Pretty much any match he’s in is an exhibition match--not just a monster, not just a little guy (...relatively), but a short skeleton monster who’s blind, wow! You don’t see that every day, that’s a spectacle! Plenty of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s in the packed stands every night the sightless skeleton scrapper is in the ring and nobody can figure out how he bobs and weaves so well that he hardly ever gets hit. He loses some matches, that’s to be expected, even for a ‘normal’ fighter, but hey, people love an underdog story, so when he wins, it’s an uproar every time. (For his part, Pitch hates most of his ‘fans’ who think of him the same way they probably think of a silly little dog who learned a funny trick, but the fame in general, and the thrill of the fight... Those are enough to keep him in the ring. Just... maybe not quite enough to keep him fighting clean. He’s as dirty as sportsmen come and he and a few other monsters regularly play his own odds with the bookies: he’ll subtly use magic to cheat and stay in longer, or go down when he could easily keep fighting, whatever’s more profitable with the over/under from match to match. If he’s going to be a circus act doing what he loves, he may as well get hazard pay for his dignity... and y’know, a couple of idiots who think being able to fight is a ‘trick’ because you’re blind aren’t nearly so annoying when you’re being driven away from them in a luxury car, to your expensive house in the hills decked out with all the amenities.)

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s got a place he looks after, keeps things running. Just a small joint, nothing fancy, a little cabaret variety show type place--singing, dancing, drinks on tap, that kinda thing. After dark, some of the...performances... might get a little more risqué, stuff that titillates like burlesque and striptease, but rest assured, his permits are all in order and everything’s on the up and up. Nothing illegal whatsoever going on here, just a bit of singing and dancing and everybody having a good time. (Most of the performers are sex workers--monsters, but some humans too--and patrons can negotiate private shows or off-the-clock ‘meetings’ at their discretion. Nemo opts to not know too much of the details of what his dancers do when he’s not looking, for legal reasons, but he makes sure they have a safe place to do it, are paid for their services, and don’t have repeat problem-patrons if any slip through. Being one of the gentlemen running such an establishment in the city that doesn’t happen to touch or steal from or mistreat the performers, his place is the place to get hired if that’s your line of work. He’s mostly just happy to be able to provide the job security and the job safety for a group that really seems to catch a lot of hell up here on the Surface just for how they make their money.)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He’s a busy guy, bouncing around from place to place, job to job... Being so scattered, you might think he’d be having money troubles by now, but while he may not be the type to stick with one thing and stay there for a good few years, nobody who knows him would say he’s unreliable--he’s the type of guy that you can give him a call anytime and if you need help, he’ll be right over, and he’ll get the job done well, too! Of course he lives with his fancypants brother, and the King and Queen probably spot him a loan or two now and then, since they’re friendly, so all in all, no one really wonders how he makes enough money to live so comfortably. The answer’s right there in their face...isn’t it? (Yes and no. He is the kind of guy you can call anytime to get a job done, and he will do it well, but the money he gets from Asgore and Toriel is less of a ‘loan’ and more of a ‘payment for services rendered.’ He’s a cleaner, the guy you call to make things go away, things that aren’t supposed to be there: stains, papers, weapons, evidence... He’ll get rid of it for you, and if you need a convincing coverup or an alibi for...whatever it is that you weren’t there doing, he’ll take care of that, too. If somebody’s calling him up for his special brand of help, they probably just want to put it all behind them and forget all about that nasty business. He’s happy to facilitate--after all, what are friends for?)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets on well with the King and Queen. (They both feel like they’ve known the monarchs much longer than they actually have...somehow...) But in any case, unlike his brother, Aster is very well-organized and thoughtful, so he’s a natural choice as an...advisor, of sorts, when monsters surfaced and it was...decided that perhaps there would be some...activities and...ways of doing things that...should remain unknown to the humans. Not unknown to Aster: he keeps track of everything, reminding the monarchs of little details they may have forgotten, pointing out things they may not have noticed, making educated suggestions for courses of action with likely positive outcomes based on past experiences... He’s the linchpin between Asgore and Toriel that makes them terrifyingly more efficient than they would be without him, a consigliere-equivalent who certainly isn’t a boss himself, but he has the bosses’ trust and their ears and that makes him a person of great interest. But...no one can get anything useful out of him: he’s loyal, above all, and much as he values truth, he also realizes that perhaps not everyone deserves to know the full truth of everything, especially not those who might use that truth to bring some sort of harm or misfortune to his friends...or to monsterkind at large. ...And trying to directly seize his extensive notes on the private and personal business-doings of the Dreemurrs is an even more doomed endeavor--he writes them all in a strange jumble of symbols that no one’s ever seen, and the code-breakers never have it long enough to decipher anything useful before its back in his hands, reclaimed quite speedily after unlawful seizure of private property containing confidential information. Lots of well-meaning law enforcement have their sights set on him as some sort of criminal white whale, but the simile is all too accurate-- they’ll never catch him, and even if they do, there’ll be nothing to hold him on. He simply has too many friends (and family members) in very high, very useful places.

[blueskrugs]

The Best Day | Sammy Blais

(it’s a @powerblais gif! and a very smiley sammy!) 

we’re back with another fluffy fic! this one’s a tiny bit different, but I had both this song and dad!sammy on my list for a while, so when I started planning this series, they seemed perfect together. anyway, someone might need to check on erin after this. no beta from Sarah on this one...because I just finished it like five minutes ago. 

tagging:  @marcostandella @stlbluesbrat @dembenchboys @poltoncarayko @robthomissed @letmeplaytheblues @troubatrain @ayohockeycheck @blackwidowrising @zinka8 @aria253264 @antoineroussel@starswin @glassdanse @ch-ristiane @majdoline   @braydenschenn @nazdaddy​ 

length: 2.3k words. this is a kid fic, but there’s no real talk of pregnancy or birth, just some scenes from growing up.

You’d always known Sammy would make a good dad one day. He’d grown up a lot in the years you’d known him, though you’d never forget the look of pure terror and awe in his eyes when he held your little girl for the first time.

“Mon petit ange,” he called her, my little angel, whispered for the first time just for her little ears to hear. 

Sammy loved you, you knew, but he loved Lily more than anything in the world.

I hear your laughter and look up smiling at you, I run and run Past the pumpkin patch and the tractor rides, look now the sky is gold

It had been Sammy’s idea to go to Eckert’s for apple and pumpkin picking, just before Halloween. You weren’t sure Lily quite understood the concept of carving pumpkins just yet, since she was only three, but Sammy had insisted “for the experience.”

You were pretty sure Sammy just wanted to go for himself, but you were hardly going to fight him on it.

So the three of you bundled up against the blustery St. Louis fall day and into the car– with only minimal fussing from Lily, because that was a thing now– on a day off in late October. It wasn’t really too cold, and it was sunny, just a hint of late summer still lingering in the air. 

Sammy was excited, singing loudly and off-key to every song that came on the radio. He’d turn to grin at you every time you groaned, big and happy, and you loved him so much. You turned up the radio.

Sammy beat you to the back of the car after he parked, sweeping Lily out of her car seat and up into his arms. She giggled excitedly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he dashed off with her. You just laughed fondly and followed after them.

It was a little late in the season for most of the apples, but you took the tractor ride into the orchard anyway. Sammy did most of the picking, quickly filling up the little basket you’d been given, though whenever Lily tugged on his jeans, he would scoop her up and hold her up to the trees so she could grab an apple, too.

She only dropped a few of them. Well, some of them. They still went into the basket, just a little bruised now. 

Next came the pumpkin patch, which you think Sammy was more excited about. Actually, you knew Sammy was more excited about the pumpkin patch, you thought, as you watched him run ahead of you and Lily. 

“Alright, we need three pumpkins,” Sammy said when you caught up to him.

“Three?”

Sammy made a face at you. “Me, you, and Lily,” he said, slowly, like you were missing something obvious. 

“Our daughter is not carving a pumpkin by herself,” you laughed. You’d really been planning on doing one with her while Sammy did whatever he wanted to do.

“Why not?”

“You are not giving our toddler a sharp object.”

“The knives that come in those carving kits aren’t that sharp,” Sammy reasoned.

“Oh my God,” you said. You weren’t winning this argument. 

The pumpkin patch was pretty picked over, as close to Halloween as it was, but there were still enough pumpkins that Sammy could be extremely particular about it. It was all “too small,” “too big,” “too bumpy,” “too smooth,” which. What. 

“Sammy,” you warned when Sammy hefted a giant pumpkin that probably weighed more than Lily. He whined at you, but put the pumpkin down again, so you were going to count it as a win.

Eventually, you settled on three– because Sammy had, in fact, won the argument that all three of you needed your own pumpkins– pumpkins that had passed Sammy’s test, along with a full basket of fresh apples. 

“Good day?” you asked.

Sammy slung an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. Lily was running ahead of you, but she looked back every few steps to smile at you and Sammy. 

“The best,” Sammy replied. 

But I know I had the best day with you today

Game days had always been your favorite, and they’d only gotten more fun since you’d had Lily. She got caught up in all the energy of home games at Enterprise, yelling and cheering with everyone else in the arena, even under those giant baby headphones she used to wear and she didn’t really know what was going on down on the ice. 

Today was no different, Lily clad in her tiny Blais jersey,  bouncing excitedly in her carseat, the special pregame playlist Sammy had made for her playing over the car’s speakers. She was still bouncing as she stood carefully next to you on the boards during warmups. She banged happily on the glass as players skated past. Vince shot you a grin as he went by before Sammy came crashing into him. 

“Daddy!” Lily yelled. 

Sammy smiled and waved before carefully balancing a puck on his stick and flipping it over the glass to you. Lily clutched that puck all night long. 

And I didn’t know if you knew, so I’m taking this chance to say

There was no greater place in St. Louis than Forest Park on a warm spring day. It was late in the season, and the Blues had a rare day completely off. You were all itching to get out of the house, so the Zoo it was. 

Well, after Sammy spent a few minutes complaining about the parking lot, that is. 

“Okay, where to first?” Sammy asked, clapping his hands together as you walked into the atrium. Lily was busy pointing up at the giant squid and sharks hanging from the ceiling. 

“Train!” she called.

You raised your eyebrows at Sammy. “Train it is, then.”

“Then the carousel?” Sammy asked, turning those big eyes Lily had gotten on you. They both knew you were powerless against them.

“Yes, oh my God, you’re as much of a child as our daughter sometimes,” you said. 

“Yeah, but you love me,” he said. “We can go see the seals and the penguins after, I promise,” he added, because he knew they were your favorites. 

You held Lily while Sammy bought tickets for the train, but she sat on Sammy’s lap in the cramped train car. She giggled and chattered the entire way around the Zoo, often waving at other zoo-goers you passed at the crossings. After a while, she poked Sammy enough times that he was waving, too. 

“Where to next?” Sammy asked as the three of you clambered off the train at the end of the line, but it was token, because he was already scooping up Lily again and heading towards the carousel. 

You got double puppy-dog eyed into joining the two of them on the carousel,  which is how you ended up on the back of a polar bear next to your daughter, who was astride a giraffe, with Sammy hovering behind her. His hand was on the back of the giraffe, as if he was worried Lily would fall. You took a picture of them like that, twin grins on their faces. 

After the carousel came the polar bears and the penguins– Lily laughed in delight when she got splashed by one of the penguins, though she wrinkled her nose at the smell– then towards the sea lions and seals. You tagged Sammy back towards you by his hood as you emerged back into the humid air. 

“This was a good idea,” you said. 

“Yeah?” Sammy said, but he was beaming at you. He pulled you close for a quick kiss, and you both laughed when Lily made a face at the two of you.

I come home crying, and you hold me tight and grab the keys And we drive and drive until we found a town far enough away

Growing up was hard. Middle school was even harder. You’d been there before, but it didn’t mean your heart broke any less when Lily came home from school one day and burst into tears when you asked her how her day had been.

You and Sammy shared a look over the kitchen island as she made her way to her bedroom.

“I’ll handle this,” Sammy said, snagging a bag of cookies out of the pantry and following Lily upstairs.

You couldn’t make out much of their conversation from where you were, not that you didn’t try. Sammy had left Lily’s bedroom door open behind him, but you had never quite mastered French, much less French that’s coming to you through tears and down a flight of stairs. 

Sammy came downstairs ten minutes later and winked at you as he put what was left of the cookies away, Lily trailing after him, calmer now. He mouthed, “I’ll tell you later,” at you over her head as you hugged her, except it was forgotten in the rush to get ready for that night’s game. (Not living with Vince anymore did not make Sammy any more punctual.)

It wasn’t until Saturday, when both Lily and Sammy were up bright and early on their day off, that you even remembered he’d never told you. 

“Where are you two off to?” you asked as you watched Sammy hunt for his keys. 

“An adventure!” Lily said.

“Oh boy,” you replied, but Sammy just shot you a grin and shoved a hat on his head.

An “adventure” turned out to be a breakfast date, then a hike out at Castlewood State Park, ending with a drive out to Kimmswick for an apple pie from Blue Owl, which you fully intended to eat at least half of yourself. 

“Good job,” you murmured to Sammy as you listened to Lily talk about their day after dinner.

“She failed a test and got in a fight with her best friend,” Sammy whispered back.

“Remember when those were the biggest things we had to worry about?”

Sammy just laughed softly, pressed a kiss to your temple, and went to get the pie for dessert. 

I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger

You were never more thankful that Lily had chosen not to play hockey than when you had to watch Sammy get injured. It was hard enough to watch the man you loved go down; you weren’t sure you could ever handle your baby girl getting injured.

The Blues were on the road when it happened. You didn’t even see it happen, just a late hit from a Minnesota player behind the play, but then Panger was pointing out that Sammy was still down on the ice, and the play was being blown dead. 

“Shit,” you said.

“Language,” Lily said absently, her eyes glued to the TV screen. 

“He’ll be fine,” you assured her, assured yourself.

Sammy was already sitting up on the ice, talking to the trainer, but you didn’t let out the breath you were holding until he was up and skating off the ice on his own. He didn’t return to the game, but he did text you that he was okay sometime before the end of the third. So there was that. 

They were flying home right after the game, and you and Lily were both asleep on the couch when Sammy came through the door around 2 AM. Lilly stirred when Sammy hit his bag against the doorway and cursed at it. His left arm was in a sling.

“Dad!”

“Why aren’t you in bed? You have school tomorrow,” Sammy said as Lily stretched and bounded over to carefully hug him. 

“Oh my God, Dad, I’m 16,” Lily said from under Sammy’s uninjured arm.

“He has a point, though,” you said. You hadn’t been able to say no when Lily had asked if she could stay up with you until Sammy came home, but he was home now. So: “Good night, love you,” you told her. 

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes, but went upstairs without complaint. You grabbed Sammy’s bag from where he’d dropped it and followed him upstairs yourself.

“How bad is it?” you asked once the bedroom door was closed behind you.

Sammy smiled tiredly at you. “Just dislocated. They’ll do some tests tomorrow to make sure there’s no damage, but they think it’ll be fine.”

“She worries about you, you know,” you said. You did, too, obviously, but Lily watched Sammy’s every move on the ice extra closely as she got older. Sammy wasn’t as young as he used to be, and you worried that his next injury would be his last every day. 

Sammy sighed. “I know.”

“She gets her stubbornness from you,” you said pointedly when Sammy winced trying to take off his shirt.

Sammy laughed quietly. “I know.”

And I love you for giving me your eyes, for staying back and watching me shine

Sammy was crying, and you were laughing at him.

It was Lily’s graduation day, and he’d been emotional about it all day. He’d barely made it through pictures that morning, but he’d been fine at the start of the ceremony, though you had a feeling that was going to change once they started calling names. 

