#i've been staring at this fic for three years basically just take it away from me please

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Mature Audiences (For references to underage sex) Words: 2.8K~ Summary: It’s possible. The timing lines up. What Connie fears is one hundred percent possible. The problem is, a potential pregnancy this early into their relationship was absolutely not in their plans.

WOE, post canon Connverse pregnancy scare fic be upon ye.

This is honest to god the fastest I've ever written a fic of this length in my whole ass life- I thought of this idea literally last night and nailed it all out in like twelve straight hours. Just so y'all can make an informed decision on whether to read or sit out, this contains minimal description of actual sex beyond like one short paragraph- instead focusing in on the human fallout of poor teenage decision making.

Connie is 17 and already in college, and Steven is 19.

On a semi-related topic, Google absolutely believes I'm pregnant now after all the incessant research I did for this story, lmafo.

Enjoy! I'm putting basically all of this fic under a cut here due to its mature topic nature.

__

If you asked Steven what kind of conversation he expected when Connie called him out of the blue at one AM in the morning, one where she’s hysterical and halfway to hyperventilating definitely wouldn’t have been at the top of his list.

“Woah, woah—” he stresses, passing the phone to his other ear so he can pick on up what she’s saying better. “Just— slow down, okay? Start from the beginning. What’s happened?”

“It’s been three days, Steven!” she says, voice hitching upon his name. “I know my cycle, okay?? I’ve been tracking my cycle ever since I started menstruating, and it’s supposed to be like goddamn clockwork! It’s never been late like this. Never!”

“And you’re, uh— you’re absolutely sure there’s nothing else that could be interfering-??”

“Of course I’m fucking sure!” she hollers, making the small speaker bar on his phone vibrate against the side of his head. 

He winces, already regretting his poor choice of words with her. 

“Okay, okay, I— I shouldn’t have pressed about that. I’m sorry. Just—” he sucks in a deep breath of air, doing his absolute beat not to delve down the dangerous implication filled rabbit hole this early on, when tensions are high and accurate information is sorely limited— “what do you need right now? What can I do to help?”

“I need you here,” she warbles, her hysteria finally pushing over the brim and transforming into a heartbreaking bounty of distraught cries. “With me—!”

He clamps down upon the inside of his lip, thinking. The unfortunate part of living two timezones away from a romantic partner is that their transportation options for emergency visitations are limited. Unless… 

“Is Lion with you?” he asks, crossing his fingers and hoping beyond all hopes that this aloof feline miraculously chose this evening to make a visit at Connie’s off campus group home.

“I-I…” Brief pause. There’s a faint ruffle in the line, probably her shifting position. “I think he’s outside, yes.”

“If you can send him over to me, I’ll be there as fast as I can. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, hoarse and strained. 

“We’ll figure this out, I promise. Love you.”

“Love you…”

And with that, Connie hangs up from her end.

Steven’s humble little studio apartment falls into complete and utter silence. He cradles his phone in his hands, staring with unparalleled intensity at his seventeen-year-old girlfriend’s smiling contact photo for a good few minutes… contemplating the sheer daunting weight of the potential future life’s just sprung on them out of nowhere. 

It’s possible.

The timing lines up.

What Connie fears is one hundred percent possible.

“Shit,” he ultimately hisses, shoving the device in his back pocket and moving to grab his wallet, his keys, and a light jacket.

This was absolutely not the conversation he expected to have tonight.

_____

One trip to his local 24-hour convenience store and a ride on Lion later, Steven finds himself perched on the edge of Connie and her housemates’ shared couch holding the instructional pamphlet for a pregnancy test, intensely conscious of the sleep shattering noise they’re probably making out here despite their best attempts at whispering. Ugh. He really, really hopes they don’t wake Patricia or Natalie up with all this racket. He doesn’t want to be rude, especially not at the heart of midterms season.

“But this says you’re not supposed to take it until a week after your first missed period,” he says, tapping his finger at the relevant section of fine print.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not gonna work at all, though,” Connie shoots back, tussling the instructions from his hands. “Look, see—? It doesn’t say you’re not supposed to take it until then, it just says the results may have a higher chance of inaccuracy.”

“And isn’t accuracy exactly what we need at the moment?” he responds with a bit too much stress riding within his tone. 

(His thoughts trail back to almost three weeks ago. That kissing session that got a bit more heated than either of them had originally planned for. The expired condom that he didn’t realize was expired until after it broke in the middle of sex.)

She shoots him a withering look, her eyes puffy and damp from all the tears she’s already shed tonight. 

“No, what I need is an answer. Any answer, so I can finally go to bed and stop freaking the hell out over this. You know how I am— I just gotta rip the bandaid off, and then I’ll be fine. I’ll even test daily for the next week if that makes you feel better.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” he gently redirects, capturing her trembling hand within his and rubbing faint circles against the side of her palm for a few precious moments.

Sniffling, she gives a faint nod, grabbing the test itself from the coffee table and moving to stand.

“Okay. I… I’ll be just a few minutes. I’ll come back out once I have the sample ready, a-and… and then we can wait together.”

“Take your time,” he says.

She does.

As it turns out, peeing on demand (and on a plastic test strip, no less) is pretty difficult, even more so when one is stressed beyond all belief. 

They keep in contact over text for those long twenty or so minutes, and it’s through this feed of discussion that he starts to piece together the full picture of what must’ve happened here.

Mistake number one: Connie knew she was in a fertile period. She knew, and— horny as she was at the time— decided to progress the speed of their lovemaking anyways. All her choice. She provided him a condom she’d gotten as a free sample from some university health fair, and off they went. In any normal circumstance, that’s where this story would stop.

But then came mistake number two: right as he neared the brink of orgasm, he felt a distinct jump in sensitivity— one that not only sent him careening right over the edge, but also alerted him to the fact that his condom must’ve snapped. He’s almost positive Connie felt it too. He pulled out as quick as he could the second he realized, but what’s done was done. 

They discovered big mistake number three right afterwards: The condom was already expired. It was expired all along, and neither of them had thought to check the label before slipping it on. Stupid. Connie promised she’d talk to the campus nurse about getting her hands on some free Plan B that next morning— just in case— and Steven assumed that was the end of it. 

But then there was mistake number four: Apparently, Connie never took that Plan B at all. She was so wigged out over one of her upcoming midterms in a class she’s barely passing that (as he learns via this text thread) she forgot to go to the nurse to inquire about it in the first place. By the time she remembered, too many days had passed for it to be effective, so she didn’t bother looking into it further. Instead she merely crossed her fingers that nothing would come of this series of unfortunate happenings whatsoever, but then came late period day number one. And then number two. And then number three. And by that point, the evidence seemed so stacked against her favor that the stress simply exploded. She couldn’t study. She couldn’t even sleep. Thus, she just has to secure an answer tonight, or she’ll never find any peace, she says.

He understands, he does.

But also… he really, really wants to make sure that whatever answer they settle on with this matter is guaranteed correct. And soon, while there’s still time to do something about it (if that’s what she wants) without too much emotional investment coming into play.

Because accidentally knocking up his girlfriend in her second year of college… before they’re even married or close to being engaged… and while she’s still seventeen to boot was absolutely not in their plans.

“Ughhh… stupid, stupid,” he hisses to himself, knocking his head against the plush backing of the sofa. 

If that damned test comes back positive, her mother (and heck, probably Pearl too, for that matter) is going to kill him.

While he wouldn’t mind being a father in a few years’ time, the fact of thee matter is that they’re nowhere close to ready for such a future at this current juncture. Neither of them have jobs. Neither of them have a home of their own that isn’t partially paid for by their parents. Hell, on his end, even with regular therapy and steady medication he still struggles with the most basic self-care like showering daily and remembering to eat breakfast. So how on Earth— if Connie’s fears are right, and she is positive— is he supposed to suddenly pivot to taking care of an infant too on top of all that? Oh stars he’s not ready for this. He’s not. 

And if that’s how he feels, then he can’t even begin to imagine how much terror must be surging through her mind at this present moment.

Yikes. He’s really made a mess of things, hasn’t he? He should’ve… ugh, he should’ve said something. He should’ve gently told her ‘no’ the moment she revealed she was only a day away from ovulation. He shouldn’t have taken the risk. He should’ve thought to check in with her about the Plan B instead of blindly assuming she took care of it. He’s older, so he should’ve been the responsible one. 

He tells her as such.

no, no… it takes two to tango, silly, she responds via text a few seconds later. it’s not your fault any more than it’s mine. im sorry for yelling at you earlier, it’s just. not what i had planned.

same, he responses. 

And then, after a hard swallow and a moment’s pause… he dares to rustle up that big ol’ elephant in the room.

He asks The Question.

have u thought about what you’re gonna do if its positive yet

A set of ellipses show up at the bottom of the screen. She’s typing. Slowly. 

Or maybe… 

The ellipses disappear for a bit. Then reappear. Then blink out existence once again.

Steven sighs, sinking back into the couch and setting his phone upside down so he doesn’t have to psych himself out by staring expectantly at her contact photo at the top of their text feed for the next goodness knows how long. 

Good grief. If he weren’t already so damn emotionally drained over all this, he’s sure he’d be glowing bright ass pink right now. Thank goodness he’s not. Connie needs his comfort tonight, not the other way around. His lip crinkles into a pensive frown as he reflects on the situation… shifts his gaze around the darkened living room. (He catches the faintest glimpse of Lion snoozing outside the window again as his eyes adjust to the light level.) For the briefest of seconds he considers shooting a text to Dad, curious if he might have any advice on how to handle this sort of situation, but then…

No, no. It’s far too early to say anything. Plus, he doesn’t want to risk letting the blunt reality of their active sex life break containment unless Connie says it’s okay.

His phone buzzes.

Heart pounding with unimaginable ferocity, he flips it over to read.

honestly the reason i’m so freaked out rn is that i think id really wanna keep it. even though im SURE it would mess up all my college goals. is that stupid??

Brief pause yet again as she adds something else.

i’m so, so sorry i know that might not be something you’re ready to commit to rn. that’s half of why i’m so upset. i don’t want this to speed up our relationship in ways you’re not ready for, or ruin it altogether

Steven’s inhale is sharp and shallow, his thoughts racing as he tries not to consider the potential implications of what her decision means for him too deeply. It’s not about me, he reminds himself. It’s not about me.

hey, no- it’s okay, he types, fingers shaking. don’t fuss about me. it’s your body. your choice. i’ll support you through whatever you decide. promise.

Send.

A good while passes without a response. 

Considering the heaviness of the topic, he’s half a mind to stride across the room and go knock on the bathroom door to see if she’s okay, but then that very door squeaks open.

Connie scuttles to the couch in a hurry, the test and a generous wad of toilet paper in hand. She lays down the paper on the coffee table first for cleanliness’ sake, and sets the plastic sample cartridge on top of it.

Then, with a weary sigh, she sets a timer on her phone for three minutes.

“Please don’t let me look at it until time’s up,” she says, slumping against his side for comfort. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, shifting his position to wrap his arms tight around her. Secure. Safe. “We’re okay. Whatever happens, we do it together, all right?”

“All right.”

Noticing her heavy blinking and angling to help her feel better, he brushes a stray wavy lock back behind her ear, his touch as delicate as he can muster. “Hey. Jam buds?”

“Jam buds,” she nods with a watery smile.

They sit in silence for about thirty seconds, allowing each others’ racing heartbeats to lull them to at least some form of camaraderie laden relief.

Or at least, they try to.

“My mom is not gonna be happy about this,” Connie says out of the blue, attaching words to the daunting thought they’re clearly both stewing over.

“If it’s positive,” he reminds her. “It’s still a big if.”

“But I’m right though. I was an underage accident, too, remember? I just—” her voice breaks as she chokes back what he fears might be an impending sob— “I know she wanted better for me. I don’t want to disappoint her, y’know?”

He risks a dry joke to lighten the mood.

“Well… at least if she’s mad, you have the excuse that it runs in the family to fall back on, right?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” she says with a half-hearted giggle, playfully shrugging him away.

They lapse into a peaceful quiet yet again.

He busies himself tracing abstract shapes against the knob of her shoulder, doing his best to help ground her amidst this unexpected squall in their relationship.

“How much time’s left?” she asks, her tone shrunken and nervous 

Steven glances over at her phone on the table. “Just a few more seconds.”

The timer goes off a mere cluster of heartbeats later.

Taking a deep breath as one committed unit, their hands inseparably intertwined, the two lean forward to investigate the pregnancy test together.

There’s only a single band visible in the results window, where the control should be.

Negative.

Steven lets out what’s quite possibly the biggest exhale of his full nineteen years.

Thank the stars.

That’s step one.

It’s still not a solid confirmation— not with this singular test taken so early into what she fears is a missed cycle— but it’s a start.

“What does it mean that a tiny part of me is kinda disappointed now…?” Connie asks him afterwards, sinking backwards into the couch’s soft embrace. 

“It means we’ll have to try again in a few years,” he says, giving the crown of her head a soft kiss. “When we’re actually ready.

_____

Connie tests again just a few hours later that morning. 

Then the next day.

And the next.

All negative.

Much to their relief, their one hundred percent conclusive answer comes on day three, when she calls him at the literal crack of dawn with immense excitement to report the belated start of her period.

Just to be extra sure, she makes a walk-in appointment at the university clinic to talk through the scare with one of their doctors on day four.

“It was that damn anxiety med I just started,” she relays to him over the phone later that evening. “I didn’t even think about it. Apparently medications that function as antidepressants run the risk of screwing up your cycle a bit. Thus, the delay.”

“Well, now we know for the future, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she says with a faint chuckle. “That, and the importance of never using cheap free sample condoms. Ugh… I’m gonna be so paranoid about expiration dates, now.”

He frowns, rapping his fingertips against the arm of his desk chair.

“Hey, listen— don’t get all worked up over it, okay? Like you’ve said before, it takes two to tango. We never have to do anything you’re not explicitly comfortable with.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she acquiesces. “Of course you’re right… Still, I guess the silver lining of all this is that now I know I actually want children someday.”

“Same,” he says, his chest fluttering with unquestionable affection. “Let’s get you through college first, though. Then we’ll talk.” 

Connie giggles, lively and free. The sound is spellbinding music to his ears.

“Sounds like a deal, Biscuit.”

[lesmismignon]

something something a mother's day fic set after Threnody. it has been at least 3 mother's days now. at this rate my gf's cats will call me mother sooner than this gets finished, so

"You looked troubled."

Seras blinked. Her master was in front of her with his torso sticking out of the ceiling.

"Eh." She did not reply any further than that.

"You know, I almost miss the high-pitched, annoying police girl. At least then you were respectful."

"I'm always respectful, Master," Seras said, wide-eyed and innocent.

Alucard disappeared and reappeared in the hall, standing properly this time. He looked bored, which explained his nosiness.

"Perhaps I may be able to dispense advice."

Yeah, sure. Dracula. Vlad the Impaler. Giving her sound advice. Great. She would have better luck summoning Walter on an ouija board.

"Has anyone told you how loud your thoughts are?"

Her eyes twitched. Alucard was trying, in his own dysfunctional way, to make up for his thirty-year absence. Which was all fine and dandy, but as usual he had the worst timing. "I'm sorry, Master. It's just something to do with Integra."

"Oh?" There was a distinct inflection.

Seras prided herself on not blushing. Ever since the day in which the office was not wrecked, the relationship between her two masters had improved. Too improved. Actually, even Pip was starting to avoid the walls near Integra's bedroom!

"Yes, well, it's Mother's Day soon."

Alucard stared, uncomprehending.

"And I want to get her a present, is all. The thing is, I've exhausted my options—"

"You want to get Integra a Mother's Day gift," he deadpanned.

"Yes. I do every year."

"Do you see Integra as a mother figure?"

"Yes? Oh! I know it's strange, since we're only three years apart, but that's easy to forget when she has those wrinkles—which are lovely on her," Seras added hastily, misreading Alucard's expression. "I know I tease her! But I told her, Master, go and apply those creams I got you for your fiftieth birthday if you're really that unhappy—"

"Then, pray tell," Alucard drew out, "what does that make me?"

Seras blinked again. Then it dawned on her.

"O-oh." She fidgeted. "I guess that would make you a, um."

There was a pause.

"To be honest, Master, you're, er, you've been away for so long—no offense! It's not quite—how should I say—" Seras coughed. "Um. I could—oh! Wait! Let me show you something."

She whipped out from her pocket a black rectangle.

"This is the modern phone, Master!" Seras explained quickly. "A smartphone! It can take calls, pictures, videos, go on the internet—do everything, basically. So, er, what I'm trying to show you is...there!" She swiped several times on the screen and then held it up.

Alucard stilled.

"It's Master Integra's old photos! There aren't a lot, she always gets so snippy when I try to take them..."

The photo on display was taken a few summers ago. It was a side profile of Integra, capturing a moment seconds before she had fully turned and swatted at the phone. They had taken a rare day off at the beach. She was gazing off into the ocean distance, and perhaps because of that, her one eye was a deeper blue, a depth that went to the far reaches of her thoughts.

"I almost burned that day," Seras said casually, next to Alucard's stock-stillness. "You can't tell, but she has on a blue sundress. She looked so pretty in it! I had to convince her not to go back and change, what was all that sun lotion I'd put on her for, then? And…" She trailed off. "Um, you need to use your bare finger, Master."

Alucard was attempting to copy what Seras had done and swipe for more pictures. Upon her input his gloves vanished. Seras did not miss how they had been blank.

Her eyes curved. You really are… "Wait."

She jumped and tugged at his sleeve as he began to walk away. "Master, you can't take it, that's my private phone!"

"Don't you think privacy is redundant when I can read your thoughts?"

"What? What does that even--that just means you shouldn't be doing either! Give it back! I--I need that to message Pip--"

"Your goose boy? Don't you two talk enough in your heads?"

"Never you mind," Seras screeched, and ripped the phone from his grasp. "Master, I promise I'll get you your own, just give me an hour!"

