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outofsstyles · 3 years

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a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”

The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.”

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, ��Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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namjoonchronicles · 3 years

Text

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

932 notes · View notes

join-the-joywrite · 3 years

Text

and I don't want to (but I love you)

@jatp-week Day 6: favourite trope

Not me doing a self-indulgent and stupidly long enemies to lovers au :>

Julie Molina didn't have enemies in her life. She had competitors, sure. Everyone did. But Sunset Curve took the whole cake. She didn't have enemies but Luke Patterson came dangerously close.

Luke Patterson, on the other hand, fully considered Julie Molina his number one enemy. He had zero qualms about saying that to her face and behind her back. He knew his band was the best but Julie had a real knack for knocking his ego down a bit and he hated her for it. Maybe he wouldn't get so riled up if she was nice about it or if not nice, she was less nasty and more stern. Honestly, it seemed like she took pleasure in criticizing Sunset Curve.

The rivalry between them extended to their bands and friend circles. Well, for the most part, anyway. Julie and Luke let Willie and Alex get away with their little forbidden lovers thing because they both thought the pair was cute together. It was pretty much the only thing they agreed on. Ever.

Willie only ever talked about Alex, not the band and Alex made sure to steer clear of mentioning Julie whenever he talked about Willie. The arrangement worked for all sides.

Julie and Luke's rivalry extended far beyond their music. It crept into their classes and had them fighting for the top spot. The teachers were thrilled. It meant Luke put in as much effort as he possibly could into every assignment or test. Even if it was out of pure spite, it was working.

And then, oh dear, and then there was a group project. Obviously, they split to opposite ends of the room with their friends to choose pairs (except Willie and Alex, who were shoved together and assured it was perfect) but apparently, it was important to learn how to work with people you dislike because in the workplace you might be forced to work with people you dislike -- or something like that.

Julie and Luke had never let their rivalry coerce them into doing stupid things -- except the one time where Carrie was convinced Luke could hold his breath longer and Julie almost drowned in the school pool to prove Carrie wrong -- but the moment they were paired up, Julie and Luke both wanted nothing more than to break several school rules, vandalism being the top one and starting violent fights being the second. It was unclear if they wanted to fight each other or their teacher.

Matters were made worse when their friends got to pair off together on their own terms while they were stuck with each other. The only thing keeping them from completely refusing to do any work was that they both were still competing for the highest scores.

Their friends had never been more entertained and the two opposing groups bonded over watching the two most stubborn people they knew suffer out a school project together. The clear awkwardness between them was hilarious and it was a pleasant thing to see them sitting at the same table and not trying to verbally murder each other. Bobby turned out to be the funniest person in the whole group. He had a meme-y caption for every moment they caught of Julie and Luke sitting near enough to have a normal conversation and the others loved it. He also seemed to be able to relate all the memes to the pair and was strangely good at photoshop, which earned him the Groupchat King title. (Julie and Luke were completely unaware of this groupchat excluding only them -- which, for the others' safety, was for the best.) Flynn's favourite was a photo of Julie with a feral look on her face, miming strangling a smug Luke. Me & 2020 was Bobby's winning caption. She wasn't sure which was which and that made it even better, in her opinion.

As the weeks passed, Julie and Luke's rivalry mellowed. As far as they said, it was still going strong but their actions told another story. There were playful nudges in the hallway, now. Teasing death glares across a classroom. Locked gazes and stifled giggles at inside jokes -- the fact that they even had those was surprising enough. They willingly shared a lunch table for the sole purpose of interrupting a mini date between Willie and Alex but most of it was spent in their own world anyway. Their mockery of each other had become gentler and more harmless teasing than anything.

And then one Tuesday, Luke didn't show up at school.

Of course, Luke's band knew exactly what was up, but they -- with support from Julie's friends -- decided it would be fun to play dumb and send Julie to Luke's house, just to check up on him, you know, despite the fact that the group project was long over and she really had no need to meddle further into Luke's life. The mere fact that Julie forgot she still had class and was seriously ready to leave immediately said a lot.

"I can promise you that it's really not as bad as it looks," Luke said from under several pillows, a puffy duvet and maybe three stuffed animals, "but there's no band practice today and I'm not coming to school tomorrow either so can one of you flick Julie's forehead for me? It's tradition."

"Band practice, huh?" Julie said, dropping her bag on the floor with a soft thud. "And here I thought you just had nothing more interesting going on in your life than disrupting mine."

Luke sat up fast enough that his head spun, his vision swam and two pillows fell off the bed. "Who told you where I live?"

"You did, dork. Here, I brought your homework and my dad's trying something out in the kitchen. He misread balf the recipe so it's the blandest thing I've ever tasted but if you're sick, it'll be good for you."

Luke responded to the bit that made sense. "I don't want bland food," he said, scrunching up his nose as Julie set a small stack of papers on the desk in the corner and walked up to him with a covered bowl.

"As if you'd know the difference. Your mom said you can't taste anything anyway."

"You talked to my mom?" Luke asked, looking mortified.

"Yeah, duh. What, did you think I climbed through your bedroom window? I don't care that much for you."

"Aww, I knew you cared for me."

Julie didn't respond to it. "So this is supposed to be a vegetable stew," she said, tapping the plastic wrap over the bowl, "but like I said, mistakes were made."

"Well, what is it then?" Luke asked, leaning over to peer at the bowl.

"I'd call it . . . semi-flavoured water with surprise veggies."

"Joy."

"I know, right? Anyway, I'll leave you to your . . . pillow fort? Cute stuffies. I have the same penguin."

Luke glanced at the penguin that was still secured in his arm. "Don't you dare tell your friends. Especially not Flynn. She's ruthless."

"She is not. But fine, only because you're sick. I'll be back for my bowl tomorrow and it better be empty."

Luke watched Julie leave with a look of amazement. As soon as he heard his front door close, footsteps pattered through the hallway, leading up to his mother sticking her head in his room. "I like her."

"I'm going back to sleep," Luke said, diving back into the safety of all his pillows, wondering if it was the fever or Julie that set his cheeks blazing.

Probably the fever.

"Good afternoon, dork. Reggie says you said you liked the semi-flavoured water and my dad felt very appreciated by that so he's made some actual stew for you to try. It's beef stew this time so please don't get surprised. Did you do yesterday's homework? You should, because I brought today's. How do you feel?"

Luke, who had been staring at Julie with his mouth slightly open in a perfect picture of surprise, blinked when he realised she'd stopped speaking. "Don't you knock?!"

"Your mom said you were asleep and I could just leave everything here for you but you were awake so. . ." Julie trailed off, shrugging.

"You . . . you are so strange."

Julie shrugged as she set the homework down on the desk and walked up to the nightstand to put the covered bowl down in Luke's reach. "You need to come back to school. I feel bad bullying your friends."

"I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that," Luke said sarcastically. He paused for a second. "Yeah, I did the homework. Most of it. My mom said it'll help to get out of bed and do something. I tried to play the guitar but she was adamant I didn't do that something."

Julie nodded and walked back to Luke's desk. She rifled through the mess and picked up all the homework. "I'll finish this essay for you," she said almost absently, searching among the pages. "Please tell me you did your science homework. I got a lot of that wrong and no one wants to give me the answers because apparently, I should learn my work."

"Uh . . . yeah. Um, yeah, I did the science. Wh-- what do you mean 'do the essay' for me?"

Julie looked up as she gathered everything into a pile of messy and uneven papers. "It's on the African American civil rights movement. It's factual and ninety percent of the class will have the same essay anyway so--"

"No. No, I mean . . . why?"

"Oh. Uh . . . why not?"

Luke didn't have a response, so he fell silent.

"Well, that's all of yesterday's homework. Get some rest and then make sure you eat. I can't have my favourite punching bag get too weak to take a hit."

As Julie turned and left his room, Luke felt the sudden urge to scream, so instead, he slammed his burning face into his favourite penguin. Yes, she had called him a punching bag, but she'd also called him her favourite.

"Music class just isn't the same without booing you. Also, Alex said you managed to keep the beef stew down yesterday so my dad thought you could try something a little heavier. This is an experimental chicken and fried rice . . . thing. I do not reccomend eating unless you're sure you're okay enough for a full meal. That said, I brought more beef stew in case you're not up for the chicken and rice."

"You can't just walk in unannounced!" Luke cried as Julie set down the two bowls on the nightstand.

"I can, actually," Julie said, flashing a set of keys at Luke.

Luke's jaw dropped when he recognized the keychains. "Hey, those are mine!"

"Wow, so observant. Your mom gave it to me before I left yesterday because your dad is at work and she needed to go out today and with you holed up in here, there wouldn't be anyone to open for me."

Luke frowned. "Oh, yeah, she said something like that but I was half-asleep."

Julie was pleasantly surprised to find Luke's homework neatly gathered at the corner of the desk. It didn't escape her how Luke seemed to glow with pride when she commented on it. She had to fight a smile as she dropped Luke's homework into her bag.

"Get some rest, dork. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call someone from Sunset Swerve. I'll be busy."

"It's Sunset CURVE and you know it."

"Really? I never noticed."

Luke pouted. "Tuxedo Sam says you're being very mean right now. I'm sick and I deserve care."

"Well, you can tell your stupid penguin that Skipper will beat his ass."

"You named your penguin after the penguins from Madagascar?"

"You call yours Tuxedo Sam."

"Yeah, okay, that's fair."

Julie rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "Take a nap, Moody McSleeveless."

Luke glanced at the penguin laying nearby as he heard Julie lock up the house again. "Don't look at me like that, she's mean all the time."

"I BROUGHT CAKE!"

Luke scrambled up, launching Tuxedo Sam off the bed. "Who died?"

"No one died," Julie said, picking up the penguin as she walked up to Luke's bed. "It's Friday and since you're doing a little better, I thought you could do with a small treat. Tuxedo Sam agrees."

"Give me back my penguin," Luke said, reaching both arms out to Julie.

"Did you do yesterday's homework?"

"Yes."

"Did you really eat both bowls of food yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And keep it down?"

"Yes, ma'am, now can I please have my penguin back?"

Julie passed Luke the stuffed animal. "You're adorable," she blurted, turning away immediately to hide her own stunned look. She cleared her throat as she headed to the desk to grab Luke's homework. "So, that group project? We got a ninety-five."

That distracted Luke easily enough. "What happened to the other five?!"

"We're very bad at teamwork," Julie said, glancing back at Luke over her shoulder to see him relax against the pillows.

"Ah. That . . . makes sense."

Julie nodded. "Mhm."

The silence that blanketed the room wasn't as awkward as it should have been.

"I have to go. Most of the teachers said it would be okay to get your homework on Monday, but Mr Hughes is on my tail about your chemistry paper. My dad is making cupcakes tonight for some reason and I told Willie he could have some, so I'll send extra with him to give to Alex to give to you, but enjoy that crappy store cake for now. I left proper lunch with your mom for when you feel like it."

It didn't register that the only reason Mr Hughes would be harassing Julie about Luke's homework was if Julie herself had taken responsibility for Luke. Well, it did register, but by then, Julie was long gone and the only response Luke could muster was a muffled scream into poor Tuxedo Sam.

"Oh, ew, gross. Luke, it smells like the middle school locker room in here. What were you doing?"

Luke had never looked more sheepish in his life as he pointed to the canister on his nightstand -- right next to his alarm clock. "My phone went off about an hour ago and I thought it was the alarm so I did the smart thing and slammed it down but I missed. Obviously."

Holding her nose, Julie dropped everything she was carrying on Luke's table and tore the curtains open, pushing the windows as far as they could go. She stood there for a moment, relishing in the fresh air. "I'll come back inside when I can breathe," Julie said, halfway out the window.

Luke wanted to melt into his pillows. A week later and he was only feeling slightly better. The pros of it was that Julie visited every day with something tasty and a level of snark that only amused him. The cons of it was that Julie visited every day and left him flustered and red in the face.

He firmly believed that Julie only came by every day because she had homework to drop off, but today was Saturday. There was no more homework to drop off.

And she could have just backtracked right out the door again but instead, she headed for the windows on the other side of his room. Why?

Because she's taking care of you, dork.

Luke couldn't help but think that the logical voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Julie.

"Hey, my parents have some stupid couple's yoga thing on Saturdays. Did you break in?"

Julie pulled the windows halfway closed and stepped back into the room. "No, I still have your keys. Your dad tried to give me the spare key to the front door but your mom said it'll be fine if I kept yours until you're back on your feet."

"Wow. She really trusts you, huh?"

Julie shrugged. "I'm a very trustworthy person."

"No, you're not. I saw you lose a pen that you stuck behind your ear and then you proceeded to lose three more by tucking them behind your other ear and in your pockets. You then tried to steal mine."

"I was fourteen," Julie said defensively.

"It happened last week!"

"I felt fourteen."

Luke gave Julie a deadpan look.

"Cute pyjamas."

"I know, right? Bobby got us matching ones when we were like fifteen for band bonding. I mean, I grew out of the pants but the shirt still fits."

Julie scoffed as she stared at the dark haired cartoon smiling at her from the pink shirt. "Looks really good on you, Skip."

"Hey, I like being Skipper. She's Barbie's most intelligent sister."

"Oh, yeah?" Luke didn't even notice that Julie had made herself comfortable at the foot of his bed. "And if you're Skipper, who are the others?"

"Bobby is Chelsea, 'cause he's the youngest of us, Alex is Barbie, 'cause his summer jobs have been everywhere, and Reg is Stacie, 'cause she's Bobby's favourite and Bobby's favourite bandmate is Reg."

Julie's head tilted slightly. "You sound drunk."

"The bottle said one teaspoon of cough syrup but I didn't read and I took two tablespoons. It's okay, though. Mom panicked and called the doctor and he says the cough syrup he gave me is for kids and I'm just really, really, really intolerant. Which you should remember for me because I plan to be super famous with the band and there are gonna be a lot of after parties and I don't wanna get drunk five minutes in. I think the cough syrup is kicking in."

"Luke Patterson, you are unbelievable."

"I know, right?" He attempted a winning smile, but it came off as plain childlike.

Julie chastised herself for finding him adorable. They were mortal enemies and she had to remember that. Then what are you doing in his room on a Saturday, after explicitly telling the rest of his band to stay away?

Julie found it unnerving how much the voice in her head sounded like a teasing Luke.

"You're like, really annoying."

Julie frowned. "I -- I'm sorry?"

"You should be." Luke was sitting cross-legged now, fiddling with the ears of a stuffed bunny. "It's really messing with my head."

Julie decided she liked tipsy Luke -- even if it was just cough syrup. "How so?"

"No, it's nothing."

"You can tell me, Luke. I promised not to tell anyone about your stuffed animals and I kept it, right?"

"Yeah, but this time the secret about you. You're not allowed to know."

Curiosity more than anything made Julie lean forward slightly. "It'll be our secret."

"Okay, but you have to promise not to talk about it."

Julie nodded quickly. Luke tugged at the bunny's ears for a moment.

"You're like . . . really pretty."

Julie couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of her. Adorable, she thought.

"Like, a lot of pretty. You're pretty on the inside, too."

"On the inside?"

"Yeah. On the inside. You know, your heart."

"M-my heart?"

Luke nodded at his stuffed rabbit. "Yeah. You have a really pretty heart. It beats like a drum. Making music. Like you."

Julie's mouth hung open, surprise silencing her.

"You have the prettiest music in you. I can hear it like -- like a song that gets stuck in my head all day. It's really annoying but it's so pretty. It smells like flowers and it looks like butterflies."

At this point, Julie didn't think she'd be able to speak, even if she knew what to say. Luke was talking to the stuffed animal, frowning as he struggled to voice his thoughts understandably.

"Sometimes it's just so loud and I wanna cover my ears and run away but it just gets louder and louder and then you come over and you're saying something mean but the music is there and it's not so loud anymore but I still can't hear anything else. Your heart sounds like a ballad."

Julie was frozen to her seat at the edge of the bed. Part of her wondered if it was Luke talking or the fever. Part of her desperately hoped it was Luke.

"Julie, you are music."

It was a simple sentence. Anyone could have said it. It could mean a lot or it could mean nothing at all. If anyone else had said it to her, she would have taken it as the highest form of a compliment. But that wasn't what Luke was saying.

Everyone knew that Luke spoke best through lyrics and chords. His books and desks were covered in etched notes and scribbled words. Luke lived and breathed music. It was everything to him. Without it, Luke didn't know who he was.

And he compared it to Julie.

Julie stared at the text on her phone. She bit her lower lip, unsure of what to say in response.

Mom said you visited yesterday. I was dazed for most of it. I didn't say anything stupid or incriminating, right? Not that anything could be more incriminating than the three stuffed animals on my bed.

Ten minutes after that, another had come through. Jules, are you ignoring me? Did I do something?

Then another five minutes later. This is still Julie Molina's number, right?

Julie quickly typed out something before she chickened out again and tossed her phone to the foot of her bed once it was sent.

Hey. Got busy in the kitchen with dad. No, you're good. See you at school tomorrow?

Julie scrambled for her phone to send one last word.

A few streets away, Luke stared at the word 'dork'. He was sure he had said something. He vaguely remembered yapping on about music to Julie -- duh, what else did they share? -- and then suddenly, she wasn't there anymore. He wondered if he'd fallen asleep talking and Julie had left then or if he really had said something to make her leave.

Yeah, he wrote back, see you at school.

Luke cornered Julie as soon as he caught sight of her in the school hallway. "You've been ignoring me and I don't like that."

Julie squeaked. "I most definitely am not ignoring you."

"Julie, you're pretty much the only person in this school that doesn't keep their phone on mute or vibrate. I know you heard my texts yesterday."

"So what if I am?" Julie asked, folding her arms. "We're not friends, so why should you care if I reply to your texts or not? In fact, why were you even messaging me in the first place?"

While Luke fumbled for a response, Julie slipped past him and continued on her way to class.

"Oh, that is just rude!" Luke yelled after Julie.

She ignored him all through any classes they shared and when lunch rolled around, she made sure to sit with Carrie and Flynn at a small table. Luke had never looked more offended in his life as he joined Reggie in sitting with Alex and Willie.

"What did you do on Saturday?" Alex asked, leaning forward to whisper. "Julie was fine when she told us we don't need to come by at all."

"Julie told you not to come over?" Luke asked, ripping his gaze from Julie to Alex and then Reggie, who shook his head.

"Bro, she actually called Alex and told him that we don't need to come see you because she was going to."