“Keep it together, babe,” you teased, but you passed him a tissue from your purse.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “That’s our little girl!”

Your little girl wasn’t so little anymore, and she was walking across the stage to collect her diploma, confident and beautiful in her cap, gown and high heels. She’d grown up so much, but she would always be Sammy’s mini-me. Same brown hair, same eyes that could never quite decide if they were blue or green. Soft spoken but stubborn as hell.

“I’m so proud of you,” Sammy would whisper to her later, and you’d both hug her a little tighter.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“We don’t talk about maternal rage. I mean the kind that simmers under the surface of countless women; the kind that makes you dig your nails into your fists in an attempt to stop the fury from entering your hands, because if you don’t stop it now, it will turn to something shameful. Mothers dare not speak of it. We are afraid to admit to it, even to ourselves.

Before motherhood, we see images of pristine kitchens, sleeping babies, the perfect work–life balance. The drudgery that is the reality, the long list of unfinished tasks, the never-ending laundry, and the constant silent scream of the mental load, are kept from us. To some extent we play our own part in this, the pull of biology being so strong that we disregard the bits of motherhood we don’t want to see before we ourselves get there. But I’m not sure it is possible to fully understand the highs and lows of motherhood without having experienced them.

Pregnancy and motherhood left me raw, unable to process comment and criticism. I was lucky; I had a group of NCT friends who were all experiencing the same emotional rollercoaster.

However, I would approach the subject of my children tentatively, worried about judgement, not wanting to bore them, worrying the work of motherhood wasn’t exciting. Discussing the reality of motherhood requires vulnerability.

‘Buggies used to be invisible to me, and now I feel invisible,’ a new mum confides as I collect my son on the first day of nursery. This invisibility is the foundation on which my maternal rage stands. I’m a mother of three. I love family; not just the idea of it, but the messy reality.

Yet at the same time, the reality of motherhood has been viscerally brutal to me. I met my husband in my mid-thirties. He was 10 years older, and we both knew time was short. But children didn’t happen for us instantly, and after three years we gave up. And then it happened. And it wouldn’t stop happening. In our case, babies were like buses: they all seemed to come along at once.

Six years on, three little boys tear around our house. They are loud, their energy levels set permanently to high. They drag each other around the room on a blanket, as the baby crawls between them, narrowly avoiding death. “Darling, please don’t do that,” I say, over and over again.

“You wouldn’t tolerate this behaviour from anyone else,” says my husband. He’s right, I wouldn’t. His words echo around my head, mixing with the shouts from the boys and demands for food and toilet trips and toys, until I can’t bear it any longer and all I want to do is scream: ‘Will you just f**king stop trying to f**king kill each other, motherf**kers!’ But I can’t say that because I’m the adult.

I open the fridge and I eat my feelings. I make another cup of tea. I vacuum up more crumbs, push my rage further down as I pick up books with newly missing pages. I keep trudging on through the drudgery but the demands keep coming, and then I step barefoot on a piece of Lego.

I scream like a banshee, because it’s all I can do. Because I’ve tried everything to make them listen. Thinking steps, time out, taking away toys. They turn and look at me. The six-year-old with his worried face, the baby who’s surprised by the strange noise coming from mama, and the three-year-old who looks frightened. And all at once I feel I’ve failed. I am empty and I am awful.

I scoop them up and onto the sofa. We eat ice-cream and watch CBeebies, and I wonder why we couldn’t simply do this before. Why was I trying to hold it together with carrot sticks and educational games? I can see how the path to maternal rage – spewing into abuse – is incremental.

My husband comes home from work just around the time my cup of rage runneth over. He’s a good man. He scoops up our children, asks about their days, and takes them upstairs for bathtime as I stand muttering in a corner or shaking my head at the day I’ve had. I am aware that not everyone has this.

But I am also aware that he bears the brunt of, and exacerbates, my maternal rage. My position is so precarious that when he forgets my hatred of sweetcorn and adds it to our pizza, it tips me over the edge.

Because it’s the numerous times I have to tell my children to put their shoes on in the morning. It’s the swimming/PE/games kit, it’s the youngest demanding milk, and the middle child doing his best to be disruptive.

It’s my husband trying to pacify me when he’s just waltzed in from taking too long in the shower and is now heading out the door. It’s when I ask for help and he responds by requesting specific instructions on how to navigate the kids out of the house.

“You’re tired and lonely”, says another mother. She’s right, I am tired. I am tired of the patriarchy.

Maternal rage is about more than just the difficulty of raising small children. It’s a consequence of all the things that women have to endure throughout our lives. That we are expected to slot ourselves into a work system created for 1950s men; that, despite legislation, women still have to worry about telling employers they are pregnant, still struggle on maternity pay, and then still have to pay extortionate childcare costs in order to go back to work.

That, despite nods towards shared parental leave, the reality is that working mothers’ careers stall or go backwards while their male partners’ prospects might even improve.

And those of us who are stay-at-home mothers have another layer of disrespect heaped on us. Because motherhood is unpaid, and unpaid work is not valued. What is a writer when she’s not being paid to write? There are moments when I feel as though all I’m doing is failing.

“How did you get through raising kids?” I ask my friends. “I drank a lot of wine”, says one. I can’t help but wonder what kind of state we are in if the only way we survive motherhood is self-medication. Surely, if a man needed to drink every night to recover from his workday, the advice would be to find another job. Something is deeply broken here.

I have to find a better way through this, so I join a HITT class. I need to feel stronger. I need an outlet for my maternal rage. ‘Is it with other mums? With buggies?’ I’m asked by a relative, and I feel instantly diminished. The rage resurfaces.

My award-winning career, the publishing deal, the TV option, none of it means anything since I gave birth. Why wasn’t I warned that my worth and brain would fall out of my vagina with my babies? For all the demands on me, I am invisible.”

[shysneeze]

persuasion (part three)

George Weasley x  Malfoy!Reader

Description: a quidditch match at the burrow has the reader and george flung together again and more of the past creeping up 

Warnings: it’s 2 am, i’m not convinced ik what this is but i think it’s angsty again, i swear again most likely, lmk if i missed something pls 

authors note: I... don’t even know if this is coherent english 

tag list: @andineversawyoucoming @theweirdsideofstuff @the-grey-lady13 @peanutem @paigeyisme @wolfiepirate @sir-lili

(pls let me know if u don’t wanna be tagged anymore ik it’s awkward but id hate to think i was annoying you so i don’t mind :))

series masterlist

(Y/N) can hardly tell if she’s shaking from the cold or her nerves when she arrives in the grassy meadows of the infamous Burrow. Although the sun sits high in the cloudless March sky, the bitter chill of winter lingers and nips at her bare fingers and she grinds her teeth to stop them chittering, suddenly regretting her decision to leave her scarf at home, though glad for the flask of coffee in her tote bag.

The apparation point she’s arrived at is a bit of a distance from where Fleur explained the match is to take place, although from here, (Y/N) can see the lopsided silhouette of the childhood home George so perfectly describe to her during nights spent curled together in the astronomy tower. She can hear the faint rumble of laughter and chatter ahead and begins to worry she may be very late, picking up her pace as she trudges up the gravelly path.

It’s not until at the brow of a small hill, (Y/N) can make out what is to be the makeshift pitch for today’s match, a flat grassy field parked outside the topsy-turvy looking building she can recognise from just the stories. She remembers being guiltily envious of George’s family back then, the way he described it as loud, but cheerful, and basically everything the Manor was not.

(Y/N) is startled by how quickly that feeling has resituated itself in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the red-headed family and their friends on the field. She can no longer hide her nerves, an anxious feeling unfurling in her chest as she gets closer. She forces herself to keep on track, reminding herself that she’s here for Fleur, not to punish herself like her subconscious has suddenly decided.

“(Y/N)!”

Fleur’s voice carries from the end of the path to where (Y/N) has temporarily frozen to calm herself. Her friend’s excitement has a smile inching itself up (Y/N)’s cheeks and her feet moving again until Fleur is flinging her arms around her.

“You came!” She gushes.

“I RSVP’d.” (Y/N) reminds, smile wavering at her friend’s doubt in her. “So here I am.”

“Well it’s so good to see you.” Fleur grins. “I was just wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Am I late?” (Y/N) grimaces.

“No!” Fleur assures quickly. “No, we’re still setting up.”

“Oh.” She sighs in relief. “Can I help?”

Fleur lets out a light laugh as she loops an arm through (Y/N)’s and begins to walk them towards the others. (Y/N) can’t figure out what it is about her question that’s so funny until they’re stood behind a plump red-headed woman, hand on her hip as she gives out orders to her various children.

“You’re supposed to be getting rid of the last of the gnomes!” She chides. “Oh, Hermione dear, not you, it’s okay.”

“Not a chance Molly will let you help.” Fleur whispers, an amused edge to her voice. “Hermione’s not been a guest in years and she’s still exempt.”

“Ron, I told you to help your brother get the brooms- it’s like herding Nifflers with their eyes on someone else’s watch!”

Fleur chuckles softly at her mother-in-law before taking a step away from (Y/N)’s side and tapping the older woman’s shoulder gently as her friend’s eyes widen in panic, longing to reach out for Fleur and pull her back. She needs at least a five-minute inner pep-talk before she’ll be prepared to meet the Weasley’s mother.

It’s too late though, the lady of the house is already turning with a startled jump to face her daughter-in-law, questioning look in her eyes. Fleur nods toward (Y/N), who can only hope her face doesn’t display the sheer distraught she’s feeling inside.

“This is the friend I was telling you I was inviting.” Fleur informs. “(Y/N) Malfoy.”

(Y/N) does a bad job at hiding how she flinches at her own surname, a habit she’s had since she was old enough to realise how other people viewed her family. She gulps at the lingering confusion on Mrs Weasley’s face before the woman is plastering on a kind-hearted smile and stretching her hand out.

“Lovely to meet you, (Y/N).” She says. “Molly Weasley.”

(Y/N) scrambles to wipe the nervous perspiration from her palms embarrassingly before reaching out for the older woman’s hand and shaking it. A glint of amusement, one that mimics the twin’s in a way, flashes in the older woman’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Weasley.” (Y/N) says. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course.” Mrs Weasley waves her hand dismissively. “A friend of Fleurs- and Fred’s, is a friend of the family.”

“T-thank you.” (Y/N) stutters. “I didn’t know what sort of food to bring but uh, I brought coffee.”

Embarrassment finds (Y/N) quickly, flustered by this woman’s kindness, that seems to ignore all the horrible thing (Y/N)’s family did to hers. No one warned her growing up how much guilt her surname carried, especially when the rest of her family wore it like a badge of honour right until the war. It’s worse right now though, stood in front of George’s mother, feeling as though she’s lying by omission.

“You needn’t have brought a thing.” Mrs Weasley smile kindly. “But thank you nonetheless.”

“Can I help set up at all?” (Y/N) tries, making Fleur smirk.

“Goodness, no.” Mrs Weasley laughs. “You’re a guest. No, just you find yourself a seat, my dear.”

There is no time for protest on (Y/N)’s part as Mrs Weasley is already shouting at Fred and Ginny for bickering on the pitch, exclaiming ‘you’re not even in the air yet!’. Fleur gives (Y/N) a smug look before nodding the pair onwards.

After a moment, they begin to discuss the teams. (Y/N) can only agree that it all seems rather unfair, observing that half the Gryffindor team are here, a mixture of the Weasley’s and their friends, not to mention Ginny’s professional status.. They’re laughing together at this when (Y/N) collides with a red-headed man, drawing several expletives from his lips and then a hasty apology.

“Oh shit, sorry I didn’t see you…”

George trails off, eyes meeting his unfortunate victim’s as she rubs at the spot where the broom sticks he was carrying had smacked her on the head. She drops her eyes to the ground upon recognition of his identity and mutters out a quiet apology and assures him he’s fine. Her heart is racing, much like last time they’d met eyes at the Leaky. He frowns having not expected her at all today, taken off guard, again.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I RSVP’d.” She repeats with a sigh. “Oh, you didn’t know that.”

“No.” He admits.

“I invited her.” Fleur assures. “I told Fred.”

“That explains it.” George sighs loudly. “Stupid git.”

“Well, we’re going to get seats.” Fleur announces. “Try not to knock her over on your way past.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” (Y/N) mumbles. “My fault.”

She looks up shyly and meets his brown eyes again, gulping at the intensity of the look her gives her. She thinks for a moment he’s never going to look away when a voice from the pitch snaps his attention away and she feels like she’s free to breathe again.

“C’mon, George.” A woman she recognises as Angelina Johnson, calls. “We need those brooms to play!”

George gives both Fleur and (Y/N) a sort of apologetic look before shouldering the boom sticks again and jogging towards the pitch where the rest of the players wait impatiently for him. Fleur watches as (Y/N) stares wide eyed at the ground, trying to still her panicked heart. She gently touches her friend’s arm and tilts her head in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) exhales. “Sorry, it won’t even bruise.”

Fleur purses her lips and holds back from explaining that’s not what she was asking about. (Y/N) gives her a clearly forced smile then begins to walk again.

When they finally take a seat on one of the many picnic blankets by the other spectators, (Y/N) pulls out her flask of coffee from her tote bag and hands Fleur a cup cheerfully, as if it’ll distract from the interaction she’s just witnessed. From  the pitch, Fred is waving at them, beaming happily.

“You came!” He hollers.

“I RSVP’d!” (Y/N) calls back, barely hiding her frustration.

He lets out a laugh at her reaction, his body shakes with it and his eyes crinkle like George’s do, head tilted backwards as he chuckles. It rids her of her upset at being doubted, bringing a smile to her lips. She can note now, no longer preoccupied by trying to fight off a mental breakdown in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, that she likes seeing him healthy

She remembers when she found him during the battle, laying almost lifeless on the ground, she wasn’t sure he’d ever be healthy again, even after she’d used all the healing spells she could think of. Hearing he’d recovered after the war was one of the first time’s she’d felt anything other than numb since Harry’s victory.

“Where’s your kit?” He calls.

“I don’t play.” She returns defensively.

“What?” He asks. “Too scared we’ll beat you?”

“Sure.” 

“Aw c’mon.” He tries. “We’ve got a spare broom.”

“Leave it, Fred.” George says, eyes lifting to find (Y/N)’s before jumping away again. “She’s scared of heights.”

(Y/N) looks away with what she hopes comes across as embarrassment, although her mind is already whirring with the fact he remembers. She finds herself swiftly falling down what she knows will be a self-destructive path and wondering what of her other quirks and habits he remembers, if he remembers how she takes her tea, or if he thinks of her when her favourite song plays. It has her feeling terrible in thirty seconds, a split second of hope killed in an instant by her own guilt.

Fred gives her an apologetic look and she shakes her head in assurance that it’s okay. He turns back to the rest of his team and leaves only Fleur staring at (Y/N) with a curious frown. (Y/N) offers her a shrug and sheepish smile that her friend sees straight through.

“I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” She frowns.

“Oh, well it’s my secret silly fear.”

“Hmm.” Fleur hums.

Fleur opens her mouth as if looking for what to say next as (Y/N) sips at her coffee and avoids eye contact, as if that will in anyway make her friend less suspicious. Fleur seems to give in though, lips shutting in what looks like defeat. (Y/N) Is glad when people begin to mount their brooms, a welcome distraction for both the women.

It takes a bit for the game to get into full swing but when it does, (Y/N) finds herself transported back to Hogwarts, sat in the Slytherin stands pretending she cares what her house’s team does, spending the entire game watching George as he flies. She watches him now, still as impressed as she always was, yet still as anxious.

“You nearly fell sixty feet.” (Y/N) hissed, pacing the boys changing rooms long after everyone else was gone. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“You could have died!”