Alucard looked at her owlishly. "I want the photos."

"With the photos! God!" Seras darted into a wall to escape.

[earthtoharlow]

Tattooed Heart

Urban Wyatt x ModelOC

Series Masterlist

Here’s the last fic that’s part of my one year anniversary celebration!

Giovanni stood in the corner of the bar as she watched men and women in fancy clothes as they sipped wine and fake laughed at everyone’s shitty jokes. She felt out of place in her custom made outfit. Party girl at heart, she would usually love being in a bar but not with these asshole models who thought they were better than her because they didn’t have face tattoos. After three dirty looks as she approached magazine editors to network, she was over it. Already hitting her social quota for the night, maybe even the year.

Behind her she noticed an employee- only door which took you outside the club. Not being able to stand it any longer any longer, Giovanni quickly exited before anyone noticed.

She sighed in relief as she made it outside as she leaned against the brick wall of the bar, hyping herself up to go back in when she heard a flicker of a lighter, followed by the heavy smoke of weed.

“You look like you could use a puff or two…”

Giovanni immediately turned her head and saw a tall white guy with long blonde hair with a camera hanging around his neck,with his hand held out. It wouldn’t be the first time she saw that while in NY, at least this time, this guy was cute.

She realized she was staring too long and took the blunt out the strangers hand and took a long puff. Giovanni immediately felt her whole body relax. This was exactly what she needed.

It was quiet as the two passed the blunt back and forth, as they finished Giovanni couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the fake drunken laughter coming from the other side of the wall. She really didn’t want to go back in there.

“Yo, there’s a pizza joint like a block from here you wanna hit it up?” The guy suddenly asked.

She raised an eyebrow before answering, “You don’t even know my name and you’re inviting me to get pizza with you?”

He simply just shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, you can stay here with these snobs if you want…but I’m going to get pizza.”

Giovanni looked between the strange but cute man and the door that would lead her back inside and immediately she knew what she was going to do.

“Okay, I’m coming with you but can you at least tell me your name? I've just been calling you “strange guy with weed” in my head.”

The guy let out a chuckle at that. “It’s Urban.” He held his hand out for her to shake.

She grabbed his hand and pulled away almost as quickly when she felt a spark. “I’m Giovanni.”

“Nice to meet you, Giovanni. Now, that we’ve got that out of the way can we go get pizza, I’m hungry as fuck!”

Giovanni nodded before pushing away from the wall and following Urban’s lead to the pizza shop.

“I carry a knife by the way, and I’m not scared to use it.”

Urban looked at Giovanni with a grin. “Cool.”

***

“So are you like a real photographer or like one of those guys who just likes to take pictures of naked women and call it art?” Giovanni asked before taking a big bite of her pizza.

Urban covered his mouth with his hand as he chewed. “I’m a real photographer, my best friend does music so I basically document everything for him.”

Giovanni nodded, not shocked, it’s NY, everyone was into music. It was quiet for a moment before Urban spoke again. “So what’s your story?”

She paused as she reached for another slice of pizza. “My story?”

Urban nodded, “yeah your story. Everyone moves to NY to chase their dreams so what’s yours?”

Giovanni laughed nervously. No one ever asked about her story before, and when she told people what she did they never took her seriously because of the way she looked.

“Well, I’m a model.” She said sitting up straight in the booth.

“Fuck yeah! I figured.”

Giovanni immediately got defensive. “What do you mean by that?”

“Chill dude, don’t pull out your knife. I just meant that I figured you did something with fashion because you look dope as fuck. The outfit, the grills, the face tattoos, plus the fact that you’re stunning…”

She relaxed a bit in her seat, people always used the grills and face tattoos as excuses to not work with her because she didn’t look like the typical model, and here’s this stranger who has only known her for two hours and turned all those excuses into positives.

“Oh thanks, I’m really happy you see it that way. Not everyone gets it.”

Urban simply shrugged his shoulders. “I call it like I see it.”

Giovanni could tell Urban had something else to say, and it was like a light bulb went off on his head when he suddenly dropped his pizza.

“Let’s prove them wrong!”

Giovanni raised an eyebrow “what?”

“Let’s prove those fuckers wrong and show them how damn good a model you are.”

“….and how are we supposed to do that?” She questioned him

She watched as Urban rolled his eyes and waved his camera in the air with a duh expression.

“We can run around the city and take pictures.” Urban started sliding out the booth and throwing away his trash. Giovanni just sat and watched. He turned around when he noticed she was still in her seat. Walking over he grabbed Giovanni’s hand and dragged her out the pizza place. “Ok ok, stop pulling me! I’m coming!”

***

They had been walking on the sidewalk for a few minutes trying to find a good location. Neither of them had noticed they were still holding hands.

Urban suddenly dropped her hand at the empty crosswalk, scooping out the area. “Ok, Gio, pretend this crosswalk is a runway.”

Giovanni ignored how he shortened her name and nodded before walking to the middle of the crosswalk.

She naturally put her hands on her hips and started strutting down the street, but stopped when she noticed Urban shaking her head. “What?”

Urban jogged towards her “Don’t put your hands on your hips. It should be more natural.” Giovanni watched in amazement as Urban demonstrated how he wanted her to walk. She knew he meant well but she couldn’t help but fall over in laughter as she watched his flip his hair over his shoulder as he walked across the street.

“Urban please stop I’m begging” Urban couldn’t help but smile huge at the way Giovanni was bent over laughing at his silliness. He could listen to her laugh on repeat. He watched as she calmed down and wiped the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Act like I’m not here.”

Giovanni took a deep breath and walked across the street towards Urban as he snapped shots of her, she made sure to turn her head to the side as if she was looking out for incoming traffic. Her confidence rose as she could hear Urban praising her from behind his camera.

Giovanni continued to pose, bending down and hugging her knees. When Urban walked closer to get a close up, she flashed him a big smile. Urban’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her beautiful smile. He didn’t even have to see the photo to know that was going to be the money shot.

They ended up taking photos all night long before they noticed it was 5 o’clock in the morning. Thankfully they weren’t too far from their cars. The streets were a lot quieter than it was a couple hours ago, as they walked in a comfortable silence. Feeling a lot more comfortable than she was a few hours ago, Giovanni nudged Urban with her shoulder as she walked beside him to get his attention.

Urban playfully nudged her back. Giovanni was the first to speak. “Ok, you know my story but what’s yours?”

Urban, never the one to like to talk about himself, just shrugged his shoulders. “I told you, I’m a photographer.”

Giovanni rolled her eyes, “If I hadn’t just spent the whole night with you, I would simply just take that for an answer. Tell me about your friend who does music, you say you travel the world with him so he must be good.”

Urban smiled at that, his best friend was pretty good at this music thing. “Yeah, we’ve been best friends since middle school, after we graduated we got an apartment together in Atlanta and were legit working at Chic-Fil-A trying to make ends meet…”

“Wait wait? You were my pleasuring people and served homophobic chicken sandwiches?” Giovanni said as she cut him off.

All Urban could do was laugh and shake his head. “Definitely not, we were just in the back buttering the buns. But anyway he got signed a couple years ago and we’ve been traveling the world ever since.”

Giovanni loved hearing success stories like that, it always inspired her to keep going.

“That’s fucking awesome dude, what’s his name? I’m going to add it to my playlist.” Giovanni asked before pulling out her phone so she could add him to her playlist. She looked up when Urban didn’t speak again.

“Dude, are you going to tell me?”

She watched as Urban nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, his name is Jack Harlow.”

Giovanni nodded and added Jack to her playlist. “Cool, I can’t wait to listen to his music!”

“Wait—“ Urban grabbed her arm lightly to stop her.

“I said his name was Jack Harlow?”

Giovanni nodded, giving him a weird look, “yeah, I heard you. I’m going to listen to his music, what’s the issue?”

“Oh…people usually act really weird when I mention him so…”

“Not gonna lie, dude I’ve never heard of him before.”

Urban widden a little in shock, almost everyone knew who he was. “Really?”

“Yeah really?” Giovanni said confused, making a mental note to look him up when she got home.

They continued walking down the sidewalk before eventually making it to Giovanni’s car next to the bar.

Leaning against the car Giovanni spoke first, “Thanks for walking me back to my car and for saving me from this place.” She said as she motioned towards the building behind them.

Urban rocked on the back of his heels with both hands shoved in his pockets. “Don’t worry about it.”

Giovanni unlocked her car, and got inside. She rolled her window so she could tell Urban goodnight.

“Goodnight, Urban.”

Urban placed his hands on the roof of the car, leaning into her window. “Goodnight, Giovanni” before tapping the roof of her car.

She gave him a wave before driving off. Urban watched as she pulled away and started walking back in the opposite direction. Giovanni didn’t need to know that his car wasn’t close by.

Once he got in his car, Urban cursed to himself when he realized he never got her number.

URBANWYATT

liked by jackharlow, joeywagner, selenosunni,cozane,neelamthadhani and 765,035 others

urbanwyatt: Met this dope model a couple weeks ago, her name is Giovanni. I unfortunately forgot to get her number, can anyone help me find her?

view all 10,579 comments

user: she’s gorgeous holy shit

user: her tattoos 😍

user: hope you find her soon!!

user: we gotta find her and get her on some magazine covers

user: she looks so familiar

user: you captured her beauty so well!

user: she should be on every runway and magazine cover!!

***

AN: My one year anniversary celebration is over! Thank you to everyone who's read everything i've dropped this month and this past year. I really do appreciate it so much. I love you all!

Let me know your thoughts on this :)))

thank you to @harlowcomehome for helping me with this 💜

Tag List:

(message me if you’d like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @blossomluvv @comehomeimissyou @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww

[wendyslegalwife]

Could you do a fic where reader is best friends with Irene and Joy and has crush on both them, but Irene and Joy also have a crush on reader, so they both get competitive with each other and start to shower reader with gifts and do all these affectionate gestures for reader until they both decide to ask reader out at the same time so that they can see who reader really wants? σ̴̶̷̤ . σ̴̶̷̤

Joy!renexfemreader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: slight misunderstandings

Joy and Irene have been friends with you for a very long time eversince they were just little kids. But as time passes their feelings grew stronger for her and your feelings for them also grew. How will you end choosing from irene and joy? Or will you try something different.

- ★

For the past 10 years you, joy and irene have grown up and vowed to eachother that you would never be separated by anything or anyone. Which you kept, you were still in touch with them which made you happy and delighted. You just couldn't live without them they've basically become your sisters. not biologically but by friendship at heart.

You knew each other well very much, most likely whenever joy and irene would fight they would come to you and ask who was wrong and who was right but in the end you end up telling them that they're both wrong and no one's right so they end up not talking to eachother the whole day.

It was like a dream seeing how two of your dear beloved friends are always fighting for you, which they thought they were slick about doing. You couldn't help but fall in love? With them. Their sillyness, kindness, their affectionate loves for you. Is just completely infinite and endless.

Not until they're battle kept gettinf worse, to the point that they kept buying you gifts and things that weren't even needed or necessary. You kept accepting which made your room now a storage area. It is now filled with tons of gifts and letters from them, you couldn't stand seeing stacks of gifts left unused. Or you just either give them away or keep them in their boxes.

The love triangle wasn't going to stop any soon so you have decided to finally confront them for their actions. Joy and Irene we're busy watching tv while eating popcorn. You walk up to them with your arms crossed and a frowny pout upon your face.

"guys! We need to talk" Joy spilled the popcorn startled by your loud voice. Irene bursted out laughing which made joy irritated, "Not the time for fighting! I need to talk to you both." They reluctantly got up and followed you into the dining area.

"look guys, I've noticed lately that you've been giving me so much gifts? It's not even my birthday or our friendship anniversary! Also giving me gifts has become worse, you guys keep doing it everyday? What is up with that!" The two stare at eachother awkwardly, they sighed deeply and have decided to confess their love for you.

"we like you!" They shouted loud and proud. You gasped acting like you didn't know all of this but you did. "Is it me or irene?" Joy asked. You shook your head not knowing what to do.

"i-i like you girls too but.. it's hard.." after thinking for awhile you've decided to try something new. A poly relationship with them. Joy and Irene as both of your girlfriends. "Let's try being in a poly rs! Then we'll see where it leads us to.. if it doesn't work out atleast we'd all still be friends right?" Joy and irene hesitated with the idea at first but they nodded in agreement.

And so you three did date eachother, the first few days were just average days that you three always had. But each day your relationship with both of them grew deeper eventually leading to falling inlove with them more and more everyday.

Joy and irene never left your side, they would always take care of you. They would each take turns being with you so it would be fair for the both of them and you of course.

After getting to know them better in the relationship, you have observed that irene was more of the mom caring love while joy was the silly yet clingy girlfriend towards you. You didn't complain and enjoyed every bit of it. You came to thinking that dating them both wasn't so bad after all. As a matter of fact you've never felt much love as this much before not that you're now with them.

- wendyslegalwife 🩵

This is so rushed sorry sweetie but I hope you still like it!

[margindoodles2407]

OKAY OKAY SO I can't really find a way to end this BUT

I have been working on this fic for literal months. And I think I am finally able to share it with the world. It's still a work in progress, but I am happy with how it is turning out, I just have to finish the ending.

A few words before I get into it, and PLEASE read this carefully, because this fic does deal with some topics that may be sensitive for some readers.

Basically, it deals with how Paladin- Hyrule Warriors Link- got his facial scars. If you've ever seen a picture of him that I've drawn, you'll notice that the left side of his face is covered in scars.

Well, this is the idea I've had bouncing around for like. A year (oh my gosh have I been zelda obsessed for that long already?) and anyway here it is!

TRIGGER WARNINGS- Self Harm, Blood

It’s a silent summer night when he finally snaps.

It’s been weeks in the coming, silently encroaching upon him like a lizalfos stalking its prey. The knowledge that he is the cause of this war- he and his perfect handsome face. It’s been eating him up inside since that night in the Valley of Seers.

And now it’s everywhere.

The distrustful glares of his soldiers. The outright hateful ones of orphaned, widowed, dispossessed citizens.

Most of all, the cold, silent, expressionless gazes of the dead.

Hadrian died today. Hadrian, his best friend since childhood, his only remaining friend from before the war. One of the few who ever stood up for him when the other soldiers picked on him (in the early days) and when they dragged his name and his title through the mud (more recently). His only true defender. 

And now he is gone.

He doesn’t remember unsheathing his knife- Hadrian’s gift, the only gift he’d gotten when he became Captain Link. All he knows is the blank, lifeless stare from the steel-blue eyes peering up at him from the reflection in the blade. He disgusts himself. He hates his face.

He hates his eyes. (The tears begin to fall.) His perfect, handsome eyes. And he hates the perfect handsome eyebrows that shade them. He hates his forehead, his cheekbones, his strong chin and flaxen hair. (Your fault your fault your fault) He hates his shoulders and his chest, his alabaster limbs and his strong, slender fingers. (His shoulder shake with anguished sobs and the only thought that registers is Your Fault He’s Dead)

But most of all he hates his face. 

His perfect, handsome, horrible face. 

The face that killed Hadrian.

And then the knife is flashing in the dark, gleaming steel slicing through the flawless skin of the face he hates so much. Scarlet blood and tormented tears mingle as they pour down off his face and stain his night shirt crimson. Every slash of the blade is more painful and bitingly cold than the last but he can’t stop. He can’t stop. He can’t stop--

He didn’t see the tent flap open and he didn’t hear the gasp of horror mixed with something like concern. The thing that brings him back is the sensation of warm firm hands wrenching the knife out of his grasp and hurling it across the tent. And then they cup his face and he looks up, and it’s her. 

Because of course it is. 

It’s dark and his tent has no windows, but even in the darkest caverns of the Pits of Demise, he’d be able to make out her face. It’s twisted, so horribly twisted, by sympathy and pain and anger not directed at him- never directed at him, only at what could possibly hurt him this much. Her hand cups the left side of his face- the side he ruined- to inspect the damage, and as she pulls it away to take a better look they both notice it’s absolutely stained with ruby-hued liquid. 

What have you done, is what is etched into her face, but not in the accusatory tones of his men. No, her question is much softer, much gentler, not so much a demand as a petition. 

He’s never had a proper conversation with her. He’s met her eyes a total of three times prior to this encounter. She’s his superior. She’s his Queen. 

But she’s kneeling on the floor of his tent, and her hand is again resting on his mangled cheek, and all remaining decorum is completely tossed aside as he gives in to her touch and collapses into her arms.

Neither of them know how long they kneel there together, she stroking his hair as he weeps into her shoulder, his blood wrecking his shirt and her nightgown and seeping into both of their hair and getting all over their hands.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

the sad old fire gays playlist

bold = jeong jeong, italics = piandao, both = both

1. let this remain - alana henderson

meet the basic need in me then get up and be gone / take the heat, retreat and leave the room to carry on / so between me and you / let this remain / but you could be the only one i don’t regret (yet)

they start their relationship trying to convince themselves it's just some physical thing. it'd be easier that way, less complicated. but it's not.

i didn't intend this, but in my fic killer, jeong jeong all but quotes this song, telling piandao "you are the only part of that life I do not regret".

2. two birds - regina spektor

two birds on a wire / one tries to fly away / and the other / watches him close from that wire / he says he wants to as well / but he is a liar

one of them ran away from the fire nation, the other did not, despite having the same beliefs. i think after jeong jeong deserts, piandao considers following him, wants to follow him. but he never does. he's just a liar.

3. goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski

explained here

4. round we go - marika hackman

oh my god, what have i done? / left my hands above the flames

this ended up on here because in the second chapter of my fic beyond your darkness, piandao burns himself while staring into fire thinking of jeong jeong. this song is pretty opaque, but that imagery, plus the lines about "i'm inside my head / rolling around my skull like a flesh-colored marble" makes me feel like this song is about that exactly that situation - burning yourself while turning over a past relationship in your head. round you go.