"Yeah, I remember her being there but I was drugged up on cough syrup."

"Weak," Alex whispered loudly, grinning when he made Willie laugh.

"Maybe you said something?" Willie suggested.

"Yeah, probably! But she's not talking to me. She's not even insulting me, which I would very much prefer over this apathy."

"You know where she lives," Reggie said dismissively. "Maybe you should pay her a visit."

Luke glanced across the cafeteria to see Julie quickly whip her head down to stare at her fold. "Yeah. Maybe."

Julie was tired and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Her plans were thrown way off the rails when she walked into her room and found Luke petering around the shelves beside her bed.

"What are you doing here?"

Luke drew his hand back sharply. "Cute box. What's in it?"

"None of your business," Julie snapped, hurriedly closing her bedroom door. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you but you were ignoring me and--"

"You could've just yelled at me from outside," Julie hissed. "I would have come down to shut you up! You can't be in here. Get out of my room."

"No. Not until you tell me why you've been avoiding me since Saturday. Jules, what--"

"Fine! Go and wait for me in the garage. I'll come talk to you in there."

Luke hesitated, unsure if Julie was serious.

When she heard footsteps getting closer, Julie grabbed Luke by the neckline of his shirt and dragged him to the window. "Get out," she whispered hurriedly, "I'll come down to the garage, I promise."

Thankfully, by the time her father arrived, Luke was gone.

"Who were you talking to, mija?"

"Luke," Julie said with a smile. She pointed at the phone. "He liked the cupcakes I sent with Willie."

"Oh, that's great. You didn't take something yesterday and today? Is he feeling better?"

"Much," Julie said, nodding, "in fact, we have some talking to do, so I'm gonna meet him in the garage in a few minutes."

"So late?"

Julie absolutely could not lie to her dad. But she could do half truths. "It's a long overdue discussion."

"School work?"

Julie shrugged. "Music."

"Ah. The garage makes sense. Well, do you wanna take some food down? Midnight snack?"

"Thanks, dad," Julie said with a smile, "you're the best."

"Oh, your dad is the best!" Luke cried as soon as he saw Julie walk in with a plate of cookies.

"These are experimental, too. They're some kind of oatmeal and choc mint blend. They taste good, in my opinion."

"Everything your dad makes tastes good," Luke said, grabbing three cookies. "My mom's starting to get jealous of how much I love your dad's cooking."

Juli smiled and set the plate down on the coffee table. Was there any point beating around the bush? Sugarcoating things?

"You told me I was music."

Luke paused, one and a half cookies gone. "What?"

Julie kept her gaze trained on the tassels of the carpet. "You told me I'm annoying . . . because I'm pretty. Because I have a pretty heart. You said it beats like a drum and I have the prettiest music in me that gets stuck in your head. It --"

"Smells like spring and looks like butterflies. . ." Luke looked positively mortified.

Julie, refusing to look up, did not notice. "You said . . . you said my heart sounds like a ballad and then -- and then you told me I am music."

Had he really said all that aloud? Well, no wonder Julie was avoiding him like the plague.

Julie tensed up when she could see Luke's feet step in front of her. Almost every part of her screamed that this was wrong. They shouldn't be so close without bickering and fighting. But deeper within, beyond the confines of logic and sense, Luke's voice told her that this was the furthest thing from wrong.

"I said all that? Aloud?"

Julie nodded.

"You know what music is to me."

Julie nodded again.

"Jules," Luke said gently. "Julie, look at me."

Julie refused to, so Luke gingerly tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her head, waiting until her gaze fell on him before speaking.

"You know what music is to me," he said again, prompting another nod from Julie. "Then you know what you mean to me."

Julie blinked a few times and shook her head. "No. No, that's just the fever talking. You -- you didn't really mean all of that."

"If you really believe that, why are you avoiding me?"

"I . . . I don't know."

Luke dropped his hand to take hold of Julie's. He glanced at her, waiting for her to pull away. When she didn't, he interlocked his fingers with hers. "I meant every word. Okay, maybe not literally, but you know what I mean."

Julie shook her head. "We're not even friends, Luke."

"Hm, well, who said I wanted to be your friend?"

Julie wanted to hate Luke. She wanted to loathe the sight of him. She didn't want to like him, let alone love him.

And yet, she did.

So before the overthinker in her could stop her, Julie leaned up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Luke beamed at her like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Not the response I was expecting, but definitely one I'm enjoying."

"Don't make me regret it."

"Yes, ma'am. Now, what are my chances of getting two more? And one for the road? Within the next five seconds becaus my mom doesn't know I snuck out and she think I'm still sick."

"Dork," Julie said fondly, shaking her head.

"I'm serious!"

"You can have two."

"Three."

"Two."

"Four."

"One."

"Two will do," Luke said, letting go of Julie's hands to wrap his arms around her. He gave her a small squeeze. "Plus a hug."

"Dork," Julie said again. But he was her dork and he was her favourite.

Before anyone comes for me about the cough syrup thing, I'm drawing from experience. I mean I never confessed my undying love for anyone but I did blurt out some weird shit. Also, THAT WAS LONG AND IF YOU SURVIVED THE ENTIRE THING, CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU

Mara's masterlist

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos #jatp #juke #julie x luke #julie molina #luke patterson #sunset curve #jatpweek

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retrievablememories · 4 years

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try again | ten

title: try again pairing: ten x black!reader genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff request: “Can I ask a dark Ten and his black wife having a miscarriage and feeling like she failed him in being a good wife and making him a father so she wants a divorce so he can be happy with someone else but he persists on being with her not matter what happens. Thanks for taking it!” word count: 2.9k warnings: mentions of a miscarriage, depression/grief, marital troubles a/n: my computer/photoshop is being raggedy as hell so i don’t have an actual banner pic or paragraph separators for now 😢 god. i ended up watching a 15 min youtube video about newborns b/c of this fic, tho, so that was fun

Seeing those two little lines was one of the happiest days of your life.

After trying for nearly a year and thinking it was never going to happen, you finally got a positive result. You took 5 tests to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it was as real as it could possibly be. The doctor’s confirmation only sealed the deal.

To know that there was a small life growing inside you that you could call your own, made from both you and Ten’s DNA, was astounding to you. There were many nights where you simply laid in bed tracing shapes over your stomach, wondering what your child would be like and if they already knew how much you adored them. You especially loved it when Ten would lay his head on your chest and caress your stomach, speaking softly to both you and your growing child.

Some hidden part of you had wanted to be hesitant about celebrating this developing chapter of your life, not knowing if things would turn out alright since it had been so difficult to conceive before. Soon, though, you let that worry fade to the back of your mind in the face of your overwhelming joy. You filled your hours with thinking about baby names and baby nurseries and baby clothes, wanting to create the best life you possibly could for your little one.

You willed your fears not to get the best of you for once and instead poured all your energy into creating that reality. A reality that, unbeknownst to you both, wouldn’t come to pass.

You can still remember that blissful feeling now, if you concentrate hard enough and try to push past the pain. You hold onto that glimpse of happiness very tightly, drawing what you can from its memory until you can receive nothing more.

Back when you first lost the baby, Ten had promised you he could never be mad at you about it, even though you asked him over and over again—nearly everyday—if he was upset with you. Even then, he didn’t get angry with you asking all the time, which somehow made you feel worse. Like even more of a burden. You tried to stop asking about it, stop thinking about it, but his words weren’t quite enough to reassure you.

Despite your best efforts—from both you and him—the seed of doubt implanted itself in your mind anyway and slowly began festering there.

Where your bed once was a place where you dreamed about your future child, and even conceived them there, it’s now become something of a prison. A constant reminder of what happened and what won’t happen. The sheets are more like arms that suffocate you in their hold and keep you confined in a cocoon of pain. Despite your desire to be free of this cage that’s sprung up around you, you find it impossible to escape.

Whenever Ten is off at work, you continually ruminate on the past year of failures. Your one tiny hope and the end of its brief light, so quick that it’s difficult to remember how it happened. No, you don’t recall much from the day you were rushed to the hospital or how the miscarriage itself occurred, though you think maybe it’s better that way.

You’re somewhat grateful for how the human brain knows how to protect itself from trauma. Sometimes it’s the only way to survive. You find it incredibly ironic, though, how things we don’t remember still imprint themselves on our minds and souls. You experience the pain as acutely as if you’d been mentally present for it all.

The dark thoughts press in more closely whenever Ten is not next to you, though you never feel completely whole even when he is around to comfort you. Your mood worsens in the day, when he’s gone at work. You don’t even have your own work anymore to take your mind off of things, having taken a month off to recover. The worries that plague you during these hours make it hard to do much of anything but lie in bed and sleep.

You’re more grateful for his presence than he can know, but you also feel increasingly guilty when he’s the one who has to do most of the housework. If you had the energy or motivation to do it, you would; but right now, those feelings are lost to you. You keep hoping to yourself that you’ll find your way out of this dark place soon, even though you are more suffocated by it by the minute.

On a day where you find it especially difficult to keep the thoughts at bay, you contemplate many things.

What would it be like if you were no longer here? If Ten could find another wife who could actually give him what he so desired, without failing this time? He deserves that much, doesn’t he? To have a family of his own, even if it can’t be with you. Maybe you can’t have kids at all, and your short pregnancy was the only chance you had of conceiving. In that case, you reason that he should be able to go off and find someone else instead of you clinging so tightly to him, unable to let go.

It pains you to do it, but you begin writing a note for him to find later, too afraid to tell him out loud what you’ve been thinking and what you plan to do. You don’t know if anything you’re writing makes sense, but you feel like you have to do it either way; there’s no point in staying and making you both more miserable.

That night, Ten holds you as he falls asleep, like every other night. You stay awake for hours after he drifts off, turning your plan over in your head. A few tears drop from your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away, ignoring your own heartache. You’ve already set your mind to it.

When Ten gets home that Thursday, he’s surprised and a little panicked to see your car not in the driveway. It’s been sitting there for weeks, but now that it’s gone, it must mean you’ve went somewhere.

Maybe you’ve gathered enough strength to go out today and go shopping, something you always liked to do. A part of him suspects that isn’t the real answer, though, which only increases his anxiety. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he decides to check just in case.

He calls you, but it goes straight to voicemail. When he tries a few more times with the same result, his nervousness turns into full-blown panic. Unsure what to do, he decides to text you despite knowing he probably won’t get an answer.

6:25 P.M. Y/N are you okay? Where are you???

6:26 P.M. If you decided to go out today just text or call me back please, I just need to know you’re okay

6:26 P.M. I’m really worried

Ten finally gets out of the car and goes in the house, rushing up the stairs to your shared bedroom. He’s doubtful he’ll find anything there, but he needs some kind of answer for what’s going on. To his surprise, there’s a note lying on the bed.

Chittaphon,

I’m leaving for a while. Please don’t panic or be upset, I’ll be safe where I’m going. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but maybe it will be easier this way. I’m not sure if I can continue on like this. I have to think about some things. I want you to know that I’ve loved you since the first moment, but I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.

I did everything I could to help us form a life together, but I failed anyway. I hate myself for it. I don’t blame you if you hate me too, or if you’re only staying with me because you think I can’t make it on my own right now. I just want you to find happiness again, whether I’m there or not.

Y/N

Ten shakily sits on the bed, covering his mouth with his hand and closing his eyes tightly against the tears. The absolute stillness of the house without you in it is overbearing, and he puts his head between his knees as he tries to block the quiet out. He doesn’t move from that spot for a long time, and his head pounds from the blood rushing to his skull, but that discomfort is nothing compared to the turmoil stirring in his chest.

A loud knocking on the door startles you out of your sleep.

It’s only been a few days since you left your home with Ten, and you’ve kept your phone off and buried at the bottom of your suitcase since then. You had no intentions of talking even if he tried to contact you, and you eliminated that line of communication so you wouldn’t have to. It’s been your small hope that your actions have built up enough to make him hate you, to not want to contact you anymore, to agree to a divorce—although that thought brings you more pain all the same.

You stumble out of bed and into the hallway, and there’s an ensuing commotion on the other side of the hall as your parents come rushing out of their room. Your mother comes to your side with concern and panic on her face, grabbing your arm. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, though you’re trembling a little from the sudden noise.

“I don’t know who the hell is banging on the door like that at this time of night, but let me tell you…” Your father curses under his breath as he heads to the living room to peek out the window and see who it is. He quickly comes back into the hallway with a puzzled expression. “Y/N, it’s your husband.”

“Chittaphon? I thought you said you both agreed it’d be best for you to come home for a little while? Why is he here at this hour?” Your mom gives you a wide-eyed look, waiting for your explanation, and your head begins to hurt from the hurricane of emotions you’re enduring.

Your fingers fidget as you try to steady your nerves enough to respond. “Please, just let me talk to him alone. I-I know why he’s here, but we have to talk…”

Ten bangs on the door again, and your dad gives a skeptical glance. “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, I promise,” you say, gently ushering your parents back to their room. “Please, just let me handle this.” They look like they want to say or do something more, but they relent to your request and leave you in the hallway alone. Your mother glances at you from behind the door before closing it, though you notice she doesn’t shut it all the way.

When you open the door, Ten stands there looking at you from behind the screen door with distress written all over his face. The mesh screen obscures his features a bit, but you can still read him from a mile away. You immediately feel guilty, though you don’t make any move to open the door. You’ve already made your decision—but mostly for his sake.

Ten drops his backpack—the only thing he has with him—and presses his hands against the mesh as if he could touch you through it. You back up a little when he does, standing further away from the entrance. He sounds like he’s been running a marathon when he speaks. “Why did you leave?”

“Why are you here?”

“Y/N, I know there is only one place you’d go for sure in a situation like this. And I was right. Why did you leave?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think this is a good idea anymore.”

“What isn’t a good idea? Us being together?”

“We should get a divorce,” you say quietly, somewhat afraid of his reaction, though you still think it needs to be put out in the air.

Ten is lost for words, and he has to think for a few moments before speaking again. “Y/N. Just tell me this one thing. Do you hate me?”

You’re quiet for a moment. You want to tell him yes, to make this separation easier so he can forget about you and move on. But your throat tightens at the idea of letting that word pass your lips. Tears sting the backs of your eyes even though you silently beg them not to.

“No.” Your voice wavers a little when you respond. “I just...want you to be happy. I’m sure you read the note.”

“You’ve forgotten one thing. I can’t be happy without you.”

“But you were happy before you met me. You can do that again.”

Ten presses his forehead against the door, knowing he has to keep his patience even if he’s upset. “But we’re together now, and now that you’re in my life I don’t want you to ever leave.”

“Chittaphon, please. You don’t need me. The only thing I’ve done lately is be a burden to you.”

“Y/N. You know, I considered just letting you go wherever you needed to go to make things less painful for you. That’s the only reason I didn’t come up here immediately. I thought maybe you’d fallen out of love with me, didn’t want to see me again, and that I just needed to let you be for a while...but Y/N, I can’t be without you. I’m not going to leave my wife alone when she needs me the most—whether you’ll allow yourself to believe that or not.”

The first tears drop despite your resistance to them, and you have to struggle to talk through the knot in your throat. “But I-I couldn’t—I’ve been a terrible wife, I couldn’t give you the child you w-wanted, that we b-both wanted…” You lean against a nearby wall for stability as your body grows weaker. “We tried so hard for a year, and…”

Ten clings more tightly to the mesh, his own tears dripping from his chin. “Please open the door.” At this point you are too shattered to deny him, and you seek his comfort even though you feel undeserving of it.

When Ten finally coaxes you onto the porch, he pulls you straight into his arms and holds you close, allowing himself to simply breathe in the scent of your hair and skin. You both end up sinking to the wooden porch floor, with Ten embracing you.

“Y/N, I’m begging you to trust me. There’s no way I could hate or blame you for this,” he says quietly, your tears wetting each other’s skin. “Sometimes things happen that we don’t understand. That just means we have to get through them together.” He pulls back a little to make you look at him, his hands cradling your face. “We can always try again. This doesn’t have to be the end, Y/N.”

You nod slowly, looking into his despairing eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You allow him to bring your head to his chest—the same as he often did with you. His heartbeat thuds under your ear, and the sound makes you feel calmer than you’ve been in weeks. You sit together like that for a while, listening to the sounds of wildlife all around you and letting yourselves mend the broken pieces of each other.

You wake up to the sensation of a small, wiggling weight on your chest, and you’re confused as to what’s going on until you hear the sound of a familiar set of giggles. A smile crosses your face before you even open your eyes, and you reach your hand out to feel a bundle of soft, curly hair.

“Are you awake already? It’s so early.” More happy laughter is your response, and you finally let loose a chuckle of your own. You open your eyes to the sight of your 1-year-old son nose-to-nose with you, his warm breaths puffing across your face. He smiles and squeals loudly when he sees you looking at him, and you scoop him up into your arms to cuddle him close.

“Good morning my little boy,” you sigh, kissing the top of his head. He smells freshly-washed, so you know Ten must’ve given him a bath already. Your son is more interested in treating you like a playground and climbing all over you rather than lying in your arms, but you’re more than happy to let him play to his heart’s content.

The door to your bedroom opens soon after, the smell of breakfast drifting into the room. The bed sinks behind you as Ten climbs on, and your son squeals even louder at the sight of his father. Laughing, Ten picks the small boy up and nuzzles his face into his hair before turning to you.

“Hey sexy, breakfast is ready,” he says, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t flatter me, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” you say this with a grin as Ten keeps kissing your face, with your son trying to get in between you so he can give you kisses too. You wrap your arms around both of them and you all huddle up in a heap on the bed, laughing and falling over each other. In this moment, you have little doubt that you’re the happiest person in the world.