“I didn’t though.” He grinned proudly. “Were you worried about me, Love?”

She fixed him a harsh glare at his teasing, but her face softened when he reached for her, fingers fumbling for her hand and pulling her in until she landed on his lap. He pushed some hair from her face and gave her a genuine smile.

“You’re very cute all worried like that.” He exhaled. “I might nearly die more often.”

“Don’t you dare.” She warned but cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Never again.”

She leaned in and kissed the forming bruise just above his left eyebrow, the cut on the bridge of his nose and then, just in case, the mark on his jaw that she couldn’t decipher as a bruise or just some dirt. He smiled lazily at her before tilting his head in order to connect their lips in a kiss.

“I’ll try not to worry you again.”

He had, she recalls, continued to worry her almost every match. However, now she feels like she doesn’t have the same right to be worried, yet she still finds herself clutching her cup tighter every time he does a flip or when he seems like he might miss the bludger. She finds herself letting out a breath of relief when the game is called a while later.

“That was a good game.” She speaks up.

“Even with the tie.” Fleur agrees.

“It was to be expected with such a high skill set on each team.” (Y/N) shrugs.

“I’m just glad Bill is finally on the ground again.” Fleur laughs softly. “It’s like I’m holding my breath the entire time- it’s silly.”

“No, it’s not.” (Y/N) assures kindly. “Quidditch is dangerous- probably more so with your siblings.”

Fleur gives her a grateful smile before turning back to the pitch, where Lee is being grilled for his referee skills, making (Y/N) chuckle to herself. Her eyes catch George, grinning with his family and friends. Fleur follows her gaze and nods.

“You see it too?”

“What?”

“Angelina and George.” Fleur explains. “We always thought Fred but recently…”

(Y/N) hadn’t noticed in fact, she was more entranced by his  lovable lopsided grin, but now her eyes find him again and she does see it. Initially she’s more perplexed by it than anything else because Fleur is right, it was always Fred. Now though, Angelina is leaning in to George, grinning up at him and laughing dramatically at his jokes and (Y/N) despises how it makes her feel, because she left him and he has the right to move on. However, her guts are churning with jealousy and she hates it.

“Yeah.” Fleur laughs at her expression. “Confusing, huh?”

“Hmm.” She nods.

“There are few bets on it.” Fleur informs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I won’t weigh in.” (Y/N) manages a chuckle. “Definitely not my place.”

It becomes quickly noticeable from that point onwards and (Y/N) almost wishes Fleur had never pointed it out. As the day moves on and they all sit haphazardly spread out across the various picnic blankets, (Y/N) does find it slightly easier to distract herself though, her eyes rarely making their usual trip to George a few feet in front of her, though every so often she can feel his eyes on her. However, she finds herself somewhat relaxed as she chats with Fred and Bill.

“I’m impressed you came after seeing this idiot drunk.” Bill jokes from Fleurs side. “It’s not pretty.”

“Ouch.” Fred gasps.

“I have a feeling the morning after was uglier.” (Y/N) smirks.

“You have no idea.” Fred agrees. “George was no help either- wouldn’t bloody shut up.”  

Fred’s eyes meet (Y/N) with this, a hint at what George wouldn’t shut up about perhaps, or even who. (Y/N)’s panicked is stilled when she realises his eyes don’t hold any malice or anger, though she’s not sure why not. It’s almost understanding, the look he gives her. Despite her resolve not to, she finds herself peering over at the boy in question.

She’s caught though, his eyes filtering away from his conversation to meet hers and she inhales sharply. Something in her reaction this time has him smirking, shaking his head as he turns back to the heated debate on the best type of broom with Angelina and Ginny. It’s mortifying to (Y/N), like he’s seen her panic and knows he’s done it, what’s worse is she knows she deserves it.

She misses the time that smirk would find her across the classroom, knowing and infuriating, and almost always the gateway to a quick snog in a hidden corridor, or at dinner, across the sea of other students and only for her, swiftly followed by a wink. She hates that that smirk suddenly has guilt swirling in her stomach instead of butterflies.

“Are you okay?” Fleur whispers.

“Yep.” She assures with a faked smile. “Great.”

…

It’s when her watch reads four o’clock that (Y/N) finds herself excusing herself and flung into a seemingly endless chain for farewells. She’s again amazed by how accepting everyone is of her presence, all calling for her to join them again soon. It’s after a hug and a muttered ‘thank you’ from Fleur that she stands to leave.

She’s jittery with a sort of pride as she leaves With a few hiccups, she’s still happy to have managed to hold conversations and to relax. She doesn’t feel so compelled to cry as she had at the Leaky certainly not until she gets home. Certainly not until George’s voice is suddenly halting her in her tracks.

“Malfoy.”

That about does it though, her surname said with that animosity. She doesn’t want to turn around from fear of her distraught showing on her face. She’s only a few meters from apparating, so close that a few steps would do it. However, slowly, she turns to face him.

“Am I supposed to just call you Weasley now?”

She winces the moment it leaves her lips and lets out a quick apology. She’s no idea where it came from. He has an eerily unreadable expression, instead just passing her the tote bag she apparently left behind. She takes it shyly, eyes casting down to her feet as she thanks him. He shrugs at her, already turning on his heels. She stands still for a moment then finds herself tempted again by a part of her she has no right to have.

“George?”

He stills but doesn’t turn around and she smiles at his stubbornness, so familiar to her.

“You described it all perfectly you know.” She explains, voice soft in the quiet of the meadows, the house, and the others far behind them. “Your house and your family… I know why you love them so much.”

She doesn’t give him time to answer, already taking those few steps and apparating with a crack before he can even turn around again. He breathes out a disbelieving chuckle and shakes his head as he retreats towards the house. 

She’s always saying things he doesn’t expect and impressing him, and she knows how to make it bloody difficult to hate her.

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

Why YOU should give Rush a chance

Okay, so right off the bat, this is not going to be like my other posts on my blog. This is not a post about some show that has captivated my interest or anything at all related to animation. If that's not your cup of Dot rambling coffee, than I would highly recommend you take your L right now and come back for your regularly scheduled programming in a few days.

Are they gone? Okay cool! For those of you that stuck around past my forewarning let me tell you about my newest special interest to join my now growing music love affair with 80's and 90's Rock n Roll. For those of you that don't know, I'm guessing that most of you do not know what Rush even is. If you are not somehow on the autism spectrum or know a lot about music in general than this band will be entirely unknown to you. Rush is a three man progressive rock band born in Canada made up of three incredibly amazing men Gary "Geddy" Lee, his best friend since he was 11 years old Alex Lifeson, and last but most certainly not least, the amazingness that was Rush's drummer and songwriter Neil Peart. Together, the three of them changed the world of progressive rock through Geddy's unique vocal qualities, Alex's incredibly underrated shredding guitar skills, and Neil's immaculate drums and lyrics. I am here to tell you, yes YOU reading this length rambling message in three sections to keep this fair. Each member will get their own sections and I will try my hardest to keep personal bias out of this. I also just watched Rush: Beyond The Lighted Stage yesterday with my mom so I will mention some things that we talked about during it to try and sell people.

Geddy Lee:

* Geddy has one of the most unique voices in all of rock music. This will most likely be the thing that turns off the people that do listen to me and wind up listening to a couple of songs. He has had a lot of critics for his higher pitched voice usually yelling lyrics. However, I love his singing voice. It is filled with energy and power to it. His voice has a weight to it that not a whole lot of other people can really nail if they really want to.

* You want to talk about sheer talent? How many of you all know lead singers that are a one and done kind of singer? They can play one instrument and they're done? Well shove them aside because Geddy can play not only bass guitar but a double neck bass, synthesizer, and piano. Yeah I think all you haters can stand aside because this man will always be amazing technically.

* So many of lead singers in my opinion, think that they own the band. Because they get to sing the songs right? That means that they get to make all the important decisions and they can't ever do anything wrong. Well for those of you that know Rush, you will remember the synthesizer era. The era of new wave Rush where Geddy shelved his bass guitars for his synthesizer. This caused a small rift between Lee, Lifeson, and Peart who were not at all fans of the way that the synthesizer was going. While Geddy was having a fun time with it, he shelved the synthesizer almost for good and went back to his roots. I don't know many other lead singers that would put up something that they were legitimately having a good time with just for his bandmates.

* Geddy's just general goofball personality is something that continues to make me chuckle. Since he and Alex have known each other for practically ever (they met when they were 11) and have been there for each other for most of their lives they have very similar energy's.

Alex Lifeson:

* Alex Lifeson is an underrated guitarist. There I said it. I feel like of the three of them (Geddy, Alex, and Neil) Alex gets talked about the least due to the fact that Geddy also plays guitar. While it might be a different brand of guitar some people forget just how genuinely face melting his solos are. I could listen to his riff in Tom Sawyer all day long I swear. I'm still working my way through every Rush album in chronological order (I'm just now finishing A Farewell To Kings an absolutely beautiful album.) But his skills are not one to be downsized and I think he is an amazing, amazing guitar player.

* You want to talk about the group goofball? If Geddy is goofy, you look in the dictionary this man is the pure definition of a hilarious and quirky character. When Rush was FINALLY indicted into the Rock N'Roll hall of fame in 2013, after Neil and Geddy's beautiful and moving speech's about how important this means to them, Alex gets up there and his entire speech is spoken in very animated BLAHs. But what's really funny is that if you watch carefully he is actually trying to tell you a story. It's a story about how they all got there past the critics that tried to stop them along the way.

* I love the relationship between Alex and Geddy especially. They're just both such unique kinds of people but they have similar quirks and traits that are evidence of decades upon decades of friendship. I get massive big bro vibes from watching the three of them play together and it's really touching that they never let the fame go to their heads.

* While watching the documentary, I found myself in awe of just his general personality. He was a jokester and the life of the party, and even if sometimes Neil was exhausted by his presence it was obvious that he loved his bros.

Neil Peart:

* If you are asking me, the heart and soul of Rush, was their drummer Neil Peart. Neil wasn't just their drummer though, he also wrote all of Rush's songs after their first album together. Neil grew up probably the biggest bookworm to ever bookworm. He was a socially awkward kid it seemed since he was always reading as his parents explained in the documentary (more on this laster). This resulted in lyrics that are absolutely gorgeous in any context and sound like literature themselves. One of my favorite Rush songs is their song Rivendale themed to Lord Of The Rings.

* Peart was one of the most technically amazing drummers of all time. I don't think I'm saying new information when I say that. He has been praised for not only his technical prowess but the intensity of how he played as well. He was a force of nature when you put him in front of a drum kit. The drum solos in Rush are not easy. They are technically extremely difficult and always leave me to collect my jaw from the floor.

* Lyrically speaking, his lyrics were so intelligent and beautifully worded that it's hard to focus on them sometimes. I've listened to Fly By Night I can't tell you how many times just within the last few months. They are so unique, so beautiful, just so Rush. I can't think of any other word to describe them other than Rush. Nobody else could have written lyrics like these other than Neil himself. Even though he's gone now (Rest In Power you absolute Mad Lad.) I still feel like his music will resonate with millions of future generations to come. It could be the year 3000 for all I care and people will still be jamming to Tom Swayer, just you watch.

* Lastly about Neil himself, this is of the opinion of my mom and I, and you heard it here first, I think that Neil was aspie. He was the quietest of the three of them, he hated getting spotted by fans while the other two seem to tolerate it, he was constantly stimming with his drumsticks on and off the stage by spinning them around his fingers, he was totally nerdy and antisocial, he loved literature more than anything else growing up and would rather have a book in his hands than go out to a public place with his classmates, and he grieved in a different way than most people do. When his wife and daughter passed away, he hit the road with his motorcycle and most often Geddy and Alex wouldn't hear from him for months at a time. They had cute little nicknames for each other that Neil would always sign the postcards with. It was a different one every single time.

Thanks for listening to me ramble on this day guys! I really appreciate it, I know that this hasn't been your regularly schedule Dot programming but I really appreciate you sticking around! Give Rush a listen to if I've piqued your interest you will not regret it.

[irishmacguirefucker]

Are there any hobbies some of the gang members take up now that they're in a set spot?

Ill start with just a few people (Dutch/Hosea/Arthur/Abigail/Kieran/Molly) and you can all suggest more if you would like. Or you can suggest other stuff for the AU of course

- AU MASTERLIST - 

Hobbies at the Ranch

Dutch: Let's be honest, I sincerely doubt Dutch took up anything more than he already does. He may enjoy decadence but I can't imagine him as the type to blow money on a hobby that relates to it. Probably considers sitting in his office pouting over petty arguments a hobby. He collects more books, but that pales in comparison to that of Mary Beth or Hosea. He collects more records than he does books. They're so fragile that he didn't pick up many when they were still travelling, but now that he can store them safely he has started collecting more and more. Slowly he has been branching out into other genres and artists, but mainly stays within the classical region. After a few years, he probably has upwards of a hundred in his collection. Some of them he only likes a song or two on but he would never throw them away. Some of them are favourites of Mollys that he keeps for her to play when she’s in the mood. The record player in their room regularly accompanies slow dancing in their shared bedroom when he’s feeling romantic.

-

Hosea: When the gang moved into Bessie's old home, there were hundreds of books there already, and Hosea has been working through the ones he thought were interesting. He regularly commandeers Dutch’s office since the man doesn't actually use it for any work that would require an office, and does actual work there. For a long while after they move to the ranch, he doesn't spend much time inside the actual house. It's so full of things that remind him of Bessie and it made it hard to stay inside too long, it was just too fast. Luckily there’s plenty of work to do outside and Hosea refuses to sit around doing nothing like some people want to do. Many of the books inside related to the different things needed to run a ranch, and he read those first so they would know what to do and how to do it. None of these are really hobbies per say, but I don't see Hosea as the hobby type. One of the few he engages in now are fishing at the pond on the property, or going on the odd hunting trip when they can. The actual hunting is a much more enjoyable activity when you're not doing it to feed 20 hungry people, when it's just an activity to enjoy with your son. 

-

Arthur:  His journals are filling up faster than ever, despite the fact that there's less adventure to be had. Running a ranch with a group of former outlaws is an adventure of its own as far as that goes, and the act of journaling is still the way he gets out his thoughts and emotions in a healthy way. Now however he finds himself with more time to spend drawing. Now if he finds that he wants to sit and draw the horizon exactly as he sees it, then he has the time to do so. However, he does spend a good chunk of his time when he isn't working, just walking around and seeing if anyone else needs anything. Old habits are hard to break. 

-

Abigail: After they got settled into the ranch, Abigail bashfully asked Hosea if he would teach her how to read as well, so she could keep up with her son as he began to learn. She took to it like a fish to water, catching on quickly. When she learned, she found that she greatly enjoyed reading. More specifically she liked learning in general. Learning new skills and information in such a non-survival situation was a luxury she hardly had in her life. But now that Jack had many many babysitters and a safe home, and she had more free time than ever, she found herself wanting to learn. Once she knew how to read, she picked up so many different books but found her favorites were educational type books. She read sewing catalogues, ranching magazines, cooking books, anything that would teach her new skills and techniques. And though she still can't cook, and some of those sewing techniques were a little too fancy for her mending, she enjoyed learning all the same.

-

Kieran: Surprisingly, Kieran picked up leatherwork. There was a leatherworking kit in the barn when they arrived and he found it, and figured out what it was for. Then there was a book on leatherworking in the study that Hosea found and gave to him, and he took to the work. It took a while, but over time he got very skilled. Having a relaxing hobby was a bit of a foreign concept to many of the gang members and Kieran is no stranger to that. Of course, he enjoyed fishing as did many others at the ranch, but leatherwork was different. It was hard work that he didn't do out of fear of becoming obsolete, and when his hands hurt he felt satisfied with the pain. Knowing it came from good work that he enjoyed doing made the slight twinge in his fingers a blessing. Eventually, he learned to make his own tack, and the first saddle he ever made was his pride and joy. 