5. i don't smoke - mitski

explained here

6. disclaim - thao & the get down stay down

i don't believe it's your destiny / to always chase my memory / how could it be insincere / to very clearly disappear

jeong jeong thinking about piandao post-desertion, hoping that he moves on with his life. i meant no harm to you, the song repeats.

there's also something very gender about a woman singing the line "i was once an honorable man". very jeong jeong's gender, specifically.

7. tactics - japanese breakfast

a love that has to / move a great distance from you / cross a sea, keep you from me

along the same theme as the previous - jeong jeong left piandao behind because he cared, didn't want to drag him down too.

shockingly, i'm pretty sure i wrote the peach memory in ghosts before i heard this song. then i just had to add it to the playlist.

8. burning house - cam

laid beside you and pulled you close / and the two of us went up in smoke

i heard this song on the radio during the three months i worked retail and i was like "that sounds like a dream jeong jeong would have about piandao". and then i added it to the playlist. love how the album cover does not match the vibe of the song at all.

9. as it was - hozier

tell me if somehow / some of it remained /how long you would wait for me / how long i've been away

one of the first songs i thought of as pianjeong - blorbo from my albums meets blorbo from my shows! a song about returning home to your lover after a draining and chaotic time away, apt for jeong jeong reuniting with piandao after being on the run for years. i also think the last lines -

and the cold cut as sharp as my baby / and the nights were as dark as my baby / half as beautiful too

fit piandao pretty well.

(that said, the main conflict in ghosts is that jeong jeong knows that everything can't be as it was.)

10. i will - mitski

explained here. i really tried to limit the amount of mitski songs on this playlist. i really did.

11. timefighter - lucy dacus

i fought time / it won in a landslide / i'm just as good as anybody / i'm just as bad as anybody

the weight of the years hangs on jeong jeong. but ultimately, it's healing to realize everyone has good and bad. the years have caught up to both of them, but it's brought wisdom.

12. mars - sleeping at last

we were young enough to sign / along the dotted line / now we're young enough to try / to build a better life

the former soldiers healing and building a better life after the war.

13. hot & heavy - lucy dacus

this song came into my notes app and plagiarized from the early drafts of ghosts. absolutely rude behavior from lucy. i demand financial compensation.

then again, maybe we were both writing about someone who goes back to the place they're from and reconnects with an ex-lover and both of them have changed so much and seeing this person again brings up so many old feelings and memories. also fire imagery. maybe that's it.

jokes aside, i can't pick just one lyric to sum up why this is on the playlist.

being back here makes me hot in the face / hot blood in my pulsing veins / heavy memories weighing on my brain

jeong jeong is super uncomfortable being back in the fire nation.

how could i deny a diamond in the rough?

piandao as an exceptional person from a lower-class background, piandao as a person jeong jeong loved in the miserable environment of the military.

you were always stronger than people suspected / underestimated and overprotected

piandao was underestimated as a nonbender - maybe not overprotected, but the point still stands.

when i went away it was the only option / couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution / the most that i could give to you was nothing at all

jeong jeong deserting the military bc he knew he'd snap if he stayed, not telling piandao because that kept him safer.

you were a secret to yourself / you couldn't keep from anyone else / now you're the biggest brightest flame / you are a fire that can't be tamed / you're better than ever but i knew you when / it's bittersweet to see you again

piandao has gone from the underestimated young soldier to a respected master. jeong jeong had always seen that potential in him even if he didn't see it himself. but given how jeong jeong thinks about firebending, calling him a bright flame that can't be tamed is also a bit of an insult, that he's become this respectable fire nation citizen. he's better than ever, but jeong jeong knew him way back when. it's bittersweet to see him again.

14. curses - the crane wives

every word i say is kindling / but the smoke clears when you're around

this song has so many key jeong jeong words - curse, fire, war. even has my personal jeong jeong word "ghosts". throw in "river" and you've got them all! it's almost TOO obvious.

15. killer - phoebe bridgers

can the killer in me / tame the fire in you?

our title track, as well as the title of my fic killer. despite all the destruction that they have done and witnessed, there is something waiting for them.

16. any human friend - marika hackman

i'll take you to the far side / where it won't be wrong

they get together after the war, in that faraway "place" where it's finally safe for them to be themselves. i put this as piandao's perspective because he's the one "made of stone", who maybe seemed cold and unfeeling for so many years because he had to hide. (jeong jeong may be repressed, but unfeeling is not the word for someone who yells that much). mostly, though, this song has such a warm golden energy. it's the slow fade-out on a sunset, the closing credits of the movie. the happy ending, in song form.

[morningsound15]

Hi! Really love your works! Do you plan any new fuffy fics?

Hi! Yes, always, I have about 8,000 words of a Fuffy pregnancy/kid!fic AU written that I may or may not complete before Christmas time, I have been extremely bad about fic writing recently.

but here's a little snippet/sneak peak if you'd like one

it's tentatively called Prophecy, Baby and rated either M or E I will decide after i've written the sexy stuff lol

.

Buffy shows up on Faith’s doorstep in Cleveland, five years after Sunny-D went crater-up, looking ragged and all-in-all worse for the wear. Faith’s eyes linger on the swelling beneath her t-shirt, and she blinks a few times, not knowing what to say. They haven’t seen each other in half a year, but Buffy’s got that look in her eye, the one that always seems to spell trouble for Faith and her bleeding heart.

“Hey,” Buffy finally says, her throat raspy, dark bruises under her eyes from exhaustion. “Got room for a couple of fugitives?”

Faith blinks, and can’t think of a single thing to say. Wordlessly she steps to the side, and opens her door, feeling a bit like she’s just hung a “Vamps, Demons, and All Manner of World-Ending Baddies Welcome!” sign above the knocker.

They don’t speak for several weird, stressful minutes, wherein Faith, on autopilot, goes about her hosting duties: she takes Buffy’s coat, leads her to the couch, and gets her a glass of water. Only then, once properly settled, does she think to speak.

“What the hell are you doing here, B?”

“Warm welcome,” Buffy says between hefty sips, rolling her eyes.

“I think I can stand to be a little testy. Wasn’t expectin’ company tonight.”

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting a hot date with you and your bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos?”

Faith spies the opened bag where she’d knocked it off the couch in her haste to get to the insistent knocking on her front door. She kicks it out of sight, embarrassed and huffy. “If you don’t wanna start explainin’, you know where the door is.”

Buffy looks like she might be in the mood to quip a bit longer, except something in her stomach must twitch (kick? Is the little gremlin at the kicking stage already?) and she winces. The fight leaves her at once, and she takes a breath and grits out, whether because of the pain in her abdomen or the pain of admitting it: “I needed a friend.”

Faith chokes down her knee jerk response, Are we friends?, and instead says, “Last I checked, you had lotsa friends. A whole castle full of them, actually.”

“I needed a friend who wasn’t going to send me back to the Organization. Someone I could… keep a low profile with. At least for a little while.” She glances down at her expansive stomach. “About three and a half months, actually.”

Faith nods. It makes sense, in a perverse sort of way. “So you came here. Last place on earth anyone would look for ya.” Buffy’s face performs an intricate dance disguised as a wince. She opens her mouth, maybe to apologize, but Faith waves her off. “No sweat. I get it. It was smart. And you know me, always looking to help a couple of good-for-nothings hide out from the law. Or the witches, or whatever it is you guys have got going on over there.”

“To be honest, I didn’t really think this through. I just knew I couldn’t stay there. And I hoped you wouldn’t turn me away.”

That’s something Buffy can always count on. It’s the part of Faith’s personality that she hates the most about herself. Her inability to turn Buffy away, even when she knows it’s no good for her to invite her in.

“They know?” Faith looks pointedly at Buffy’s rather large belly. “About… Buffy Junior in there?”

“They know,” Buffy says with a grimace. Faith is still staring. She can’t take her eyes off of Buffy. The swell of her belly, the heavy way she sits even now. Faith’s trying, as carefully and subtly as possible, to think through the timeline. It doesn’t do her much good, she basically doesn’t know anything about Buffy and what she gets up to outside of the two days they see each other every six months. They both prefer it that way. They get along like a forest fire — all burning destruction, crackling heat, explosive violence, etcetera etcetera. It’s easier to keep them apart, to minimize the damage.

Faith doesn’t have a very good knowledge of the reproductive cycle. She never finished high school, what with being a wanted fugitive and the whole coma and all, but if she had to guess she’d say Buffy’s probably somewhere in the second trimester. Five, six months along, maybe? Which would put the date of conception right around… right around…

Faith blinks, her eyes flicking up to Buffy’s face.

Buffy doesn’t seem to be paying her any attention. She groans as she stretches her feet out, her muddy boots making a mess of Faith’s coffee table. Faith doesn’t care about the mud or the boots. Buffy kicks her shoes off slowly, tries to bend to rub at her swollen ankles, grimaces when she can’t reach before flopping heavily down onto the couch again. After a few moments she notices Faith hovering, frozen in place, and she must clock the panic in Faith’s expression.

“It’s not yours,” Buffy says, not unkindly. Faith flushes, because she feels stupid for even thinking… of course the kid isn’t hers. That isn’t even possible. She doesn’t know much about the reproductive cycle, but she knows enough to know that their combination of downstairs equipment can’t, strictly speaking, do something like that. But she couldn’t help the initial thought. Unfortunately the thought of Buffy bouncing from her bed one night to some nameless, faceless, hunk of masculine musculature the next stings more than she’d like to admit. She can’t pause on that thought, or else she’s liable to put her fist through the wall. Or walk right off her balcony. Whichever one seems like it’ll cause more pain.

 “I see you trying to do the math over there,” Buffy says, ignorant of the thousand-yard-leaps Faith’s mind has been making three feet to her left, “but it’s not yours.”

“Yeah,” Faith scoffs, and it rings hollow even to her. “Of course not. I’m not, like… I know how it works. Not like I coulda gotten you pregnant even if I wanted—I mean…” She clears her throat, her cheeks flaming hot (not unlike the bag of Cheetos currently attracting ants next to her TV). “So… the dad is—?”

“Not in the picture,” Buffy says shortly.

“Gotcha.”

“I didn’t come here for an interrogation.”

“Hey, I gotcha, B. If you wanted the third degree you woulda stayed in Scotland. I can be discreet. What goes into or comes outta your body ain’t any of my business.”

“Gross. But thank you, I guess.”

[sesamestreep]

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens​ who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please. 

 Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

 What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

 His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

 She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

 On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

 He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

 The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

 “Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

 It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

 “Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

 “As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

 Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

 He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

 “I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

 “About me?”

 “Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

 Jyn  tsks  at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

 “I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment. 

 “Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long. 

 She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

 Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

 “I am always up early.”

 “Not this early.”

 “Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

 “Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

 His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

 “You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

 “Oh?”

 He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

 “I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

 “Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

 “As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

 “What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

 Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

 “I wouldn’t say that.”

 “Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

 “‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

 “‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

 Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

 “I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

 Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

 “‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

 “No. ‘Captain.’”

 “Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

 “I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

 “Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat. 

 Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

 “When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

 “My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

 “So would mine.”

 She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

 “Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

 He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

 “As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

 “Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

 “Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

 “Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

 “Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze. 

 She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

 “Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

 “Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

 “I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

 He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part. 

 He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

 “Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

 “Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

 “Yes, and as a husband.”

 “It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

 “Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

 Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

 “Yes.”

 “About the war?”

 Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too. 

 She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

 “I have a few of those too.”

 Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

 “I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

 He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

 “My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

 “That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

 “It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

 Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

 Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

 “What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen. 

 She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

 After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

 “No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

 “Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

 “You wish to go home?”

 “I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

 “Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

 Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

 “Me?”

 “Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

 “Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

 “Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

 Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

 “Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

 “No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

 “You should not worry about that.”

 “Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

 Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

 He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

 As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly. 

 “You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

 He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?” 

 “There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

 She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

 Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

 He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

 “I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

 “I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

 “No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

 He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

  An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

 He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

 When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

 “You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

 He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else. 

 She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

 “You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait. 

 His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

 Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

 Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

 “You said  anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

 ***

 The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

 However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

 Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

 He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

 “Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

 “Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

 Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

 “Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

 “Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

 That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

 “To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

 Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

 “Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

 Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

 His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

 They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

 “Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

 “Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

 Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

 Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

 “‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically. 

 “Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?” 

 “It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

 Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

 “Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

 Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

 “But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't  terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

 “‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

 Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

 Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

 “He said this  to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

 Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

 “And what did she have to say to all this?”

 “I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!” 

 “Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

 His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

 “I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

 “I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

 “Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice. 

 So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

 “I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

 “Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

 “You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

 “No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

 “Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it. 

 Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

 “I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

 Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not. 

 “I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

 “Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

 Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn. 

 As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends. 

 Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

 He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

 “Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

 He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

 She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information. 

 But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult. 

 And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right? 

 If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him? 

 It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

 “Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

 He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

 “No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

 “Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

 She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

 “I am glad to hear it.”

 “Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

 “No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

 “Me?”

 He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

 She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

 “It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

 “No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

 “Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

 “It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

 “I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

 “Cassian, what is this about?”

 He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

 She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

 “No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

 Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

 “Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

 “Is that why you said it?”

 “Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

 “It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully. 

 “I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too  or  I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that. 

 Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

 Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

 “It seems I must be going,” he says.

 “So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

 However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

 “Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

 “Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle. 

 “Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

 Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell. 

 “Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

 The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

 “Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

 She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

 “And mine stay here with you.”

 The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

[plant-flwrs]

hi love, it's me again! i just can't get enough of your writing... i'm sorry to be asking for another fic, i guess i just can't help myself. lately i've been obsessed with the fake dating thing, so i was wondering if you could write a fred x reader (basically same reader as my last request, gryffindor, same year as ron) with that? like, maybe george knows they fancy each other and makes a bet with him so they start fake datig but realise they're in love with each other? aaa thank you so much, ly

bets off // fred weasley 

masterlist!

a/n: i used the same pronouns from the last request, hope you don’t mind!! i apreciate u sm ur always so active w my fics ily <3333 this is the first thing i’ve written in a while that i’m actually proud of so i hope u guys like it :D

summary: Fred makes a bet with George that entails fake dating you for at least a month. He never expected to fall in love with you. 

(5k)

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Competition was healthy. At least, that’s what Fred told himself as he looked at George’s outstretched hand, a cocky smile etching the boy’s lips. 

“Two weeks?” Fred asked, looking suspiciously at George.

“Two. Weeks.” George answered definitively, smirking at his brother. 

Fred considered this in his head. Two weeks to get you, someone who had never previously shown any romantic interest in him, to date him for at least a month. He doubted it would be hard, for he had never had any trouble getting girls to swoon for him in the past. A few winks and charming sentiments and you would be putty in his hand. With this air of confidence, he shook George’s hand.

“You idiot!” Lee, who had previously been silently watching the exchange, called from across the table, a baffled smile on his face.

George laughed, leaning back in his chair and looking at Fred like he agreed with Lee.

“What?” Fred asked, the overly confident look still littering his features.

“You can’t win with this one,” Lee explained, shaking his head, “you either piss off Ron when this goes right, you piss of Ron when this goes wrong, you come out the git for breaking a girls heart, or you come out the embarrassed git who was rejected by your kid brother’s best friend.”

“Hey,” Fred said, faking offence, “I never agreed to ask out Harry.”

George and Lee rolled their eyes, hiding smiles as they continued their homework.

Fred was not deterred by Lee’s warnings, for he had a plan to avoid all of that. He was simply going to tell you the truth.

He found you on your way to the green house, pulling you away from a Slytherin girl you were walking with.

“He just stared at her? Like he didn’t eve-” you felt an unexpected tugging, “Ah!”

You squealed, feeling your feet stumble under you for a moment as you gathered your wits again. You looked down at the hand pulling you, following it up to the face. It was Fred, which was odd, because you two were not known for pulling at each other in hallways.

“You’re going to miss Herbology!” your friend called out to you, a worried expression on her face.

“I’ll meet you there, save me a seat!” you called back to her, turning away and following Fred as he still dragged you.

“Fred? What are you doing?” you asked him, making no effort to move from his strong grip.

“Got to talk to you,” he said airily, barely looking back at you as he pulled you down an empty corridor. 

He let go of your arm, smiling down at you as you waited for him to speak. He didn’t take the hint, just looking at you.

“What did you want?” you glanced at your watch, seeing you only had a few minutes before Professor Sprout would start class.

“I have a proposition for you,” Fred drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as per usual, “what do ya say?”

You squinted your eyes at him, frowning, “I have to hear the proposition first.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, thats how propositions work.”

“I hadn’t realized,” he replied sarcastically, dropping his cool demeanor and letting some desperation seep into his voice.

“What do you want?” you repeated, slightly more annoyed.

“I may have made a bet that heavily relies on your willingness to do me a huge favor,” he said, a hopeful smile coming to his face.

“Oh god, Fred, what did you do?”

“George may have implied that I was in a dry spell when it came to girls,” he said, smirking, “and obviously that’s just not true. So, he suggested a bet to see if I still had my skills-”

“Your skills?”

“-yes my skills, would you listen?”

Fred leaned closer to you, his eyebrows raising as you rolled your eyes.

“Back to what I was saying,” he drew in a breath, dragging out this entire conversation, “George suggested a bet to see if I could still charm the ladies,” he wiggled his eyebrows and you quirked one of yours.

“Long story short-”

You interrupted again, “That was the short version of that story? Fred can’t we do this later, I’ve got class in,” you glanced at your watch. “two minutes.”

“No! Give me a second,” he ran a hand through his hair, putting his strong hands on your shoulders to keep you in place, “I made a bet with George that I could get you to fall in love with me in two weeks and date you for a month!”

You looked up at the boy, thinking he had gone off the end. He had to, either that or he was messing with you. Or maybe he had been slipped a potion of some sort.

“Fred,” you started, your kind tone giving Fred the impression you would agree to the plan, “you just waisted the very limited break I have between classes, successfully pulling me away from a very entertaining story about Snape, and probably making me late for Herbology.”

Fred groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance.

“I’m serious!” 