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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omG i adore all the packtan verses soso much, the latest yoongi fluff u posted?? AGH so SOFT i loved it sm!! would the reader ever talk to the boys about her old pack, and like why thats the reason shes wary about being super close with packtan?

i think she would eventually- and I think there would be a moment, maybe some soft snuggles happening in the morning, and namjoon is kinda super soft thinking about how you’re in Hoseok’s pajamas- the dark silk fabric making you have sweater paws. all ruffled from some sleep- and he doesn't know how they got on the topic but now you’re confiding in him and hobi and suddenly namjoon is fucking enraged as you tell him how they treated you.

they best hope they never cross namjoon’s path, namjoon will end them. Hoseok too, (Hoseok might find out their names and draft several very strong kakao talk messages only to delete them before he sends them- just so they know- if they ever even think about coming near you again- hoseok is going to end them and their careers)

emotional abuse can be just as pervasive and as harmful as physical abuse, how they slowly wormed their way into your mind. now it all makes sense- the way that you’d kinda acted like you didn’t care about them- leaving and walking home late at night- putting yourself at risk. never telling them you were having a rough day until you practically burst into tears, the way you’d been genuinely surprised when any of them expressed wanting to spend time with you, wanting to spoil you, any time they’d complimented you and you’d kinda acted like they were joking.

there are signs of it- and the others- yoongi and Hoseok, in particular, are the most vigilant and aware- especially when your actions hurt the others- it’s honestly not your fault. They all realize this after you leave early one morning- without saying bye, and then the aftermath- Seokjin crossing his arms, “you didn't even think to wake us? or have us drive you home? the subway isn’t exactly safe at 5am- I just- can't imagine why you didn’t stay- or shower in our shower- or borrow our clothes” jin continues his tirade until you lookup

“I didn’t think you wanted me to” you say, voice small, “what? what made you think that” “you’ve just- never said you wanted me to stay before, we fell asleep on the couch- and then I woke up in your bed and I didn’t want to- overstep. you guys are already in a pack and I’m just- I’m just me- I’m sorry I just- I didn’t know, so I figured it was just better if I didn’t overstep” and then their eventual realization all of them tripping over themselves to reassure you “we always want you to stay babe- of course, we did- why else would we invite you so late at night if we didn’t want you to stay over?”

The hear more, about booty calls from your old pack and others, how they’d make it clear they didn’t want you to stay after- sure everyone likes an omega before the sex but not after when they get needy (after they hear you spew that vitriol at yourself they make sure they’re always giving with physical affection- and they see you slowly turn from being worried and kinda trepidatious about it- to sinking into their arms fully and becoming the most cuddly omega of them all- sometimes not even greeting them before you’re sinking into their arms and scent marking along their shoulders)

they get better- get used to telling you explicitly when they want you to stay, trying to work around the way your brain works.

jimin remembers vividly- the first day he’d realized how much damage your old pack had done to the way you’d seen yourself. the day he’d taken a selfie with you in a coffee shop, and you’d kinda rolled your eyes, whining that you didn’t like photos to be taken of you, and then jimin sending it to you before he sends it to the group, you freezing when the notification comes through, the way you’d looked so unsure, “Jiminie...do I really look like that?” jimin is already sending the picture through the pack group chat and getting about a million heart emojis from Hoseok through, tea sends though “oh my god- get in my bed right this instant”

“what do you mean baby?” and when he looks up, he sees you staring at your phone- at the picture, a weird look on your face, like there's something not real about what you’re seeing, “do I really look like that? do I look pretty like this?” this isn’t you phishing for complements this is you genuinely looking for his reassurance- and Jimin nods cutely his hand closing around yours on your phone to tilt it towards himself so he can point out the things about you he loves- your shoulders are really nice and not to broad for an omega, your hair fits your face perfectly and your cheeks are cute, jimin loves them, tilts your chin close with one hand to kiss them until you're giggling.

later jimin tells Tae and Jungkook while they’re washing up, “you should have seen the look on her face today- it was like she’d thought I photoshopped the photo” “do you think” Tae spits out his toothpaste “she might have body dysmorphia or something?” Jimin shrugs, Jungkook wraps his arms around Tae’s middle, nuzzling in slow to his back, “finish up- we should talk in the nest”

and then later- with Jimin and Tae's heads balanced on either of Jungkook’s pectorals “do you think it could have something to do with her old pack?” jimin feels anger take hold in his chest, a growing hiss in his throat, his words come out strange and pitched, “if i ever get my hands on them i swear i’ll tear them apart”

#packtan #idolverse #bts abo #bts omegaverse #Anonymous

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lukatheselkie · 4 years

Text

FrUk Week Day Five - Coffee Shop

@frukweek2020

TECHNICALLY this is a café, but shh. I guess this is a human AU?

Warnings: Cussing, alcohol, clothed erection (no detail)

Arthur grumbles angrily as he shoves a door open, walking into the building. Stupid Alfred! He can’t believe he let him convince him to travel to France with him! And what he can’t believe even more is that Alfred just left him alone. Abandoned him! Ignored that he even existed and went off with some friends he made a few days ago! Arthur slams himself down into a seat, glaring at anyone that dares look at him. These next three months can’t pass by fast enough. He places his head in his hands and groans. Three and a half months away from home. What on Earth had he been thinking? No, he knows exactly what he was thinking. Alfred was giving him puppy eyes, so he was thinking saying yes was the fastest way to get rid of those. He should have listened to the question.

“Pardon the time it took to bring you this, sir.” Arthur’s head snaps up, and his cheeks flush pink. It’s been so long since he saw someone attractive, he nearly forgot he was bisexual. But apparently his body didn’t! He slides a hand into his lap discreetly. Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to notice. He places an English menu in front of him with a polite smile, and continues on to the next table. Is he really that obviously a tourist? Arthur glances at the menu, frowning deeply when he sees it’s different from what he’s to. Well, he can still order tea without much trouble. He tries to ignore the extra items on the menu, but they make him curious. Alcohol? Meals? He’s used to just coffee, tea, snacks, and small desserts!

He might need some alcohol, after his morning with Alfred. He’s a handful. And a stressful one, at that. He looks up when the waiter returns, taking a deep, steadying breath. No one should be allowed to be that attractive. It’s not fair. He greets him with a smile, and asks what he would like. You, he thinks at him. I would like to have you. Instead of answering with that, he gives a curt smile and a, “May I have some tea and a glass of champagne?” The waiter raises a brow at him.

“You might want something to eat with that, if you haven’t had anything recently. It might make you sick.” Arthur sends a hearty glare his direction.

“I think I know what I’m doing with my body.” It comes out harsher than he meant it to, but he’s not going to apologize for it. The stranger smiles at him.

“Of course, sir. I will be right back with that.” He bustles off, and Arthur groans quietly. Why does he always have to be super rude when he’s around someone he finds alluring? It’s a devastating flaw of his. He glances around the café, taking in the comfortable atmosphere. At least he’s got that going for him. Not that it means much, if anything. “Here you are! Will that be all?” He places the tea and champagne on the table in front of him with a bright smile. Shit. He shifts slightly, placing his other hand in his lap as well.

“Thank you very much. Yes, that will be all,” he tries saying clearly, but it comes out somewhat strained. The stranger giggles, and places the bill next to his tea. There’s writing besides the drinks on it. You are incredibly cute. Call me, mon cher. -Francis His number is written neatly next to the words. Hell yeah! Score! Maybe it’s a good thing Alfred abandoned him earlier. He never would have gotten the number without being angry enough to storm in for tea. He tugs his phone out of his pocket, and takes a deep breath. He has to get this right. He types the number in carefully, and then goes to write a text. Thank goodness for international coverage.

You are much cuter than I am, Francis. But I thank you for the compliment. I know this is not a call, but I couldn’t resist. I had to contact you immediately after reading your note. My name is Arthur. He sends the message before he can talk himself out of it. He looks up, heart flipping happily when he sees Francis smiling at him. He must have his cellphone in his pocket. Arthur navigates over to Alfred’s number, and sends him a lot of emojis sticking their tongues out at him. Then, Guess who just got a date and potentially a boyfriend because you decided to leave him alone today?

There’s absolutely no way you got a date OR a boyfriend that fast! You’re Arthur! The Brit rolls his eyes, sipping at his tea.

Your confidence in me is overwhelming. Alfred sends him a paragraph of side-eye emojis. Hey! Fine, I’ll prove it to you. When he asks me to go out, I’ll ask him for a picture! With me, so you know I’m not pulling your leg.

I’ll be waiting for the bad photoshop job you do. Arthur scoffs. He’s not that bad at photoshop! But this won’t be fake. He places his phone in sleep mode, then focuses on drinking his tea. It’s better than he was expecting from France. He’ll have to give it another try elsewhere to see if it holds up, or if it’s just because Francis likes him. Either way, he finishes it entirely too fast.

The champagne is an even better idea now, since his interaction with Alfred has given him a slight headache. He sips on it lightly, enjoying the taste. It’s not something he’s very used to, but it is good. His phone vibrates again and he clicks it on, expecting another message from Alfred. It’s actually Francis. Arthur. I like that very much. Well, Arthur, my shift ends in seven minutes. Would you like to go on a walk around the city? I can show you the best places to be. He flushes crimson at the message. It’s a good thing speaking with Alfred killed his minor erection. And hopefully stopped any more from popping up for a few hours.

I would like that very much. Though the person I am visiting with requests a photo of the two of us together. He does not believe in my ability to find a date so fast. He glances up to see Francis walking about, and shrugs lightly. He probably won’t see it until he’s off, but that’s fine. Arthur finishes off his champagne at a leisurely rate, and goes to pay for it. When he’s done with that, he checks the time. One more minute. I will be waiting outside for you. He rushes out the door, wanting to get in a suave position before he has the opportunity to come out. He leans against the wall by the door nonchalantly, watching the people walk by. Someone touches his arm lightly, and he turns his head toward them. Francis. He’s even more beautiful up close. Stunning, even.

“Hello, Arthur,” he whispers, giving him a bright smile. It makes his knees weak. “I wouldn’t mind taking a picture with you to prove that you are indeed capable of getting a date so fast.” Oh! Right! He tugs his phone out of his pocket, and steps closer to him.

“Thank you very much.” Francis laughs quietly. Bloody hell. He’s too damn attractive! Arthur can’t keep his thoughts straight. No, that’s a poor choice of wording. He can’t keep his thoughts organized. He lifts his phone up and taps the selfie camera on, placing his head next to his date’s. He has a date! That’s such an amazing thought. Just as he presses the button to take the picture, Francis wraps his arms around his neck and kisses his cheek, causing his cheeks to turn red from embarrassment.

“There! That should convince him.” He drops his arms, and grabs Arthur’s free hand. “Will you send it now? I want to know how he reacts.” Wordlessly, he sends the photograph to Alfred. It isn’t very long before he messages back.

HOLY SHIT DUDE! You weren’t kidding! And he’s HOT! If you don’t boyfriend him up, I will! Francis laughs, right in his ear. It sends a shudder down his spine. “I’m so sorry for him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time. I’ll tell him that would be going too fast.”

“Is it though? We see each other as beautiful. I’ve kissed your cheek. We’re currently holding hands. That sort of seems like we’re dating, don’t you think?” He parts his lips to reply, but nothing comes out. “Arthur, close your mouth before I kiss you there too. Unless you want me to?”

“More than anything!” It’s out before he can place a filter on it. Francis doesn’t have to be told twice. He tilts Arthur’s head up slightly by his chin, and presses their lips together sweetly. He smirks when he pulls away.

“It’s going to be interesting, having a foreign boyfriend. But well worth it.”

BONUS: Francis is very happy when he opens his photos app. He managed to get a picture of them kissing! He types in Alfred’s number, having memorized it specifically for this. He sends the best picture of them kissing, and leaves it at that. Arthur turns crimson a few moments later, and lets out a quiet whine that Francis finds adorable. “You didn’t!”

“Oh but I did, mon cher. Now he has no choice but to acknowledge that you found a boyfriend.” Arthur whines louder, and buries his face in the crook of his neck. He takes the opportunity to release his hand, and wrap his arm around his waist. “You are too cute.” He kisses his hair lightly, causing him to whine again. He’s very happy Alfred left without Arthur.

#frukweek2020 #day 5 #fruk #aph england #aph france #aph america

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nancypullen · 3 years

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Government & Gowns

I’m not ignoring current events, I’ve been glued to videos and updates from journalists for days. I’m gutted by the state of our nation. Germany, France, and Canada offered to send troops to protect our Capitol, that’s what we’ve become. We have more soldiers in D.C. for the inauguration than we have in Afghanistan...and they’re there to protect us from other Americans. National Guard troops are sleeping in the Capitol building. This CNN reporter who covers congress shared a peek.

Those poor soldiers are sleeping on hard floors, pulling duty around the clock because domestic terrorists breached the Capitol on a mission to harm legislators. Many of those legislators can’t even muster the courage to denounce the violence. Shame on every one of them. Donald Trump was impeached for a second time today, the House passed an article charging him with “incitement of insurrection”. It’s a shame that McConnell won’t call the senate back to remove him. Anything that happens between now and the 20th rests on McConnell’s head. Having said that.....

I know that all of our problems won’t magically disappear when Biden takes the oath, but good grief, it’s a start! So. That brings me to the point of today’s blog (yes, I know it took a long time to get here). Will there be an inaugural ball? There probably shouldn’t be due to the pandemic, safety issues, etc. But I have spent months designing Dr. Biden’s gown in my head, and dadgum it I want to see what she chose. If she ever reads this blog (I can’t say that with a straight face) she’ll be sorry that she didn’t call me. The gown I chose for her is perfection.

Let’s start by taking a peek at what she has worn in the past. It’s rare to see her in an overly structured or constructed gown. She seems to gravitate toward more comfortable designs. She’s fortunate that she looks fabulous in a wide range of colors. She has a lean, athletic build without a great deal of difference between bust, waist, and hips. She is not an hourglass, so she really should look for asymmetrical cuts, gathers, and styles that create a waist for her. Note: I’d give my good leg for her shape, this is not a criticism.

She’s gorgeous in red...

stunning in all shades of blue, from powder to cobalt...

and rocks both black and white.

I absolutely love her in periwinkle, and she looks incredible in pink, both a pastel and a hot pink. Also, Dr. Jill Biden in turquoise is magnificent. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a turquoise inaugural gown, and we probably haven’t seen a pink one since Mamie Eisenhower. I think it’s time to bring it back. But in the end, I did not put her in pink. Here’s what I did... I fell asleep every night for the months leading up to the election with visions of ball gowns in my head. Discarding designs, colors, and I kept coming back to one in particular. I wondered if DJB (that’s what we’ll call her now) ever wore her hair up. I thought it would be a beautiful look on her. So I hunted down a photo and I was right, she’s fabulous with her hair up.

So I took that photo and sort of erased her gown. I do not own or use Photoshop, so you’ll have to bear with me. This next bit will look like ill-fitting paper dolls, but you’ll get it. Here she is in a very Jackie Kennedy-esque pink number. Kind of plain for an inaugural ball,

but imagine it in a pink on pink satin pattern like this.

Still not as fabulous as it should be. I tried a gorgeous aqua and loved the cut of the dress.

This bold pink was very close to being the winner.

Again, the cut of the dress would be perfect for her figure. In the end, it seemed too fussy for her. You never see her wearing any extra moving parts. I leaned toward white, but Melanoma Trump wore white and we wouldn’t want a repeat of that. For a long time I thought about white with some sort of gold embroidery. Then the more I thought about gold, the more I loved it. I searched and searched for the dress I had in mind and found something very close. It’s flattering, looks comfortable, and the color is beautiful. Like I said, DJB is going to regret not calling me.

LOOK AT THAT! The hair, the earrings, the dress - it all works. It’s regal, but not stuffy. It’s not too young or too matronly. It’s perfection. I’ll wait on pins and needles to see what she wears if there’s even a ball.

And that’s how I escaped all of the bad news on this Wednesday. I hope that you’re taking breaks from the avalanche of insanity. It’s a lot to digest and we don’t have to eat it all at one sitting. Take care of yourself, disconnect and rest. Let your mind go out to play. Recess is important. Stay safe, stay well, stay sane. XOXO,

Nancy

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squarecarousel · 3 years

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Interview with Caitlin Alexander

Well folks, we're nearly at the end of our Square Carousel journey, and there are just two interviews left – both with two of our longest-standing members! Today, we reconnect with Caitlin Alexander, who has been with the Square Carousel Collective from its very beginning almost 10 years ago. Although we've featured an interview with her here in the past, it's been so long that we are due for an update! When she's not freelancing or performing her duties as an SC admin extraordinaire, Caitlin works tirelessly on her craft, creating prints, products, hand lettered posters, and artwork that embrace the earthy beauty of nature. With a strong focus on environmentalism and a sense of community, her artwork exudes a warmth and complexity that draws the viewer in and invites them to stay a while. Read on for her gems of wisdom!

Make Earth Cool Again

Q: Comparing your early work from your first few years after college to your most recent pieces, you've kept a lot of the textural, playful essence of your style while refining certain elements. Has your process changed much since those early days, and if so, what do you now do differently?

A: Such a great question straight out of the gate! My process has changed quite a bit since I graduated in 2011 (almost a decade ago... yikes!). In college, part of my crafted identity as a brand-new illustrator was my traditional use of gouache paint. I actually, in all honestly, was kind of a snob about it, because so many people in our department worked solely digitally. I felt that digital painting was a crutch, which I suppose can be true in some cases, and possibly even more-so when you're applying that to college students, but I certainly had no ground to stand on. In reality, my snobbery kept me from learning critical tools, as I never took Photoshop or Illustrator classes, aside from the one that was required for graduation. This hindered my work a great deal outside of college, given that illustration is so often paired with graphic design, and editing work for clients was so much more difficult traditionally. In 2013, I got a job designing t-shirts, and lied to the company, saying I knew how to use Illustrator. Luckily it was remote, so I was able to teach myself without anyone hovering over me, but that was so foolish, looking back, given the expensive education I got at SCAD should have been my opportunity to learn those things. I introduced digital work more and more over the years, and by 2016 or so, I was primarily a digital artist. Gouache will always have a place in my heart, and I will still break out the tubes occasionally, but working digitally has allowed me to grow so much more as an illustrator, with the ability to edit, paint with more detail, and having more control over color and layering.

Q: Of all the projects you've done in your professional career, which would you say is closest to your heart?

A: Probably the picture book I worked on a couple of years ago, titled "Cool For You." I had a lot of creative freedom for that project, and the subject matter of climate change is personally very important to me. Working with the author, Marianna, was really wonderful, as well.

Cool For You book cover

Q: The Southwest influence on your work is pretty significant, and I think it's safe to assume you appreciate the majesty of the landscape in your region of the country. However, if you had to live in another state, which would you choose and why?

A: Funny you ask that, because I've actually considered moving from Texas to Colorado lately! The culture there is still very western, but I appreciate the liberal point of view (Texas has been grating on me lately, even living in Austin), and the landscape is even more stunning out there! I'd be close to so many inspiring National Parks. Plus, summers wouldn't be 8 months of the year and over 100 degrees for half of it!