-

Molly: She has a fantastic eye for decorating. She’s amazing at working with what they had and what they could afford, making the Ranch house look established and beautiful early on. She tries to keep wildflowers in most of the rooms, even if she has to go pick them herself. She found these beautiful little jewelry boxes in storage and with Hosea's permission eagerly shared them with the other girls, so now each of them has a nice place for their sparse amounts of jewelry. She’s also quite the haggler. She has a talent for getting storekeepers to sell her tons of stuff for cheap just because they're kinda scared of the woman yelling at them in an accent they can hardly understand while 3 very large men stand behind her. Because of this skill, she got brand new kitchenware to replace the broken ones in the kitchen, and the guy threw in a hand-painted china teapot for practically free, and they didn't even need a new one. She found out about this skill by accident, Dutch had taken her into town to buy a new mirror to replace the one that broke and she hadn't liked the way the man running the store tried to speak to her. It was clear he thought she was stupid, and willing to fall for anything he might claim is a “deal”. Dutch was MIA over at a display of pocket watches, so she handled it herself, and the man practically handed over the mirror for nothing. At some point, every gang member gets the pleasure of witnessing her skill and is each in awe. 

[darkarfs]

the worst movie tie-ins in the history of wrestling

Wrestling is stupid, and will show its ass at the mere mention of cross-promotion, especially when it comes to movies, which is it's cooler older brother that can get away with a lot more. Hell, the 2nd ever SummerSlam's main event, in 1989, was Hulk Hogan facing the main villain, Tiny Lister as Zeus (RIP), from the film they were both in, No Holds Barred. So wrestling's always wanted a piece of that. So... - Army of the Dead Let's just get this one out of the way. Here's the thing; I thought the WrestleMania Backlash's card was fucking perfect...except for this weird business. WMB MIGHT've been the best show of the pandemic (hot take) were it not for making sure we sell Big Dave's big zombie heist movie. If they had just kept some of the guys in zombie makeup on the Thunderdome's webcam footage, that would have been borderline charming. But instead, the Miz (who was WWE champion 3 months ago, don't forget) and Damien Priest (who they're making WWE's pop-culture liaison so far on the main roster, for some reason) had to sell for zombies in a lumberjack match. If this was the first ever wrestling show you watched with a loved one who had never watched wrestling or hadn't since like, the end of the Attitude Era, would you for a second want them to stick around after Miz and Morrison get, for all intents and purposes, kayfabe killed and eaten, and then watch Damien Priest shoot the logo at the ceiling? My money's on "no." - Shaft Speaking of the Attitude Era, anytime someone tells you that wrestling was cooler in that 3-year time frame, point them to the June 15th of 2000 episode of SmackDown, where a storyline that ran throughout the show followed Patterson and Briscoe through New York City to find Crash Holly and his Hardcore Title. Now, I admit parts of this are kinda funny, like Briscoe just wanting to give up and find a "gen-yoo-WINE New York hot dawg!" That's fun! And who does Crash Holly run into but none other than Shaft, and his woman, the only one who understands this complicated man, John Shaft. So, we have real Samuel L. Jackson, playing fake John Shaft, talking to real/fictional Crash Holly, and man is it weird. Anyway, Shaft agrees to be Crash's bodyguard for the night, and he slaps around Patterson and Briscoe in a nightclub. After all, what better way to get across how cool and badass a character is than having him knock around the fucking Stooges? - The Wrestler Well, this is complicated. The Wrestler, starring ancient wooden lion Mickey Rourke, is a somber tale about an industry that, in its heyday, left people physically spent, washed-up and addicted to adrenaline at best, and dead at worst. It famously moved Roddy Piper to tears because he recognized what destruction and brokenness the industry once left in its wake. Which is why it's super-weird that WWE jumped at the chance to promote maybe the bleakest possible look at their world in 2009, and did so by having Chris Jericho smack the shit out of three old wrestlers at WrestleMania 25, including Roddy Piper. And then have Rourke jump into the ring, wearing his "do you want to take peyote in the desert?" starter kit and bring out his amateur boxing chops. Tonally, it's just really bleak. Like if the creator of Super Size Me screened the premiere at the world's biggest McDonald's. - Bride of Chucky Poor Rick Steiner. You didn't deserve this. You're the sane Steiner. They shouldn't have made you talk to the puppet. So, WCW was heading into Halloween Havoc 1998, and after years of stomping all over the WWF in the ratings, the wheels had come off, and dramatically. Like, all at once. Like the car in the Blues Brothers. To boost PPV buys, they spent a fortune bringing in the Ultimate Warrior to rekindle a feud with Hulk Hogan, mostly by hiding in his fucking mirror. And the Steiner Brothers, one of the best teams of the early 90s, had been feuding with one another since Scott turned on his at SuperBrawl. What was the best way to build hype around this match at Halloween Havoc? Why, to have Rick get into a war of words - and lose - to Chucky. Yes.

Serial killer doll voiced by Brad Dourif, and it's so sad. Chucky cusses Rick out while Rick challenges the fucking doll to a fight, which is promptly ignored (Chucky's video segment is pre-recorded, and you can tell because he starts talking about 3 times in 3 minutes while Rick's mid-promo and missing his cues to stop) and then is made fun of. And all the while, people were probably wondering "what's going on on Vince's show?" and the answer is...that was the episode of Raw where Austin fills Vince's Corvette with cement, which is slightly more badass than being teased by a puppet. - The Goods Here's the thing: Raw is, right now, a bad show. It is bad TV. It's been bad for a while now. And as bad as it is right now, it's still not as fuck-awful as it was in 2009, aka the Age of the Guest Hosts (which, in kayfabe, was given to us by Donald J. Trump, so blame that ambulatory Nazi scrotum for one more thing, he's certainly earned it). For those of you fortunate enough to not be watching what was objectively unwatchable at the time - and hell, I sure as shit wasn't checking in very often - from mid-2009 to around mid-2010, a celebrity would be the special guest host of Monday Night Raw, often to promote a TV show or movie, and it was nearly all horribly-written, cheesy wank. Imagine if every week was the week of the zombie attack at Backlash. That's what it was like. Bob Barker was funny. The Muppets were good. And THAT'S the end of the list. MacGruber coming out to blow up R-Truth made me want to fall on a knife. The A-Team coming out to beat up Virgil was fucking awful. Go straight to fucking HELL, the Three Stooges, Dennis Miller, the reverend Al Sharpton, the 2010 Pittsburgh Steelers, Don Johnson and Jon Heder, the poor entire cast of Hot Tub Time Machine...and then there's Piven. Jeremy Piven. He showed up with Ken Jeong to promote a movie no one remembers...called the Goods. He stunk up several segments, infamously called SummerSlam "the Summer Fest" and then got roughed up by John Cena. Wrestling's the worst. Stop watching. And many did. For a looooooong time. - Robocop 2 This one's infamous, so I'll keep it brief. Robocop 2 came out in 1990, and goddamn, I don't know how much money the producers threw at WCW, but it was enough for them to rebrand an entire PPV "Capitol Combat: the Return of Robocop" and marketed the entire thing around the fancy metallic gentleman. The branding really made it seem like Robert Cop was old friends with the promotion, and indeed, old friends with Sting. Makes sense; two big, heroic idiots running on BASIC. He had been feuding with the Four Horsemen, who locked him in a cage at ringside. Out comes Robocop, called completely straight by Jim Ross, who rips the cage door off his hinges, and then leaves. An accumulated 85 seconds of screen time. Totally worth being the centerpiece of this PPV! But a little context as to why WCW fans hated it so much: 1989, the year before, was regarded by WCW fans as one of the best in company history. The era that gave us stuff like Chi-Town Rumble and the still-very-much-lauded peak of the Steamboat/Flair feud. To go from that to Robocop was seen as a bit of a slap in the face, because WCW was always seen as the more traditional "wrasslin'" company and was never into cheesy pop-culture crossovers, which is why the last one...is all the funnier.

- Ready To Rumble First of all, those dumbasses at Turner had to give Michael Buffer - who they still had on retainer - around $350,000 just to use that title, because he owns the trademark to that phrase. Strike 127 million, capitalism, that a guy gets to own a phrase and gets paid an obscene amount when he or anyone else uses it. Secondly, I initially wasn't going to do movies where the promotion itself is producing the movie, or oh holy HELL would See No Evil and the infamous May 19 shit be on here. But unlike See No Evil, this had a hand in killing a decades-old wrestling promotion, so it feels weird to not include it. On April 7th, 2000, bad movie Ready To Rumble was released, a film about two hapless dorks trying to help Oilver Platt, aka the lawyer from the West Wing, become WCW World Heavyweight Champion. Two weeks later, to promote the movie, they made David Arquette, the lead actor in the movie, the WCW World Heavyweight Champion. He pinned Eric Bischoff, who wasn't the champion, of course, in a match where he was teamed with Diamond Dallas Page, his best pal and the company's top babyface at the time, but who is also one of the villains in the film to make it extra confusing for the mainstream casual audience the movie was made to attract. And, to be fair, Arquette didn't want to do it, NO ONE really wanted to do it, and it tanked viewership for WCW once and for all. At the very least, David took his payday from the wrestling appearances and the film and gave it to the families of Owen Hart, Brian Pillman and to Darren Drozdov, who had been paralyzed from the neck down in a wrestling match the previous year.

[spotofimagines]

About Time ~ Calum Chambers

A/N: I don’t know when this is set, I just made up a match scenario so don’t go looking for details! This is for @footballffbarbiex​‘s writing challenge based off tv and film (go check it out, it’s lasting all year!). I watched Harry Potter recently so took vague inspo from Neville and Harry about halfway into this scene. Also, a moment of silence to remember Cal’s awful cat drawing.... Enjoy :)

Warnings: injury but no detail - reader is female

Summary: Winning a match in that sort of fashion will give Calum the confidence boost with you he’s been waiting for.

It was the biggest win of the season. A trophy win. A derby win. A penalty and a 30-yard screamer scored by the strikers for the team. A match saving tackle by the man of the hour. It was a big win alright.

Calum had gone down pretty hard from that tackle late on in the match and stumbled about for the last couple minutes of extra time. To keep the story short, his knee was well and truly busted up, but by god was he going to celebrate this win with his teammates.

When the hugging and jumping was over and the physio had dragged him to get sorted out properly, Calum had his mind set on one person and one person only. You. He wanted to find you in this moment like he wanted little else in his life. A congratulations from his friend was ready and waiting, but given the 90 minutes he’d just played and the confidence coursing through him, he’d had a slight change to that set of plans.

He’d tried a few times already to do what he was going to do today but he had always chickened out before he would, too scared to see anything change between you for the worse. But as he steamed through the halls of the Emirates, feet travelling without being told to, he didn’t even think once about the consequences. He was going to do this and he was going to do this now.

Speeding slightly too fast round a corner, Calum had become the focus of someone else.

“Cal, you alright?” Rob stuck his hand out to the side to catch Calum’s arm and attention at the sight of him darting his eyes around like a meerkat.

“Never better. I feel like I can spit fire.” Adrenaline was still running through Calum like crazy. There wouldn’t be anything in the world that could stop him now. Or at least for the next few minutes or so, before the joy of the win will wash away a bit and the proper pain of his injury will set in. But until then, he was a man on a mission whilst he knew it was something he could actually do instead of backing out like the last times.

“You haven’t seen Y/N have you?” The excited smile on his face shone inquisitively as he asked his friend the question, in dire need to find you as soon as possible.

“Y/N?” Rob repeated a little confused, slightly shaking his head no. What could be so urgent that he would be this desperate to find his best friend? “Why-”

“I’m mad for her. Think it’s about time I told her.”

Rob could barely register getting interrupted before he was watching Calum jog off down the corridor, a happy-go-lucky grin on his face that told Rob he really couldn’t care what else was going on in the stadium, with the fans, with the players, with anyone. It was only you. He had to find you.

Turning back around to his girlfriend, Rob just raised his eyebrows with a laugh and shook his head. “He’s done it. He’s finally lost it.”

Calum just kept searching for you amongst the miriade of people in the corridors. His knee was starting to burn a bit again, and he knew the physio would kill him if they found out he’d been jogging around.

But then he turned the corner, and he saw you, and the thought jumped right out of his mind. It felt like everything stopped for a moment; like there weren’t so many people around anymore, like all the oxygen left the air, like there was nothing or no one he’d ever wanted to come across more. He knew he was being a little silly - after all you were just stood leaning against the wall on your phone - yet it seemed like he was back at that stupid art museum a month back when he first tried to tell you his feelings because god, you looked out of this world. And all you were doing was standing there.

There was a fire in his heart he didn’t have a month ago that was willing him on now to sack it all off and get it over with. And there was a fire burning in his knee that was getting worse the longer he stayed still.

So he moved. He walked toward you, intent in every step and all focus on anything else completely lost to the background. He wasn’t going to stop himself - he didn’t want to stop himself - so he didn’t. He just kept walking until the clacking of his boots against the hard floor made you peer up over your phone.

There was an unmissable splendour in his eyes that bore into yours as you slipped you phone into you pocket with a greeting smile. You hadn’t expected to see him so soon after the match and you were on the verge of asking what had brought him to you so soon as you held your hands out, prepared for a giant bone-crushing hug from him you’d grown accustomed to.

Before you could get your mouth to say words and before you could wrap your arms around him, Calum’s hands dived straight to either side of your jaw and pushed your lips on his. Your hands landed on his waist lightly as his warm hands tilted your head up a touch so he could kiss you just that little bit deeper. If this was only happening once, it was going to be perfect.

He felt your lips start to kiss him back after the sudden shock of him on you sauntered away and he smiled to himself at the way it felt to experience this. There had been far too much time between when he first caught a crush on you and when the moment to do something about it had finally arrived.

Calum pulled away before too long and rested his forehead on yours with his eyes still closed. A breathy laugh fell from his mouth as it couldn’t help but curve into a smile. You couldn’t quite find the words you wanted to say, or any words at all for that matter, so you just gently squeezed his sides to cover up your silent spluttering that he couldn’t even see nor notice.

He slipped his hands down to your neck as he moved his head back to look at your face properly. His hair was still a little sweaty and he was definintely out of breath but his eyes gleamed as bright as his grin. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself now that he was close up to the beautiful girl he yearned to see five minutes ago. It felt just like a dream to be in a moment like this.

Except you weren’t quite smiling like he was. And now he’s realising there are people around you. And he’s still wearing his dirty kit. And his knee is definitely going to need another check by the physio from the heat that’s searing through it. His heart is still in dreamland and his smile is still etched on his face, but his brain just dropped back to earth and hit the ground. Luckily for Calum though, he never has favoured his mind over his mood.

He watched your eyes for a second and took another breath whilst his thumb started moving up and down along your jaw. “Mate, I am sorry if that was way off what you thought of me, but I’ve been waiting to do that for a while. And I know I ain’t thinking straight right now with that win and my knee is making me go doo-lally mental, probably not the best idea to run round half the bloody stadium for you, but I needed to do that.” He sighed as all his words tumbled out of him. “I just needed to do that...”

Your eyes never left his for a second, and you hoped he had some sort of super mind-reading powers hidden in him somewhere so he could know what you felt, because your mouth was trailing years behind your brain. You wanted to tell him how right it felt, how often you’d imagined his lips on yours, how much you wanted it to happen too. But your stammering wouldn’t let you. You were counting your lucky stars that winning this trophy had washed him in so much exhileration that he hadn’t noticed your prolonged reaction, or at least he hadn’t done anything about it.