You pulled against Fred’s grip, but he kept you in place. His face lit up, obviously coming up with what he thought would be a great plan. He released you briefly, digging his hands in his bag and moving crumpled papers around. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, brandishing it like it was a diamond. 

“This, my love, is going to get you out of Herbology this class period,” he said, unfolding the paper.

He revealed a blank piece of paper with tiny sparkles floating on the page. As he held it for a second longer, words began to form on the paper, writing something.

‘Professor Sprout,

Please excuse Y/n from Herbology this period, she came to me with a pain in her stomach and I gave her a potion to fix it. She stayed in the infirmary during the period.

-Poppy’

You had heard about these before, enchanted notes that were written in authentic handwriting and enchanted the reader to believe it, no matter what they said. Perfect for forging notes from teachers. 

You stared at the paper in awe, grabbing it from Fred’s loose grasp.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. That’s the last one I have,” he said, feeling a bit remorseful having to give it up. He had been planning to use it to get out of Ancient Runes tomorrow. 

You folded the paper again, putting it neatly in your bag and looking back at Fred.

“Alright, let’s go,” you sighed, allowing him to lead you to the great hall, through the courtyard, and out to the Quidditch Pitch where no teachers would be. 

You sat in the stands, overlooking the empty and wet field,

“You want me to date you for two weeks?” you asked, sounding reluctant.

“No,” Fred said, sounding annoyed, “I want to fake date you for a month, but we won’t start until two weeks from now.”

You squinted, looking out at the stands on the other side of the field. You were thinking about this, finding the cons to outweigh the pros.

“What’s in it for me?” you paused, hearing Fred’s groan from beside you, “I mean, this could ruin my friendship with Ron, I get the embarrassing reputation when you fake dump me in a month, I don’t see how this is benefiting me.”

“Ron won’t care, I promise you,” Fred said acting as if this was obvious, “he lets Harry ogle Ginny all the time. And as for our fake dumping, that can be totally on your terms. I just need to win the bet with George.”

“What do you get if you win?”

Fred had hoped you weren’t going to ask that, but he was realizing you were smarter than he thought.

“Three Galleons,” he lied, looking at your skeptical face in the corner of his eye, “fine, six Galleons.”

You looked expectantly at him, waiting for his offer.

“I’ll split it with you,” he finally gave in.

He was a little upset at having to share his future winnings, but once you agreed to the bet and squealed excitedly at the possibility of some Galleons, a smile spread on his face.

Fred began laying the groundwork the next day. He made sure to send you flirtatious smiles when George was looking, waving to you in the halls, and talking to you in the common room.

You, Hermione, and Ron sat at a table in the corner, the three of you poured over a chess match. Ron was successfully beating Hermione, watching her as she tried to remember the rules he had taught her over and over. 

“You can’t do that,” he said impatiently as Hermione tried to move a pawn backwards. His hand reached out and returned the piece back to where it was, and Hermione groaned.

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and turning your head up towards the ceiling. 

“Hello,” Fred purred from above you, looking down at you.

You snapped your eyes open, not entirely used to Fred’s flirting yet. It took you by surprise most days, and he always managed to get you when you weren’t expecting it. You looked to Ron, gauging his reaction. His eyes stayed locked on Hermione’s frustrated face, arms crossed as he waited for her move.

“Hello,” you replied, turning your head to face Fred as he move to your side. 

He leaned against your chair, his hand supporting his weight as he wrapped it around the back of your chair. The top of his hip bumped into your shoulder, and you resisted the urge to lean away from him. It’s not that Fred Weasley was disgusting or anything, he certainly wasn’t, but he had a reputation. Fred wasn’t known to be faithful or respectful of the usual rules regarding relationships. He wasn’t tied down, and half the student body has seen him naked (or wanted to). You had gone through your phase of liking Fred, and that phase lasted longer than you’d like to admit. You refused to boost his ego, though, and felt determined to not let this fake dating get to your head. 

Ron was still busy with his chess match, now watching Hermione’s focused gaze turn into a nervous one as she became aware of Ron’s eyes on her. She bit her lip, tapping her fingers on the table.

Fred glanced down at you, quirking an eyebrow and nodding his head towards Ron. He was showing you that Ron wouldn’t care if you two dated, testing Ron’s limits.

Fred’s hand moved slowly from the back of your chair to your shoulder. His slender fingers pressed gently on your clothed arm, moving to brush a piece of hair from your neck. He twirled a piece of your hair in his fingers, raising an amused eyebrow at Ron’s lack of reaction.

“Merlin, Hermione! I’ve taught you 100 times!”

Hermione scoffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Ron!” she exclaimed back, offended.

“Look,” he moved his hand to one of her pieces. He whisked it across the board, then one of his pieces, and then one of Hermione’s, and then one of his own, “Check.”

“Maybe if you had patience and didn’t stare me down every time it was my turn-” Hermione started, glancing to you for support.

Her eyes widened when she saw the somewhat intimate position you were in with Fred, her sentence dropping. 

“If you didn’t take so long, I wouldn’t stare you down!” Ron huffed and pushed his chair back, standing suddenly.

He hadn’t even glanced at you and Fred, missing Hermione’s shocked expression.

“What are you doing?” she questioned Fred, sounding even more offended than when Ron was yelling at her a moment ago.

“What?” Fred replied nonchalantly, pushing his body away from yours and taking Ron’s seat.

He moved the chair closer to the table, purposefully brushing his knee against yours. You knew he was watching your face, so you kept a neutral expression.

“He was all over you,” Hermione whispered to you, as if Fred wasn’t right in front of her,

“So?” you asked, acting as if it wasn’t abnormal for Fred to ‘be all over you’.

You were internally cringing at the whole thing, at Fred’s forwardness, lying to Hermione, the whole situation.

“Something must be in the air today,” Hermione said to no one in particular as she stood from the table, “everyone’s lost their minds.”

She left you and Fred, leaving him with a smirk on his face.

“I think that went well,” Fred said, moving the pieces on the chess board around swiftly as he set it up for a new game.

You moved to Hermione’s seat so you were across from him, rolling your eyes. 

“This is ridiculous, Fred,” you said, and at the sound of your genuine annoyance his eyes were on your face.

The board in front of you was set anew, white closest to you. You let yourself sit in your frustration for a moment, looking down at the board and moving a pawn. Fred made no move to his own pieces, just staring at you from his side of the table.

“What d’you mean?” he said, watching your hand retreat from the board. 

“These public displays of affection- isn’t it a little ridiculous?” you said, locking your eyes on the game in front of you.

A look of hurt flashed across Fred’s face, not that you would have seen it, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. His hand lazily moved one of his pawns.

“I don’t think so, no,” he said, leaning back in his chair and still studying your face, “I think they’re quite effective.”

“They’re only effective because I’m playing along,” you moved another pawn, hoping Fred would take the bait so you could steal his pawn.

“Which I appreciate fully,” he said, leaning forward and moving his pawn exactly where you wanted him to.

You stole his piece, advancing on the board. He hadn’t even registered the game, frankly, only looking at you.

“I feel like-” you didn’t know what you felt. You hadn’t put it into words, but you knew you didn’t like it.

Fred, and older, charming, handsome boy, was showing you a new amount of attention. Fred, a boy you had a crush on almost the entire time you’ve known him, was sending you flirtatious winks in the hallways and being very affectionate. Fred, your best friend’s older brother, was trying to date you to win a bet.

“-nevermind,” you finished, realizing you could not say any of this aloud. 

Fred had a quizzical look on his face, watching you as you silently sat across from him. You met his eyes for the first time since he sat down, swallowing hard. You stared at each other for at least a minute, neither of you moving or breaking the contact. His eyes had an intensity in them that you had never seen before, but they were also gentle and kind. He looked soft, his face illuminated by the faint candle light and fireplace, casting a yellow hue over his skin. His hair was grown out and pushed off his forehead, falling easily on the sides of his face. He had taken his tie off, though still in his school uniform, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His mouth, usually in a resting smirk, was thin and straight, making him look rarely serious. 

You felt like it took ages, but you finally broke his stare and cast your eyes downward at the board. You looked back up at him, seeing his eyes unmoving from your face.

“Your move,” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

Fred’s eyes shot to the board, and he moved the first piece he saw. His mind was racing as he tried to collect his thoughts, all of which were about you. 

He had no idea what happened, but his heart was beating incredibly fast and his hands were sweating. Fred, a man who had never once done anything serious, was feeling very serious. He didn’t know what was going on inside his head, but all he knew was that he thought you were remarkably beautiful. You were perfect, really, and he could not wait for this game of chess to end so he could get the hell away from you. 

Fred had never been in any sort of serious relationship. He had never dated a girl for longer than a few weeks, usually doing something that offended them (that was often mentioning how hot another girl was, or, in the worst case, snogging said other girl). He didn’t care for anything long-term, anything serious, because he couldn’t be bothered to find anyone that interesting. You, however, made his hands sweat. No one had ever made Fred’s hands sweat. No one had ever made Fred’s mind run blank.

He blinked at the board, realizing it was his turn again, and felt like giggling like a school girl. He shot his head up, looking around the common room and pretending to be in a hurry.

“Have you got the time?” he asked, watching as you looked down at your wrist- eyes flickering to your hand, which he realized he wanted nothing more than to hold in that moment- checking the time on your watch and telling him. He sprang from his chair, “I told George I’d meet him in a few, can we continue this later?”

He hadn’t even waited for an answer before he was running through the portrait hole, nearly knocking a few first years off their feet when he bumped into them.

Fred disappeared from the common room, leaving you with the chess board.

For the next few days, Fred’s flirting was non-existent. He wasn’t ignoring you, but the entire dynamic between you had shifted; something changed. He wasn’t painfully arrogant, seeming to take more effort in the way he treated you. There was no inappropriate flirting, no lustful winks. You wondered if the bet was still on.

You found out soon that it was. 

You and Hermione left the library fairly late into the afternoon, but neither of you minded the time that got away from you. You spent the day doing very little actual studying, talking and laughing instead. There was a very few amount of people who could tear Hermione away from her studies, and she didn’t often like to admit that you were one of them. 

“Are you going to tell me why Fred was so-” she broke off, shuddering in some sort of disgusted way that made you laugh “-touchy with you the other day?”

Hermione had been pressing a little bit every time she saw you about Fred, and you had been avoiding it every time. 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. That was just Fred being Fred,” you insisted, rolling your eyes playfully. 

The guilt of lying to your friends left you a few days ago, instead you only felt overwhelming uneasiness as your schoolgirl crush for Fred resurfaced. You couldn’t help it; the hot older boy you had liked since your first year was suddenly putting himself in compromising situations with you. So, you couldn’t tell Hermione about Fred’ bet, because then you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself telling her about your genuine crush. 

“Really?” Hermione teased, bumping her shoulder into yours.

“Yes, really,” you insisted, turning the corner to the main staircase that was crowded with students wandering the castle on the weekend afternoon, “ I don’t get why your fixating on this, ‘Mione.”

Your words, however, fell on deaf ears. Her gaze was locked on something on the stairs beneath you both. You followed it, seeing the heavy stream of students starting to part. From your position, you couldn’t see much through the crowd, but soon the crowd thinned around you and you got closer.

Fred stood on the landing, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hands. You bit your lip, trying to hide the laugh bubbling in your chest. Such a grand gesture for a fake one-month relationship, this boy was determined to beat George and win those three Galleons. You felt Hermione clutching loosely to your arm, a dazed sort of look overcoming her features. You couldn’t help but laugh at this, prying yourself free from her grip and walking down the stairs to meet Fred.

He also looked sort of dazed, and with a quizzical expression you felt your face heat up under the stares of everyone in the stairwell. You came to the landing, looking up at Fred. His hand shook a little as he held the flowers, and he bit his lip harshly. 

“Want to go out with me?” he asked, a surprisingly earnest voice replacing his usual smug one. 

You glanced at your watch, moving to stand on your toes to reach him. You moved your mouth to his ear, speaking so only he could hear you, “You’re about a week early with this gesture, Freddie.”

He chuckled, and from being so close to him his chest bumped yours slightly. You fell to stand flat on your feet, still close to him. He looked down at you, holding the flowers between your chests. 

“I don’t like following schedules,” he said, grinning down at you.

You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, settling instead on a bashful smile. He handed you the flowers, the brown paper they were wrapped in feeling a little damp from how profusely his hands were nervously sweating.

When he made this bet with George, he had just planned on kissing you in some busy hallway to announce the start of your relationship, as he did with most of his relationships. Somehow, though, you felt more special. His stomach sank every time he thought about the limited and fake month he’d have to with you, but he forced his way through it. 

So he went to the field by Hagrid’s hut and picked the best flowers he could find, wrapping them in a brown paper and organizing them so they were perfect, because you were perfect. 

He looked down at you, watching you as you held the flowers up to your face and smelled them. Your eyes were light and filled with innocent excitement, giving him an enchanting smile that showed all your teeth; you looked incredibly and undeniably happy, and that made Fred happy. 

You had both nearly forgotten about the entire student body surrounding you both, watching the exchange. Fred, feeling unnerved by the vulnerability he had exhibited in such a large crowd, looked up and smiled smugly, wiggling his eyebrows. The entire staircase erupted in a somewhat jumbled mix of cheers and laughter, sending a deep red blush to your cheeks. Fred looked down at you, and in a moment of unfiltered happiness, brought his hands to your cheeks. He lifted your head from where you had ducked it to hide the blush, forcing you to look up at him with the embarrassed grin on your lips. Before he could think about what he was doing, his face was leaning closer to yours and his hands on your cheeks were pulling you closer to him. You barely had the time to register what was happening, only hearing the laughter and cheers around you get louder as Fred’s face was pressed against yours.

He was fast at first, passionate and quick as if he thought he only had a second before you pulled away. You couldn’t though, even though every bone in your body was telling you to. Your lasting feelings for Fred were telling you that this kiss was okay, that your friendship with Ron would take the backseat for a while as you let Fred press himself against you. Your thoughts were fading, being replaced with the hyper awareness of everywhere Fred was touching you. His lips slowed and his breathing became slower too. He let out a sigh through his nose, the air hitting your face and sending a brand new flush to your cheeks. His hands on your cheeks stopped pulling you towards him, now being a gentle and soft presence on your skin. His left hand was grazing your jaw, his calloused fingertips tickling the skin lightly. His right hand cupped your cheek firmly still, but his thumb rubbed against your cheekbone. You held the flowers in one hand, and it wasn’t until a few seconds into the kiss that you had even remembered you had hands. You rested your hand holding the flowers against his chest, tilting the bouquet so it didn’t hit Fred in the face. Your other hand snaked up his arm, clutching loosely at his strong forearm as it hung between your bodies. 

You were both at each other’s wills, you would do anything Fred and Fred vowed to himself that he would follow you to the ends of the Earth, if you asked him to. 

The spark moving through Fred’s body was nothing he had ever felt before. He didn’t feel it when he kissed Angelina Johnson, his first kiss, after winning a Quidditch match. He didn’t feel it when he drunkenly kissed Alicia Spinnet at a party. He didn’t feel anything close to this when he kissed Katie Bell in a game of truth or dare last year. You were completely new to Fred, and part of him already knew he wanted to spend every second with you from then on out.

You pulled away first, entirely and completely breathless. You looked up at Fred, mouth opening and closing like an out of water fish as you tried to find words to say in this moment. Fred just chuckled, bringing his hand on your cheek to graze his knuckles against your swollen lips. You closed your mouth, feeling okay with having nothing to say, and figuring it was better to not say anything anyways. 

The crowd registered in your brain, making you feel extremely embarrassed again. You shoved your face into Fred’s chest, hiding the flush all over your face.

“Alright! Shows over, you perverts,” Fred called out, smiling widely at the group.

You heard the shuffling of feet begin around you, the traffic beginning once again. A few wolf whistles reached your ears, and you didn’t remove yourself from Fred’s chest until you were sure everyone had moved on. 

Fred’s large hand rested on the back of your head, soothing down your hair. You found it oddly intimate, and you knew letting all of this happen was only setting yourself up for hurt when this bet was inevitably over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Pulling away finally, your flowers clutched at your side, you took a deep breath. You were bringing your gaze to look up at Fred, but a group of redheads standing behind him caught your eyes and made them widen.

“I am so telling mum you have a girlfriend!” Ginny squealed, her voice easily heard in the now empty stairwell.

Fred turned to face his family, seeing Ginny, Ron, George, Hermione, and Harry looking at him as if he’s sprouted five new limbs.

Ron elbowed Ginny, sending her a wide-eyed look, “my bestfriend is not his girlfriend!” Ron said confidently, then turning to Fred with a threatening look, “My bestfriend is not your girlfriend.”

Fred smiled nervously, “I’m not dating Harry, Ron,” he attempted to joke, only earning a laugh from George and an embarrassed look from Harry. 

You peaked from behind Fred, meeting the group. You smiled at them sheepishly, meeting Hermione’s baffled eyes.

“I knew it!” she called, causing the entire group to turn their heads to look at her, “I knew you fancied her.”

Hermione looked quite proud of herself, but Ron looked fuming. Harry had sort of a ‘I-saw-this-coming’ look on his face.

“Guys,” you said, stepping towards them, “Ron.”

You gave Ron a pleading look, prepared to embarrass yourself and set the whole thing straight, even prepared to lose 3 Galleons. Suddenly, Hermione stepped between you and Ron.

“Ronald,” she said sternly, snapping Ron out from his angry mood briefly, “I hope you are not about to prevent a lovely relationship just because you have no emotional intelligence or maturity regarding these subjects.”

Your eyes widened from behind Hermione, casting a shocked glance to Fred. George and Ginny stifled their laughter, saving an embarrassed Ron some of his pride after being scolded by Hermione. 

“But he’s my brother!” he whined, his anger leaving him and instead being replaced by some sort of tame disgust.

You couldn’t take it, every part of you wanted to tell them it was a bet, the galleons be damned. You looked to Fred with a warning look, only to see him digging in his pockets.