Travel West postcard (1 of 6)

Q: TV shows or movies?

A: Lately, Jordan and I have been watching New Girl on repeat. I'm not usually one to watch a show or movie over and over again, but I think we really just needed something light and fun, since life has been so very stressful over the last year.

Q: What's your favorite subject to draw?

A: This one is hard! I'm torn between people and landscapes. People are more fun and comfortable for me, and I could knock out a bunch of them quickly. Landscapes are always intimidating, and I'm nervous the whole time, feeling like I can't remember how I did it the time before. It's so strange, because it always ends up fine! But since I feel that way, the payoff is so much greater when I feel satisfied with the final result.

Q: What would a perfect day look like for you? A: I probably would have answered this totally differently pre-COVID, but in this current world we live in, I would absolutely love to have what used to be a normal, uneventful weekend day for me: Jordan and I would sleep in a little, see an early afternoon movie at the Alamo Drafthouse where we'd eat lunch, then spend the rest of the afternoon browsing used book stores and estate sales, and then meet our friends at the neighborhood coffeehouse for dinner and Trivia Night. I will be so happy to have that again.

Cover art for East Side Magazine

Book Lover Ladies series- The Book Clubbers

Q: What have you learned from your years at Square Carousel, whether organizing behind the scenes or as a contributor?

A: Oooof!! So SO many things! Wow... well, I'll go with the most obvious first: as a member, I learned how to continue to make portfolio-worthy work, even without jobs coming in. That was definitely the most valuable thing about Square Carousel, in my opinion, and hopefully what everyone else got out of it, as well. It can be so hard for fresh graduates to keep up that momentum, and the group saved many of us from becoming stagnant. In terms of running the group... it's been rewarding, but honestly very difficult throughout the years. There have been many ups and downs, and finding the right balance between structure and patience can be extremely challenging. I'm super proud of Elizabeth and myself (OG members!) for keeping it running through the messes-- we've been through some shit together! My major takeaway is the importance of diligence. Projects, businesses, organizations-- they all need at least a couple of people who just keep chugging along, always maintaining the structure (schedule and accountability) and balance (rules and lighthearted encouragement).

Moth magnets

Q: As the readers are aware, Square Carousel drawing to a close soon. Do you have any plans for what you'll do with the extra time you'll have after our tri-weekly challenges end?

A: You know, I actually haven't thought about this too much yet. It's probably because I'll just fill it with more self-imposed projects and deadlines, since I was able to bring that skill I learned in Square Carousel into the rest of my career a while ago. (Or more real jobs! That would be ideal!) I'll miss the community though, and hope to find a way to keep that aspect of freelance life alive. Instagram friends, anyone?

Q: What's your quirkiest habit?

A: Jordan told me recently that he found it weird and endearing that I joke-sing to my cats in the kitchen about really stupid stuff... so probably that! Official Cat Lady© status achieved.

Caitlin and Buster Keaton the Kitten

Q: What advice would you give to a newbie illustrator just starting out today?

A: I'd give them the hard advice that our professors didn't really give us in school: there is no way this is going to work out for you if you're not incredibly committed to pursuing it. Now, don't get me wrong-- I'm not telling anyone to have an unhealthy work/life balance because I think that's a toxic sentiment. But you have to keep illustrating and illustrating and illustrating, and arguably more importantly, keep networking and networking and networking. You're going to be rejected or ghosted more often than not, but if you really want it to work out, you're going to keep doing it anyway. And taking critiques if industry folks offer them, to grow and become better. Don't become stagnant in those critical building years.

Caitlin’s studio

Q: Anything else you would like the readers to know?

A: Yes – thank you so much for supporting Square Carousel through our amazing ten years of challenges! We really appreciate everyone who has kept up with us, checking out the illustrations for each prompt and reading our posts and interviews. Y'all are wonderful, and we hope you'll continue to find us, wherever each of us fly from here! And on that sweet note, we say goodbye for now! Check out Caitlin’s website for more, and follow her on Instagram for new art when it drops.

Join us next time for our final interview!

#interview #caitlin alexander #illustrator #interviews #square Carousel #gouache #digital artist #artists on tumblr #artist interview #cba illustration

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youarejesting · 4 years

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Curse.6 The last batch

[First] [Masterlist] [Next] Beta: @lunarlxve, @sweetnspicy93 Rating: PG Pairing: Prince!Jin x Reader Genre: fantasy, romance, comedy, drama, mystery, and more good stuff

Summary: A modern-day fairy tale whereby seven young princes born under King Bang’s greed cannot find true love. Unless they break a special spell, called the ‘Bang curse’. In order to break the curse, Prince Seokjin must be loved by a ‘Blue’ blood, by a royal. That seems almost impossible when you have a pig nose. (based off the movie Penelope)

[Story Give Away]

The alarm on your phone was going off. The cursed Marimba pierced through your dreams with the same intensity it did your ears. You had come home late from the bar where you had barely made enough to cover rent and your bills. You weren't one to wake up before noon, you usually took night jobs as they paid more. You're sleep addled brain was trying to catch up to why you set your alarm so early today

Rolling over your back, you stretched and cracked each vertebrae into place. Opening a single eye, you attempted to read your phone screen and caught the alarm name through blurred vision. ‘Meet with Prince’. Snorting at the absurdity of such a name for an alarm and switched it off as quickly as possible, throwing the electronic device back onto the mattress, and nestling into the pillows to try to regain some of your lost sleep. At least that was the plan until your phone pinged.

Who the hell is texting you this early? Whoever it was, you were ready to give them a lengthy and highly inappropriate response. Sneering at your phone, you sat up with a guttural growl, your body teetering forward before you regained your balance, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Just a reminder to all the ladies for the group meeting, it is today at Nine Thirty please be there on time for paperwork. The meeting with the prince is at Ten.”

9:20

Realization fell over you, and you screamed, flailing out of bed, getting caught up in phone charger cords, blankets, and sheets. Crawling across the ground, you grabbed your closet doors, ripping them open and scrambling to grab the outfit you had picked out the night before. You paused, looking at the text, which told you to dress casually. You hummed, looking at the cute dress that would go well with the pink blazer. You instead chose a pair of ripped black jeans and a basic white Tee.

Pulling them on, you splashed on the quickest and simplest makeup grabbing your bag and running. You ran across town, arriving out the front of the palace and getting pulled behind a van. Fists raised ready to throw hands at your attacker, you turned to see a weird-looking man and a small young lady biting her nails behind him, eyeing off the palace. ��You are Suryeon, aren’t you?”

“What?” You shouted, lowering your fist as you remembered you were supposed to be pretending to be Suryeon to get a photo of the prince. “uh yeah. That’s me.”

“You wore that?” The young woman asked, eyeing your outfit incredulously like she couldn’t comprehend anyone wearing these clothes.

“It said to dress casually, so I did?” Looking over her designer trousers pressed perfectly and the luxury brand shirt and jacket, she undeniably looked better, like royalty.

“Well put the jacket on, and head in you are running late,” You slipped the jacket on, and he explained, “When you want to take a picture, this button on the inside hem at your hip will trigger the camera to take a picture. The camera is here in the pin on your lapel.”

“Got it, Let’s go” you turned and ran off towards the gates when you heard them calling your name; you ignored them, they both seemed crazy, and you didn’t want to linger around them too long. This was just work, a job and your only task was to get a photo of the eldest prince that no one had ever seen.

You arrived in the waiting room and took the clipboard flicked through and signed on the bottom of every page without care, you read the words on the final page as you wrote the date. ‘If you agree to the terms within the contract and the repercussions if they are breached, please sign on the final line’. That was clear, but the line was not, there were three lines. Everyone was handing their documents over and you sighed, and signed the very last line and handed it over walking in last.

Everyone was staring at you as you walked in there. There were a total of perhaps twenty females, including you and Adora, who told everyone to get comfortable while she went to take the files away and said the chat room will be opened soon. The door closed behind her, and you looked around to see everyone’s eyes on you. Spotting a spare seat on the four-person couch, you sat down politely, respecting everyone’s space.

The others were quick to stand up from their seats and walked away. One of the particularly rich-looking females sneered backing away from you as if you held her at gunpoint, “You have hair rollers in your hair?”

“Thank you for telling me,” You pulled the rollers free and shoved them in your bag.

“Cute bag, where did you get it?”

“The second-hand store,” you admitted before biting your lip regretting your words. “I like to dress like poor people, the street style, you wouldn’t understand. You don’t look like you are in the cool crowds, but it's all the new trends, the style you have is classified as grandmother style clothes compared to mine.”

They visibly squared their shoulders and glanced up from their phones suddenly all ears to this new trend. You walked around to the mirror, playing the room with your words trying to appear as wealthy and snobbish while dressed in absolute garbage compared. “Yeah, the trend is taking the ripped look to a whole new meaning. If you don’t look borderline homeless, you aren’t part of the cool crowd. I am only on the edge of cool because I am not ready to commit to such an extreme look.”

“The rollers are part of it, though. I had to trade my bejeweled ones for these because they were too fancy. You can try it if you want, the style is a poor leading lady. In dramas, they are always clumsy and messy, and they have the male lead come in and give them the makeover.” To say you were impressed was an understatement, the fact you had these women hanging on to every word you said. Perhaps you were a swindler in your past life. “If you want to marry a really wealthy man, the statistics say that the poorer and helpless the woman looks, they are more likely to go after them.”

“It makes them feel manly to provide for their woman, I am pretty sure in Hollywood they are calling it the ‘fixml’ which is like a side by side term they use for fixing up cars but means ‘Fix my love’. I wore the best with my rare one of only three made bags from this year's collection, and they shunned me. I had to learn quick” Seriously, you were making this up on the fly, perhaps you were an actor. This level of improvisation was amazing; you knew there were actors out there that wished for this skill.

One of the girls who looked really intrigued started inspecting your jeans commenting on how well it made you fit the ‘aesthetic’ and even let you put the rollers messily into her hair. You bluffed your way through it, telling her it accentuated certain parts of her face.

“You see how this roll out here shows the almost childlike nature and makes you appear more youthful if I had to guess your age before this, I would say twenty-eight,” her mouth fell into a frown. “With this look, I would say a cheeky twenty-two.”

The other girls joined in complimenting her and trying out certain looks in the mirror. Everyone received a link for the chat room, all talk ceased, and they were on their phones. You were staring at your phone and trying to get it to load. Your phone was older and took longer to load up.

You were walking around the room trying to get some signal to help the app download quicker, the girls starting to murmur about the prince, your hand extended and you bumped into the side table. Your fingers curled around the nearest object to regain balance but soon you lost it and fell behind the couch taking the vase with you.

There was a series of high pitched screams, each blood curdling and made you freeze behind the couch. Was this all a trap, lure women in with money and then kidnap them? Was the eldest prince a serial killer and had women brought to the castle for him to slaughter?

“Ah I promised I wouldn’t scare them away, I promised I would take this seriously.” The voice was kind of soft and sad. Whatever it was, the women had run off, the door shutting behind them. Peeking over the couch, the room was empty of the women, but there was a retreating figure. You had never thought there was any meaning to the term ‘prince figure’ but if there was a perfect example, this was it. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist, proportions other men would kill for, and women dreamed of in a man.

So why did they run away, a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner swinging shut. Leaving you with just another mirror. You walked over to it and tried to see through the glass. There was no way to open it from this side, once it was closed. Or at least no obvious way to an outsider like yourself. The phone in your hand pinged a number of times, indicating that you had received the messages you had missed before all the ladies had run out.

You sat on the couch, promptly lying across the cushions, reading through the texts sent between the ladies and the prince. You were prepared some unsolicited pictures of the prince. Something discriminating against him, there had to be something wrong; otherwise, there was something wrong with the ladies you had met today. Why would you run from such perfection?

Even his voice was charming and beautiful, you wondered what he looked like. Imagining dark eyes and hair like his brothers wondering if you should try to Photoshop the brother’s faces together and try to come up with a face that felt right. Suddenly you wanted to see his face not for the photo, not for the money but simply to feed your curiosity.

It was when you started to read the messages from the rude women demanding that he show his face, and accusing him of being the ugly brother, some spouting past rumors that had once spread through the town that he was deformed or a cripple. You could almost imagine the voice you had heard earlier, getting frustrated, adopting a more clipped tone.

You reached the end, and all you could see was Adora, the woman running the meet going off at the prince for his behavior You couldn’t help but laugh at his response. “They made me mad ‘dora seriously you try being locked up all your life and have people spouting rumors about your cognitive ability and lack of limbs” You laughed at his words, you had felt the same way whilst reading the texts, empathizing with the prince.

I decided to text him, show him some form of friendship. It must really suck to be locked away, never being able to hang out or have fun with friends. You honestly thought it was King Bang’s paranoia that had him locked away in fear that his eldest, who was to provide him with heirs and take the throne, would be killed.

But what would you send, you would have to think of an appropriate opening line for text. As you lounge on the sofa that was bigger and felt softer than your single thin foam mattress you had on the floor of your apartment. You called yourself a minimalist, but really money had just gotten tight, and you had to sell everything.

Pausing between potential texts, you looked around spotting a gold candelabra, which would probably be worth a lot of money, but you shook your head. You just had to get a photo of the prince, and then you would get paid.

Turning back to your phone, you started the text.

Tags: @knjkitten @wystfulaster @unadulteratedlyunique @sungiesangel @btsanonus @moccahobi @cloud-sitting @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @bluehairedotakugem

[Story Give Away]

How can I Read / Receive updates later?

Follow and turn on notifications so you never miss an update

Add your username to a tag list [HERE]

Reblog this post with the hashtag #SeokjinCurse

Or you can like this post (but good luck trying to find it a week later, we both know how many things you like a day, perhaps we will meet again in the future.)

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currentfandomkick · 4 years

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Bio! Dad Strange Part 9

Jason returns, may be a 2 parter to cover tim getting kidnapped and the aftermath. Will let you know at the end. We are getting to Marinette dealing with Ladybugging soon.

Marinette wasnt sure what to think this year. She met The Barry Allen last year. She also figured out 2 heroes pre-flash revelation and two more after—in her defense Hero Stalker’s old theory on The first Robin did Batman in. it is not her fault 5 founding members have the multiple-persona game of a booger.

She was also Tetch (Mad Hatter. Doesnt deserve the name) and Mr. J’s, Jerimah’s, last victim before they died. Then some idiots revived Jerimah. She hates his cult a lot, okay.

Everyone was on high alert and trying to keep her inside. The thing is, she hates being inside. She’s inside for designing, sure. Research? She’ll live.

But 24/7 inside time?

Never a good combo with her.

Rose’s plants may be snitches, but they seemed to agree on the over coddling. She’s ten, can break phones by tapping them, and is defiantely more off her stickers than on at the moment.

The one on her was uring her into some alleyway. If she was reading the movement pattern right, a gang fight.

Lovely, she usually did these with some sort of supervision but they were all being rude and she needed time outside.

She checked her belt, a few pairs of ball weights tied together with one chain each to make bolas clipped to back. She has a taser in hand, and a few rubber bullet loaded gun on one hip and a stun gun her size in the other. She had a packet of zipties and rope up each sleeve. Easy to giftwrap and humiliate bad people, like Batman does.

She blinked once when she saw—new player? In a bright red full face helmet that looks horrible. And he’s holding that gun make all wrong to max out usage. Ugh, amatuers.

Some part of her groaned about a potential run-in with Batman and his new Robin—she was pissed about Tim not telling her still—and decided this was as good an anger management as any. New vigilante, maybe the sirens would help him find a team.

She snuck up behind a few members, quick to grab the guns and move them out of reach. No need to give anyone playing possum an easy out, right—she saw a mix of her people in with the gang. She needed to teip this guy up before he hurt the RKC street kids and honoraries tangled up in this.

“Hey helmet, if you’re gonna shoot them you’re holding the gun wrong.”

Helmet turned to see her. She didnt grab her usual harley-knock off outfit for helping today. She wanted to be Pixie Pop for a bit. And if the Rogues forgot that she’s Pixie well, better for her, right? Pixie just wore her hair like Tinkerbell and wore a bit of green.

The guy he was aiming at made to run.

Marinette grabbed a makeshift bolas and threw it at his knees. She recognized him from one of the RKC hit lists—human trafficker. He fell with them wrapped around tight and defiantely injured bith his knees with how the weights hit him.

“I, Pixie Pop?” Weird, no one had seen her as Pixie in two years. How’d he know it was her?

“Yeah. Havent been around much lately.” She threw another bola at another guy. “You new?”

“Talk after i kill these guys.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, because really?

She threw a knife to screw his aim into non-lethal on one guy. “Kick their ass first, some RKC are in here.”

Helmet oddly did as she said, switching from guns to—is that. A. Sword?

She twisted to punch the guy sneaking up on her. Helmet threw a sword and landed it in his shoulder.

“Thanks!”

“Holy shot you’re really here this time.”

“Did you get hit with feargas as a baby or something?” Her partner being prone to dellusions and good with weapons was a bad thing.

“Just came back from the dead is all.”

marinette hit the guy going for helmet with her stun gun.

“That’ll do it!”

Helmet turned to one of the guys, gun at the ready. She had a feeling Helmet needed a lot of help, or else one of Rose’s agents would be down.

“If you know about pixies, you should know she got an upgrade to having some trust dust.”

Marinette walked over to the guy, letting her tracker plant take a look. The flower bloomed and he got a face full of ‘filter-less pollen’ that’s as close to a truth serum as Rose could make. After all, people can turn sides.

“Truth pollen?” Helmet was staring at her closely.

“Yep.” Marinette turned to her victim. “Are you helping the traffickers?”

“Does infiltration and killing them count as helping?”

Helmet stared at them then.

“Which team?”

“HKT ma’am. How did you get rose to give you one of those?”

“Think for a minute who she gives these to.”

“Comanding officers of the the RKC reconn and interigation but there’s only 15 and i met them all when i joined in the fall.”

“Im the summer help when theyre not puppy gaurding. Now, i have to do zipties on the traffickers, think you can help?”

“I lost coordination from the pollen.”

“Of course you did.”

Marinette turned to see Helmet staring at her. Like she should be dead, not the new revival guy.

“Good enough.”

“I thought only Poison Ivy could do things like that.”

“I have a badass team, well, when they aren’t going overboard. One week kidnapped and suddenly im made of glass.”

“Pixie you are what, ten?”