He was hopped up on the sugar of you and you were so shocked by his sudden actions that your hardwire system shut down.

His body shifted under the palms of your hands and he was about to take a step backwards away from you when your snaked your arms around his torso to stay close to him. “Well mate,” you teased, tilting your head to keep looking up at him directly with a smirk, “whatever you seem need, it works for me.”

He scoffed a laugh at the words that you managed to say and mockingly rolled his eyes at you as you giggled. Those bright blue eyes hadn’t lost a single spark since he saw you a minute ago and they didn’t look keen to be dimming any time soon either.

Calum just pulled you closer to him again for another kiss, this time shorter, and sweeter, and less system-knocking. This time it was Calum. This time it certainly wasn’t a dream.

The thumb on your jaw moved along your skin a couple more times when you looked back at each other, you smiles carved in stone on your faces. His fingers trailed over your shoulders and down your arms until his right hand found solace linked together with yours. You simply watched him, how his shoulders stood tall over you but weren’t wound as tightly as before.

When your eyes met his once more, he suddenly dropped his effervesant smile and furrowed his brows. “I’m being serious now though. If I don’t get this knee looked at in the next 30 seconds, I’ll be chopping it off.” You chuckled as his complaint and secured your hand in his before nudging his arm forward to get him to start walking back to where he’d come from.

“Oi, don’t laugh, it could be fatal! I could be facing life on bed rest for my heroics today.” As hard as Calum tried to make his words sound convincing, the cheeky grin fighting it’s way onto his face sold him out. Every time.

“Alright, superman,” it was your turn to roll your eyes as you placed your other hand on his arm whilst you walked nestled against him, “let’s get you checked on so you can fly me back home.”

[absent-angel]

What’s in a Name

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Summary: The first time she sees him her home is on fire. [NaLu] [Fae AU] [@nalu-week 2020 Bonus Day: AU]

Read it on ff.net

AN: Well, I’m late per usual but it’s here! Also, I’m sorry but I don’t have the patience go through at search out all the italics tumblr doesn’t recognize, so if you want to read it as it was written please use the link. :)

Word Count: 6106

Warnings: Language

The first time she sees him, her home is on fire.

Flames are clawing up the walls, smoke blacking the ceiling. She coughs into the sleeve of her lace trimmed nightgown and tries to stifle her sobs long enough to scream for her mother. She is only ten years old, and the only thing she remembers from the fire safety course last year is to stop, drop, and roll. She's not on fire, but after a few moments of running aimlessly around her room and choking on smoke, she sinks to the ground anyway. It is easier to breathe down there. The room is filling with smoke and through the cackling and popping of the flames she can just barely make out the sound of the frantic voices of the staff on the other side of the wall.

Again, she screams for help but the smoke gags her. The air is so hot that she feels her lungs blister with every breath she takes. Most of her room has been engulfed, and the ceiling is starting to rain down blackened sheets of drywall—hitting the floor like a bomb. She knows she should move but she doesn't know where to go. Her bedroom door was long since engulfed by the greedy flames, and the only window is blocked - her pink velvet curtains have long since turned into two towering pillars of heat and flames. There isn't nearly enough room for her to get through. On her hands and knees she crawls under her bed, because it seems to be the only safe place left. 

Her face shines with a mixture of sweat and tears as she presses her cheek against the wood floor. She gasps for breath, lungs burning for oxygen. The edges of her vision are starting to go black and she forces herself to take larger gulps of ash-laden air. When she calls out again her voice is dry and cracks with every syllable. Still, she forces the words out in a coughing wheeze. "Please! I don't—want to die!" More tears slip down her cheeks, she can almost feel them evaporating on her flushed skin. The voices on the other side of the wall have faded, and all she hears now is the hissing and popping as the fire consumes. 

Her eyes, already burning from the heat and smoke, begin to feel heavy and she feels the overwhelming urge to sleep. Slowly, she blinks, and when her eyes reopen she sees something that wasn't there before. By the curtains she sees a man. 

She should be suspicious of the fact that the smoldering heat and open flames seem to have no effect on him—but she isn't. With every last bit of strength, she tries to drag herself toward him. She only makes it to the foot of the bed. He doesn't see her, she knows he doesn't, because he is humming and eating the flames licking up her curtains. "Help," she pleas, but it is only a weak hiss of air passing her chapped lips.

His dark eyes snap to hers, an alarmed expression parting his lips, before her world fades to black.

A week later she wakes up surrounded by clean white floors and starched linens. There is a mask strapped to her face and wires taped to her skin, and dazedly realizes she is in a hospital. She expects her mother to be there, but it is Ms. Spetto that comes rushing to her bedside; tears following the deep wrinkles around her mouth as her time worn hands gently cup Lucy's cheeks. Her lips move around the same words, over and over again. By the fourth time she repeats it, Lucy is able to wade through the fog of painkillers enough to understand.

“I’m so sorry.”

Lucy is ten years old, and the day she wakes up—relieved to be alive—is the day she finds out her mother is dead.

X

The second time she sees him it is at Burning Man. 

She is twenty-one and so out of her league, but a classmate convinced her to come along. She is angry and determined to rebel against her father in every way possible so she does. It takes her a day and five semi-permanent coloring kits to get her hair ready. Cana (her classmate) helps her dye some of the blonde strands into rainbow colored streaks. Lucy admits that she's concerned about the turn out at first, but now that she has the colored strands weaved into two French braids she is more than happy with her decision. 

Everyone seems so bright and full of color, so full of life. She is lost in a sea of costumed bodies, sky high sculptures, cleverly modified "cars", friendly smiles, and booze. Lots of booze. The sun is mercilessly hot, and she knows that her shoulders will likely be burned even through her sunscreen (and the thick layer of dust she had accumulated from her traditional virgin roll in the dirt upon her arrival). It is nothing like she has ever experienced, and she is glad that Cana convinced her to come. 

Her friend disappeared  hours ago—Lucy assumes she is probably back in the tent doing she-doesn't-even-want-to-know-what with her boyfriend. She takes a drag of her beer and shivers when she finds it is still cold. The bikini top and shorts she is wearing do little to keep her warm, but she knows that once she joins the throng of dancers she will probably be wishing for the cold. 

Night descends and people are lit up with any and every possible glow-in-the-dark accessory imaginable. The large sculptures dotting the desert are aglow with a mixture of Christmas lights and LEDs, but the one in front of her is a cacophony of large billowing flames that—if not for the smoke and heat—would almost look like clouds. Adrenaline pumps through her veins, quickening her pulse as she is torn between fear and awe and the towering flames. She has made sure to find a spot upwind to avoid the smoke, but she can still feel her breathing beginning to tighten. Her asthma doesn’t flare up often, but when it does smoke is usually the culprit; fitting since it was the burning air and toxic smoke she inhaled when she was ten that gave her the condition in the first place. She reaches for the inhaler she stacked in her front pocket—just to be safe.

Then she sees him.

He is everything she remembers and everything she has forgotten. He sits on the crude arm of the sculpture, grabbing handfuls of flames and slurping it up as if it were soup. She can’t hear anything over the music, but his leg swings idly to the beat and, somehow, she can almost hear him humming along.

Lucy goes still—frozen in a sea of moving bodies. A man next to her asks if she’s ok, but she barely registers it. By the time she does, he’s already laughing her off has having a good trip. She watches as he disappears into the crowd, hoping that when she looks the fire eating man will have disappeared.

He hasn’t.

He’s staring right at her, with those eyes she remembers most. The same startled expression parting his mouth; fire painting him in orange, red light.

Her inhaler drops. Lucy runs. Maybe she is on a bad trip—maybe someone put something in her drink—but she doesn’t care. Even if it isn’t real, it’s real to her. She doesn’t want to stare at the face that has haunted her for more than a decade. The face she has told no one about, because even as a ten year old she knew better than to believe in strange men that eat fire like it’s a meal.

Adrenaline is making her pulse race and her mind foggy. She should have ran back to her tent—Cana’s boyfriend being there or not—but instead she finds herself surrounded by cold, empty desert with the fire (and other people) at her back. The air she gulps down is cold, but she knows the goosebumps dotting her exposed skin are from far, far more than just the temperature. There are a hundred of things she should be worried about—snakes, coyotes, real men that might see her as an easy target—but all she can think of is dark eyes and flames and the wheezing in her chest.

She forces herself to stand upright, dutifully recalling her doctor’s instructions should she have an attack without her inhaler, and tries to calm her racing heart and reign in her short, gasping breaths. It’s just her mind playing tricks, she tells herself. Just childhood trauma coming back to haunt her. It was a big fire, she should have known it would trigger a reaction. Really, what had she expected? Only, each inhale of cold, dry air seems to only make the pain in her chest coil tighter; every breath shorter. 

Suddenly the fire-eater is the least of her concerns. She has to turn around—has to find the spare inhaler she has stashed in her duffle bag. If she doesn’t—if she passes out, here, in the dark corner of desert—she won’t live to see the sunrise.

She turns, squeaking out a scream when she finds a face not a foot away from her’s. A face that, even in the darkness, she recognizes.

He tilts his head, brow furrowing as he watches her gasp. His hand wraps around her neck, too light to bruise but too firm for her to escape. Fear prompts her to claw at his hand, fighting against his hold, but then something strange happens.

The coil in her chest loosens, the whistle in her breathing stops. She can breathe. 

Lucy’s heartbeat thunders in her ears, but as his hand retreats her breathing slows, deep and measured and so blessedly normal it’s shocking. She stumbles backward, tripping and falling on her bottom, but she is too numb to do anything else but stare. She doesn’t know what he did but she knows it saved her life, and she isn’t sure how she should process that. “How?” she asks, the word cutting through the silence.

He crouches down, head tilted and eyes curious. “You can see me?”

Lucy swallows, trembling. She doesn’t dare repeat her question. “Am I not supposed to?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he gives a small, perplexed shrug. “I don’t know. No one has before.”

“That’s a lie,” she murmurs, before she can think better of it. But he doesn’t seem offended. “I saw you. You were eating the curtains.”

He recoils, disgusted. “Gross! Who the hell would eat curtains?!”

“They were on fire,” she says, confidence growing the longer she sits there. He hasn’t hurt her—he’s never hurt her—and she gets the feeling that he never will. Why would he bother saving her otherwise? Her vision has begun to adjust to the dark, and he seems much less scary now that he’s more than a shadow. The pink hair helps too. “I was a little girl, and I saw you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, seeming torn between awe and complete confusion. The way he looks at her is disconcerting… like he doesn’t know what she is, even though she’s the one that should be perplexed. “How’d you do that?”

Her shoulders lift into a weak shrug. Beneath her the ground is still relatively warm from soaking up the sun’s heat all day, but even that is rapidly leaving, and she shivers—teeth on the verge of chattering now that some of the adrenaline has waned. “I didn’t do anything,” she grumbles, sitting up and rubbing her arms with her palms. “You were just, there, and I saw you.”

Glancing at her hands, he frowns. “Why are you doing that?”

“What?”

“That thing with your hands. And the shaky thing.”

“Because I’m cold? It’s cold out here.”

“It is?” He looks around, as if temperature is something that can be seen instead of felt. “Huh. Guess I didn’t notice.” His feet lift, crossing underneath him, and it’s as if gravity has ceased to exist. Perhaps, for him, it never has. In the dark, his eyes burn inhumanly bright. “What’s your name?”

A warning trill traces her spine. Lucy doesn’t remember all of her mother’s teachings, but she remembers this: names have power. Back then it was merely a rule for storybooks; realms with magic and fae instead of electricity and cars. Still, her mother’s voice rings, clear as day, that one can never be too careful. “What’s yours?”

His grin is wide, almost approving, as he laces his fingers behind his head. “You know, you really are the only one that can see me. Do you see other things too?”

Lucy stares at him, a sudden swell of emotion stirring in her chest. “I thought I imagined you,” she says, barely above a whisper. “No one could tell me how I got out of the house. You... you did that, didn’t you? You saved me?”

He shifts, looking uncomfortable. Mouth parting, he’s on the verge of offering an answer when his body tenses—eyes snapping to the dying flames yards away. He frowns, looking genuinely disappointed.  “Well, damn. Guess this is goodbye.”

Lucy shakes her head, “Wait! You didn’t answer—“

He flips something toward her: a coin, gold and glinting despite the darkness. Out of instinct, she catches it. The metal is inhumanly warm and unnaturally bright, and it momentarily shocks her into silence. When she looks up he is sending her a dimpled grin. 

“Call me!”

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s gone; and Lucy wonders how she could possibly call when she doesn’t even know who or what he is.

X

The third time she sees him, her shoulders and cheeks are still burnt from the Nevada sun, but she is at least in the privacy of her own home.

Her father has always thrown money at problems to make them go away, and Lucy is no exception. It is easier for him to shower her with gifts through the mail than to shower her with time, and though it still sends a shot of bitterness through her heart she has learned to at least appreciate the practicality of his seemingly endless pocketbook. The cozy two-story Tudor style home he bought her, just around the corner from her college campus, is particularly well loved.

The wallpaper is old—some of it even original—and peeling in some places, and the oak floors speak back to her with every step, but she loves the warmth it provides; so unlike the cold, polished marble homes of her youth. 

There are multiple fireplaces. Lucy has never used them, but she considers them thoughtfully now; despite it being the heat of summer. She rubs the coin between her fingers restlessly. 

She lights a match—hesitating long enough to feel the heat brush her fingertips—before flicking it into the fireplace. The crumpled balls of paper take a moment to catch, but once it does the fire flares to life; the flames licking at the bricks. But nothing changes and she frowns—disappointed.

In her front pocket, the golden coin hums; emitting a heat she can feel even through the denim of her jeans. She pulls it out, stares at her reflection in the polished surface, and wonders. Her eyes flick to the fireplace, considering, and tosses the coin into the flames.

She stares, waiting for something (anything) to happen. After a few long seconds she begins to think nothing will, but then—between one blink and the next—he’s there, bouncing on the pads of his bare feet and a dimpled grin stretched ear to ear.

“Bout time! What took you so long?”

Lucy sits, practically falling into her favorite wingback chair, and stares up at him in disbelief. “I... can’t believe that worked.”

He links his hands over his head, stretching. Lucy tries not to notice the way his muscles flex beneath his open vest. Perhaps it was a mistake calling on him during the day. Between the harsh shadows the Burning Man fire cast and the desert darkness, she had failed to realize how inhumanly handsome he is.

A pink eyebrow raises questioningly. “Well, why wouldn’t it?”

Lucy flushes. She prays to whatever the hell god is listening that he didn’t notice her staring and forces herself to focus on the conversation instead of his pecs. “Why would it?!”

He opens his mouth, but whatever answer he was preparing to give her is cut off by the dimming flames in the hearth. “Don’t let it die!” he yelps, bordering on panic. “Throw something in there! Quick! If the fire dies, the door shuts!”

Hastily, she looks around for something to toss in but it wasn’t like she was prepared for any of this. She doesn’t buy firewood—why would she when this is the first time she’s ever dared to use her fireplace—and the crumpled pieces of paper she had lit were just junk mail. “I don’t have anything else!”

He growls, an inhuman sound for an inhuman man, and points to the stack of books on her side table. “There!”

Lucy blanches. “That’s my history textbook!”

“Who cares!? They got most of it wrong anyway!” he snaps. The last of the flames is retreating into the embers. “Hurry!”

It is a testament to her stress level that her sanity lapsed enough to throw her three-hundred dollar textbook to its fiery grave. She watches, gaping, as it catches—a whooshing pillar of ink fed flames.

Delighted, her guest tastes a sample and makes a face. “Geeze, did no one teach you how to build a fire? You kinda suck at this.”