“George,” he called out, removing his hand from his pocket and clutching something, “catch.”

Fred tossed six coins at George, and George caught them with surprise.

“Bets off,” Fred said, looking painfully serious. 

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, an immense feeling of guilt wash over you. You had cost Fred six galleons, even after the work he had put in. He had kissed you for the sake of it, and you couldn’t go one month. 

“Fred,” you stuttered, looking at him with guilt

His mouth broke into a grin, however, and he took a few steps towards you. George watched Fred’s movements, and began pulling away the group. Ron, still standing there with a confused look on his face, was tugged away by the back of his collar.

“I don’t want to fake date you,” he whispered to you once he was close enough, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Well, that seems like a lot of work for nothing, then-” you started, only for his lips to fall onto yours and silence you.

You couldn’t help it, again, as you let yourself melt into him. He pulled away all too soon however, resting his forehead on yours as he looked into your eyes. 

“I want to date you for real,” he said, biting his lip nervously, “not as a bet.”

Your eyes widened, and once again you could not think of anything to say. You opened and closed your mouth, searching for the words, but gave up. You gave a relieved sigh, hearing the words you had dreamed of hearing since you were 12, and kissed Fred Weasley. 

[eleanorbloom]

Marry My Lover (Bryce x Eleanor Proposal Headcanon)

A/N: Well, I thought I wouldn't do it because I was too invested with this fic, but I've been thinking adult life is so fucking hard that maybe I'll never find the time and inspo to finish this fic, so... well, why not realease it to the world as headcanon/very-poorly-written-fic. If later I find the inspo, maybe I'll write it, maybe not, but I think posting this will lift a heavy weight off me.

Please forgive me my grammar mistakes and poor english, I mean, I know it's not poor, but I went really basic here, other way I would've never finished writing this lol

Tagging my WYR readers, in case you're interested in reading this @curiousconch @romereadingshop @utterlyinevitable @lahellacute @chocopeppermintcake

Also this is sumbission for @openheartfanfics Weekly Trope Challenge, week 2: Weddings & Proposals (@openheartheadcanons)

Marry My Lover

Bryce had wanted to propose to Eleanor for a while, considering both spontaneous and prepared ways to do it.

One of the first ideas was proposing on a visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, as it was the place of their first date. But none of their shifts let them assist for a couple of weeks, so he decided to look for something less complicated.

As he saw their annual meeting with the gang was coming, he decided he would propose on that occasion. Surrounded by friends, the people who helped them get together and supported them in the most difficult times both personally and as a couple.

So he would propose at Donahue’s. With a song, no less. Marry Me by Bruno Mars. A cheerful song, Eleanor loved Bruno Mars and simply matched with the tone he wanted to have on the proposal. Happy and spectacular. He wanted to make her feel the luckiest, most loved woman on earth.

So when he decided what he would do, he shared the news with Sienna so she could help him orchestrate the event. He would arrive a bit later than Eleanor, Sienna would keep her distracted, and then whoop, Bryce would appear at the center of the bar singing the song.

On the day of the meeting, Bryce was in the locker room when he received a text from Sienna: “All set, B! We’re waiting for you”. He breathed deeply, excited and a bit nervous at the same time.

They had talked about marriage, about a life together thousands of times, but it was different just taking the step and doing it, of proposing marriage. Marriage. Damn.

But at the same time, it was just a confirmation of the love they had for each other. Their love that had grown exponentially, to unknown highs and depths in the three years they had been together, and he was sure that their love would keep growing and getting stronger with each day.

After getting ready, he texted Keiki: “Hey Keiks, are you there already?” “Oh, yeah, hidden in the parking lot, super spy.” “Awesome, I’m coming out of the locker room I’ll be there in five” “Okay”

Bryce didn’t want her to miss it for the world. Keiki would kill him if he let that happen. Luckily for both Bryce and Keiki, she was studying close to home, more than close. Cambridge. BS in Physics at MIT, so as she was living just a few minutes away from Boston, they saw each other pretty regularly, once a week or once every two weeks depending on how busy the three were.

Keiki was excited about it, but there was just this strange smirk on her. Bryce thought it was just the fact that her brother would propose to Eleanor at last.

Once at the bar, he greeted their friends, Elijah, coming from Chicago, Jackie, from Baltimore, and Sienna coming from New York. Aurora was the only one living in Boston, working at Brigham and Women’s Hospital as attending and part of the new Diagnostic Team there.

Everyone was happy but at the same time with this strange smirk, like they were hiding something.

“And Elle?” he asked.

A few moments after the question was made, a guitar started to play. He looked at the center of the bar, and found Eleanor, on a yellow dress, and matched hatband playing guitar and singing: We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Bryce couldn’t believe his eyes. His ears. His skin. How a shiver ran down his spine, making tingle every inch of him; how his stomach fluttered at the sight of her there, beautiful and singing and… Surprising him.

It was Lover by Taylor Swift, because, how not, his girlfriend was a Swiftie since High School, so once a Swiftie, always a Swiftie.

Bryce knew almost every song of the last two albums she had released in the last couple of years because they had blasted the speakers of their home for weeks. Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever, ah Take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my lover

After singing the chorus, Eleanor handed the guitar to Rafael, who continued with the melody, and took the mic in one hand, singing the second verse as she started walking slowly towards him. We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call She took his hand on hers and softly pulled him to the center of the bar

And when Eleanor sang “And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”, both chuckled knowingly, because they knew how true that was, wherever he goes, he enchants.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

It had been three summers indeed and nor he or she couldn’t imagine a summer without each other.

Eleanor kept singing, every word with meaning, it was like the song was written for them, especially “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” Because who else on this planet was a magnetic force but him?

Bryce was beaming the whole song, smiling, laughing, biting his lip, showing how happy, flattered, incredulous and in love he was.

He couldn’t believe his luck. To this day, after more than three years, sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had the chance to love so much and be so loved. So happy, so free, so understood. And he would probably live this luck, this love, forever and ever with her.

When the song ended, Eleanor took out something from the pocket of her yellow dress. A velvet box. When she opened it, a silver ring with a diamond at the center shined under the multicolor lights of the bar. Eleanor took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles softly before asking: “Bryce Lahela, mi amor, we both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. In these three years you have made me nothing but happy. The happiest luckiest woman alive. I want that for the rest of our lives. Would you marry me?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes sparkling, shining so bright with emotions, with love, with adoration, with happiness, “Yes, babe, yes! The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life with you!”

Everyone cheered, Sienna was crying, Kyra too, and even Keiki had shed a tear.

Eleanor put a ring on his finger and both kissed sweetly in the middle of the bar.

After a few moments, Bryce kissed her hand and chuckled, “Well, now it’s my turn.”

Eleanor stared confused at him, and when she heard him shouting “Música maestro!” she understood.

Eleanor couldn't believe it either. When the notes of Marry Me by Bruno Mars started playing, she covered her mouth with her hands just like Cecilia Bolocco when she won Miss Universe in 1986. “No way, love!” she squealed.

After a few verses, Bryce took her hand and turned her to the wall, where a video was playing. Videos of colleagues, nurses, even patients, with thumbs up singing along “Don't say no, no, no, no, no, Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah” Then, her parents showed up in the video, beaming as they sang along too. Even her grandparents from Chile, Ricardo and Ofelia, appeared in the video asking the same.” “Oh my god,” Eleanor couldn't hold it anymore and simply let the tears fall. Tears of joy, of happiness.

Then Bryce started to walk around the bar, singing with a persuasive tone, asking the patrons to join him in his singing, as if he had to convince her to marry him. Friendly patrons would nod and show their thumbs up and sing along for a couple of seconds.

Once the song ended, Bryce bend on one knee and took the velvet box out of the pocket of his pants, where a beautiful rose gold ring was there, with a round diamond at the center and smaller at the sides. “Well, you won me. This was my idea too, but you were faster, or maybe you had friends who took your side and decided to help you instead of me.” Everyone chuckled. “Or maybe she just asked before you did,” Jackie teased. “Either way, I’m honored and flattered, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to propose to you. I mean, I’ve dreamed about this day practically since I met you.” “Awww, mi amor.” “I want all summers with you and all winters, especially winters so you can keep me warm on snowy nights.” Eleanor giggled, her eyes full of tenderness, “Of course, my love. Summer, fall, winter, spring, all of the seasons and all of the years I have left on this planet.” “Good. And you, Eleanor Andrea Bloom, would you marry me?” “Yes, my love, mi amor, sí, sí, yes!” Bryce put the ring on her finger, and again, people cheered and clapped. Keiki and Jackie whistled.

When Bryce and Eleanor got off the stage, the gang approached them, filling them with congratulations and hugs, and just love for the happy, recently-engaged couple. they disclosed how everything had happened -Eleanor indeed had asked help first, she had been practicing guitar for more than a month with the help of Rafael.

After a while, Bryce took Eleanor’s hand and led her to a quiet place so they could have a moment for themselves. They smiled and laughed without saying anything, still processing what had happened and trying to understand the happiness they were feeling. their hearts were simply overflowing with happiness and love. “You know? I can say people, mostly women, have asked me a lot of things in my life, some of them shocking, some of them rather cute, but never had a woman proposing to me, so this is a first. You're definitely a keeper.” “Oh, that's why you're agreeing to marry me?” she asked, feigning offense. “One of the four hundred million reasons, babe.” Eleanor smiled pensively, earnest, “You deserve everything, my love, everything. And that includes being proposed, because, damn, we’re too far from gender stereotypes and toxic masculinity.” “I agree.” “And because I really wanted you to know that I wanna marry you, and spend the rest of my life with you, just as much as you do.”

Completely spellbound by the sincerity of her love, now and always, Bryce simply bit his lip and leaned to plant a sweet kiss on her lips.

There was nothing else to do but be happy.

____

Ps: Here pics of Bryce and Eleanor engagement rings. I had the idea of a collage, but it would've also taken me a day to finish it, lol sorry

Thank you for reading! ❤

[pawsitivelymiraculous]

Le parfum de l'amour

This is the @maribat-secret-santa-2020 piece for @saltandfluff I am so sorry for being late!

Anyway, I will be using the quantic kids, but you don't necessary have to know them to understand this fic.

The only have to know that "Melodie" is Allegra's nickname.

Ao3

It was always a bad idea to try to mess with fate. Everyone knew this. Allegra knew this, but she didn't care. Not when it was taking a toll on her sanity.

There were only so many times a person could see two literal soulmates walk past each other before they decided to take matters into their own hands.

So that's what she did.

Or well, was going to do once she could convince her friends to help her out.

"I don't know, Mel." Allan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "These things take time you know? You cannot rush it." He glanced at the corkboard that was behind Allegra and winced, it was going to be impossible to talk her out of the crazy plan.

On the corkboard, there were two pictures. One was a selfie of Marinette Dupain-cheng. A twenty-year-old who was a regular at the café where Allegra and Claude worked at. After chatting with her in the mornings, Allegra decided to adopt the girl, and she introduced her to the rest of the group. She quickly became friends with Allan and surprisingly enough, with Felix as well.

The second picture was a rather blurry photo that was clearly taken from afar. You could sort of make out the image of Timothy Drake. The sleep-deprived twenty-one-year-old who had started going to the café for about a month. All the employees loved him because he never failed to amuse everyone with his half-asleep antics.

The one thing that both pictures had in common was a coffee cup.

On Marinette's collarbone, there was a small tattoo-like mark that looked like a coffee cup. The same one that was on Tim's wrist. Soul marks . Granted, they looked a bit plain compared to most people's soul marks, but in Allegra's eyes, they were the excuse she needed to get them together.

Allegra had shipped her two favorite customers long before she noticed their soul marks. But now that she knew they were soulmates . Well, she was not going to rest until they finally met.

"I'm not trying to rush things!" Allegra insisted. "I just want to push them in the right direction."

Allan looked at her, doubtful. "That's basically the same thing. Plus do actually think that," he squinted to read the list of plans that was tacked on the corkboard. "'Locking them inside a room with no escape' is merely pushing them in the right direction? 'Cause I think that sounds more like a hostage situation."

Allegra glared at him. "You know what? I don't need your help. Claude will help me. Right, Claude?"

Claude looked at her with wide eyes. "Oh no no no. Sorry Melodie but I can't."

"Uh, I'm sorry what?" Allegra blinked. It was very out of character for Claude to turn down the opportunity to help her with one of her elaborate plans. Not to mention that in this case, they were doing it to help Marinette.

"Allegra," he said solemnly, "this is a destiny thing. We just can't interfere."

Allegra facepalmed. "You can't be serious."

Claude looked at her dead in the eye. "If we interfere we might end up," he leaned towards  her and whispered " cursed"

"Oh give me a break." Allegra pushed Claude away. "Are you guys kidding me? This is Marinette we're talking about. You all can't possibly think that Marinette wouldn't want to meet her soulmate, and as her friends, we have to help her."

"I agree with Allegra."

Everyone spun around in surprise.

Felix rolled his eyes at his friends' incredulous expressions. "What? Marinette is my friend as well. Is it really that shocking that I want to see her happy?" The three of them nodded. He ignored them. "Besides, I've heard Marinette ramble about soulmates nonstop, so it's clear that meeting hers is what she would want."

Allegra was the first to react "See guys? Even Felix agrees with me!"

Felix huffed. "Yes, but I also think that your plans are ridiculous and ineffective."

"Ouch"

"I think the best thing we can do to help is to get them to interact and we-"

"That's literally what my plans are for!" Allegra interrupted.

Claude crossed his arms. "And what do you mean by 'we'? I haven't agreed to do anything."

Shooting both of them a glare, Felix continued. "- can do that without needing to kidnap them. We simply have to make it so that they have no other choice but to sit at the same table at the café. You all know how friendly Marinette is, it will only be a matter of time before they start talking."

There was a beat of silence.

"That… that might actually work," Allan admitted. "Soulmates are naturally drawn to each other so once they actually have a conversation we won't have to do anything else. They can figure out that they're soulmates by themselves." He paused and then chuckled. "We'll just have to push them in the right direction."

"But how are we going to get them in the café at the same time?" Allegra asked. "Tim always comes in right after Mari has left."

"Pft that's easy!" Claude exclaimed. "Just tell her that you need help with something and that you'll need for her to stay a while longer at the café. Since Mari doesn't have early classes on Wednesday she'll agree and- oh!" Claude suddenly slapped his hand over his mouth as his eyes widened with horror. "This does not mean that I'm helping." He mumbled from underneath his hand.

Allan laughed. "I think you just did."

"Looks like someone's going to end up cursed." Allegra singed songed. "Not even ladybug is going to be able to help you with that bad luck that's to come." She teased.

Claude pouted. "Haha, laugh all you want." He then looked up at the corkboard and grimaced. "But you're right, there's no turning back now. What do you need me to do?"

Allegra clapped her hands in glee.

"Okay so here's the plan."

~♡~♡~♡~

Just like Claude had predicted, it was incredibly easy to convince Marinette to stay at the café. All that was left to do was orchestrate everything just so that the two soulmates had to sit at the same table.

It was easier said than done but after enlisting more people to help out, they were able to make sure that the café was full for that morning.

Everything was going according to plan…

Until…

"WHERE. IS. TIM?"

Claude looked around. "He hasn't arrived yet?"

"No!" Allegra cried. She glanced down at her watch and winced. They were running out of time.

Claude frowned. "And you know, it would have been nice if Marinette hadn't chosen today to wear a turtleneck."

Allegra couldn't help but agree. Sure, Marinette looked amazing with the turtleneck and skirt outfit but did she really have to wear it today? When they needed for her to show off her soul mark?

It was like the universe was against them.

But finally, Allegra heard a tinkling sound at the door. She spun around praying that it was Tim.

And it was!

He looked more tired than usual as he stumbled around trying to find a seat.

Allegra watched as Tim danced around the tables that were being occupied just as he was about to take a seat.

One after the other until finally, a good push later, he ended up at Marinette's table.

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim was too tired to deal with this.

All he wanted was to sit down, have a couple of cups of coffee at his favorite coffee shop and finally be awake enough to continue investigating the moth guy.

But apparently, that was too much to ask because almost all the tables were full.

"Sorry man," Claude whispered as he guided a couple and motioned them to sit at the table that Tim had beelined for.

"Oh, actually I'm waiting for Adam." Felix had said when Tim asked if he could sit with him. Which was strange since Adam had said that he was waiting for Felix when he asked him.

But he could barely comprehend what they were saying, so he was not conscious enough to complain.

Tim continued on his journey when he felt someone push him from behind. In his half-asleep haze, Tim lunged at the chair that was in front of him hoping that it would break his fall.

It took him a few seconds to recover. He wanted nothing more than to pass out right then and there, splayed out on a coffee shop chair as everyone stared at him wondering if he was drunk.

He too wondered if he was drunk, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so if he was drunk, he was not going to figure it out on his own.

When he finally looked up, his eyes met with a pair of beautiful bluebell eyes.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette watched as a guy stumbled around the café until finally flopping onto the other chair at her table.

It was clear that he was sleep-deprived. She had seen enough videos that her evil friends had taken when she was in a similar state to know the poor guy probably hadn't slept at all for the last week or so.

Marinette wanted nothing more than to drag the guy to the nearest bed or couch and wrap him up in a bunch of blankets. Just because she didn't comprehend the term "self-care" for herself  didn't make Marinette any less of a "mom friend"

But she had to remind herself that she didn't know the guy, so it might be considered kidnapping to drag someone somewhere against their will.

Too bad.

The best she could do was offer him her own coffee.

"Hey, I think you need this more than I do at the moment." She said, pushing the drink his way as he stood up.

He mumbled something that could be interpreted as a "thank you" and eagerly took the drink. His eyes lit up when the heavenly liquid touched his tongue.

It was almost miraculous how quickly the caffeine took effect.

Actually, it was Marinette may or may not have mixed a little concoction she made with Tikki that helped her when she stayed up late with her regular coffee.