“So? Two of my best friends went missing becuase no one stepped up, one of them resurfaced as an idiot a year later but still.”

Helmet stopped then. “Two?”

“Hero stalker went after our big brother vanished.. he came back as an idiot.”

Helmet paused. “Hey, you check the others and i’ll help you drop off the good ones at a doctor or something.”

“Zipties are at the ready. Mind doing your share?”

Helmet did as she asked, working with her until all was squared away.

“Okay, my tracker gave off a signal to the RKC to gather our guys here, and—why are bleeding?”

Helmet looked up at her then. “I am?”

“... you’re coming with me since i dont know if you need a transfusion, but i know a guy who can help.”

“I’m driving.”

“On what?”

“Motorcycle.”

Marinette let him walk her to it, and she got on first. He ‘drove’ them while the plant told her when to turn. They ended up at her dad’s clinic as ‘Mr. Smith’. He was so grounding her.

“Smith, i need help,” she tried.

Her dad came out and paled when he saw her carrying Helmet. Before he passed out he let her take it off. “Red hoodie... oh god he said he was revived.”

Her father worked out the blood bags while she checked the wound, bullet still in there. She got it out with tweezers. No major damage to the muscles and shit. How many scars did he have? Pre or post revival?

When he came to she turned to her father and said one thing.

“So this is my new brother. Dont try to get out of it, he kept me alive when i was comstantly pixie, and you said if he was in a bad place then you’d take him in, no questions asked.”

Strange sighed, nodded, and went back to fixing Helmet up.

The next day he was forced moved into an extra room by hers. Somehow there was already clothes his size and style in it.

“Pixie...”

“Im determined and my honorary aunt is a cat burglar.”

Helmet hugged her.

“So for the documents, what do you want to go by?”

Helmet said he didnt want it to be obvious, given who he was before.

“Its not like you were robin.”

“I was.”

“.... i know two robins now, pre-robining. What is my life?”

“ you are ten, calm down. And you knew dick?”

“Met him as Nightwing, not very friendly. But uh, remember hero stalker?”

“The idiot who followed me and B?”

“Yeah, so funny thing, it was a thing that he wanted to be Robin when you went off from Gotham, and then he somehow managed to convince bats to take him on.”

“That Child is Robin.”

“Will be another hero soon if he knows what’s good for him—he’s too easy to make.”

“Wait, you know who he is-is or—”

“I know 5 secret identities and want to lodge a formal complaint about heroes having no secret identity game.”

“Youre ten. I refuse to let you deal with legal things.”

“But illegal is still on the table?”

“I am a vigilante, of course it is.”

“Good, so can we tlak about how dumb Supes secret id is? I photoshoped glasses on as a joke and looked at my file and knew.”

“Wait have they found you yet?”

“No? I dont think so. Not the mom and step dad or father one yet.”

“But its.”

“I know, but i can keep multiple secret identities. They cant handle one. What is this bull they drop in my lap? No masks for two of them, and the three with cant even manage a basic gait switch?”

“I am so glad you noticed too.”

“Also we need to intervene with Hero Stalker.”

“Does your father know-know or...”

“Knows i know, but knows im not telling even in death.”

“Fair. So, heads up i am going to yell at the JL after killing B for impact.”

“How about beating him up instead and kidnapping Hero Stalker? Bats is fine just needs an adult working with him.”

“Maybe. If my mind wasnt so fucked i’d send the Dick a text or something about this, but i think he hates me so that probably wouldnt work.”

“We have planning time, that’s what my house arrest is good for. Now name.”

“... i want to go by Jay.”

“James work?”

“Sure.”

“James “Jay” Smith then. And we are fixing your vilagante outfit.”

“What’s wrong with it.”

“Your helmet has a nose. And the who this is shit for discreet armour. I’ll get a rant in fifteen on armor history from a fashion obsessed friend and make something for you using that, ok?”

“Do i have a choice?”

“I am your little sister offically. resistance is futile.”

—

So the long awaited return of Red Hoodie/Red Hood/Jason Todd.

For refrence (as age is weird here) Jason looks 14/15 here, but due to dead years is technically 18

Tim is 12

Marinette is 10

Dick is 20something.

Bruce is 30something

Heads up, this will be a two parter for this summer. As i love the next part but need sleep.

@ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @emeraldpuffguide @dast218 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5

#maribat #maribat au #ml au #my au #my idea #marinette strange dupain cheng #marinette strange dupain cheng part 9 #bio! dad au #bio!dad strange #bio!dad au #this was so long guys #jason is back though #next one is chaos and tag-teaming and so much #its a ride and then we get ladybugging after

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sariahsue · 5 years

Text

The Open Line - Chapter Nine, Claws and Bugs

Ladybug knows that if it weren’t for Adrien, she would have fallen for Cat Noir, hard and fast. And when Oblivio takes her memory, she does just that. Able to keep her memory after the Oblivio incident but still unaware of Cat Noir’s real identity, Ladybug must deal with her growing feelings for her partner, who is desperately trying to win her over. (Rated PG.)

Read Chapter One Here Reach Chapter Eight Here

***

Adrien was normally quick to hop out of bed in the morning, eager for school and to see his friends, but today he laid in bed for nearly twenty minutes, staring at the picture Ladybug had sent him. (He'd printed it and kept it under his pillow all night. Plagg had made fun of him.) Adrien was determined to have it memorized by the time he left for school.

Ladybug had made sure to hide personal details and belongings from view. There were no hints to her identity, but she hadn't been able to hide the pink wall she'd taped the picture to. Pink. Her room was painted pink. Was that her favorite color? Should he get her pink flowers? She also hadn't hidden her pink bedspread. Her bed! Not only had she hung up his picture, but she'd put it next to her BED. Was it the first thing she saw that morning? Had she been staring at it as she'd fallen asleep last night?

A loud knock on the door gave him a half-second warning to hide the picture under his blanket before Nathalie came marching in. She didn't even look at him before she began listing off his schedule for the day, which was packed. "Your father expects you downstairs promptly. You both will be very busy today, and he doesn't want any delays."

"Yes, Nathalie. I'll be right down." As soon as she left the room, he lunged for the photo. Breakfast could wait, so he sank into his pillows and forgot about Nathalie and her schedules, holding the photo high above his head this time, to get a new angle.

There was light shining directly onto Ladybug's bedroom wall, though he couldn't see its source. That probably meant she had a lamp close by. Did she read before falling asleep? What was her favorite book?

The best part of her message last night was definitely the caption she'd added. "Got to have a picture of my favorite partner on display!" It was silly. It shouldn't make him so happy. He was her only partner, but he had never been called anyone's favorite anything before. He repeated her words to himself as he finally got ready for the day.

He skipped down the stairs, ten minutes late for breakfast, only to be greeted by a scowl.

"Did Nathalie tell you I expected your punctuality?" his father asked. Even from Gabriel's spot at the far end of the table, Adrien could feel the open disappointment, almost anger. But Ladybug's words kept him insulated and safe.

"Yes," Adrien said. "But I didn't know-"

"And you chose to disrespect her direction and my time because?"

"Uh..." Because Ladybug said he was her favorite! She didn't push him away when he kissed her! "I guess I was... tired?"

"I see," Gabriel said, picking up his plate has he rose from the table. "I had hoped to spend some time with my son, but as he places such a low value on me, I will be finishing my meal in my office." Gabriel swept past him and was gone.

"If he'd told me he was going to be here..."

"His loss," Plagg said from his pocket. "Hey, we could always go back to bed. I think there's a certain wheel of cheese calling my name and a certain picture calling yours."

"Nice try." Adrien grabbed his plate and walked toward the front door. It was odd, how bad he didn't feel about his father's behavior. It was unfortunate, but it couldn't damage his good mood. He was Ladybug's favorite! She'd let him kiss her hand like six times last night!

Remembering that got him through a grueling day. Nathalie hadn't been exaggerating when she said he'd be busy. School was full of tests and Chloe's drama, all made harder by his sleep deprivation. Double fencing left him exhausted. Then there was a photoshoot. And finally, piano lessons, where he was berated for his "obvious lack of practice and respect for the piano as an instrument and an art form."

"I'd like to see him work in practicing around all the akumas I have to fight."

"Or all the daydreaming about Ladybug," Plagg added. It was amazing how much of Adrien's pillow he was taking up. Plagg was spread out, basking in a square of sunshine. One eye was cracked open, so he could see what kind of effect his teasing had.

"I'm not that bad."

"You sure?"

"Scoot over." Adrien flopped face-first onto his bed, already reaching for the photo. It was a relief to have his room to himself again. He was nearing his physical limits, and he had past his people limit a long time ago. Well, people that weren't Ladybug. He wished there was a patrol scheduled tonight. Having pictures of her was nice, but nothing could compare to the comfort of her presence.

The door swung open, and Plagg dove out of sight while Adrien scrambled to his feet to face his visitor. Seeing Gabriel twice on the same day was a rare occurrence, and normally Adrien would have been glad for the attention, but his father's face was even more sour than it had been that morning.

"The photographer sent me the raw images of today's shoot, Adrien. Your work was subpar."

Adrien's mouth twitched. He did not have the energy for this. "It's just the raws," Adrien said. "They're going to Photoshop it anyway."

"You can't airbrush failure. Your performance was unacceptable."

"Maybe it shouldn't have been scheduled after two hours of fencing, then. I was tired." His words hung in the air between them, but Adrien wouldn't have taken them back even if he could have. He was too tired. Too tired of being pushed around today, too tired of being everyone's disappointment.

"You will not be practicing with your band on Saturday."

"But they're counting on me to be there! I've missed the last four-"

Gabriel steamrolled over him. "You will be spending your newly freed time to practice your piano. I met your teacher on his way out, and he tells me your skill is quickly deteriorating."

Adrien folded his arms and looked away.

"I can see this is getting too much for you," Gabriel said softly.

Adrien dared to hope that his father was finally understanding him, that he would be removing some of his burdensome lessons or shoots, but he should have known better. It made Gabriel's next words cut deeper.

"If your performance – and your attitude – do not improve, we will be returning to homeschooling."

Even as he left the room, it felt like Gabriel's claws closed in around Adrien. No band on Saturday. That was expected. It seemed like his father would use any excuse to keep him from going. But no school? The last time he'd threatened that had been ages ago. And if he were being monitored by a tutor at home all day, it would be so much harder to slip away if an akuma attacked. No band, no school, no Cat Noir.

Adrien threw himself on the piano bench in frustration and started playing. Let his father hear him practice. Let him think that his son was cooperative and submissive.

"Ah, don't worry," Plagg said, floating over. He'd retrieved Ladybug's picture from underneath the pillow, and it dangled between his paws. "He'll forget about everything in a few days. Just watch." He set the photo on top of Adrien's music.

"Just let me play," Adrien said, shifting the picture aside to see the music. "I want him to think he's won." Plagg was trying to be helpful, and he appreciated the gesture, but he needed to see the real thing. A photo wasn't enough anymore.

"Why?"

"So he won't check on me again." Don't think. Just play. Then see Ladybug.

Don't feel.

This plan only lasted fifteen minutes until Adrien couldn't stand to be in his own house any longer. It would have to be enough. He was jumping through the window before he'd even finished transforming, into the first truly cold night of October. The city was misty and dreary, which didn't match his mood. He wanted a thunderstorm.

Sixteen blocks away from his house, he finally stopped to contact Ladybug. It rang, and rang and rang, until it went to her inbox. Even though he knew there was no point, that she wasn't transformed, he tried again. And again. The weather turned menacing.

When he finally gave up - without leaving a message - he wasn't sure what to do next. There was nowhere he could really go. There was no one who really wanted him around. So he wandered, buffeted by the wind and getting soaked to the bone, trying not to remind himself that because he was Ladybug's only partner, he was also her least favorite.

"She never said that," he told himself firmly. "That wasn't what she meant." Alone and abandoned in the rain, it was hard to believe he'd had a reason to be happy that morning.

Water and wind eventually drove him to find shelter. The Notre Dame was big enough to hide him, tall enough that he wouldn't be able to hear the people and cars below him. The enormous roof was made out of wood and had many eaves and ledges he where he could sit and be alone, but when he sat down, he found that the spot was already taken.

"Figures," he said. A swarm of ladybugs huddled there for warmth. "You're not the one I want right now." He settled down anyway and stayed there, unmoving, for he didn't know how long. Long enough that tourists returned to their hotels and street lights flickered on. Long enough for the bugs to realize he was a much better heat source than the wooden rafters and start to crawl over him instead. His only friends.

"It's a sign," he said, looking down at himself. "Soon she'll want me just as much as you all do."

"Who are you talking to?"

"Ladybug!" She'd come! And just like that, his heart hurt a little less. "Would you like to meet my friends?" He motioned to the little insects crawling over his knees.

Droplets of water hit his legs as she wrung out her hair. "They can't get enough of you," she noted, sitting down next to him. The ledge was wide and sheltered from the wind, just big enough for the both of them.

"So you were jealous and came to get a piece of the action?"

"Ha. Funny. I checked the Ladyblog a few minutes ago and saw reports that you've been up here for hours, sulking."

"Oh, uh..." Should he tell her? Should he try to cover it up? Play it off? He didn't want her to think he couldn't handle something as stupid as a bad day. She would be disappointed in him too, just like everyone else, and he would do anything to avoid that.

But Ladybug saw through his hesitation. "Your dad again?"

Cat Noir sighed and then nodded. "Today's been kind of awful." It was a relief to tell the truth. And an even bigger relief that he didn't have to say it himself.

"I'm sorry," she said, leaning against him, lending him her support with her presence.

They didn't talk much. Ladybug brushed bugs off his shoulders and hands, and stroked his hair whenever she thought he needed a distraction from the gloom that waited for him beyond their island of tranquility.

"I wish I'd gotten here sooner," she said over an hour later. "We're partners. I hate the idea of you facing tough stuff by yourself, even if it's not an akuma."

"You could always give me your number, Bugaboo," he joked. "I tried calling your yoyo earlier, but you weren't transformed."

He expected an eye roll and a lecture on keeping civilian and super lives separate, so he wasn't quite sure what to make of it when she looped her arm through his and hummed thoughtfully. Was she actually considering it? He'd said it as a joke!

But she lapsed back into silence without really answering, and the hope her reaction had ignited was quickly extinguished in the gloom that engulfed the rest of the city. Of course she wasn't going to give him her number. She was more willing to spend time with him, more generous with her touches because she knew he was upset, but that was it. There was no indication that it would ever be more than that, and he shouldn't get his hopes up.

They spent another half hour in silence, until Ladybug got up with a grimace. "We can't stay out late two nights in a row."

"Yeah, I should get back. Before someone misses me." Miss him? Ha. Like that would happen.

"I have an idea," she said, holding a hand out to help him up. "And I think you'll really like it."

"What's that?" Once on his feet, Cat Noir didn't let her hand go. Neither, he noticed, did she.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, if I can figure out the details."

"We don't have patrol tomorrow, though."

"Oh, well, we could- that is..."

She paused and looked shyly away, and Cat Noir felt his feeble hope burn back to life. This was something new. Scheduling to meet up outside of patrols? It was unprecedented. It couldn't be...

"Would you meet me anyway?"

"Of course, LB. I would love to."

"Ten at the Tower?"

"Sure."

It was happening. It was honestly, truly happening. They were planning to meet, not because the city needed them, or because he was having a bad day, or on accident. Just because she wanted to spend time with him.

Ladybug beamed, then pushed herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek before saying in a rush, "Hope you feel better. See you tomorrow. Bye!"

As soon as she was out of sight, Cat Noir did a little dance on the ledge. But the ledge wasn't big enough, and on his second pirouette, he lost his balance and fell off. Laughing, he waited until the very last second to save himself, but even that rush couldn't compare to the high his Lady had just given him.

Read Chapter Ten Here

***

Author's note: This story is officially a "Notre Dame Cathedral Didn't Burn Down" AU. I'm a writer. I can make reality whatever I want, and I want that building to not have burned.

I had a lot of obstacles to getting this chapter done for tonight, and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to. I had to push myself to get this done in time, but I'm happy that I did! Next week, back to Marinette. Let's see what SHE makes out of her own behavior!

#ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #ladynoir july

135 notes · View notes

taexual · 5 years

Text

HOLIC - 21 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angst + strong language

words: 4k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

prev / next

You woke up the next morning, knowing very well that the apartment was empty without having to get out of bed to check. Everything just felt different when Jaebum wasn’t here with you; emptier, even, somehow. Even if the two of you haven’t gone to sleep fighting, you still felt lonely in the apartment without him but in today’s case, your confusing exchange last night certainly made everything feel worse.

Forcing yourself out of bed – because you craved water after all the drinking last night – you checked the time on your phone and were surprised to see that it was well after ten in the morning. Since it was Sunday today, you didn’t put it past Jaebum to go out jogging early in the morning, but he should have been back by now.

Not wanting to think that he was avoiding you again – maybe staying out with his friends was starting to become like second nature to him and he was this close to actually moving out of this apartment – you focused on preparing your breakfast instead. However, you didn’t have any plans today and you could only stay focused on corn flakes for so long before you got distracted by the most useless stuff – this time, it was a new notification on your phone.

It was just a tweet that one of your favorite artists had just posted, but your heart rate already picked up. You couldn’t lie to yourself; you were absolutely hoping it was going to be a text from Jaebum but, of course, it was something else. You should have known how unlikely it was for him to text you right now.

Ever since you went out to see Jiho and ended up at Mark’s bar, Jaebum had been acting weird. Starting with his random burst of anger when you mentioned hanging out with Mark, and ending with his seemingly pointless statement about how you and Mark were “friends” last night, you were more confused than ever.

Kiera’s words from last night replayed in your head – she thought that Jaebum might have been acting weird around you because he was uncomfortable with you knowing so much about him—and his friends—and perhaps she was right – but, even though Kiera’s observations made sense 95% of the time, you had a feeling that Jaebum fell into the remaining 5% category.

You couldn’t figure him out and you were living with him – and sometimes it seemed as though Jaebum couldn’t figure his feelings out himself – so there was virtually no chance of Kiera knowing better. Then again, perhaps you’d been blinded by your constant arguments and your—as much as you hated to admit it—budding feelings for him, so you couldn’t see the situation clearly. Not to mention, you’d already come up with so many theories of why he was the way he was, it was starting to become difficult to find the real him -- the Jaebum that you were perhaps yet to fully meet.