Lucy’s face hardens. “I try to avoid it.”

“Why would you so that?! Fire is awesome! It cooks stuff and keeps people warm—“

“It killed my mother.”

His smile falls. “Oh.” 

Silence presses down on them, so awkward it’s stifling. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she gathers her courage to ask the question that’s haunted her for years. “You were there,” Lucy whispers, her heart aching. “Why didn’t you save her too?”

He rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet her gaze, but there is an apology in his voice. “I can’t interact with people of this plane—I don’t really exist here.”

Lucy shakes her head. “But you saved me.”

Frowning, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Well yeah. Wasn’t going to leave ya there.”

She can’t tell if he’s being oblivious or stubborn, but her frustration rises regardless. “But I’m from this plane.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Of course I am!”

He doesn’t argue, but his stare is pointed. Knowing. When he shrugs it feels placating. “Ok.”

Lucy feels like it’s anything but, and when the fire starts to die she doesn’t feed it.

X

She doesn’t see him for another three months.

Honestly, she hadn’t planned on calling on him at all, but it’s Christmas Eve and all her friends have fled the campus and returned home for the holidays. Christmas is a holiday she hasn’t fully celebrated since her mother died. She remembers that the Heartfilia mansion used to be so lit up with lights and garlands it would glow from the street. Ms. Spetto liked to joke that it could probably be seen from the moon.

The fresh scent of pine and the magic of the holiday left with her mother, though, and her father has never so much as put a wreath up since. When Lucy was in the dorms she would try to add a bit of cheer, but it always paled in comparison to the grandness of her childhood memories. When she received the keys to her home, Lucy vowed to go all out come Christmas.

Garlands drape over the fireplace mantels and twine between the railings of the staircase. The Douglas fir she had to physically wrestle into submission sits—slightly leaning—in the corner of the living room, lit up in row upon row of white lights and branches heavy with the glass ornaments she found at the superstore around the corner. The fire is crackling merrily in the fireplace, and a mug of hot cocoa warms her palms.

It is all picture perfect—something straight off a holiday card.

It feels hollow. Forced.

Lonely.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, quelling its quivering. She doesn’t want to spend her Christmas alone; not again. 

From the fireplace mantle, partially hidden behind the heavy garland, the gold coin winks at her. She stares at it until her cocoa grows cold; torn between the desire to fill the emptiness in her heart and being sensible enough to know better than to invite a strange being into her home (again) for no other reason than to have some company.

Lucy considers herself to be logical, for the most part, but right now she’s tired of putting responsibility first. Right now, she wants to take a page out of Cana’s book and just say fuck it.

She stands, making a beeline to the dining room and fishing out a bottle of Kahlua from the back of the alcohol cabinet. Dumping a generous amount into her (now cold) hot chocolate, she doesn’t even bother to stir before taking a several gulps. It slides down her throat, smooth and warm, before settling in her stomach. It feels like courage, or perhaps it’s simply recklessness. Either way, she takes the smooth faced coin from the mantle and tosses it into the fire before she can talk herself out of it.

He takes longer this time—a good three blinks—but when he arrives there is a holly crown weaved into his hair and a pink flush to his cheeks. His clothes are different from all the times before; finer. High collared and made from a golden material that reflects the flickering light of the fire. “Hey,” he breathes, an excited (relieved?) smile pulling at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d call.”

For a moment she can only gape at him; struck by how otherworldly—how Fae—he looks. “Um, I, well. I just thought... you know, it’s Christmas?” She pales, realization dawning as fast as her embarrassment. “Oh, but, you wouldn’t celebrate Christmas. Would you?”

The chuckle he gives is light, and blessedly unoffended. “Nah, can’t say I do.” He gestures to his clothing. “But we go all out for the Winter Solstice. So similar deal, right? With the whole eat, drink, and be merry and whatnot?”

Despite the alcohol making her thoughts fuzzy, Lucy has enough presence of mind to know better than to invite a conversation of religion with a near stranger (let alone a mythical being) so she nods. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.” Then it clicks, and she feels her face heat. “Oh, you were—did I interrupt the, uh, merrymaking?”

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I was getting sick of seeing Ice Prick’s smug face anyway. He’s always an extra pain in the ass this time of year.”

She blinks, but decides she really doesn’t want to know. “Oh. Well then, um, would you like some hot cocoa?”

His answering smile is boundless; bright with an enthusiasm that Lucy knows is worthy of far more than what she’s offered.

X

For the remainder of winter break, Lucy lights a fire in the living room hearth every evening.

She never enjoys it alone.

X

Cana looks at her strangely when she returns from break, eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Lucy frowns, sitting in the seat beside her. The coffee shop is busy, but the line is mostly frantic to-go orders of students who hit the snooze one too many times. The sitting area is practically empty saved for two or three others. “I missed you too? How’s your dad?”

“Drunk,” Cana says without a beat, her lips thinning. “Seriously, though. What’d you do? Your aura is freaking me out.”

Lucy doesn’t typically put too much faith in the idea of psychics, but Cana’s has a history of being uncannily right about things she doesn’t have any business knowing. Also, she’s sorta made friends with a fae over Winter Break so who is she to judge? “What are you talking about?”

Cana rests her chin in her palm, a painted fingernail tapping thoughtfully against her cheek. “You’re... bright.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lucy tried to interpret Cana’s baffled expression. “And that’s...bad?”

The brunette snorts, taking a sip of her coffee. Her eyes continue to stare over the rim. “It’s fucking weird. I can’t read anything off you. It’s like staring straight at a lightbulb.”

Lucy doesn’t have an explanation—she’s not even sure she even understands—so offers a shrug and a sheepish smile. “Sorry?”

Cana hums, shaking her head. “It’s pretty,” she consoles, eyes tracing something Lucy can’t see. “But it’s fucking weird.”

X

“Why can I see you?” Lucy asks, staring up at the ceiling. The wood planks are unforgiving on her joints, but the warmth of the fire (and perhaps that glass of wine) has made her too sleepy to care. Monopoly money and plastic houses are scattered over her coffee table, a few of the paper bills littering the floor.

Her guest pauses in his inspection of the thimble, brow raised. “Why does anyone see anything?”

She huffs, eyelids heavy and words mumbled. “Why do you keep answering questions with more questions?”

His grin is crooked but soft. “Because I won’t lie to you.”

She hums sleepily, lids drifting shut. It feels good to rest her eyes. “You can tell me anything.”

They both know it’s the truth. Sometime in the last six months he has become one of her closest friend, her most trusted confidant. At least a couple nights a week, she calls on him. They play board games and watch movies—one night Lucy taught him how to bake chocolate chip cookies. He still hasn’t told her his name. Lucy hasn’t told him hers either.

The chuckle he gives is as warm as the fire at her back; his voice a promise. “Someday I will.”

Lucy is asleep before she can answer.

X

On the anniversary of her mother’s death, Lucy lights a candle.

She tries to sniff back the tears, but they press against the backs of her eyes—building in pressure until they spill over her lids. The tiny flame dances, moved by her uneven breaths. It hurts. Ten years later and it still hurts.

Legs weak, she sinks to the floor, hand over her aching chest as silent sobs wrack her body.

A hand rests against her back. Lucy doesn’t look to see who it belongs to— it’s too warm to be anyone but his. She curls into herself, unsure if she feels irritated by him coming uninvited (the candle, she thinks, it must have been the candle) or relieved that she doesn’t have to fall apart alone. 

“I didn’t call you,” she tells him, voice cracking. The coin is in her front pocket, hidden and far from the open flame.

A callused knuckle brushes a tear from her eyes before it can fall. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “you did.”

She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweater.  She still doesn’t understand, and she hates when he gives her these vague responses, but she’s in too much pain to fight for an answer. “But how’d you open the door? The coin—”

He offers a brittle smile. “There’s more than one way to pick a lock.”

His arms wrap around her, pulling her close until the heat of him surrounds her.  It feels so good to be held—to be touched— something in her breaks and she releases a low, keening sob. His hold tightens, a hand reaching up to caress her hair. Lucy can feel his lips brush against her forehead, his words whispering across her skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

Her fingers grasp his clothing, and she inhales his spiced scent in between gasping breaths. She’s sorry too.

X

Wake up.

A kiss of warmth at her lips, magic in her lungs. Hands shake her. Rough. Begging. 

Breathe. Come on, breathe.

Lucy opens her eyes with a gasp, ragged and raw. Pavement digs uncomfortably into her shoulder blades, and her chest aches with every inhale. Her vision is blurred, but she can make out his pink hair through the fog. One side of her face feels hot, and she rolls her head to the side to investigate.

Her home is on fire.

At first she thinks she’s only reliving her childhood nightmare, but the familiar man—fae—hovering over her grips her upper arms with a strength that is bruising. “You idiot,” he hisses. There are tears clinging, unspilled, at the corners of his eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you leave the ashes in the fireplace?!”

Lucy blinks, trying to clear the blurriness at the edge of her vision. “Ashes?” she echoes. She had cleaned those up, swept them into her trash can. The hearth was filthy from all his visits. “But they were cold.” She knows—she checked. It had been hours from when the fire died and his visit ended.

She can hear the piercing echo of sirens and knows they are for her.

His hands move, callused palms cupping her cheeks; so gently they tremble. “Idiot,” he repeats, softer this time. Almost an endearment. The piercing echo of sirens reach her ears, Lucy knows they are for her. He leans down till their foreheads touch, his breath warm against her lips. “Those ashes almost killed you,” he whispers, voice rough. “If you didn’t leave my coin downstairs—” he cuts off, cringing. “You weren’t breathing. When I pulled you out. You weren’t breathing.”

Lights, red and white, flash over her front yard. Someone with heavy steps and full fire gear runs toward her; shouting something Lucy can’t bother to make out. She’s too focused on the fear, the relief, in her friend’s dark eyes.

The fireman is kneeling beside her know, opposite of the fae that saved her. His fingers check her pulse as he speaks to her (Miss are you alright? Can you hear me? Does anything hurt?)

Lucy doesn’t answer, doesn’t even glance his way. To do so would mean breaking eye contact with her best friend, and right now his presence is offering her more comfort than any human could. “What’s your name?” she rasps, reaching for him.

“Natsu,” he answers, taking her hand in his. His fingers, callused and warm, trace her cheek, and Lucy knows that what he’s given her is far more than just a name. “It’s Natsu.”

She wants to thank him—for saving her, for his trust—but she’s being picked up, pulled away from him, and set in a stretcher. A mask is strapped over her face, IVs taped to her arm, and she fights to hold onto his hand. “No,” she mutters weakly, “No, I want to stay with him. Stop...”

They keep speaking to her, encouraging and emphatic, but they don’t listen to her requests. She struggles, gloved hands push her down, but then Natsu is there beside her—reaching between the bodies surrounding her to grasp her hand. “It’s ok,” he says. “It’s ok. Don’t fight them.”

She holds his hand with a white-knuckled grip, relieved that he doesn’t let her go as they load her into the ambulance. The paramedic puts a stethoscope to her chest, listening to her pulse, as the doors close. Beside him, Natsu kneels beside her, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “I’ll stay with you for as far as I can,” he promises. Lucy nods, but her eyes are starting to feel heavy.

He makes it four blocks, before a pained grimace overtakes his features. His lips part, probably trying to warn her, but he isn’t quick enough. He disappears, torn away from her by the boundaries of his magic, but when her fingers close she finds that he didn’t leave her empty handed. Sitting, comforting and warm, in her palm is a familiar gold coin.

Lucy closes her fingers around it, tests the taste of his name on her lips, and falls into sleep.

X

They discharge her after two days. The doctors tell her it’s a small miracle she escaped without any damage to her lungs, but Lucy knows better.

She’s breathing better than she has in the last decade—since before she survived the fire that took her mother. Natsu has given her more than his name, more than his kiss. When their lips touched, something in her awoke. She can feel it, even now, lazily curling around her soul—sleepy and languid; a cat in front of a warm hearth. It’s new but she knows, instinctively, that it is hers.

Long ago, her mother used to spin her stories of the Fae and their blood—how the magic often slept, hidden, in plain sight for generations before awakening.

Lucy knows why she can see Natsu; knows why he was able to save her.

She goes home; what’s left of it. Beyond the yellow caution taped perimeter is a charred skeleton of what used to be her house. Most of the walls have buckled, little more than piles of blackened brick and ash. Of all four fireplaces her home once boasted, only the one in the living room is recognizable. The stack is short, but after a bit of digging Lucy is able to find the hearth.

With soot blackened hands, she fishes her discharge papers from the plastic, hospital issued bag she was sent with and diligently crumbles each page until the hearth is full of her makeshift kindling and—gleaming on top—his coin. It won’t burn for long, she knows, but as she brings a lighter (her only purchase between the hospital and home) to the paper, she hopes it will be enough.

The moment the paper catches, she can feel his presence behind her—a subtle shift in the air, the spiced scent of magic. She faces him, heart fluttering in her chest.

His fingers brush over her eyelids, a soft smile curling his mouth. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, awe darkening his gaze. “You can see.”

“Yes,” she murmurs, holding his palm to her cheek. The calluses lining his fingers brush against her skin, warm and welcome, and she sighs—leaning into his touch. “I can see.”

His grin is interrupted by a shudder—so minute she would have never known if she weren’t holding his hand—and his eyes flick over to the fireplace. Lucy doesn’t need to look to know they are running out of time.

Quickly, before the fire goes out completely, she kisses him. Chaste, but branded with the heat of a promise. “Lucy,” she whispers against his lips. “My name is Lucy.”

Natsu sucks in a quick, startled breath and stares down at her as if she is something amazing. Slowly, his lips curl and his cheeks dimple—eyes lighting up. “Lucy,” he echoes—savoring each syllable as if they are the finest gift she could give him. Lucy suspects they might be.

He brushes a stray hair away from her face with a tenderness that makes her pulse flutter and her eyes close. When he kisses her, it is soft and unhurried despite the dying fire behind her. It feels like coming home. Her fingers grip his vest in what she knows is a vain effort to keep him beside her.

When he pulls away she opens her eyes, and finds the world different. There is stardust tangled in Natsu’s hair; magic in his smile. Where her blackened hearth once stood is a bridge made purely of light and something so other it makes her heart ache with the desire to touch it. “I thought it was a door?” she murmurs, entranced.

Natsu’s forehead rests against hers, his lips so close she can feel the force of his smile. “It was. Fire is my doorway, the coin I gave you is my key. But you, Luce... Don’t you see? You’re the bridge.” He kisses her temple. “You’re the best of both worlds.”

He steps away from her, hand held out in invitation. Framed by the bridge’s ethereal light, he looks every bit like a Fae from her childhood storybooks. “Come with me?”

When Lucy takes his hand, their fingers lace.

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 3) John Deacon x Reader Series

Meant to get this out last night but I’m on call 24/7 for my job so ya know, life.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, you know the deal. Feelings of anxiety. Slightly sexual dialogue. Reader is kinda horny? Misogynistic comments towards reader.

Chapter Notes: I may have written out an ENTIRE episode of Pop Quiz before realizing that shoving music facts down your throats isn’t the best use of our time. Apologies if it got a bit disjointed in the trimming process. I work in TV so I just had to add in a cliche meet-cute. Sorry not sorry.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye

April 1982 - BBC Studios, London

“It’s not funny, Y/N! Stop laughing. You’re gonna ruin all my hard work!” Dawn chastises you as she sweeps a pale blue eye shadow across your lids, trying her best to complete your request to tone down your usual stage look.

You try to muffle your laughter, teetering on your chair set up in the spacious green room. It comes out as a wheeze, a soft whistle escaping through your nose. “I’m sorry, you said what!?”