The guy blinked. "This. Is. Incredible."

Marinette laughed "Yeah, it's what I always get. Though you still look like you need to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah whatever." He waved her off. "But seriously, what is this called? I need a gallon of this."

"Sorry," Marinette said sheepishly "but I'm afraid that's a secret, you know, I'm kind of everyone's favorite, so I get the miracle coffee." Okay so that was a lie but what else could she say?

The guy pouted. Marinette had to admit that he looked adorable.

"Well, then I'm sure you can get me some then... um"

"Marinette."

"Ah, nice to meet you, coffee goddess, I'm Tim."

Marinette's cheeks heated up. "Uh, coffee goddess? Shouldn't they be the coffee gods and goddesses?" She pointed at Allegra, Claude, and the others.

"Nah, you have blessed me with this amazing coffee. Claude didn't even help me in my time of need."

"You know Claude?" Marinette asked, surprised.

"Yep, I've been coming here since I arrived in Paris, so I've gotten to know Allegra and Claude a bit."

"That's funny, I've never seen you. And I come here every day." Marinette said.

"Huh, that's weird. I've never seen you either. "

And from there they kept talking. Like they were old friends and not just acquaintances. Marinette found out that Tim had come from Gotham city. That he was in Paris because of business. Meanwhile, Tim learned that Marinette was an aspiring fashion designer and a college student who was close friends with almost everyone from the café.

Hours passed and the two were still deep in conversation completely oblivious to the crowd that had gathered behind the cafe's counter to watch the soulmates.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this before." Adrien, who had arrived after Tim, whispered to his cousin.

"I was under the impression that your father needed your assistance for the upcoming fashion show. I was not about to ask my dear uncle Gabe if I could steal you so that we could set up our friend and his future competitor, Marinette Dupain-cheng, with her soulmate."

Adrien hated to admit that he had a point. "Fine, but can you at least catch me up to date? Who is he?"

"He's a rich guy from Gotham city. He's pretty cool though he's basically Marinette when it comes to coffee which is honestly kinda scary now that I'm seeing them interact." Allegra whispered.

Adrien looked down to look at her. "Alright, I guess I'm going to have to do my own research since you guys are useless. What's his job? Why is he rich? If his from Gotham then who knows, maybe this guy is actually dangerous and wants to take Marinette as ransom for-"

"Oh please Adrien, stop with your theatrics. Do you honestly think that I would allow this if he was dangerous?" Felix interrupted.

"I mean-"

Felix glared at him.

"No?"

Felix sighed. "Timothy Drake is Marinette's soulmate, and I can assure you that he's clean. So don't worry about Marinette."

Allegra shushed the cousins. "Guys, I'm trying to listen here you know?"

"Um, you could probably hear better from up here" Felix nodded in agreement.

"Thanks, Adrien, but I don't want to risk Marinette seeing me and then remembering about time and stuff."

"Ah"

"Speaking of time, it's been years since I last ate, I'm hungry." Claude cut in.

"Claude! You're supposed to be with the customers!" Allegra whisper-shouted.

"Whoops."

~♡~♡~♡~

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Marinette eventually remembered the reason she had stayed in the cafe. Not only that but when she looked at her watch she realized that she was running late for class.

After Marinette's rushed exit, Tim went back to investigating Hawkmoth. But while they were trying to concentrate on their own thing. Marinette with her class and Tim with his research they found themselves zoning out and thinking about each other.

It was strange, they had quite literally just met.

Why had they made such an impact on each other?

~♡~♡~♡~

It wasn't until Marinette was getting ready to go to bed that she found the answer.

"Tikki is… is that what I think it is." Marinette's voice trembled as she stared at her reflection on the mirror.

Tikki gasped. "Oh Marinette, I think it is!"

Staring back at her was her soul mark, which no longer was a regular coffee cup but rather a gorgeous cup with beautiful red flowers that surrounded a somewhat familiar symbol.

"But, how? I mean they're not supposed to change… right? And why?" Marinette's eyes widened. "Does this mean that I met my soulmate? Who is it?"

Tikki giggled, "You seriously don't know?"

"Umm no? Should I?" Tikki continued to giggle as her holder looked at her confused. "Who is it Tikki?"

"Oh Marinette, how many new people did you meet today?"

"Uh, I don't know? I mean surely I must've passed by lots of strangers in the street." Marinette panicked. "Oh no Tikki! What if one of them is my soulmate? I'll never find out who they are!"

"So you don't remember meeting anyone else?"

"I don't think so, well other than ohhh- "

"Exactly"

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim could not believe what he was seeing. Gone was the plain coffee cup he was used to seeing, the daily reminder of the fact that he was still painfully single, it now had an intricate flower pattern that surrounded a symbol.

He recognized that symbol.

After weeks of researching and tailing the red Parisian heroine, he knew that it was the Ladybug symbol.

But why was it on his soul mark?

Unless…

No, the heroine couldn't be his soulmate, Tim hasn't even officially met her. Nor had he even seen her today.

The only blue-eyed girl he had met was Marinette.

Marinette  

No, it was impossible. Except it wasn't. Tim had only known the girl for a couple of hours, but he knew that  Marinette would make a great heroine or vigilante.

But, he… he was probably hallucinating, right? Tim hadn't slept for weeks, so surely he was just seeing things and his soul mark was still a plain coffee cup and the Marinette conclusion was just wishful thinking.

Right?

Because otherwise, his first meeting with his soulmate was him acting like a sleep-deprived zombie and Tim could not allow that.

Well, one thing was for sure, he really needed to get some sleep.

~♡~♡~♡~

Three days.

It took three days for Marinette to find Tim.

She looked everywhere. The coffee shop, Le Grand Paris Hotel, the tourist areas, and when she was ladybug she looked down from all the rooftops trying to find him.

But he had vanished, leaving Marinette worried sick that he had either A. Gone back to Gotham  B. Died or C. Been so horrified that she was his soulmate that he decided to move to a remote island and changed his name in hopes of never seeing her again.

Gosh, she was starting to sound like her fourteen-year-old self.

But finally, she saw him, sitting on a bench, not far from her own home, looking down at his wrist.

He looked at his wrist like it was some puzzle he needed to solve. Marinette also noticed that he looked a lot more refreshed, so he must've finally gotten some sleep.

Marinette cleared her throat. "Well, you've been a very hard person to find Mr. Drake."

Tim looked up. "Ma- Marinette!"

"We need to talk."

Tim nodded his mouth hanging wide open as he stared at her soul mark.  

"How do you feel about coffee? There's a coffee shop that's not very far from here, I hear their coffee is divine.

~♡~♡~♡~

Bonus:

(this was going to be a scene on the fic but I didn't know how to add it but it has important info sooo)

*They are at the coffee shop*

Marinette: So you're red robin.

Tim: And you're Ladybug

Marinette: Should I be worried? Like doesn't this compromise our secret identities?

*Claude and Allegra appear with some pastries*

Claude: Yooo Marinette! So you found your soulmate! Crazy right? We totally didn't have anything to do with it!

*Allegra elbows him*

Claude: So uh, congratulations! I um feel happy for you.

*looks nervously at Allegra who is glaring at him*

Claude: Bummer about the soul mark though…

*Allegra keeps glaring*

~♡~♡~♡~ Permanent tag list  ~♡~♡~♡~

Claude: What? It's just a plain white cup!

Bonus bonus:

(here's a bad doodle and my crappy handwriting)

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

@charme-de-malchan, @theatreandcomicfreak, @m3owww, @elliebelliegirl, @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @waffleyunsure, @technicallyburninggarden, @azuremayscarlet, @vroomtaka, @emimar7, @ichigorose, @maskedpainter, @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry

[youremeimyou]

Old Lovers

pairing: Min Yoongi x reader genre: angst with sprinkles of fluff, ex-boyfriend au word count: almost 5k warning: some passionate kissing

Description: Min Yoongi is your ex-boyfriend that you’ve parted ways not on the greatest of terms with. But in the makings of a mixtape, somethings will be rekindled. Will it be friendship or maybe more?

A/N: I’ve started writing this so long ago but only recently got to finish it. I haven’t been able to post any fics in a while even though I’ve got a lot of wip. I’m graduating uni and my life’s basically a chaos right now. But I liked writing this a lot. I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think of it :) [posting again cuz it’s not showing on tags ughh]

Going back to school has never been this painful to you before. Of course assingments, exams and longer than necessary lectures were always there to welcome you back to hell every year but no new semester intimidated you quite like this one does. Especially after the very much disconnected summer break you had.

Spending the summer in your hometown of Gwangju was a rushed decision that was actually forced upon you at the time. But it turned out to be exactly what you needed. At least, Hoseok made sure that it was. Being your life-long friend, he took matters into his own hands when you couldn't pull yourself together after the rough patch you've been through. The Hoseok-ie rule he called it: No getting in touch with anyone in Seoul. And while it was a little hard not reaching out to close friends in Seoul, you couldn't risk breaking the Hoseok-ie rule. He's sweet and you love him but that guy is one scary motherfucker when he's pissed.

Now, summertime's over and you're definetely not prepared to face your demons. It doesn't help that Hoseok's classes aren't starting until next week, either. That means you have to go through this alone.

On your way from the subway station to the campus, you check the new weekly schedule once more and it makes you let out a dissappointed huff. You can't blame anyone. You made this schedule. But do you have any idea why you decided to put music theory at 9 in the morning while you were making it? No.

Your legs take action before you know it and suddenly you're now turning to the other street. They continue to take you through another familiar path. As you close in on the shop at the corner, the calming smell of coffee reaches your nose and you realise why coming here was more tempting than attending class.

This coffee shop was your safe haven for the past three years and this semester isn't going to be any different. Even though it's so close to campus, not many people know about it and it's never hectic. Which is something you love and right now, definetely need. Some peace and quiet before starting the semester...

You enter and head straight to the barista, who happens to be a friend of yours since you're a regular.

"Hey Ryu."

"Well well, if it isn't Miss I'll come everyday this summer that never showed up once." Ryu has sarcasm alongside with mischief in his voice.

"I know but Hoseok kept me in Gwangju as a prisoner the whole summer, I'm sorry."

"Where's that dancing machine?"

"He doesn't have classes until next week so it's just me for now." You're still not over the fact he left you on your own for the first week.

"It's fine, you're not alone. Look!" Ryu points to the back where the tables are. You're confused as to who he could be pointing at. You and Hoseok are the only ones you know that come here- except...

In a flash, you stop turning around and hurriedly order a black coffee. "Please make it quick." you plead quietly but what's done is done, he already knows you're here. In fact you can hear footsteps approaching.

"That drink was great, dude. What's it called again?" He appears on your right side in his all-black outfit with a snapback. Nothing's changed about him, you think. Except you see some of his hair through the hat and it seems to be bleached. Something he hasn't done for a while. For the two years you two were together, to be exact.

"Oh, it's called yuanyang. You think I should put it on the menu?"

"Definetely, go for it."

It seems like he doesn't even acknowlegde the fact that you're right next to him. But why the hell did he even come here? You totally introduced him to this place and Ryu. So, you should get to keep this place after the break-up. Aren't those the rules?

He takes out his wallet to pay but pauses for a second. "Ryu, can I get two cookies to go?" he asks and hands over his card.

Two cookies? You know he doesn't like sugaries that much. You're almost sure he's meeting someone and it makes you scoff, unconsciously. Both him and Ryu side-eye you but you avert your gaze. "Chocolate ones, please." he adds. You think he must be ordering your favorites just to spite you.

He recieves the cookies from Ryu, fistbumps the guy and starts walking out. But then, just as he passes by you, he leaves one of the cookies on the counter in front of you and exits without another word.

First, you're shocked. And so is Ryu, apparently. You glance at him and he confusedly shrugs. Then, you're pissed. In a moment of anger, you blast out of there to go after him.

"Hey, Min Yoongi!" you shout.

He stops but doesn't turn around for a while. Just when he's about to, you appear right in front of him, the cookie in your hand.

"What's this?"

"What does it look like to you?" he retorts back, his eyes avoiding yours. And you frustratedly huff.

"What are you trying to pull?" you ask with hints of accusation in your voice. That's when he meets your gaze.

"Nothing at all. My fault for trying to be nice."

There it is, the Min Yoongi venom you were waiting for. He opens his mouth to say something else but you beat him to it.

"Ryu doesn't seem to know that we-" you pause. And immediately regret pausing. Why couldn't you just say it?

"Oh, right. You must be thinking that life stopped while you were away." And only as he says this that you notice the dark circles under his eyes. "He knows. So do a lot of other people, by the way."

Well, shit. You might've been away from all the post-breakup commotion but he was here. He was dealing with everyone of your social circle, alone. And what's the first thing you do when you see him for the first time after all that? Lashing out at him. And when he was just trying to be nice, too. Great...

"Can you move? I'm missing class." he says coldly. But despite trying to hide it, his voice sounds tired. Which makes you step out of his way and let him go. Instead, you start making your own way to class, being already late as it is.

Safe to say it's an awkward walk to campus, with you on one side of the street and Yoongi on the other. The bad news is, you constantly find yourself looking his way. Even though you curse under your breath everytime you catch yourself staring at him, you can't help but look again. But his eyes are completely fixed on the road, not even sparing you one glance.

To escape the awkwardness, you decide taking the longer route to class by heading for the stairs at the back while he takes the ones near the entrance. Since you're late and afraid of Professor Sol, you fasten your pace. Once you reach the door, your hand clashes into someone else's. Yoongi's. Of course, you think to yourself. You should've known he's taking music theory from Professor Sol. He's the best student when it comes to music and the best teacher here definetely wants him on his class.

It's too late when you realise you haven't removed your hand because he opens the door with yours under his, making it feel as though you're holding hands.

"So you finally decided to grace us with your presence? You shouldn't have. The class is about to end." Professor Sol scolds the two of you. She isn't exactly wrong. "I can pardon a student who already excells but the one who barely passes classes, I hope you know what you're doing Miss Y/N." One thing about her is that she notoriously discriminates between students and she's never liked you.

Yoongi's hand and yours is still connected and you feel him tense up. He actually used to be your guardian when it came to Professor Sol. And apparently old habits die hard because he grabs your hand harder and steps up a little. "The last I checked, at least eighty percent of your class fails every year, professor. It includes people who rank highest in some of the other classes. Strange, don't you think?"

Only Min Yoongi has the guts to do this. And only he gets a free pass after doing it. When the professor simply points you in the direction of the seats, Yoongi pulls you by the hand he’s still holding and sits you down. There’s immediately talk going around, people discussing if you were back together and all that. That’s when he snaps out of it and lets your hand go. So you’re finally able to let out the breath you were unknowingly holding. Then, he goes to one of the back seats and sits down himself. And you quietly wonder why that hurts you.

It's Hoseok's first day back and the two of you are enjoying some coffee at Ryu's shop, after a long school day.

"Y/N, I've got some bad news." he says, looking gloomy all of a sudden.

"Wha- hurry up and tell me." You hate the suspense, it makes you worry.

"I haven't been able to find a studio that we can continue the album with." He looks really upset. That's only natural, he's been working on this project for over a year now. Before you broke up with Yoongi, Hoseok was writing and producing a mixtape in Yoongi's studio with you and Yoongi's help. After you parted ways, the mixtape was put on hold.

"I've saved a lot of money this summer. We can look into some expensive ones too, I'm sure we can-"

"It's not the money, Y/N. I can't work on it the way I want to in any of those other studios. Even if it's one of the expensive ones." he cuts in. Yes, Yoongi was probably the only person to let Hoseok do his own thing.

"Well then, you should talk to Yoongi. I'm sure he'll be cool with working with you, still. As long as I don't show up, it should be fine."

He rolls his eyes. "I can't do it without you, Y/N. I'll need your help, so you'll have to show up eventually."

It's your turn to roll your eyes. You don't want anything to do with that studio. But you know how important this mixtape is to Hoseok, so you say okay. Even though you doubt Yoongi would be fine with you being there.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. In his damned, cursed, beautiful leather jacket... This time there's no hat so you can fully observe his bleached hair and notice how it's grown longer.

"Would you really be okay with it? I don't wanna put you in this position, no. Let's just forget it-"

"Hoseok-ie, you're lovely. But for now, shut up." You get up and make your way to Yoongi's table. Hoseok's mixtape has to be done, no matter what. Seems like he hasn't noticed you so you clear your throat to grab his attention.

"What?" he asks, not looking at you. Your blood slowly starts to boil.

"I need to ask you something-"

"Ryu, I kinda need that coffee asap, buddy!" He cuts you off by hollering at the barista and starts to gather his things. He really must want to get on your nerves.

"Actually, first things first, why in the bloody hell are you still coming here?" You can't help but lash out again. You discovered this place after all, you have the right to claim it.

"Excuse me?"

"I showed you this place, it's my territory. Don't you know the break-up rules?"

He laughs at that. In such a condescending way that you regret saying it. He stops getting ready and settles on the table once again. "You're cute."

Oh, you're so close to smacking him on the head.

"And you're an asshole."

Ryu comes with Yoongi's order and leaves it on the table. "I thought you were in a hurry." He says while heading back to the counter.

"I suddenly wanna stay longer." Yoongi states, looking straight at you.

Every fiber of your being wants to avoid his eyes and run away from there, he knows exactly how to make you vulnerable. But you endure. For Hoseok.

"I'll get to the point. Hoseok needs to keep working with you. Our situation shouldn't effect his mixtape, don't you think?"

He switches to serious mode quickly. "Was this your idea or his?"

"What does it matter-"

"I'm only okay with it if he wants to do it on his own will and not by you forcing him."

Okay, you do get a little bossy sometimes but he didn't have to put it as harsh as that.

"He wants to. He refused other studios and all that."

You think you see his lips curve into a small smile for a second. Hoseok and Yoongi got along very well, actually. You never wanted for them to stop being friends, anyway. This might be a chance for them to catch up even. Of course, there's a slight problem.