And while it always upset you to realize that even after seeing him every day since you moved in together, you still barely knew the real him, what was truly annoying about this situation was that your job was, essentially, to capture people’s emotions. To understand them. You were a photographer – well, you wanted to be one but, clearly, it was taking some time since you haven’t been able to find the time to photograph anything lately – and you always thought you were somewhat good at reading people’s faces. And you failed profoundly when it came to recognizing what Jaebum was feeling.

It was hurtful and unfair that you had to try to hard so figure Jaebum out – while your emotions always showed on your face as clear as day – but perhaps you—and the hidden masochist inside of you—enjoyed the continuous pain he caused you by being cryptic and refusing to talk to you. Maybe just like Jaebum, who – at least, according to Suji; although God knew how much you could have trusted her words – was attracted to people who could “put him in his place” or he was going to get bored, you were also attracted—and intrigued—by the mystery surrounding your roommate.

At the end of the day, it was clear that Jaebum never let people in and you basically forced your way into his life with a damn sledgehammer. Perhaps you’d really left him no choice but to open up to you and now he was slowly distancing himself from you because he wasn’t actually ready for you to enter his life like that.

The saddest thing was, you weren’t sure if he’d ever be ready for you and you absolutely weren’t sure if falling into the mystery that was Jaebum wasn’t going to kill you.

And there went your corn flakes. You could never focus on anything else; Jaebum always lingered in your mind.

Since you assumed Jaebum was with Jackson again – therefore, it was very likely that he was recording his music – you figured you could use this alone time to catch up on your own photography that you’ve neglected because you were too busy dealing with Suji. And Jiho. And, honestly, everyone.

Because you haven’t taken any new pictures recently – for shame; you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve gone this long without photographing anything – you were stuck digging out old ones, especially the ones you’ve chosen to ignore for the time being as you weren’t able to fix the coloring in a way that you would have liked.

Having nothing better to do, you arranged yourself – and your laptop – into a comfortable position on your bed – anticipating the inevitable back pain – and then turned Photoshop on. To ensure that, this time, the thoughts about your roommate did not interrupt your semi-productive mood, you put your headphones on and started a playlist of old favorites to distract yourself from anything that was going on in your life at the moment, and to take your mind back in time instead.

The music seemed to work like a spell and you found yourself humming along as you toyed with your pictures, slowly drifting away from reality and allowing your unconscious mind to do most of the editing for you – this used to be your favorite state when you were in university; just dissociating until real-life problems called for you again.

You never liked to listen to music on full volume because you never owned headphones that wouldn’t make loud songs sound like the screeching of a pregnant cat, but today you needed to tune out the sound of your thoughts, so you were listening to music louder than usually. And that is precisely why you didn’t hear the door of the apartment close and the door of your bedroom open.

Since you weren’t expecting Jaebum to come home while you were still awake – you knew of his tendency to avoid his problems, he’s shown it to you quite a few times before – you were absolutely horrified to see him standing by your bed, watching the screen of your laptop.

Squealing in surprise, you nearly tossed your laptop at him as you threw your headphones off.

“Jesus Christ, would you knock?!” you yelled, trying to calm yourself down while Jaebum snickered – what an unexpected sound – and sat down on your bed, nodding his head in the direction of your abandoned computer.

“Did you take those?” he asked, obviously meaning the pictures you’d been editing.

You were still recovering from the shock of seeing him home but now you were left wondering what had gotten into him – after days of cryptic responses to all of your questions, he was now striking up a proper conversation with you? That boy needed help.

“I did,” you told him, keeping a wary eye on him in case he burst out again. “Why?”

“They’re beautiful,” he said, repositioning your laptop so he could see better and then, even taking it as far as using your mouse to click on a specific picture – the one that showed the reflection of the city lights on the glass of a dark window. “I like this, where did you take it?”

“My old campus,” you said, leaning in closer to him to see the picture in question. “I used to take most of my pictures there before I ran out of spots to photograph and had to look elsewhere.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, clicking through other pictures – it didn’t upset you much even if he was doing this without your permission. “Oh, this one’s good. Really good. Could you send it to me? I’d love to have it on my phone.”

Surprised – no one’s asked you to send them a picture you’ve taken if it wasn’t a picture of them – you glanced at the screen of your laptop and were confused to see one of your much earlier pictures, taken almost immediately after you bought your newest camera that you’d been using for three years now. The picture, actually, wasn’t anything special: it was a shot of your shadow—the only distinguishable shadow in the dark picture—surrounded by various darker, rectangular shadows—the buildings behind you—and a small puddle of water—reflecting the street light above—in the spot where your heart was supposed to be.

“You like it?” you asked somewhat awkwardly. Not only had he chosen a picture you took when you weren’t as confident in your photographing abilities, but it was also a picture that literally had a part of you in it.

“Yes,” Jaebum nodded. “Does it have a title?”

You pulled away from him before continuing. You never felt confident about the titles you gave your pictures – they all seemed to make no sense when you said them out loud – and you were even more insecure now that you were in the presence of someone who essentially lived on words, being a songwriter and all.

“Alive,” you ended up saying. “That’s the title I gave it when I took it in about three years ago. It sounds stupid now – why would a lonely puddle in the place of a heart symbolize someone’s life – but—”

“I think it’s beautiful,” he stopped you, zooming in on the picture. “I love the idea behind it and I think the title fits the mood of the picture, too. Will you send it to me?”

Swallowing, you decided that now was the time to confront him about what’s been going on with him these past few days.

“I will,” you promised. “If you answer one question.”

Jaebum wasn’t expecting this but he merely shrugged. “Sure. What is it?”

“What’s been going on?” you asked and, after noticing that confusion started to slowly descend upon his features, proceeded to explain, “I-I mean you’ve been really cold to me out of the blue, and I know you’re generally not a warm person — and we’re not best friends or anything – but this was, well, unusual. And I know you know what I mean because you almost told me what was wrong last night but then… you shut me out again.”

You looked away from him in the middle of your explanation, despising the neediness in your voice. If he was going to remark about how you shouldn’t have been “waiting up for him” like he’s written in his note before, you swore you were going to hurl the first heavy thing you found at him. Because you’d looked away, however, you did not see Jaebum look away from you as well – masking the guilt that flashed across his face once he heard you speak out about the way he’s treated you.

“Yeah, uh…” he started to speak and then cleared his throat, thinking of what to say next. “This obviously isn’t something I want to talk about.”

“Obviously,” you agreed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Right,” Jaebum took another long pause before finally saying, “I actually wanted to apologize about all of that. Mark – I sort of talked to him on the phone today, he’s a lot more level-headed than I am – let me know how big of an asshole I’ve been to you, so, yeah, uh… I’m sorry.”

You appreciated the apology – and made a mental note to thank Mark because, obviously, he must have found a way to subtly approach Jaebum about the issues you’ve mentioned at the bar last night – but before you could say anything, Jaebum continued.

“I don’t want to constantly complain about the same things,” he started to say and then cleared up, “not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just prefer not being a nuisance to other people—”

“You’re not a—okay, maybe you’re a little bit of a nuisance,” you said, earning a small smile from him that almost made you believe that his explanation was going to make sense and the two of you were going to move past this and return to another calm period of your lives, however short-lived it would be. “But it’s not like I’m much better. I’m fine with listening to you complain if that means you’re actually talking to me.”

After a quiet moment – God, did your words sound too much like a compliment? Should you have said something else to lower his ego? – Jaebum’s smile completely disappeared and you knew he was back to business. His serious expression unsettled you, somehow, and it felt as though you knew what he was going to talk about before he even opened his mouth. There was really only one thing that nearly ruined his life, after all – what else would he complain about continuously?

“I went through this thing with Suji,” Jaebum started, “she’d always tag along whenever I went out with my friends. She was all over them and most of them liked her because—well, you know why. She had something about her that fooled you and pulled you in. She always insisted on coming to see my friends with me, and before long, I was starting to suffocate with her everywhere. I had even asked her to stay home so I could have a guys’ night out once, and she still showed up at the club.”

You wanted to know more about his relationship with her but, at the same time, you were struggling to understand how Jaebum’s coldness to you related to his ex-girlfriend. However, after remembering everything he’s asked you – “how long have you been hanging out with Mark without me?” – you were slowly starting to see what his point was.

“Hold on for a moment,” you stopped him. “Are you—do you think I’m doing this, too? Do you think I’m trying to—I don’t know—corrupt your friends somehow, too? Steal them from you, even?”

“I—no,” he said and then sighed. “I don’t know. I just know that I’ve already been in a position where my friends had to pick sides before and I don’t want to go through that again. And, you know, I’ve already experienced someone take over my life for me. I know we talked about you dealing with Suji already but that still happened. And I-I get that our situation is different now, we moved on from that, and I moved on from Suji, but sometimes the lines blur for me.”

“The lines blur,” you repeated, your pulse quickening. “So, essentially what you’re saying is that, sometimes, you think I’m just like Suji?”

“No,” Jaebum was quick to realize how big was the pile of shit that he’s just stepped – or, flung himself – into, really. He closed his eyes for a moment, regretting opening his mouth as if staying quiet and shutting you out – as you’ve put it – would have worked out better. A minute later, he continued, “I’m just saying that I—maybe I get a little insecure about this sometimes. I talked to Mark about you today and he was the one who told me I was being unfair to you by expecting you to do the same things Suji’s done, so I realize it was wrong of me to—”

“—to compare me to your so-called psycho ex-girlfriend?” you finished for him. “Yeah, I’d say that was wrong.”

Every word he said only seemed to make this worse. Jaebum had absolutely no clue how to communicate with anyone without ruining everything, but he still tried – although he was slowly starting to forget why he even bothered.

“I’m not comparing you to her,” he said. “But you have to understand where I’m coming from. You know—better than anyone—about the kind of shit I had to experience with her, so, forgive me for being cautious so history wouldn’t repeat itself.”

“History wouldn’t—what the fuck, Jaebum?” you got up from the bed, no longer feeling comfortable sitting so close to him while he looked for parallels between you and his ex. “You didn’t know me for very long, sure, but didn’t I ever show you that I’m actually, you know, a completely different person from Suji? We’re both girls – and that’s as far as our common features go.”

“You’re—”

“I know I met up with her to get her to leave you alone, and I get that I shouldn’t have done that because it’s not my business – I’m not expecting your gratitude for that – but, shit, I didn’t do it to take over your life! I did it because I was looking out for you in whatever messed up way I could manage,” you continued, noticing how he covered his face with his hands, only getting more frustrated. “I understand your insecurities but, for fuck’s sake, have I not shown enough of my support to you? Have I not hyped your music up even though I’ve never even heard it? Have I not put up with your seemingly endless stream of one-night-stands? Did I ever lie to you about where I was and went out to hang out with your friends behind your back? Did—”

“No!” he cut you off, showing the first signs of anger, no matter how hard he’d tried to restrain himself. “You never did any of those things but how am I supposed to know you’ll never do them in the future?”

Both of your faces contorted painfully as soon as he said this – yours, because you suddenly knew just how little he trusted you; and his, because this was the exact opposite of what he should have said to you.

“Do you treat all of your friends like this?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest when he got up from your bed as well. “Do you expect this kind of behavior from everyone? Do you immediately assume every new person you meet is going to take everything you’ve worked so hard on from you?”

“No, I—”

“Are you still waiting for me to fuck up, then?” you were shouting but it was nothing new – the two of you could never have a calm conversation – and you were sure your neighbors had already gotten used to it. “Did you tell me you forgave me for meeting up with Suji, when you actually didn’t?”

“No!” he said. “I did forgive you. I thought I did. I don’t care a-about that. I care about you.”

“You care about how similar to her I am.”

Jaebum groaned. “I care about how similar to her everyone is! And I’m not fucking waiting for you to fuck up.”

“Well, then what is it?” you questioned, your voice loud and piercing. “Why is it that you don’t assume every person you meet will ruin your life, and yet, you think I might?”

“I don’t think you—fuck, you’re important to me,” Jaebum shot back, equally as agitated. He was obviously struggling with his words. “I wouldn’t care about anything that you do if you weren’t. I’m just trying to make sure—”

“—I don’t turn out to be a psychotic bitch?” you guessed, the conclusion you’ve reached making him groan because it was mostly true – he was always making sure he didn’t end up meeting another version of Suji – but it sounded ugly when you put it like that.

“N-no, I just want to be sure I know the real you,” he said. “You can’t blame me for not trusting people easily after all of this.”

“I’m not blaming you for that,” you countered. “But why the fuck did you expect to get to know me better by not talking to me? You’re not even giving me a chance to show you that you can trust me because you distance yourself from me every time you start to have doubts about me. We don’t have mutual friends, Jaebum, we’re still virtually strangers – so who the fuck is going to clear these doubts for you if you won’t let me do it?”

“I… I don’t—”

“It sounds to me like you just want to escape me and you’ll take any chance you get to do just that,” you said, your heart slamming right into the sharp edge of your ribcage until you nearly doubled over in pain. It was true, you weren’t just paranoid. Jaebum was indeed trying to get out of the cage your close presence had put him in. “Every time I do something wrong – even if I don’t realize it – you disappear on me as if I’ve cursed your ancestors by making a mistake. I’m not perfect. If anything, I’m the furthest thing from it, but you have to let people make mistakes and believe that they won’t ruin your life, Jaebum. You have to let people apologize for them, too. And if you don’t think you’ll have it in yourself to forgive them, then tell them that and let go of them. Tell me to leave if I fucked up so bad that you think I’m exactly like Suji—”

“Did I say you were exactly like her?” he was frantic now as the fight progressed into something that no longer involved just the past couple of days, but also covered the entirety of your relationship with each other. “Or did I ever say I wanted you to leave? Fuck, I’m spending almost every moment of my free time at home just so I could spend more time with you — and I don’t fucking do that. I go out, okay? I like to have fun, I like to drink, and I like to be out when it’s dark – whatever. I don’t do that as much anymore.”

“Oh, well, thank you so much for making these sacrifices for me.”

The sarcasm in your voice made him want to punch the closest wall.

“Those are not—I can’t—you’re not fucking hearing me,” he stumbled around different arguments. “I’m telling you about all the shit I do for you – the shit I’d never done for anyone else before – just to prove that I don’t think you’re like Suji in any way.”

“Well, then why the silence?” you countered. “Why did you not talk to me about what you were feeling?”

“I didn’t know how to put it in words so it’d make sense,” he said. “Clearly, I still don’t understand any of this myself. A part of me might never be able to fully open up to anyone and, fuck, I sure as hell don’t want my past relationship to influence my decisions about my future but it does, okay? I am going to be paranoid and I can’t fucking help it.”

“Do you think that’s fair to others? To me?” you asked, shaking your head. “You’re not even giving me a chance.”

“I’m not—chance after chance is exactly what I’m giving you!” Jaebum protested. “And that’s why I’m scared. That’s exactly why I’m fucking terrified – because, suddenly, I don’t care about anything that you’re doing. I’m fine with all of it. I forgive you for everything and I open up to you about everything without sitting down to think if that’s the right thing to do. And then, the next second, I’m hating myself because, fuck, why am I even doubting this? I have every right to tell you shit about myself. I have every right to forgive you because, technically, you didn’t do anything wrong. But, then, how could I not doubt this? I’ve already been through something similar, I don’t want to go through that again. I’ve already experienced a period of my life where I forgave everything. Where I opened up about everything.”

“Alright,” you said, your lips forming a straight line. You knew the words he said had a different meaning – he wasn’t trying to hurt you – and yet each sentence that left his lips seemed to dig painfully into your chest. “You are making sure I’m not Suji 2.0. That’s fine.”

“That’s not fine,” he voiced the obvious. “And I get that it sounds bad but it’s—fuck, I’m being really fucking open with you here – I literally don’t know how to deal with myself. If I get the feeling like I’m about to get burned, I-I pull away because I’ve been there before. I can’t keep on trying to calm myself down and ignore the bad feelings in my stomach because I know those bad feelings can turn into a bad reality. That’s how I fucking deal with my problems – I leave. I can’t cling onto something that will potentially rip my heart out and force me to swallow it raw.”

You hated how deep the argument had gotten. You had not prepared to pour your entire soul into this and Jaebum hadn’t either – that’s why he looked almost nauseous – but there was no going back now.

“And you think I could do that to you?” you asked.

He looked down. “I don’t know.”

“Alright,” you said, your voice calm all of a sudden. You wanted this conversation to end now. “I appreciate you telling me this.”

Immediately understanding that you were done, Jaebum tried to find one last way to magically mend the scars on both of your throats after you’ve yelled at each other. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Look, maybe we should be alone for a while,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear him say anything else because you could only shout so much before tears finally showed up. “I don’t want to deal with this and, obviously, neither one of us can think clearly right now. Maybe we can just ignore this conversation like you’ve been trying to do before I brought it up.”

His hands were on his face again as he tried one last time, “I’m sorry.”

You swallowed thickly – the lump in your throat letting you know that you were either about to suffocate or cry, and you didn’t know which one you’d have preferred.

“Okay,” you said, turning away from him in case tears appeared in your eyes before he left. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too.”

Jaebum wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t sure where the two of you were standing – he’s revealed so much of himself to you in the past ten minutes and he knew he’s never been this honest about his feelings with anyone before – and he knew now wasn’t the time to ask.

If he could turn back the time, he’d change the sequence of his words to you – first, he’d tell you how much you mattered to him and how much he loved being with you, and only then would he mention how hard it was for him to be around you. How afraid he was to open his heart up – how much he resisted it, even – and how easily he allowed his feelings to defeat him, in the end.

He was getting more and more scared by the second because what if he ended up getting himself into something he could not get out of? What if he’d start something he’d never be able to end again? Even if these fears sounded irrational – even more so after he saw how wildly you tried to get him to see that you hated being compared to Suji – he still couldn’t escape them. And he was afraid he never would.

Jaebum didn’t wish to take his words back. He’d said all that he’d been dying to say to you for the past few days. He just wished the two of you lived in a world where the past could have been left in the past and all the words spoken in the present – and all the confessions hiding underneath those anguished tones and desperate eyes – were all that remained between you and him.

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (29/30)

Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: So here we are! It’s the last official chapter, and while I would absolutely love to get to write this story forever, that’s simply not possible. But don’t fret! There’s still an epilogue and then a bonus chapter based off of a prompt that someone gave me. I can’t believe this little one shot turned into this big story that may very well be my own personal favorite. Thanks for being awesome and reading, you guys💛

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag List: @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @andiirivera @hollyethecurious @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @notoriouscs @mariakov81 @jonirobinson64 @bmbbcs4evr @thejollyroger-writer @lifeinahole27 @ultimiflos @galaxyzxstark @idristardis

-/-

Killian: My family is all here and currently examining every square foot of the place.