“I kid you not, I took one look at his penis and said ‘What the fuck is that?”

A sharp laugh escapes from your mouth once again, failing miserably to prevent tears from leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

“I feel awful! It’s just that I had never seen one before,” Dawn whines.

“Okay, I know for a fact that’s not the first dick you’ve seen. Hell, even I’ve seen some of those. Like ships passing in the night as they raced out of your dorm bed,” you giggle.

“You know what I mean. I’ve never been with one that’s… intact.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh c’mon. Uncircumcised can’t be that different.”

“It wasn’t! I was just drunk and got spooked, I guess. It was actually kinda cute. Like it was wearing a little turtleneck or something.”

You lose it, yet again. Laughter falls freely from your lips, helping to alleviate the dreaded stress that has now become your constant companion these days. Appearing on a game show alone was not something you thought you’d have to tackle on your third day in London. You’re sure the boys were off exploring the sprawling city that none of you had stepped foot in prior to the trip.

Pop Quiz was apparently a big hit for the BBC, featuring a bevy of famous musicians battling out their knowledge of the industry. You’d never had the chance to watch, obviously not readily available to viewers back home, but a harried man had come in earlier to give you a basic rundown of the format. You were somewhat confident in your knowledge of music, having been a regular at your hometown’s local record shop, you just hoped it would be enough to keep you from making a fool out of yourself in front of an entire country. But your anxiety mostly stemmed from your upcoming appearance in front of the camera without the boys there to play off of.

“How was it, though? I heard they’re supposed to “feel better” or something like that,” your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ooo, was it curved? Sometimes that can be a great thing. Except for one I encountered that was going in the opposite way then you’d think. Like even it knew it should be running away from the dude.”

Dawn’s face screws into a pinch, “Was that Tyler... Wait, don’t tell me. Ew. And I wouldn’t know! The poor guy was so embarrassed he couldn’t even keep it up after that!”

“What a waste,” you sigh. “I thought I’d be at least getting some field research out of your antics. What did I even bring you to London for?” you joke as she holds a tissue out to blot your lips.

“Uh-huh. The day you do some “field research” of your own is the day I chop off my own hair,” she quips, narrowing her eyes at you.

You casually raise your right hand to flip her off. She wasn’t wrong; it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, let alone entertained the fact of jumping into a relationship. There were partners in the past, of course. A few geeky high school boys, a woman who worked at said hometown record store, and the occasional pretentious film kid while at NYU, who spoke condescendingly of women working in film but scratched an itch when needed.

“And there’s no time like the present! You know what they say. When in Britain…” Dawn trails off, failing to finish her bit.

You left eyebrow quirks, “Throw dental hygiene standards out the window?”

Her face twists in disgust again as she uncaps a can of Aqua Net. “Gross. Now close your eyes and shut up so I can be done with you.”

The spray sputters, emitting little from it. “Dammnit,” she curses, turning to rummage around her sprawling kit. “Of course, I didn’t pack a spare. I’ll be right back. Hopefully, their hair department has one we can borrow.” 

She rushes from the room in a sweeping motion, knocking over a coffee that was precariously placed on your chair’s armrest in the process.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, jumping up, your white blouse now doused in caffeine.

You hurry to jog out of the room, trying to catch up with her. “Daw- Shit!”

Your face collides with a hard chest.

Two large hands grip your shoulders to stop your momentum. “Oh! Apologies,” comes a light voice from above, muffled by your full head of ringlets. You jerk your head away quickly, and your gaze lands on a pair of startled greyish, green eyes.

“S-sorry,” you stutter out. “Completely my fault.” You glance down to the hands that still rest on your shoulders for a moment before looking back up. The pair of eyes go wide, and the hands quickly retreat back to the man’s side. 

The man being the bassist of Queen, John Deacon. You scold yourself for only having glanced at the day’s detailed itinerary this morning before heading out. How did I miss that one? Sweat begins to gather on your palms immediately.

“John Deacon,” he hesitantly smiles at you while extending a hand.

“Y/N L/N,” you squeak out as his hand engulfs yours, inwardly cringing at how moist it must feel. You hold it for a bit too long. “I’m one of the contestants on Team A today,” you yank your hand back to your side.

His brow knit together. “Oh? I was told I’d be with Nick Rhodes and Jon Moss today.”

You shift your weight uncomfortably from side to side, having yet to meet his eyes again. “Nick had to cancel, I believe. I’m a last-minute replacement.”

“Okay,” he replies with a tight smile. “Well, good then. I hope you’re ready,” he glances down, noticing the stain splashed across your top. “Or, at least close to it...”

“Huh?” you blurt out before realizing, looking down at your shirt. “Oh, yes. The reason I so rudely ran into you. I should go-” your eye catches something as they finally travel back up to his. “Aw, fuck.”

“Pardon?”

You grimace, pointing directly at his chest. Right to the giant imprint on his tight blue shirt. One that had been left by your bright red lipstick.

He follows your finger. “Ah! Will you look at that.”

“I am so, so sorry,” you rush out, absolute mortification seeping into your voice.

He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “Not to worry. That’s what jackets are for,” he says, zipping up the oversized grey jacket slung around his shoulders. “And at least now I know this shade of red really isn’t my colour.”

You smile up at him, not really knowing what else to say—the full weight of your not-so-smooth first encounter with this man hitting you fast, as people squeezed around you two in the tight hallway. “I should go get fixed up,” you tell him, pointing your thumb back over your shoulder towards your dressing room, ready to make a quick exit.

“Alright. I’ll see you out there then. Cheers!” he smiles back with a wave of his hand, turning to find his own space to get ready.

You stand there watching him in a daze, mentally berating yourself for now having had two inappropriate run-ins with a member of Queen.

Dawn materializes into your field of vision, hands-on-hips.

“Honestly, what the hell. I left you alone for two minutes!”

- - - - - - -

20 minutes later, you follow a stagehand through the back of the soundstage, fidgeting with your outfit while trying not to crash into anyone else. Dawn’s top that she quickly switched with your own was cut much lower than you would’ve liked and left you feeling even more exposed than your current bout of nerves did.

You’re dumped onto the set with the point of a finger over to a tall man. Mike Read, the host of Pop Quiz, stands by a large desk, crew members bustling around him. You stick to your spot out of the way, not sure if to interrupt the conversation he’s currently having to introduce yourself. 

You take in the spacious stage, never having been on a show of this size before. A wave of longing suddenly washes over you, yearning for days on set where you were a part of the crew that moved around you. While at school, you’d worked on several student films, usually as a 1st Assistant Director or Line Producer. You loved the pace of production. Keeping everyone on time, on budget. It was where you felt most confident. While there were a variety of different types of personalities on set, you found it exhilarating to be the one to settle disputes and help everyone stay on track. Your subtle superpower of putting out little fires everywhere you went. Never had it crossed your mind that you’d be on the other side of the camera one day.

“A change of wardrobe, I see,” a voice says from behind you, pulling you out of your daydream. You turn to catch John’s smirk, his eyes trained intentionally on your own.

“It would appear so,” you reply, glancing down at yourself quickly.

“Have you been introduced to Mike yet?”

“Nope. I was working up the courage,” you admit.

“C’mon,” he gestures for you to follow him as he strolls towards the man. “He doesn’t bite.” You follow, trailing behind his long strides as he daintily weaves between the many bodies in your path.

“John!” Mike exclaims as you both approach. “Good to see you, mate,” he claps him on the back.

“You too. Thanks for having me back,” John greets him cheerily. “And look, I brought a present. All the way from America, I’m assuming. Mike, this is--”

“Y/N L/N!” Mike says, a genuine smile forming. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that we fit you in.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m excited to be here,” you mumble as he brings you in for a hug.

“Can I just say, your video for Heart of the Night is absolutely outrageous. I thought my eyes were going to pop out my head when I’d learnt that MTV in the States had aired it,” he laughs. “Daring stuff, really.”

You feel a heat creeping up your neck as you try to accept the compliment. “Yeah, thanks. Glad to hear that you’re all a bit more relaxed in terms of watching the explicit murder of a teenage girl on your screens.” You immediately wince at your own bluntness.

You can’t help but peek over at John, curious if he’d seen the violent clip now making its rounds across UK television sets everywhere. He’s staring at you with eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open slightly. 

Great. He thinks I’m a lunatic.

“We certainly are!” Mike chuckles. “Have you been briefed on the logistics of how the taping will go?”

“Mhmm, I got the rundown from one of your producers.”

“Excellent. Well, you’ll be in good hands with John here heading your team,” he says, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders and adjusting his large glasses with the other.

Good hands indeed, you think to yourself, remembering how large they felt when they gripped your shoulders earlier. No, stop that, you scold yourself.

“We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes if you’d both like to find your seats. And you’ll have to regale me with the gory details from that shoot of yours afterward,” he winks, gesturing towards your spots for the show. You turn to follow John to your side of the set.

“Oh, and Y/N!” Mike calls out. “I do hope you’re good. Deacon got absolutely spanked last time he was on.” You bring your hand up to your face to stifle your giggle. John makes a show of rolling his eyes but keeps walking. You notice his face is now tinged a lovely shade of pink.

“You must think I’m daft,” he says, turning to you slightly.

“Me? Oh no, I’m sure we’ll do great!” you reply, a bit too happily.

“No, no, not that,” he laughs lightly, his hand finding the back of his neck. “For not recognizing you during our... colourful meeting in the hallway. It seems you and your band left quite the impression on our dear Freddie.”

“Oh! That’s nice to hear. You can tell him he left quite the impression on us as well, but I’m sure he makes an impression on most everyone,” you shrug. “And don’t worry about it, please. It’s not as if I’m a part of the biggest band in Britain or anything,” you tease. He smiles shyly. You catch the crinkles on the outer corners of his eyes before he turns them downwards.

You reach the long table on your designated side of the studio. There’s one on the other side mirroring it, with three somewhat familiar faces already sitting behind it. You glance at the empty seats before you, moving hesitantly towards them until John pulls out the closest chair, gesturing for you to sit. He gingerly pushes it under you as you lower yourself down.

“Thanks,” you mumble. He nods and moves to sit beside you.

There’s a loud bang to your right, causing you both to jump and look to the source; a large Grip gingerly picks up the c-stand he’s knocked over. John hovers above his chair, watching on as a producer shouts at the poor man, his waist now at your eye line.

You had never understood the fascination with men’s butts. That is, until now. The tight jeans John had on left little to the imagination. As if that would stop you. You shake your head back and forth as if to clear your thoughts. All of Dawn’s talk earlier must have you seriously whacked out.

“Are you alright?” John asks, now situated in his seat.

“Hm?” you break out of your daze. “Yes, fine. It’s just- I haven’t done anything like this,” you gesture to the large room teeming with various crew and a studio audience, “before, on my own. Usually we’re all together, and I’m slightly less charismatic than the rest of them, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I would tell you that it’ll get easier, but I still feel like I’m rubbish without my lot as well,” he sympathies. “And I happen to find you quite charismatic as you are,” he adds softly. “You certainly had Mike going back there.”

“Oh boy,” a voice huffs from the other end of the table, drawing away John’s attention. You’re thankful for the distraction, finding yourself at a loss for words due to his comment, coupled with your previous thoughts.

“I see you two actually arrived on time, ya goodie-two-shoes,” the flamboyant man complains as he plops into the third and final seat at the table.

“Jon, welcome. Good to see you,” John acknowledges, shaking the man’s hand.

“And who’s this little thing at the end, then?” he points at you.

John’s expression turns slightly sour at the informal greeting directed towards you. “This is Y/N L/N of Lo & The…” he struggles to remember, “Legs?”

You bark out a laugh. “The Limbs. But The Legs sounds better actually.” You share a smile, holding onto John’s eyes even though it makes your insides flip.

An outstretched hand is shoved past his body. “Jon Norris. Drummer. Culture Club.” You accidentally brush John’s arm as you move to return the handshake, not missing how he jumps a bit at the contact. “Pleasure,” reply, tearing your eyes away.

The drummer retracts his hand, settling back to swing his shoes up onto the table. “I’m glad to have a bird on the team, actually. Maybe we’ll get a few extra points thrown our way for that tiny top of yours,” he smirks, not even glancing over in your direction.

You look down at your slightly exposed chest, but the color red quickly clouds your vision. John sucks in a breath as he sits up straight in his chair. “That’s a bit ru-,” he starts in an annoyed tone.

But you’re quick to cut in, leaning your body forward on the table to lock eyes with Jon, “Actually, we might get docked a few for that obnoxious suit you’ve got on. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that stripes bleed on camera, sweetheart?” you seeth.

He glances down at his bright pink and green striped suit, clearly taken aback by your quick comeback. “N-no…” he falters, shutting up for the moment.

You catch John’s expression, a mixture of confusion and awe while he gapes at you. You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. Luckily you don’t have much time to stew over the misogynistic comment as the stage manager’s voice rings out a 10-minute warning.

“Just try not to show me up too much, would you?” John whispers, leaning in closer to you. Obviously, trying to lighten your mood.

You give in. “You, sir, are lucky to have me on your team,” you point at him. “Tell me, what’s more important? The scoreboard or your fragile ego?” You’re not sure where your sudden wave of confidence is coming from.

He brings his hand to his chest. “You caught me,” he says, trying to hide his smile. “One could say I’m overcompensating, given who my bandmates are. Roger’s won this twice already, and it only started airing last year. I’ll never hear the end of it if I muck it up again.”

“Well then, I’ll do my best to save your sorry ass, and maybe that one down there too, if he’s lucky,” you tease. 

Great. Now I’m thinking about his ass again. Fuck you, Dawn.

“If you’d be so kind,” he says before turning his attention elsewhere, content to watch the happenings around him until the show’s start. You hear him start to softly hum to himself, not able to place what the tune is.

You try not to watch him out of your peripherals for the next few minutes, hardly even noticing your lack of nerves as the studio audience starts cheering.

- - - - - - -

“And to end out round one, we have Adam Ant’s team with 3 points. And with a slight lead, John Deacon’s team with 4.” The studio audience erupts in a deafening cheer. “That’ll bring us into round two, which will be a team question. John, your team to go first,” Mike directs from his desk in the center of the set.

John lightly taps his pencil against the notepad in front of him, the current tight score starting to bring about his competitive side. He peeks over to check on his teammates. Y/N looks like a radiating ball of energy. Her feet are tucked up under her on the chair as she hunches forward, pencil already hovering while her teeth chew on the eraser. To his right, Jon doodles away, drawing exaggerated characachers of select members of the studio audience.

“Right, question coming to you in a moment, but first here’s the band, The Band.”

A large monitor towards the front of the set comes to life with a clip from their concert film, The Last Waltz. The chair to his left gives a loud squeak as Y/N begins to scribble furiously as if already knowing the question before it’s been given.

“Here’s a clip from The Last Waltz, The Band’s famous taped last concert. Please name 10 of the 20 rock legends that joined them on stage that night.”

John’s face scrunches in concentration, trying to recall the recording of it that he’d listened to many times before. He writes down the first few that come to mind, struggling to get past 6 names that he’s sure were present.

“Bloody American bands and they’re American friends,” Jon says, shoving his own piece of paper into John’s view. It has 4 names on it, 3 of which John already has down.

“They’re Canadian,” John replies, transferring the extra name to his paper.

“What?”

“The Band. They’re from Canada, I believe. At least most of them are.” Jon shrugs as the clip fades out, their minute of deliberation up.

“Alright, that was The Band with a famous clip from The Last Waltz. If you’d please, John, name 10 of the acts that accompanied them that night.”

A sheet of paper smoothly glides in front of his, Y/N’s messy scrawl covering it with 10 names hastily jotted down. He raises his eyebrows to her, but she just nods at the paper, urging him to read it.