"But- he says he can't do it without... well, me. He wants to make sure that you're okay with-"

"Not a problem." Yoongi unexpectantly cuts you off. You're rendered speechless due to shock. He finally turns his head and looks at you. "My studio is a workplace, Y/N. Why would it bother me when you're there for work purposes? Especially when you're essential to the process."

Yoongi's sense of kindness is a very strong thing. But it's well hidden under all the coldness and sarcasm. You'd know, it had taken you a while to get to it. But when you did, it made you fall for him even harder at the time. And now, even though things between you are over, you can still see it.

"Thanks..." is all you can say while turning around to go back but suddenly your feet stop and turn back around. "Actually, thanks for before with Professor Sol, too. Even though you don't need to stand up for me anymore-"

"It's not that I needed to, Y/N. It's that I wanted to."

He goes back to gathering his stuff and you head back to give Hoseok the details of how it went. Just as you're about to, Yoongi stops by your table before leaving.

"Hoseok-ie, text me later to come up with a schedule for studio hours, okay?"

Hoseok is visibly happy and responds with a big smile. "Sure thing."

It's been three weeks since Hoseok started to work at Yoongi's studio again. But today is the first time that you'll be going there since the break-up. Even though time has passed, you're still not used to being around Yoongi all the time. Like having to attend almost all the classes with him and also, well... without him.

Without him sitting next to you, practically glued to your side, while you both silently giggle in the middle of the lecture as he whispers stupid jokes in your ear. The fact that you're consantly around him (not by choice by the way) prevents you from getting over him.

And now the studio... One of the most dangerous places for you now because of the memories you have with him there. You know, an intimate, indoor space with dim lights... A perfect spot for activities you definitely don't want to be reminded of. But for your best friend Hoseok, you have to go.

When you arrive, you call Hoseok to open up the door, too nervous to ring the doorbell. Once you enter, your giggly friend drags you hurriedly into the recording room.

"Okay warm your voice up. We should start with the vocals-"

"Wow there, pickle." you say. Vocals were maybe the only thing you told him you wouldn't do. What did he think? That he could hurry you into it and you wouldn't notice? "What vocals, Hoseok? I'm here to arrange, mix and maybe write some melodies, you know that."

"Shhh... look you gotta. Otherwise Yoongi's gonna have some other girl do it and I don't want that."

What girl? For as long as you can remember, Yoongi has tried to get you to sing. For Hoseok's and other albums. But you don't have confidence in your voice so you've always refused. And now he just wants some other girl?

"Have you told him you don't want that?"

"Yes, obviously. He told me if I can't convince you, we had no other choice. So c'mon, just try for me? Pleaseee?"

You sneakily glance out the window to see Yoongi talking with the said girl. She’s probably from your school even though you haven’t seen her here before. She’s standing a bit too close to Yoongi’s chair and leaning on him a little but that’s none of your business. And you definetely don’t care. But still, you can’t have someone whom Hoseok’s not comfortable with, sing in his own damn album.

You go out the room and toward Yoongi and the girl. “We need to speak.” you say and head for the other room. Yoongi huffs while following after you.

“What is it miss grumpy?”

You roll your eyes. “Are you really pulling an ultimatom on me like this? Hoseok clearly isn’t okay with this girl-”

“Hoseok isn’t okay with anyone but you. This isn’t my ultimatom, it’s his. Marley’s like the third person I asked to do this and he didn’t like any of them. Because what he wants is your voice. You really can’t see that Y/N?”

He sounds fed up and exhausted. What he says makes sense too, since you know how stubborn and sneaky your best friend can be.

He continues. “Look, if we want the album to proceed there are three options. First is Marley does the vocals and Hoseok will be unhappy about it. Second is there’ll be no female vocals which will make the whole thing empty and far from what we planned. Or third, you can do them and save us all the grimace.”

He makes it seem like he doesn’t care which you’ll go with but in his eyes, you can see hope that you’ll say yes to the third. But no. You’re not ready, you can’t. In your mind, you suck. So you convince Hoseok to go with Marley for now.

So, days go by. Marley comes pretty often to record. Hoseok’s not frowning that much about it anymore. And you notice how every chance she gets, Marley is pulling the moves on Yoongi. Which seem to work, since sometimes they come in or leave together. None of it bothers you at all, you tell yourself.

One day, you come in pretty late at night remembering you left your notes there. Since you have a spare key, you think you can be in and out unnoticed. Silly you because once you hear Yoongi playing the piano, you can’t just leave. You wait outside the room until he’s done and some stupid momentary courage makes you go in.

“Oh- I’m sorry.” you instantly say when you see Marley sitting next to him. “I just forgot my- I was leaving-”

“Wait!” Yoongi says hurridly to stop you. “We were done here anyway.”

Marley doesn’t look happy but gets up and leaves.

“No really, I got my notes and I was about to head out. She doesn’t need to leave on my account-”

“It’s not on your account. But since you came in here, you must have something to say?”

Why does it feel like he wants you to say something? Why does it seem like he wants you to stay? You’re convinced it’s your own mind playing tricks on you.

“No. I don’t.” you lie with a broken voice. But your feet aren’t leaving. And Yoongi is still staring at you with a cold attitude but expecting eyes.

“Fine.” you give up and say. “I thought the piano room wasn’t allowed to just anyone. I guess since she was in here...” you cut yourself off. The piano room was kind of your special place when you were together. Nobody other than you was allowed in here. This is the place you two would spend hours and hours coming up with songs. Or just talking about things you shared only with each other.

“I’m just giving her piano lessons for some extra cash. And this room doesn’t mean much to me anymore.”

His answer dissappoints you. Not the part that he indirectly said they weren’t dating. The latter part. “And here I thought the whole secrecy of the piano room was just your way of pulling the moves on whoever you’re dating.” As long as the sentence is finished, you regret saying it. You know it isn’t right. What you said is unfair to every intimate and meaningful moment you had with him here. And your words come down like the last drop on his patience.

He shoots out of the seat. “If I wasn’t so goddamn sure that you already know how you’re the first person I ever brought in here, I’d be hurt. But instead I’m just pissed.”

He’s right to be. So you can’t say anything back.

“How can you even-” he stops for a moment. “But that’s just your way, isn’t it? Spit out venom whenever you don’t like something.”

“Me?” you ask in shock. Now this you can’t have. “No. Poisonous words are your specialty.”

“And you already left me for it, didn’t you? You left me so why would you care who I bring in here anyway?” He’s switched to his shouting voice now.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But I left because you pushed me away, Yoongi.” He averts his gaze to the floor while you continue. “I know that you love music more than anything else but what I also happen to know is that you use it as an escape. An excuse to not get too close. But guess what? We were already too close for me to not realise what you were doing! And that is why I left!”

Both of you are obviously done shouting and silence takes over the room for a while. You already had to push back tears like twice now, so you decide to leave but just then, Yoongi has something to say.

“This room will never have any significance with anyone else besides you. Just know that.” he silently admits with his eyes still fixed on the ground. You don’t say anything and just walk away.

It’s nearly the end of the semester and Hoseok’s mixtape is finally finished. He was so exited that he accidentely published it three times in a row on soundcloud. And the fact that he’s getting some great feedback is the icing on top.

In the meantime, you’ve been doing a lot of thinking. After that fight with Yoongi, you’ve started to seriously consider the fact that maybe leaving him just like that was a mistake. Because yes, you were hurt that after all you had been through, he was still trying to keep you at bay. You felt like as you were falling completely and irreversably for him, he was still holding back. But when you left, you were gone all the way. Leaving him all alone when you knew he was hurt.

Spending the last couple of months together, you finally admitted to yourself that you missed him. And that it did bother you seeing him with other girls. It bothered you that Marley was so obviously into him. Even though he made it clear he wasn’t interested, you still felt... jealous.

But you never mustered up the courage to talk to him about any of these. Even though it seems like lately he’s trying not to be cold around you, trying to strike up random converstions in efforts to perhaps recover at least your friendship. For some stupid reason you can’t seem to dare let him back in.

Your buzzing phone pulls you out of your thoughts. You check and see it’s your best friend that you’ve been feeling extra proud of these days.

“Yes, my successful, on his way to become a star best friend?”

“Oh my god, Y/N. You won’t believe this!” he squeaks while talking. And you hate the suspense so you tell him to hurry up and tell you what’s up.

“Yoongi’s friend in radio 12 agreed to play the title song!”

“What??” you start to squeak in exitement as well. “When? When will it be on?”

“In about two minutes! Just put the station on, now!” he orders and hangs up immediately. He’ll probably call his parents next. You quickly do as he says and for sure, the next song is Hoseok’s title track. You start hopping in your bed, dancing around in your room with the dumbest smile on your face but then-

The bridge comes and it’s your voice. That’s impossible, you think. But it is you singing the bridge. And then it hits you. That one night you snuck into the studio with your spare key and recorded this exact bit, just to see how it’d be... As always, you thought it wasn’t good enough. But instead of deleting, you hid the file. Guess you couldn’t hide it that well, after all. Was it Hoseok that did this? Or...

Your phone buzzes again and once again it’s Hoseok. “Y/N- This was the best surprise you ever made for me. I’m literally about to cry, you sound so good! Thank you for doing this.”

It wasn’t Hoseok, then. But you’re thrilled to know he likes it that much. You’re thrilled to hear yourself on a freaking radio station that so many people listen to! It feels amazing. It gives you so much confidence. So much that after ending the call with Hoseok, you decide to go to the only person left who could’ve done this.

You’re at Yoongi’s door. You haven’t been here for a long time but despite the nervousness, you manage to knock. It’s pretty late but you know he’s a night owl, he should be up. Soon enough, he opens the door. He’s taken aback to see you at first but then his surprised expression turns into worry.

“I know why you’re here. I’m sorry I used the recording without your consent but-”

You launch yourself onto him and crash your lips on his. His response is so quick that it’s almost automatic. He pulls you in even more, closes the door with his foot and traps your body againts the wall with his own. All the while not parting your lips once. Your hands go to his hair. You’ve been wanting to brush your fingers through his hair ever since you’ve seen that he bleached it again after two years. You pull at the tips slightly. It makes him hum into your mouth.

“Wait-” he says while he pulls away suddenly. “You-” You’re both out of breath. “Are you really okay with what I did?”

“Yes.” You close the distance once again and this time he moves you to the couch. You’ve missed this couch. You’ve missed him...

He pulls back again. “Y/N- wait. What are we doing?”

“What do you think?” you tease as your lips travel down to his neck.

“I wanna talk to you first, though.” he manages to say between his panting.

“So talk.” you say and go back to the week spots on his neck, secretly smiling against his skin.

“You’re not-” he swallows a groan. “exactly making it easy.” He then pulls your head up to face him and gives you another long kiss. But this time not out of the heat of the moment. Instead with so much meaning engraved on it.

“Y/N... I never meant to hurt you.” he says staring into your eyes. “You were right, I was a coward but- I swear if you give me another chance, I will give it my all. I’ll be a thousand percent in.”

You smile. He looks so much like a lost puppy that it makes you want to tease him. “Well, prove that to me right now then.” you say slyly.

“Uhh- I will. I- I’m gonna go dye my hair brown, right now. I bleached it to get your attention, anyway. Not to attract others, I promise.” he says in panic.

You burst into laughter. When you first started dating, you talked him into not bleaching his hair anymore. You always said it was only for his health but he always knew you were jealous of girls getting attracted because of it, too. “No, don’t. I actually missed how even hotter it makes you look. Let’s keep that for now.” you say. “I was kidding, you don’t have to do or say any-”

“I love you.”

You pause. It’s not the first time he tells you that. But this time he says it in such a way that you’re certain it’s the real thing. Even more real than before. “I love you, too.”

“So...” he leans into you and whispers in your ear. “Couch or bed?”

You both giggle. “Surprise me.” you whisper back and he quickly tries to lift you but fails, making you both laugh out loud. “Umm- I haven’t been working out lately, baby. I’m sorry.” he says between giggles.

Between all the laughter, you silently thank him for giving you another chance, too. And make a mental promise that you won’t give this up so easily ever again.

....

A/N: This was my first Yoongi fic and I feel good about it. It’s really hard to imagine Yoongi not being a god at music so anytime I use him as a character, he’s always a prodigy lol. I can’t help it he’s just really good. Anyways if you’ve bared with this, thank you sooo much for reading and I hope you liked it. Let me know if you did. Always wash your hands and stay healthy :)

[digitalta]

( you probably get these a lot but...here i am)

i've read antithesis about 3 times, i always stopped reading around chapter 66 because it was too painful, but it's one of my favorite works in fanfiction. i convinced my sister to read it (it's like...the second fanfiction she's ever read) and she's absolutely engrossed, and today is the day i finally finished reading this tragic masterpiece. (now there's a void in my heart).

what i mean to say is...thank you (for the angst, for the drama, for the comedy, for everything). i don't know what to say or even how to say it, this is such a humane and tragic story that touched me so much that i can't even formulate a semblance of what i really want to say and what it means to me. so, thank you.

oftentimes i found myself so entranced in your writing that i feel like i didn't register the best pieces of writing and identified what could be some quotes to add to my all time favorites.

by chance, do you have a compilation of antithesis's best quotes or poetic tidbits you can share with us please?

and thank you, really ♡

So, I got this Ask a few days ago, and I’ve been sitting on it and looking at it constantly.

First- no. The number of messages never EVER take away from the meaning behind them. I could receive four messages, or four hundred, and I treasure each and every one. You are an individual with completely unique experiences and views. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect, not thrown into a list of messages from nameless people.

Reading the story isn’t easy for some people. It’s all a matter of perspective, and how we can connect with it and how we can hurt from it. I am so proud of you for finishing it, and finding meaning at the end. 

There are...sections? Of the story that I am incredibly proud of. Pointing out quotes from memory is impossible based on the insane length of the fic.

So I tried to find individual portions that meant a lot to me, as an author and writer. I have a style of writing that I started to refine much further in the story, which appears often in the end. Surrealism and lyrical twist that is more akin to poetry than standard literature. Those lines are the ones I’m most proud of.

A few more popular quotes are those I still enjoy.

Truth be told, moments I actually enjoy appear in the middle and towards the end.

Ch. 36: "I could have been raised to kill Potter." Adrian tried again, desperate in his attempt to scare the man.

"You could have been," Remus agreed, with the faintest glimmer of sympathy, "And if you were, I would give you freedom to live away from expectations or requirements. I would give you an opportunity to follow what you want to do, and not what you were raised to do."

"It wasn't your fault Adrian," He repeated carefully, "and I'll tell you that every day for however long it takes for you to realize that. You weren't abandoned because of who you are. It wasn't your fault."

Ch. 37: He had never thought of her as someone with individual dreams and desires, an individual life that everyone would mourn and miss and remember.

She hadn't...she hadn't (or had she always been?) a person, in his eye. She was just an object, a possession of the wrong side…He had left her behind, left her lying in a pool of water too weak to stand or speak. He had turned his back on her and left her on the floor.

Ch. 38: The man's eyes were bulging, his hands were gasping against his torn and butchered chest.

"He is prey," Nagini simplified, "Prey are eaten."The man gasped something wetly, it sounded faintly like a plea.

What had he done. What had he done?

Ch. 40: "I know, I just...I do things on my own." Adrian paused, trying to elaborate but struggling with the words.

"Ah, I know how you feel." Remus smiled slightly, something nostalgic and yet so terribly pained, "We all have our own burdens to carry."

Ch. 40: Luna noticed, and she smiled something soft and sad."You know, I think you'd be a wonderful thestral.”

Ch. 44: She turned, opening her mouth and displaying saliva and venom soaked teeth, as long as dinner plates, "And do you, Cerastes, have anything to your name that make others cower? Or are you a hatchling child who dreams of prey far too large for his teeth."

"That's not true," Adrian shook his head in denial, knowing his face was flushing ugly with his anger. His scars itched and his eyes were burning and his nose was filled with disgusting snot.

"Are you crying?" Barty asked, sounding like he was going to burst out laughing, "as if the Dark Lord would find you useful!"

"Master," Lutain unhooked from Barty's leg, slithering across the distance, "Master that is not true,"

"It is," Adrian swallowed, a lump the size of a walnut was lodged in his throat.

Ch. 45: "That's why you wore this dress." he realized, speaking out loud as the epiphany struck him. "So people would stare at you. Instead of staring at me."

"People always stare at me," Luna offered dismissively, "I'm different and people don't like that. I think it scares them, like thestrals do."

Ch. 46: Luna smiled enchantingly, "Adrian you're good at spells."

"I'm really not," he automatically blurted.

Luna's eyes searched his, flickering from one back to the other, "Why are you arguing? Why do you think you're so...mediocre?"

"Because I am!" Adrian blurted, face feeling warm as he flushed against his will. Luna's spell faded out. She whispered it once more, squinting into his face as if looking for something in particular.

"I don't think you are," She confided, "I think you're brilliant."

Ch. 46: Adrian's throat moved three times as he nervously swallowed, "I...I'm not good enough n-"

"I'm afraid you're going to do something stupid for the approval of someone that doesn't matter." 

Ch 50:  "I tried, but the little demon went savage on Mundungus again, stabbed him with a fork and looked right happy with it." Sirius grimaced.

Ch. 50: "How was your summer?" Luna asked curiously. "You look terrible."

"You know, most times you're supposed to compliment me first." Adrian dryly commented, "It's wonderful to know you're so sweet."

Luna shrugged, "You look like something's eating you."

Ch. 50:  Skylar's jaw flexed, twitching as he refused to look away from the window, "Cedric really...I saw Cedric die. I saw him die, and you saw someone die, right in front of you, years ago."

"I was young," Adrian swallowed, his throat felt dry, "I barely remember it."

Skylar gave a single bark of laughter, bitter and sharp, "You don't- you don't just...just forget about it." 

"Yes you do." Adrian blurted, not even hearing the slightly pained whine in his voice. 