Emma: I know you’re not complaining when this is all you’ve talked about all week.

Killian: I love them, but Anna is seriously asking me about the thread count on our sheets.

Emma: That’s important.

Killian: I’m going to leave you with them if you don’t start sympathizing with me.

Emma: Oh no! You’re going to leave me with two people who I talk to every day and your brother! However will I survive?

Killian: Kris and Aiden are also part of the package.

Emma: I like them too.

“Are you flirting with your boyfriend, Ems?”

“Holy shit,” she yelps, jumping in her chair while her heart takes off like a rocket. She’s got to start closing her office door or put a lock on it or something. Or Ruby needs to learn how to knock. Or stay in her office. This is becoming a perpetual issue. “Rubes, why do you insist on doing this to me?”

She shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, and then steps further inside, grabs some skittles out of the bowl on her desk, and then plops down in her extra chair.

“Because your face is so pretty when you’re scared.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot, though.” She pops a handful of candy in her mouth, the red and green disappearing while she quickly chews. “Are you coming down to the warehouse to help put the care packages together this afternoon?”

“I’m coming down at four.” She hits send on her email and leans forward to take a few skittles of her own. Keeping candy in her office for the holidays was a terrible idea, but Mary Margaret and Anna both sent her bags of the stuff because they thought it might be nice. “This is always my craziest time of year with all of the donations and press, but, you know, I’ve been working through lunch so that I can leave at a normal time.”

“It’d probably help if you didn’t spend half of your time flirting with your boyfriend and the other half talking to me.”

“Well, you’re the one who comes to my office.”

Ruby waggles her brows. “For the candy. Is the Jones clan in town?”

“And apparently inspecting the thread count in our sheets.”

“What?”

“They’re particular,” she laughs, checking the email that just came in. She really needs the graphics department to send her the designs she’s supposed to put on Instagram. “I think Killian is letting them explore the apartment and setting them up, and then he’s going to show them around a bit.”

“That’s like the blind leading the blind.”

“I mean, it’s not us giving a tour of Boston, but it’ll work. I can’t wait for them to come back in the summer so it’ll be nicer weather.”

“You haven’t even seen them yet, and you’re already ready for them to come back?”

“Ask me again after Christmas. Speaking of that,” she hums, as she types another email when really she needs to go talk to Liz to get things going, “is Dorothy coming over on Christmas Eve?”

“Nah,” Ruby sighs, sticking her feet up on the corner of Emma’s desk, “she’s going home to Kansas for a few days.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I can’t wait to meet everyone, even if Killian’s infamous friends won’t be there.”

“Just his shoddy family.”

“I’m going to tell them you said that.”

“They love me. I think it’ll be fine.”

Her phone vibrates on her desk, and she looks down to check it.

Elsa: Does Killian actually know where he’s going? Or are we going to get lost and freeze to death?

Emma: I’d bring a warm coat and some food.

She does eventually have to get back to work, as does Ruby, and even if she spends most of her afternoon bugging the graphic designs department even while she’s putting blankets and toothbrushes in care packages, it’s a good day at work. She seriously needs a nap, but she knows that she’s not going to get one. The rest of her week is jampacked with work and with family stuff. They’ve got five extra people staying at their apartment until next Thursday, and about a million things to do with them and with her friends. It’s odd to her that these two sides of her life that are so important to her have never met, but she’s glad that it’s changing now.

Will and Robin get the short end of the stick though. They’ll have to meet everyone later, but she and Killian weren’t going to ask them to come to Boston when they have their families to spend time with. That would be ridiculous.

(She really wants to see Ruby and Will meet. It’d be fantastic.)

On her way home from work she stops to get a frankly excessive amount burgers and fries for everyone to eat for dinner. It’s definitely not the healthiest thing in the world and she and Killian did stock up on groceries yesterday, but sometimes she really wants a dang cheeseburger.

And onion rings.

She’s going to have to hide the onion rings from Killian.

That’s not going to work.

She’ll just get extra.

She can hear everybody before she unlocks the front door, twisting the key and then the knob, the conversation inside dying a little bit as she steps through the door to see everyone sitting in the living room with a show that must be for Aiden on the TV. She recognizes the little characters, but she can’t quite place whatever animated dog is running around.

“Hi,” she says, placing everything down on the counter that’s already full of baked goods that Anna must have found time to make sometime today. “I, uh, brought burgers for dinner, so I hope that Killian didn’t force feed you guys too much today.”

“He force fed us just the right amount,” Elsa sighs, getting up from the couch and scurrying over to her and wrapping her arms around her shoulders before Emma can even take her purse off of her. “Hi, hon. I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too,” she echoes, pulling back and smiling. “It’s weird that you guys are here, but I like it.”

“Not as much as I like it,” Anna adds on, practically smothering her in a hug. “It’s amazing, even if it’s cold. I was not prepared for that, and Killian practically froze us to death. I cannot wait to come back in the summer. I bet we could go sailing. Though Killian would have to bring his boat here. Or buy another one. Or we could go to a baseball game, but I’m not wearing a Red Sox hat. Oh but I can visit you so much more now that I’m going to be in New York.”

“That all sounds like a wonderful plan,” she laughs, not even sure if Anna took a breath between all of her words. “Hi, Liam and Kris. Why don’t you guys come get something to eat before it gets cold? I got regular burgers and cheeseburgers and figured you guys could add your own toppings.”

Liam and Kris both nod their heads, moving from the living room to kiss her cheek and give her their own greetings all while paper bags are being rustled and food being spread out, the greasy smell taking over the cinnamon plug in that they have. She needs to change clothes and brush her hair out before she eats, but she should probably say hi to Killian if the expectant eyebrow he’s sporting is any indication.

“I could have cooked dinner,” he says first, opening his arms a bit so that she can gently loswer herself down onto his lap, adjusting herself before kissing his cheek in greeting. “You didn’t have to buy all of the burgers in Boston.”

“I really wanted a burger. I worked through lunch.”

“The graphic design people giving you trouble again?”

“Yep. I’m going to have to learn how to do photoshop myself or something.” She unwraps her arms from his neck and curls a stray section of his chest hair around her finger, wondering how the hell it escaped from the top of his sweater. “So you survived your hosting duties?”

“I did.”

“Do you guys have horse radish?”

“No because that’s disgusting,” she laughs, looking up to see the actual pout on Kris’s face.

“Top shelf,” Killian adds in. “I keep it where Emma can’t reach to throw it away.”

“Hey,” she scoffs, yanking at his hair, “rude.”

“I know you have candy hidden in the drawer with your bras, so you can’t even say anything.”

“Um, guys,” she starts, looking around the room, “where’s Aiden?”

“Sleeping,” Liam answers for her, coming to sit on the couch with his plate of food. If he gets grease on the furniture, Killian will lose his mind. “He was awake for the entire flight, and to him, it’s naptime now.”

“Oh, I didn’t think about the time change for him. Or for you guys. Are you sure you’re hungry?”

“Liam is always hungry,” Elsa tells her placing her plate on the coffee table while she feels Killian adjust his leg underneath her. “It’s really unfair how good men have it with their metabolism sometimes.”

“Darling, I’m nearly forty. I don’t have the metabolism I used to have.”

“That’s true for all of us,” Kris says as he and Anna both come back into the area. “And obviously Emma has determined to fatten us all up for the winter.”

She snickers under her breath. “You guys can all come running with me in the morning. The cheeseburgers are totally worth the pain.”

“Says the twenty-nine year old.”

“I can’t help that you’re all old.”

“Hey,” Anna scoffs, waving a fry in the air. “If Killian wouldn’t kill us, I’d definitely throw these fries at you.”

“That’d be a sad waste of fries.”

“It’d be worth it.”

“Debatable.”

“If you’re going to waste fries it has to be the ones from the end of the potato,” Elsa adds in.

“Those are the best ones,” Liam protests, popping a fry into his mouth.” “They taste too much like a potato.”

“Fries are potatoes,” Liam and Killian both protest at the same time.

“Not all potatoes are made equally,” she points out, pushing off of Killian’s lap. She’s hungry, but she wants out of this bra and out of these pants. “Just like all fries are not made equally.”

“Amen to that.”

“I’m going to go change clothes,” she tells everyone. “I’ll be right back. You guys can keep watching your kids’ show even though Aiden is asleep.” “Sounds like a plan, Stan,” Killian mumbles under his breath, and when she turns back to look at him, he shrugs his right shoulder and winks.

She doesn’t mean to take her time while changing clothes and washing her face, scrubbing the makeup off one side at a time, but it’s kind of soothing to be able to do that. As much as she loves every person in that room, she’s not exactly used to having families over for a long time. That’s never been a situation she’s had to be in before, and it’s going to take a little bit of adjusting. It’s a good thing, but she’s not made to have to talk consistently. She and Killian talk a hell of a lot, but a lot of nights they have are spent stretched out on the couch in near silence watching TV.

Not a show for a twenty-month old but TV.

She takes the time to brush her hair out before twisting it into a loose braid that falls over her shoulder, and then strips out of her clothes so she can pull on her leggings and a sweater. She’s just about to go outside to get her dinner and talk with everyone when she stops and opens Killian’s bedside drawer, pulling the small box out and opening it to look at the ring. It’s the oddest thing, knowing it’s there and not being able to wear it. Of course, she could wear it. They could tell their families and have it all out there, this secrecy thing stopping, but she’s still waiting on the boat ornament. It’s the dumbest thing. She doesn’t have to tell everyone that way, but she wants to because of all of those dumb texts Ruby sends her.

She thinks that it’s fitting for Ruby to be the first to know when Ruby has been here for this since the very beginning.

A bit of laughter passes through her lips at that. It hasn’t been a long time. She and Killian have only known each other for a year, but it’s right. There have been plenty of ups and downs and absolutely insane moments, both because of their personal demons, the distance, and Killian’s job. He doesn’t get stopped a lot here, but it does happen. It’s always so strange to her, even if that’s how she knew him first, but it’s even stranger that one or two times some girls have stopped her. That’s not something she’ll ever get used to, but Killian is worth it.

Her trust in him is absolutely insane, especially because of how she’s been treated in the past, but when you love someone, you know.

The whole white picket fence (or apartment with a view) future used to always freak her out, but it’s what she wants now. She’s got her job, her friends, Killian.

She’s done pretty well for a kid who had nothing.

So she’ll wait on the dumb boat ornament for Ruby and wait on getting to wear the ring, the physical representation of the future she’s so damn happy to get to be a part of.

And it’s not like the next few days don’t go by quickly. They actually go by pretty fast, even if she spends her weekend falling on her ass when everyone insists that they go ice skating. Somehow, despite coming from a notoriously cold country, Anna and Elsa have never gone, and when they pass by a public rink while wandering through downtown, they insist that they have to. Somehow she didn’t think about the fact that Liam and Elsa live somewhere where it doesn’t really snow, and that being here would be like a whole new world. At least Anna and Kris have been living in Seattle…of course, they’ll soon be based in New York and will have the ice rinks there.

Somehow despite the fact that they’ve never been, Anna and Elsa are fantastic at it, quickly able to get rid of the walker and move around the crowded rink while she has to hold onto Killian’s elbow so that she doesn’t keep busting her ass.

Seriously. It’s going to be black and blue.

She definitely would have offered to watch Aiden to get out of it. Liam beat her to the punch.

But it’s fun once she gets over the pain in her ass, and she can feel her cheeks actually hurting from laughing so much. It doesn’t help at all when Elsa and Anna figure out some kind of routine that gets them kicked out of the rink. It really doesn’t help when Killian gets recognized and he starts mumbling under his breath that Robin is going to kill him for making him have work to deal with when he’s supposed to be on holiday. She’s not sure if she feels worse for Killian or Robin.

Definitely Robin.

Killian can deal with a few articles about him getting kicked out of a public ice rink.

She may or may not see if she can have anything about it printed and framed to keep forever.

She’s a good girlfriend.

Fiancée.

Partner.

Lover.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Guiding them around Boston kind of reminds her of when Killian first came to visit back in May. She gets to be a bit of a tourist again, except this time they’re all bundled up in thick jackets and hats as they trudge through a bit of snow instead of sweating from the sun shining down on them. There are some perks to the city in the winter anyways, especially when there’s a light dusting of snow. She doesn’t love January when it’s too cold to even go outside or too difficult to drive, but December is a good time. Yeah, there are thousands of more tourists, but so many trees downtown are wrapped in white lights that give the city this glow the makes it especially pleasant to be here. Her foster homes didn’t always decorate for the holidays, but the city made up for it enough.

Killian’s arm wraps around her shoulder, tugging her into his side, as they walk through Columbus Park Sunday evening, making their way through the crowd to look at the blue lights that have been wrapped in the archway. They’re meeting her friends at the Central Wharf for dinner so that everyone can meet each other, but Liam had insisted that they walk through the park on the way there since walking along the seaside was proving to be a bit too chilly.

“I love you,” Killian murmurs just below her ear, his scruff pricking her exposed skin.

“I love you too,” she echoes as she wraps an arm around his waist and sticks it in the back pocket of his jeans. “I think showing your family around this weekend is going to give me frostbite.”

“Aye, it’ll be so sad when you don’t have your toes anymore.”

“However will I walk?”

“Special shoes, obviously.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“I could carry you.” “That seems excessive.”

“You’re right. I’ll leave you alone to die in the snow.”

She taps his ass. “That’s all I ask.”

Killian barks out a laugh, his head thrown back, but then he’s leaning forward and quickly brushing his lips over hers.

“Stop making out and show me where this restaurant is,” Liam bellows, and when she opens her eyes, she can see several different strangers staring at all of them.

“Babe, it’s right there,” Elsa laughs, pointing to the glowing sign a few feet ahead of them.

“That was not there a second ago.”

“I promise that it was.”

“Your brother is kind of crazy,” she laughs, speeding her steps up because she can see David standing on the inside of the restaurant.

“I think the cold weather is getting to him.”

“Probably.”

Kris and Anna walk in first, the door held open for everyone but a constant stream of people, and before she can even bother to make introductions, Anna and Mary Margaret are wrapped up in a hug. They’ve seen each other on Instagram, but Emma was not expecting that.

She should have been expecting that.

And she should have been expecting the mess of hugs and shaking hands as everyone greets each other, blocking the entrance to the restaurant a bit with the crowd. She hears Killian chuckle when Liam and David size each other up, but honestly, it’s even funnier when Ruby stares Liam down and then hugs him so tightly while Liam is almost shocked still. She’s not sure what Ruby said, and it’s probably best not to know.

They’re all seated at their table, chairs replaced with booster seats, and soon their conversation mixes in with everyone else, constant chatter floating along with the steady flow of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

“So how do you guys like the city?” David asks after they’ve ordered drinks.

“It’s bloody freezing,” Liam grumbles, his body obviously still chilled. “This coat is not nearly thick enough.”

“I told you to buy a warmer one.”

“Little brother, you didn’t say this.”

“Oh shit,” Ruby laughs, and her eyes glance to the kids before she continues, “you’re right, Ems. Killian’s face does get all red and scrunched up when Liam calls him little brother.”

“Hey, way to call me out like that.”

“My face does not get scrunched up.”

She twists her head to look at Killian and the way his nose is very literally scrunched up, and she can do nothing but smile at that end the embarrassed red tip of his ears.

“It does,” Elsa agrees. “But that’s fine because Liam doesn’t realize how ridiculous it is to call a grown man little brother.”

“It is not ridiculous.”

“As someone who is a younger brother,” David starts, “I totally agree. No one talks that way.”

“That is not true.”

“It’s totally true.”

“You don’t see me calling Anna little sister,” Elsa points out, very lovingly caressing Liam’s shoulder while her free hand keeps Aiden from throwing his crayons on the ground.

She feels Killian’s scruff against her ear before she even sees him move. “They’re going to cause Liam to implode right in the middle of this restaurant.”

She snickers at that and pats Killian’s thigh before resting her hand over his knee. “That would be a very messy clean up.”

“Secrets don’t make friends, lovebirds,” Ruby teases, kicking her foot underneath the table.

“You’re already my friend, so I’m not trying to impress you,” Killian huffs.

“I’m your friend,” Leo says, nearly quieting the entire table when they were all still debating over the weirdness of Liam and Killian’s relationship.

“You are most definitely my friend,” Killian agrees, smiling over at Leo. “I think you, your brother, and Aiden are my very best friends at this table.”

“And Emmy.”

“Oh, most definitely Emmy,” he laughs, reaching down and twining his fingers together with hers, thumb gently moving over her hand in a way that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Emmy’s my friend too, but we can share.”

“That’s so good of you to say, Leo,” Mary Margaret sighs, reaching over and pushing his hair off of his head.

“So we’ll talk about how it’s weird for me to call Killian little brother but we’re not going to talk about how I didn’t make it on his best friends list just now?”

“Sucks to be you,” Anna and Ruby both say at the same time.

Emma looks at Killian then, looks at the lines around his eyes and the smile on his face as he talks back to Liam, and whatever kind of nerves she had about their families not liking each other completely disappear just then. They’re all going to get along just fine.

And they do get along just fine. Probably much better than fine. The conversation never stops, even when they get their food, and despite the fact that they have three small children there with them, they stay late into the night casually talking about whatever they want. It all feels so natural, even with the newness of all of these relationships, and she’s already thinking about just when they can do something like this again this summer.

Soon enough, though, the night ends, and they all go their separate ways promising to see each other on Christmas Eve. When they get back to the apartment, most everyone settles down into the living room for a little while before excusing themselves to go to bed, leaving just she and Killian.

“Come here, love,” Killian mumbles, his accent deep and thick in his tiredness. She likes when it’s like this. It reminds her of the way he sounds when he’s describing every filthy thought he has about her, and it’s most likely the reason why instead of folding into his side like he wants, she gets up and straddles his lap, pressing herself down on top of him while his hands immediately go to her hips, gently holding onto her as his thumbs reach up to touch her skin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. She figured he wanted to talk to her now that they have a bit of privacy with everyone else gone to bed. But he stays silent, his thumbs moving in lazy circles as he buries his nose into her neck, breath coming out warmly against her collarbone while his teeth gently bite down, heat slowly beginning to simmer under every inch of her skin.