He starts, completely disregarding his own list. “Erm, yes, we have Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Ronnie Hawkins, Neil Young, Bobby Charles” he struggles to read the small scribbling, almost illegible. “Um, Muddy Waters? Yes. And Neil Diamond.”

John lets out a breath, silently praying that the young girl beside him is as bright as she seems.

“Right you are! 10/10,” Mike exclaims. “For a bonus point, can you name the two artists that recorded pre-taped performances with them for the film as well?”

“Uh…” John glances at Y/N for support. She shoves another scrap of paper to him. Emmylou and Staples the only thing written on it.

“Emmylou Harris and The Staples Singers?” he answers, more like a question.

“Wonderful, a full 4 points to you all.”

He watches as a deep grin breaks onto Y/N’s face as she finally reclines. She looks over to him, a bit proud of herself, he thinks, as the other team begins their own round of questioning.

He’s quite intimidated by the American next to him if he’s being honest with himself. Her anxious demeanor seemed to have vanished into thin air once the game started, tackling each question thrown at their team with a hungry reverence. But her laugh is what keeps him on edge the most. It’s brash and full, consistently breaking him from his determined concentration to send a confusing jolt through his body each time.

“While your knowledge reigns superior, your handwriting leaves something to be desired,” he whispers in jest, not being able to help himself. She simulates a shocked expression as she leans over to look at her own paper that sits in front of him.

Her accent is thicker as she returns his whisper, “What ya tawking about?” She moves her eyes closer to examine, her shoulder bumping his. “That clearly says Muddy Waters.” Her hair hovers below his chin, almost tickling his stubble. It smells of something citrusy and light. 

“Y’ smell lovely,” he sighs, almost inaudibly.

“Hm?” she questions, bringing her body back into her own seat.

“E-ever-ly,” He stumbles out, still quietly. “I thought it read it as the Everly Brothers at first,” hoping to god his bad save is enough.

She snorts. “You sure you didn’t leave your glasses at home? Would’ve thought you’d bring them to something like this.”

He quickly fixes the flustered look on his face, “Hm, glasses aren’t conducive to my rockstar type of lifestyle. Take Rog, for instance. Always wearing those bloody prescription sunglasses indoors, looking like an absolute git.”

She lets out that sharp laugh again, immediately covering her mouth, embarrassed at the thought of interrupting the other team. “I’ll have to watch out for that. Eat my carrots, all that nonsense,” she answers softly. If Brian were here, he’d ramble on about how there’s no scientific evidence of that or some bollocks, he thinks to himself.

“Let us hope my ears are in far better condition. Then you won’t have to keep, how did you put it, saving our sorry asses?” She smiles down into her lap and bites her lip. Oh hell, don’t do that.

Mike is now wrapping up with the other team. “No, I’m sorry. Their other top 10 hit was “So You Win Again. 3 points it is.” He once again turns his attention back over to John’s team. “Moving on to our third round, we have individual questions. Y/N, we’ll start with you. Here’s the hit Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye. Please name the artists you hear in order.”

The sound bites begin, and Y/N is once again bent over her paper as she listens, brow furrowing. John identifies the first two singers instantly but is at a loss for the third, making him grateful the question isn’t his. The clips fade out.

“Y/N?”

“I think it was Glen Campbell.”

“Correct.”

“Johnny Nash.”

“Good. Last one?”

“And... Bettye Swann?”

“Yes, top job! Known for her R&B hit Make Me Yours. I’ll give you a bonus if you can tell me who the song was sung by originally,” Mike counters.

“The Casino’s,” she says confidently.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ll give you one more chance.”

John realizes she was probably too young or not even born yet when the original was released. He slyly slides closer to her. “Don Cherry,” he mumbles lowly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Don Cherry?” she shouts as if to cover up his assistance.

“Yes, John Deacon, you’re right. It is Don Cherry. The point is yours for at least attempting to be subtle,” Mike laughs. Y/N shyly smiles over at him, silently thanking him for his help. 

John and Jon mostly breeze through their questions with ease, racking up a hefty amount of points in favor of their team before turning over to the others. He takes a sip of water as he smugly watches on.

“Glad to know my own ass is in good hands if it’s ever in need of saving again,” Y/N quietly comments. He chokes lightly on his water as an image flashes quickly through his mind. John racks his brain for a reply, but only overtly cheeky responses come to mind.

“Anytime,” he manages, afraid to catch her eyes. She lets out a light giggle, starkly different from her usual roar. It sends a warmth of color to his cheeks. 

Intriguing, he thinks, silently hoping that he’ll get the chance to hear it again.

[calpalirwin]

Papa’s Job

Summary: Mason gets introduced to Ashton’s line of work.

A/N: Smushed a few ideas together. Also this piece delves deeper into Mason’s special needs diagnosis/lack thereof. And while I’ve done a fair amount of research both over the years for various reasons, and while writing this, I am by no means an expert, and my research is no substitute for personal experience. So please, feel free to offer constructive and KIND feedback in ways I can better write Mason. Happy reading!

Word Count: ~2k

And away, and away we go!

__

It seemed to Vanessa like wherever she turned, Mason was underfoot. “Fuckin’ hell!” she swore as she turned and almost tripped over the little boy.

Mason’s bottom lip trembled as he clapped his hands over his ears at her outburst.

She sighed and crouched down in front of the almost three year old, keeping a careful hold on Bailey who had been particularly fussy since her first round of shots the day before. “Sweet boy, you’re too close. I have the baby, we have to be careful.”

“Baie,” he nodded, reaching for his sister.

“You wanna hold her?”

Another nod.

“Okay, sweet boy. Let’s go sit, and you can hold Bai.”

Mason sprinted to the living room, flinging himself onto the couch. He grabbed the boppy and put it on his lap. “Momma. Baie.”

“Yes, Mase.” Vanessa said a silent prayer that Bailey wouldn’t kick up a fuss about not being in her arms as she placed the two month old on the boppy.

Bailey twisted her mouth to start crying, but Mason was quick to place his hand by her, her little fingers grasping around his slightly bigger index finger. “Baie, Baie, Baie,” he sang softly to her as she settled down.

“Bailey, Bailey, Bailey,” Vanessa sang with him, sitting down next to her son.

Mason continued to sing nonsense sounds at his sister, who slowly drifted off to sleep. Once Vanessa was sure she could move Bailey from Mason and upstairs to her crib to continue sleeping, she reached for her daughter. Mason whined low in his throat, placing his hands gently over Bailey. “Momma,” he warned in a low whisper.

“I know. I’m gonna go put her in her bed, sweet boy,” she answered back, her voice just as low.

Mason’s whine got more pronounced.

Vanessa pressed a finger to her lips. “I know you love her and want to hold her. You’re a great big brother, Mase. But sissy went night-night. You can hold her when she wakes up, okay?”

He pouted, but moved his hands away so Vanessa could take the sleeping infant. But clearly he wasn’t too thrilled at his sister being taken away because as soon as Bailey was in Vanessa’s arms, he chucked the boppy to the floor. “Mason Nicholas!” Vanessa hissed through her teeth as the toddler took off.

She held back the sigh, focusing on getting Bailey into her crib without more fuss.

Mason, in his quest to hide so he could continue to pout in peace, ended up at the top of the staircase leading to the basement. “Hey, Mase,” Ashton smiled when the little boy came stumbling down. He gripped the cymbal of his drum set between his index finger and thumb to silence it, setting his drumsticks aside. “Where’s Momma and Bailey?”

Mason jutted out his lower lip and pointed up the stairs.

“Aw, did Momma put Bailey down for a nap?”

Mason nodded. “Baie, Papa,” he whimpered.

“Aw,” Ashton chuckled, patting his lap. “Wanna come sit with me?”

He wiped at his face, walking over to Ashton and crawling into his lap. “Baie, Papa,” he repeated in a hiccuped sob.

Ashton wrapped the boy into him. “I know you’re sad. But Bailey needs to sleep. When she’s awake you can hold her some more.”

“Momma,” Mason mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m sure Momma did tell you the same thing. But it’s okay. You can still be sad about it.”

Mason let out a shuddery breath of acceptance before pushing at Ashton’s chest. Ashton opened his arms, expecting the boy to climb down from his lap. But to his surprise, Mason reached forward to tap his hands against the various drums, liking the sounds he produced. “Papa!” he beamed.

Ashton lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah? You wanna play the drums with me?” Ashton grabbed the drumsticks. “Look, bud,” he said, striking at the drums.

Mason laughed with glee at the sound, clutching on to Ashton’s wrists.

“Here, you try,” Ashton said, handing Mason one of the drumsticks.

Mason looked at it in uncertainty and back at Ashton.

“Like this,” Ashton demonstrated again.

Mason copied what Ashton had done as best he could.

“There ya go! Just like that!” Ashton encouraged, shifting Mason so that the boy was on one his knees, freeing up his other leg to kick up a steady beat against the bass drum.

“Mason?!” Vanessa’s frantic voice called down the stairs. “Ash, is he down there with you?”

“Yeah, we’re down here, baby.”

She came flying down the staircase, halting at the bottom, eyes wild as they landed on Mason sitting happily on Ashton’s lap playing with the drum kit. “You scared the crap out of me!”

Ashton’s own eyes went wide. “Me? What did I do?”

“Not you, him!” She pointed a finger at Mason. “He got mad that I put Bailey down so he took off to hide. I thought he went to hide in his room. Fuckin’ damn near tore the house apart looking for him.”

“Whoa,” Ashton eased, standing up and adjusting Mason on his hip. “Take a minute. He’s been with me. He’s fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that… Here, I’ll take him back upstairs.”

Ashton waved her off as Mason squirmed in his hold to reach for the drums. “Nah, I got him, it’s fine. We’re having fun, aren’t we, bud?”

Mason smacked on the cymbal with his stick, giggling at the sound.

Vanessa’s heart melted. “Alright. But, you, mister Mason,” she said, wagging a finger at the boy. “We do not throw things when we are upset.”

“Uh-oh,” Ashton tsked, looking down at the boy in his arms. “Momma’s right, Mase. Throwing things isn’t nice. What do we say after we do something that’s not nice?”

“Momma!” Mason grinned, blowing Vanessa a sloppy toddler kiss.

She crossed over to her boys, kissing Mason’s cheek. “I forgive you, sweet boy. So what are you and Papa doing?”

“Teaching him how to play drums. He seems to really like it,” Ashton told her, sitting back down with Mason so they could go back to playing.

“Yeah, they say music’s really good for him.”

“Who’s they?”

“They. The doctors. The research. Something about the repetitive nature helping with his speech. I dunno, a lot of the scientific mumbo jumbo goes over my head.”

“Well, why don’t we get him in like a class, or something. They have those, right?”

“Yeah. And I’ve been meaning to. But every time I think to look into it, something else comes up. And without a formal diagnosis, it’s hard to find the right class for him.”

“He doesn’t have a formal diagnosis? What does that mean?”

“It means they, the doctors, just have a lot of really good guesses but not any real answers because he’s still so young. It’s currently a toss up between aphasia and autism.”

“Okay, I know what autism is more or less. But what the fuck is that other word?”

“Fancy talk for speech disorder.”

“That is so fuckin stupid… they can’t tell if he has a speech disorder? He’s damn near three years old and only says 4 fuckin words. I may not know a whole hell of a lot about child development or whatever the fuck, but pretty sure three olds are supposed to say a lot more than 4 bloody words.”

Vanessa stifled her laughter as Ashton vented his frustration. She wondered how many times you had raved the exact same thing to Finn, almost verbatim. “They can tell he has a speech disorder, love. They just can’t tell if it’s just it’s own thing, or if there’s more to it than that. Autism and speech disorders tend to overlap.”

“Yeah, and I bet you had to pay out your fuckin ears for all those doctor visits, and specialists, and shit. God, your healthcare here sucks.”

This time, she did laugh. “Yeah, but Finn and I both have pretty good insurance plans so it wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah, and we can always just do this,” he told her, jerking his chin about the room. “Do our own music therapy here in the basement.”

“Now, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Man, I can’t wait to start touring again. I mean, I’m gonna miss you guys like fuckin’ crazy. But god, I can’t wait to show you guys around when we do our gig here. You’re gonna fuckin’ love it, baby.”

“It might just be me coming to see you, babe. I don’t know how Mase will handle all the noise, even with headphones.”

“Shit you’re right… well maybe you guys should come to a rehearsal then. Give the headphones a proper test.”

“A private concert all our own, huh? I think that sounds perfect.”

~~~

Mason gasped in excitement as they walked into the rehearsal space and he saw all the instruments. “Momma!”

“Yeah, I see, sweet boy. Are you excited to watch Papa and Uncles?”

“Momma,” he nodded.

“Go say hi to everybody, and then we’ll sit and listen, okay?”

Mason dashed off to press his forehead against Calum, Luke, and Michael who all murmured their own hellos to the boy while Ashton helped Vanessa get settled down with Bailey. “Ikey!” Mason screeched when he got to Michael, reaching up to touch the man’s fringe that poked out of his hat.

“Yes!” Michael whooped in victory. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Michael said pointing at Calum, Luke, and then back at Calum with each “fuck you.”

Calum rolled his eyes while Luke pouted, “How is ‘Mikey’ easier to say than ‘Luke’? How does he like your hair better? I have curls!”

“Oh, just let him have the win, Luke,” Ashton said, straightening up to his feet. “You guys ready or what?”

After making sure Bailey and Mason had their ears protected, the men all situated themselves with their instruments and started playing.

Mason managed to sit quietly through about two and a half songs before he got up and went over to Ashton, resting his small hand against the man’s leg. Ashton nodded for them to keep going when Calum, Luke, and Michael turned to look at him in a silent question. Between beats, Ashton scooped Mason up into his lap and finished the song. “Whatcha think?” Ashton asked both everybody and nobody as he pushed sweaty locks of hair back away from his face.

“Transitions sounded better this time,” Michael commented.

“Sounded better than better. Sounded tour ready,” Luke corrected.

“Could do without audience participation,” Calum teased with a playful look at Mason on Ashton’s lap.

“Just because you missed a beat, doesn’t mean you have to be bitter, Cal,” Ashton teased back. “And speaking of audience participation. What’d ya think?”

With all four men watching her, Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. “I’m no music expert, but I’m with Luke and Mike. Sounded really good.”

Mason, displeased that the music had stopped, reached across Ashton’s lap to strike at the cymbal with his hands. “Here,” Ashton told him, handing Mason the drumsticks. “With these.”

Mason tried again, shrieking with excitement at the sounds he produced from hitting the different parts of the drum set. Much like how he had done in the basement a week ago, Ashton shifted so Mason was fully seated on one leg so he would work the bass drum with his free leg without jostling the boy too much in the process. “Atta boy, Mase!” Ashton praised.

Rehearsal was quickly disbanded in favor of giving Mason a turn at all the other instruments in the room, letting him choose his favorite. Mason sat with Michael the longest, happily swiping a guitar pick against the strings. “Well, now we know what to get him for his birthday,” Michael grinned, sticking his tongue out at Calum and Luke.

Calum grumbled that this was barely a win for Michael because all this proved was that Mason definitely liked guitars, making it a win for everyone except Ashton, while Luke pouted more about how unfair it was Mason liked Michael more than him because “We play the same bloody instruments! I have CURLS!”

Ashton laughed at his friends, letting Michael gloat in his little victories a little bit longer before getting Mason’s attention. “Mase? Drums?” He drummed a quick and small beat that had Mason launching himself off of Michael and across the room to Ashton’s lap.

“Ha!” Calum smirked, flipping off Michael. “Now who’s Mase’s favorite?”

“Bailey,” everyone answered without needing to think about it.

__

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