“You’re going to leave a mark if you stay there for too long.”

“You’ve discovered my evil plan,” he mumbles, each of the words slurred.

She laughs, throwing her head back the slightest bit while her hands move from his shoulders up into the thick strands of his hair, fingers cardings through the softness while Killian continues to lavish her skin with his tongue. She bemoans it a bit, doesn’t want him to leave some kind of mark of possession or passion, but then right when she can feel heart curl between her thighs, he pulls back, the heavy weight of him no longer in her neck. Instead he stares at her, eyes a deep blue while they trace over face, finally landing at her lips.

And then he’s on her, lips pressing into hers and hands pulling her impossibly closer so that their bodies are flush against each other despite the layers of clothes in between them. She can still taste a bit of the rum he had with dinner, especially when his tongue slowly traces her bottom lip, prodding him for the entrance he must know she’s going to grant him. When their tongues do collide, it’s like sparks are moving across her skin, all of her hair standing on edge while the sparks trickle down all the way to her toes.

It’s that kind of a kiss. The toe curling ones are the best ones.

They get better when her hips shift the slightest bit against Killian and her hands tighten in his hair. He groans, something deep from the back of his throat, and she’s practically a puddle. It’s a weird phrase, but she is. She’s a puddle and a mess of damn good feelings that have her feeling like she’s practically on fire even if she’s only left on her camisole and her jeans, her sweater from dinner resting in the kitchen.

She rolls her hips again, and Killian grunts before he’s shifting his hands so that his arms are completely wrapped around her back. For a moment she wonders why, but then she’s being lifted and unceremoniously plopped down on her back, the couch cushions supporting her while a giggle passes through her lips. Killian shifts above her, his elbows propping him up on either side of her shoulder. His mouth is hovering over hers, less than an inch away, and she thinks that he’s going to kiss her again, but then his mouth is on her jaw, then her neck, her collarbone. Finally he makes his way down her sternum, tongue licking in the valley of her breasts, and she gasps as her hips arch up into him.

Even though she can’t see it, she can feel the wicked smile he’s sporting pressed into her skin.

“I’m rather learning to enjoy winter in Boston,” he breathes, breath hot as it travels over her. His mouth moves a bit to the side, and she watches him nudge her top with his nose so that she can see the top of her breasts. “But I do find that it means I get to see a little less of these.”

“Well, I could die of that frostbite we were talking about earlier if you really wanted to see my boobs that much.”

He glances up at her, one eyebrow raised, and she smirks herself as she reaches down to brush his hair off of his forehead. “I do love them, so I think it may be worth it.”

“You only love me for my body.”

“I’m going to tell you just how wrong you are about that after I get done showing you how much I love every damn inch of this body.”

She laughs, her head pressing back into the cushions, but then Killian has somehow worked his way past her bra and is biting down on her nipple. The laugh quickly turns into a gasp, and even her blood heats at the sound of Killian’s groan.

As good as he is with his words, sometimes when he wants her too damn much, it renders him speechless.

That’s always a bit of a proud moment for her.

He releases her with a pop, and instead of moving to her other breast, he moves back up her body, spending a very particular amount of time on her ear, before he’s back at her lips. It’s a slow kiss, lazy even, but these are the ones she prefers. Quick and fast and dirty are wonderful, and she’ll never complain about those. But she likes the lazy exploration of each other that only really comes when you already know all of the ins and outs.

“Bedroom.” She yanks at his hair, and presses her hips up again, and he nips at her bottom lip.

“In a moment.”

She’s practically jelly at this point, so she agrees, not thinking anything of it until there’s the a quiet creak of wood and the room is suddenly flooded in lights besides the ones of the city.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Killian groans, harshly shifting up on her, and she doesn’t realize why until she twists her head to the side and sees Liam standing at the end of the hallway, feet frozen and mouth wide open.

Oh.

Her fiancé’s brother, who is still staying with them for another few days, just walked in on them making out of the couch with her breasts decidedly exposed to the world. That would explain Killian’s sudden haste to cover her even more so with his body.

“Don’t just stand there, Liam,” Killian growls, his words lilting up into a bit of a laugh at the tail end of his sentence.

“Sorry, sorry,” Liam apologizes, holding his hands up and shuffling his feet. “I didn’t – you’re not – Elsa needed a glass for some water.”

“It’s fine,” she lies, every inch of her skin cooling down while she rubs her hands up and down Killian’s shoulder blades. She can feel the tenseness in them, the frustration practically vibrating off of him. “Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Killian and I were just about to go to bed.”

“Really? Because it kind of looked like you were about to fuck on the couch.”

“Get your fucking water, and get your arse out of here.”

“KJ,” she whispers, twisting her head to look back at him and caressing his face with her palm. He leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed so that his lashes land against his cheek, “it’s okay. He’ll be gone in a second, and then we can go to our room.”

“I’m not sure that I’m really in the mood anymore.”

She chuckles a bit under her breath before brushing her lips over his stubble. “That’s okay too, but I think you might change your mind when you can no longer see your brother.”

“He’s bloody fantastic at killing a mood.”

“That’s probably what Elsa says too.”

Killian has to bury his face in her neck to hide his laugh, but she can feel it though every inch of her body while she continues to move her hands up and down, his flannel moving with each touch. She should be mortified right now, but considering Liam saw her morning after look the first time she slept with Killian and then proceeded to accuse her of being some kind of stalker, this is nothing.

Maybe the embarrassment will hit when she doesn’t still want Killian so badly.

“Goodnight,” Liam hums. “Use protection.”

“Look at that. He spent two hours with Ruby, and they’re already just alike.”

Killian huffs and pushes off of her. “I think it’s time for you to move your arse into the bedroom so we can finish this.”

“See, I told you it’d be fine once Liam wasn’t in the room.”

“He’s never getting invited back here.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“What am I if not dramatic, my love?”

She finds that Killian most definitely doesn’t mind that his brother walked in on them when her lips are wrapped around his length in the privacy of their room.

-/-

Over the next two days, Liam never mentions the compromising situation he found them in, but she can tell that he feels more awkward about it than either of them do, especially when he avoids looking her in the eye for a few hours. But it helps that she’s constantly surrounded by other people. They go out to lunch on Monday, stopping to get seafood even though Aiden has an absolute fit in the restaurant, but the rest of their day is spent in the apartment, the curtains mostly closed as they play all of the Home Alone movies, Aiden giggling and babbling even though he can’t possibly understand what’s happening. It’s cute, though, watching him clap his chubby hands together and rock back and forth while he sits between Kris’s legs.

Anna and Elsa decide that they have to make Christmas cookies, and not the ones she can buy at the market that come precut, so for the entire afternoon the apartment smells like a mixture of cinnamon and sugar, the oven constantly being opened and closed as new batches in different shapes are made. Anna is freakishly good at baking. Like, far better than Killian, and she and Elsa are able to make intricate shapes and designs all the while she has this green glob of a Christmas tree. Killian tells her that he’s sure it’ll taste good, but that’s most likely because she didn’t actually bake them.

Christmas has basically exploded in their apartment, but she doesn’t mind at all. She enjoys it and enjoys all of the happiness of it. She’s got three days off of work, and she’s going to savor in it.

“This is delicious, love,” Killian mumbles as he takes a bite of a snowman that she did, the crumbs of it getting stuck in his beard.

“Are you going to make a point to only eat my ugly cookies?”

He winks. “Exactly.”

But, of course, since she wants to savor this time, it flies by quickly, Christmas Eve arriving in the blink of an eye. She’s excited for today, though. They’re having her friends over for lunch and presents, and after today, she doesn’t have to hide the fact that she’s got a very pretty ring hidden away and a man who wants to marry her.

Which is still just insane.

A good kind, though.

“G’morning,” Killian mumbles as he shifts in bed, sleepily grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to each knuckle, lingering a little longer on her fourth finger before moving down to her wrist. He’s so romantic in all of these small ways, and it honestly kind of makes her heart giddy. It’s weird.

“Morning.”

“It’s cold in here.” “Says the human heater.”

“That sound rather odd when you say it like that, Swan. It’s like I’m burning humans.”

“Ew, stop,” she groans, falling back onto the mattress and putting space between them, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders and burrowing herself in. “You know what I meant. You didn’t have to get all creepy about it.”

“I saw my shot, and I took it.”

She rolls her eyes at him, and she sees his lips shift up into a smile while half of his face is pressed into the pillow, squishing his cheek and causing his eyes to crinkle. His hair is all over the place, the strands going in several directions, and she’s tempted to bury her hands in it to fix it. But she also kind of likes it when he’s disheveled.

“So are you ready for our families to start hounding us on wedding dates and details and wondering what kind of dress I’m going to wear?”

He chuckles, something deep and husky, and she knows that he’s going to lean forward to kiss her nose before he does it. And she knows that his hand is going to find a spot on her waist too, nails tracing nonsense patterns.

“I’m thinking after I film Life After and in a courthouse. We’ll both wear jeans and those ugly Christmas sweaters.” “I’m not wearing a Christmas sweater when I marry you.”

“Why not? It’d be very fitting.”

“This is true, but I do kind of want a nice dress. Not necessarily a gown. I might feel ridiculous in one of those. I don’t know. I kind of like this courthouse idea, though. Or maybe on the beach at your house in LA. Is that too cheesy?”

“All weddings are kind of cheesy.” “True. It’s not like we’re getting married in our swimsuits or anything.” “It’d make for easier access.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, reaching over to hit his shoulder, which only makes his face crinkle up more as he smiles. “I’m going to miss you when you’re living in Toronto this spring.”

It’s the first time she’s said those words. She hasn’t wanted to, not wanting to make him feel guilty about having to leave for filming when he should never have to feel guilty. But it felt right to tell him that now, especially as they make all of these hypothetical plans for their very real future.

“And I you, love,” he promises, and her heart pangs for a moment. “But I’ll fly home when I can. You’ll come to visit. We’ll get back to facetiming like we used to. That’s not something we have to worry about now, though. We’ve got a holiday to celebrate.”

And they do. She and Killian both hurry and get ready, going through their morning routines while they can hear all of the chatter and life going on outside, all of Killian’s family very obviously already awake. She thought the time difference would have them sleeping in, but she guesses that Elsa and Liam have a baby who most likely does not know what sleeping in is. So before she can even bother to have her coffee, she’s bombarded with “good mornings” and conversation from four different people, all of the talking about how excited they are for today and if there’s anything they can do to help before her friends come over. She knows that even if she said no, they’d help anyways.

They’re good people, and she loves them. She’s going to be a bit sad when they go home. But that’s not something that she thinks about as Kris and Killian start cooking the chicken while Liam and Elsa set up the table. Anna helps her wrap a few last minute presents, and by the time the Nolans and Ruby show up at one, absolutely everything is set up for them to celebrate Christmas. It’s most definitely the biggest celebration she’s ever been a part of, even if it’s not quite Christmas yet. Her life is so damn full that she’s getting a little emotional over having Mary Margaret be chatting with Liam about gardening.

It doesn’t get any better when they finish eating, her stomach hurting from laughter, and they all move to the living room, most of the presents under the tree dispersed to everyone.

Most everyone in this room is an adult with the exception of Leo, Aiden, and Brody, so she knows that tearing through gifts isn’t something that’s really going to happen. They’re going to go slowly, take their time, possibly even try to salvage the wrapping paper (Who does that? You would have to be entirely sure that you’re going to be wrapping something the exact same size or something smaller for it to even work, but whatever. Recycling is good.) and keep it for a later day, maybe even tomorrow. She’d fully expect Ruby to be doing some last minute gift wrapping for her grandmother. Or possibly even Dorothy even though she’s in Kansas. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Ruby took the paper her gifts are in and wrapped a present that she’s going to get when she finally gets to her small pile of goods from her friends since they’ll all be off spending time with their other loved ones tomorrow.

She was a kid who used to spend Christmas wondering why Santa didn’t come to visit her and who had holidays pretty tainted for her. Now she has more family than she knows what to do with.

She’s good with that.

She’s great with that.

She’s also great with waiting for Ruby to get to the small box that’s sitting next to her on the floor. Killian had quirked his brow when she told him she knew just the way for them to tell all of their friends that they’re engaged. If anyone’d asked her five years ago if she’d ever be this excited to make a commitment to another person and then want to make a bit of a show about telling other people she was doing that, she’d have laughed in their face. That’s not her. And maybe it’s still not. She likes for things to be private, for her personal life to be personal, especially with learning to deal with Killian’s job and the complications that come with that, but some things she does like to share.

Why would she not?

There’s a lump in her throat that she has to swallow, a happy sob threatening to escape her and ruin all of her plans. She’s decidedly sentimental lately. She’s been sentimental for awhile now. It’s different, but being different, changing isn’t always a bad thing. Some changes are bad, are painful. They pull you back instead of propelling you forward. Others, well, others are good.

Changing in a good way is called growing.

Growing is a damn good thing.

Growing means that she doesn’t always have to have a tough exterior, that she doesn’t always have to be act like she’s okay. Growing means allowing herself to be vulnerable even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Growing means knowing that instead of stopping at an obstacle, that she can climb over it.

Growing means that she can allow another set of hands to help her climb.

So she’s decidedly sentimental, and definitely a little bit cheesy, but she’s happy. And she’s not going to bemoan something that makes her happy.

“You’ve got a bit of a starry-eyed look there, love,” Killian whispers in her ear, nipping at the lobe and making her squirm a bit. Cheeky bastard. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Nah,” she sighs, walking her fingers up from his knee to his thigh, comfortably placing her hand there while she feels Killian tapping against her shoulder, a habit he’s taken up lately. She doesn’t think he even knows that he’s doing it. “I’m just…happy. It still surprises me sometimes.”

“Aye, me too.”

She twists her head and smiles at him, looking up into the blue of his eyes before she presses up and kisses the corner of his lips, waiting for him to meet her halfway.

He does.

He always does.

(Except when it comes to leaving shoes lying around or dishes unwashed, but that’s not the end of the world even when it feels like it.)

“Are you sure this little plan of yours is going to work?”

She nods her head, quickly kissing him again before pulling back and looking over to Ruby who is holding up a pair of earrings that Mary Margaret and David must have bought her.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just wait. She’s going to figure it out.”

She squeezes his thigh for reassurance before she rests her head on his shoulder. She can feel Elsa’s eyes looking at her, the icy blue stare a familiar one even if it’s not from Elsa herself, but she doesn’t say anything. Elsa likely already knows. Not because of anything she’s done but because she knows that Killian told Liam he was planning to propose. And if she knows anything about Elsa, it’s that they’re kindred spirits in knowing when a Jones brother is holding something back.

Except she kind of failed at for the past few months.

She can’t always be batting a thousand.

Or homeruns.

Grand slams maybe.

What the hell? They all work. She knows her baseball terminology.

And there’s absolutely no way that she’s letting someone else break the news when she thinks that her idea for announcing it is absolutely brilliant.

She’s not an assistant public relations manager for nothing. She knows how to get people talking.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Ruby starts opening the small package they’ve given her. She feels Killian’s breath catch, the air stopping for the slightest moment, and she swears that her heart ticks up a few too many beats than should be humanly possible.

“Ems,” Ruby laughs, twisting to turn to look at her with a vibrant smile on her face, her lips practically reaching her eyes, “why in the world did you give me a photograph of you and Killian in these ugly sweaters? Did anyone else get these?”

“I didn’t.”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we haven’t gotten to them yet.”

“Because,” Killian starts for her, his fingers pressing into her bicep with a little bit more force. She can feel the vibration with every word she speaks. Or maybe that’s an earthquake. It’s definitely not an earthquake. That’s how it feels right now though. If she were to look under the sleeves of her sweater, she knows her arms would be covered in gooseflesh. “Those are the awful sweaters Emma and I wore in those videos from last year, and one of your gifts is a way to thank you for helping us meet.”

“Even though I still think that it’s fundamentally unfair for you to have made me adhere to a bet made while drunk. That would have gotten any contract dismissed in court.”

“Are you really complaining right now? And using legalities? I feel like you should be eternally grateful for me. After all, I’m the reason you get to have se – the reason you get to do the horizontal tango so often. Plus, you know, have constant companion who loves you or whatever.”

“Open the damn present, Ruby.”

“Language,” Mary Margaret and Anna yell at the same time.

Ruby waves them all away before she’s digging into the box and pulling out a small ornament in the shape of a boat.

“What in the world is this? Why are you giving me a boat ornament? I don’t own a boat. I’m a freaking therapist. I can’t afford that. And why does it say ‘The Love Boat’ on it? That doesn’t even make any sense and – oh my God.”

She doesn’t even have time to prepare herself before Ruby is up off the ground, squealing so loudly that her eardrums might burst, and then tackling her into the couch, taking Killian down with her. Everyone is staring at them. She can’t see, but she knows, can hear the confusion, can hear Leo wanting to know what Aunt Ruby is doing to Aunt Emma. But right now she’s so goddamn happy that it’s out there, that someone knows, and that her best friend is excited.

“Are you for real?” Ruby asks when she pulls back, looking into her eyes before she glances over to Killian, cupping his cheeks and squishing them together. “Is she for real? You guys are engaged?”

“She’s for real.”

“Engaged?” Mary Margaret shrieks, the pitch rivaling Ruby’s.

Or maybe that was Anna’s shriek mixing in. Elsa’s too. Maybe it was Aiden or Leo joining in.

It definitely wasn’t David, Liam, or Kris, but they all let out some kind of noise too, the room suddenly roaring with conversation so loud that she can barely think. But it’s the good kind of roar and the good kind of deafness.

It might not be the good kind of having some sort of internal organ squished by Ruby, but she thinks whatever it is will be okay.

It takes a long time for everyone to calm down, for the squealing and smothering to stop so that she can explain to everyone that Ruby sent her a text the night after she and Killian met saying she wanted a boat named “The Love Boat” if she and Killian ever got married. Technically they’re not married yet, but it works. Everyone laughs at the story, especially when both Mary Margaret and Anna are reduced to blubbering messes, their emotions becoming a little too much. All of it is absolutely insane, but it only gets worse when she finally gets to put the ring back on her finger, right where it belongs.

She’s okay with this kind of hysteria, though. It’s part of that whole growth thing. And absolutely nothing is going to make this day any less wonderful or special or so goddamn festive that she can’t stomach it.

She’d bet on it.

Her bets seem to have pretty good end results.

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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