Skylar looked haunted, "I...I remember his eyes. They...Merlin, his eyes."

"I don't think I'll ever forget it," Skylar admitted quietly, "What Cedric looked like. Laying there, on the grass. He, he was just...alive, and then… and then he wasn't."

"It wasn't your fault." Adrian spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Ch. 54: “You’re not unlovable, silly.”

Ch. 56: “I could set this entire room on fire,” Adrian mused quietly. “I could burn this entire house down and kill you. burning people smell a lot like burning meat.”

Sirius realized, that he was afraid. He was quite afraid actually.

Ch 57.: Adrian stilled, pausing as if in thought. He looked at Remus with half lidded eyes, the yellow far too bright to be anything but alarming. "Do you like me, Remus?"

Remus felt as if he was mourning for the loss of something gone, which was impossible. Adrian was right there, but he felt so far away. He felt as if he had changed truly, as if something hideous had condemned him to something so foul, he had accepted it.

"Of course I do," Remus spoke, voice strained and distorted through his distress, "Adrian, you know I do. Why would you ever think I wouldn't?"

Ch. 58: "I thought I was insane." Adrian mused without much emotion, "Disturbed. Psycho. Spastic. Mad. Mental. Thick. Freak." Adrian's body twitched in a small spasm, "Loony." he practically hissed out.

Remus breathed through his nose carefully, "Who called that to you?"

"Nobody," Adrian murmured quietly, "Everyone. They think it, everyone does. Selwyn has a few screws loose. Selwyn is a freak."

Remus gently set aside the comb and scissors. He ignored the few scraps of hair, and instead slid forward slightly so that his weight was a nearby presence for Adrian.

"That isn't even my name," Adrian whined, shaking across his shoulders, "I- I just want to be good."

"You are good, Adrian." Remus assured him, "You're exceptional."

Ch. 60:  "Oh I know," Adrian hummed back, carefree as if truly it was barely of importance, "my life is a tragedy. I think I hadn't cared to truly involve myself to my full capabilities. Now...now with a deadline, I think that It's time for me to step forward."

Ch 60.:  "You love me," Adrian whined out like a dying animal. (Which, he supposed, he was).

Ch. 63: I know what it is like, to be unmade.I know what it is like, to be nothing.And through that, I know I am not.

Ch 64.:  "I'm surprised you never noticed, in all honesty." Adrian mentioned with a wry smile, "after all, professor. I have my mother's eyes."

Ch 65.: For now, all Adrian had was himself.In the sweet smelling heather and deep earthy peat bogs out of sight, in the moonlit shadow of a moss covered mountain which towered over an isolated cobblestone road cut from the mountain itself; Adrian found peace.

Past Chapter 65...honestly, each chapter is filled with absolutely gorgeous one liners. I pulled out small quotes above that I found really stuck out to me, or had some sort of important meaning. It would be impossible to pull out every single quote, basically because it would take so much time.

What’s your favourite?

[mando-and-child]

Hi I'm new to the starwars Fandom and I've been looking for someone to take fic prompts! I'm so glad I found you! So, cobb/din Post chapter 16 team comes to mos pelgo and asks Cobb to come with them. That their new king wishes to train Cobb personally in the ways of the Mandolore. They don't yell Cobb that din is the new king and Cobb is pleasantly surprised when he gets to the newly retaken and now thriving Mandolore. A year later, Cobb comes back as a mandalorian and with a new husband.

Sorry for the long wait, I love your idea so much though and I hope I have done it justice! If you are okay with it, I would like to put this on Ao3 of course with credits.

Cobb Vanth and the Mand’alor.

Cobb frowns when he reaches Mos Pelgo, he had been out to negotiate with the Tusken Raiders. He had been with them like he had promised Mando, and now Mos Pelgo was doing better than ever. However that didn’t mean that outsiders came to them though. That is why he is ready to fight the second he notices the ship outside the town. He speeds up his bike and rides into the town. “Marshal!” Cobb turns to where his name was called and finds Lock gesturing to the cantina. It seems the strangers are making themselves feel right at home. Cobb nods his head to Lock and walks towards the cantina with all the confidences he can muster without the armor to protect himself.

He is shocked to find two mandalorians sitting at the bar. “If you are here for the armor you are to late and I will have to ask you to leave.” He says standing in the doorway like he had done with Mando once upon a time.

“Well it’s good we aren’t here for the armor then.” The smaller of the two says. “We are here for the Marshall.”

“Well here you have me, what can I do for you.” Cobb tries to not tense up, he is ready to defend himself. He knows though that their armor is very effective against blaster fire.

“Oh we know, our Alor had been very clear on who we were looking for.” The heavier build of the two says, sounding almost amused in Cobb’s opinion. “Ner’alor requested for you to be brought to him.”

“I’m sorry I’m afraid I don’t know who ever Ner’alor is but I have a town to look after.” He can hear the snort coming from the bigger mando. The smaller one comes to his rescue though.

“Our Alor is our king, the king of Mandolor. He has requested for you to come to Mandolor he had an offer for you. Your town will be protected while you are away, up until your return.” Cobb looks at the two unsure of what’s happening. The smaller mando must have picked up on his hesitation and brings his hands up. “It’s understandable that you don’t trust us but our mutual friend has arranged this.” Mando Cobb thinks, they can’t mean anyone else right? No it must be Mando.

“For how long will I be leaving if I decide to come with you both?”

“That depends on your conversation with ner’alor but for now two weeks. We need a few days to arrive back home.” Cobb nods his head. He had never expected for his first trip up to the stars would be with two mando’s. Because he isn’t going to say no and potential piss off a powerful being.

“Very well, I will come but let me pack my stuff and explain it to the town.” The two mandos look at each other and nod their head.

“Alright, we got some time. We will be waiting by the ship.”

—————————

After having said his goodbye’s and having explained why he was leaving, he stood in front of the mando’s again. Though he is surprised to see a second ship, with the way the first one was placed he had never seen the second ship. The two mando’s from earlier gesture him closer. “Marshall, you will be leaving with us. These two will be here for protection in the meanwhile.” The bigger mando says. Cobb nods his head weaving at the two others who just stare back. “We should get going if we want to reach mandalor on time.” They walk on the ship the bigger one makes his way up to the cockpit while the smaller stays behind with him. Cobb looks away from him though when he notices his hands coming up to his helmet. He can hear the hiss of the air seal being broken, not soon after he hears a chuckle coming from the mando. He sounds very young.

“You can look Marshall, I have not yet sworn to the greed.” Cobb hesitates, mando had been very clear that they couldn’t take off their helmets in front of others. “Do you know what it means that I haven’t sworn to the greed yet?” He asks and Cobb shakes his head still looking away. Another chuckle at that. “It means I can take my helmet off without the worry of not being able to set it back up again. I’m too young to swear to the greed in a few months though I will be able too. Our Alor thought it would make you feel more comfortable if you talk to another person instead of beskar.” Cobb slowly looks over at the young mando, and Cobb was right; he is young. He can’t be much older then maybe 16-18 years old.

“So after you swear to the greed you never show your face again?” Cobb asks.

The young mando drags a hand through his blond hair, green eyes sparkling with mirth. “We can take the helmets off in front of our close aliit or family in basic. If you were to marry your spouse can see your face too. Only after marriages though.” Cobb nods his head in understanding, feeling a thrill about learning new things. “Come on let’s take a seat and you can ask me some more questions.” The blond Mando says smiling. Cobb nods his head and follows him.

—————————

After three days Cobb got called up to the cockpit. The mando’s thought that he would like to see Mandolor when they get out of hyperspace. Cobb had nodded eagerly, making the two brothers laugh a little. Cobb had been surprised when he had learned that the two mando’s were brothers, but not by blood though. They had explained the concept of foundlings to him after he had found out they were brothers. The younger of the two had been a foundling where the older one had been a blood born mando’ade. They had explained the concept of foundlings and how much children mean in their culture. He likes that they try to find the family still even when they take in the child.

They come out of hyperspace and Cobb and help but stare. He had never seen a planet from space. It looks so big and it makes him feel so small. Well here goes nothing right?

—————————

Cobb looks around the room surprised at the beauty of it, even in its simplicity. The room has beautiful big windows where light comes into the room. In the middle of those windows a drape is hung with one all too familiar symbol on it. What really caught his eyes though was the impressive throne right under it and of course the person sitting in it.

“Ner’mand’alor, we have brought the Marshall as per your request.” Mando nods his head standing up from the throne.

“Thank you both, you are free to go. I will see you for training later.” Both of the mando’s nod and walk away. Mando turns to him, Cobb wishes though that he could see his face. He doesn’t understand why he is here. “It’s good to see you again Cobb, how has Mos Pelgo been?” Cobb frowns is Mando really trying to make a small talk?

“We have been doing great, the tusken raiders are still our friends so that helps a lot. I don’t want to be rude but why am I here mando?”

“Din, my name is Din. It will get confusing very fast if you call me Mando. As for why you are here, well I have an offer for you. Know that Mos Pelgo will stay under protection if you choose to take my offer.”

Cobb looks surprised at being given Din’s name, but tries to listen to what he has to say more. “What is this offer Man.. Din?” Cobb saves himself at the last minute, using Din’s name.

Mando sighs seeming to be nervous. “My offer is that we will train you in our way, so you can earn your armor.” Cobb blinks at Mando feeling like his heart stopped beating for a second. Din seems to take the surprise as a bad thing and reassures that Cobb can take his time thinking about the offer.

“I will do it.” Cobb interrupts Din. “I take your offer Din.” Din's shoulders relaxed and Cobb realised that Din had been nervous about Cobb’s answer.

“Well in that case welcome to my home Cobb Vanth, I will teach you to the best of my abilities.” Cobb nods his head, feeling like he is dreaming. “How about we go somewhere more comfortable and I will explain it some more?” Cobb nods his head.

“Show me the way.” He says smirking

—————————

-One year later, Mos Pelgo.-

Two mando’s walk down the ramp of an old ship that had seen better days. One of the mando’s decked out in silver armor the others armor also silver but with red accents. Both look at the small village in front of them.

“Ready Riduur?” The silver mando asks. The other nods his head, his gaze only on the village he had left a year ago.

“Yes, I’m ready it’s time to say hi.” Cobb says looking over at his husband. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum Din.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum Cobb.” Din answers nodding to the village. “Let’s go.” And both walk into the village ready to see it again.

[jeagerism]

wish you were here

✒ word count : 4.2k

✒ characters : park jimin x reader

✒ warnings : sadness, like hella sadness im sorry, break up!au, reader just misses him lots, small amounts of fluff, cursing, seeing the person you love with someone new, first dates, moving on, crying

✒ summary : You're sitting in your bathtub eating marshmallows at 3 in the morning three weeks after the break up, and you're doing fine, you really are. But then, all of a sudden, you're crying and realising how much you miss him.

✒ author's note : as i wrote more and more i was like...hmmm. jimin. here is the completed fic im scared to post this didusissj but if i don't i might die so. hope u guys like dis one xoxo it's my first jimin imagine pls do not hurt me im trying :o

It's 6 p.m. on a Saturday when it happens.

The curtains are open slightly in the living room, rays of golden sunlight reaching just past where your feet rest on the couch. You're typing up an essay when Jimin slips through the door, toeing his shoes off. Five-fifty, just like clockwork. The coat he wears everyday goes on the same hook - third from the left. He shuffles over to the couch and presses his lips to the crown of your head, just like always.

It's easy to fall into routine.

Another episode of Sex Education plays in the background, long forgotten after an hour of staring at the same screen. You're pretty sure your brain is fried. But you'd made a promise to yourself that you'd finish this essay today, so you make due. 

"Hey." The way your lips stretch into a smile is hard to control, even more so when he copies your actions. He falls onto the couch beside you, leaning into the cushions with a hum. He smells like the strawberries and honey body wash in the bathroom.

You let your eyes study him for a few seconds, then go back to typing, and it's quiet, just like always. It feels normal. Nothing's different. 

Until it is.

"I think we should break up."

Of the five years you've known Jimin, you've been through a lot. And while most of it had been dealing with things much bigger than yourselves, bigger than romance and first kisses, you'd had your fair share of relationship issues.

But things were good. He would come home every day, smiling, press that same kiss to your forehead. Sit right beside you, leaning into your side, his warmth seeping into you. Sometimes he'd play with your fingers, a thing that kept him occupied and calm. You knew Jimin, you knew all his habits, what made him tick, how he acted when he was sad, or happy, or angry.

"Y/N?"

"I can't", you breathe out, so softly it's barely audible. And you wonder if he can even hear you. If he can hear the way you're trying to gather up everything you're feeling right now and trying to shove it down, down, down. "I don't understand? I need, can you-" 

And as much as you know Jimin, he knows you all the same. He knows you're panicking, and normally, he'd grab your hands and help you breathe. In for three, out for three. In for three out for three. He doesn't do that this time. He doesn't even look at you.

"I'm just not...happy. I'm not happy and I don't think I make you happy anymore, either."

But you do. He does, Jimin makes you so happy that sometimes you forget how to breathe. He makes you so happy that you love everything about him, even the things that drive you insane sometimes. So happy that you pick up the clothes he leaves on the floor after his shower, or place his shoes back neatly, or cook his favorite food for him whenever he asks.

These are the things you want to tell him. You want to tell him it all and more, but the only thing that comes out is :

"Okay."

Because what else can you say? He's just said that he's not happy with you anymore, and he's so close but farther away than ever, and he's not even looking at you.

In for three, out for three. But you still can't breathe. And this time, as his words fall on near deaf ears - something about "my stuff" and "sometime later" and "you stay, I'll go" - and he slips his shoes and coat back on, and it's quiet, it's not because you're happy.

You can't breathe because it hurts. You're not sure of how long you stay on the couch, computer running hot on your lap, a "Are you still watching" message on the tv. But when you finally look up, it's dark. 

And you take a breath. Dragging yourself to Jimin and your bedroom - your bedroom - takes more of an effort than you'll admit, but you get there. The pillow is cool against your burning cheek. You allow your eyes to close tight, because his side of the bed is never this cold.

All you can do is breathe. In for three, out for three. Something you'd learned from him, with him. 

It's all you can do to keep yourself from breaking.

He takes you on your first date in September.

It's bowling, which is a stereotypical first date, but it's him, so you don't really mind. 

Park Jimin is nervous. It's evident in the way he wipes his hands on his pants before he holds your hand. The way he gets quiet after laughing at one of your jokes, as if he's afraid of being too loud or happy.

"No fair!", you call, speaking through a pout. "You've got like, superhuman abilities or something. You're obviously gonna win." Crossing your arms, you shake your head. "I think we should label this as cheating."

Jimin chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not trying, though." 

You make a noise of protest. "That's even worse!" Leaning closer to him, a furrow in your eyebrows, you huff. "Are you saying I'm just plain ole bad at bowling, Park?"

"You said it, not me." It's the first joke he's made all night. You laugh, eyes closing just from the force. "I could, uh, I could help you? If you want. Since I'm so good and everything." The last part is said teasingly, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You stand, ruffling his hair with a smile. "Teach me then." By the time you've grabbed the ball you've been using the entire time, he's right behind you. Sticking your fingers in the holes, you twist it around lightly. 

"I see why you're so bad now." You turn, opening your mouth to defend yourself. "You're not even holding the ball right, you know."

"Well, I'm sorry I was never taught bowling ball holding basics. I didn't even know you could hold one of these-"

He interrupts you with a hand on your waist, delicate and soft. His fingers rest just above the top of your jeans, brushing against soft skin. "Like this", he murmurs. Jimin's other hand adjusts your own. "And then this." He keeps his hand atop yours, and brings your arm back, helping you swing it forward. You're so focused on how close he is that you don't notice you still need to let go of the ball.

Lips brushing against the side of your cheek, Jimin hums. You shiver. "You know, this doesn't actually work unless you let go of the ball when you swing, pretty girl." 

You feel like you're going to combust. Park Jimin just called you pretty. Park Jimin, the boy you've had a crush on for months. Called you pretty. Blinking, you swing your arm back with him again, and let it go when it comes forward. Not caring if the ball hits the pins or not, you rotate, until you're face to face with him. All soft, silky hair and lips that look as soft as pillows. 

"What?" He raises an eyebrow, another pretty flush spreading over his cheeks. 

"Can I kiss you?"

The noise that comes from him mirrors the shock on his face that quickly morphs into timidness. "Like you even have to ask, Y/N." 

His lips feel even softer than they look. You've had a first kiss before, but this is the only one that's felt right. Something in you tells you that means something. When you pull away, you're smiling, breathless.

"Hey", Jimin whispers, nodding his head behind you. "You knocked down all the pins."

As he walks you home, he holds your hand.

"I'm glad we got to do this", Jimin says, and his eyes don't meet your own until you squeeze his hand tight. You think about how he'd wrapped you up in the extra sweater he'd been wearing when he'd noticed you were cold. How he'd pulled you closer when walking down the sidewalk because people were bumping into you, and had held you that way the entire way back.

"Me too." You grin, watching the pink on his cheeks spread to his ears and down his neck. His smile mirrors yours regardless. 

Jimin sighs. "I'm, um, sorry if it was lame. I know bowling is kinda...well, kinda bland for a first date-"

"It was perfect." You let your fingers detangle as you back up. "Best first date I've ever had." 

His cheeks swell with a big, boyish grin. "Next time I'll take you to the arcade downtown." A smirk. "Maybe that time you can beat me in something."

You always thought that if Jimin ever left you, you'd cry.

Not that you thought of it often, but it still came up once or twice. Every time it did, he was always right there, with soothing words and soft lips pressed against the tip of your nose. 

So, the fact that you don't cry surprises you.

You don't cry, and a part of you thinks that, if you did, it would never stop. 

Your sadness turns into anger at every reminder of him around your apartment. There's traces of him everywhere, a forced memory no matter where you step. So you keep breathing. You take a breath. 

You take a breath when you see his lunchbox he took to work with him every day. When you visit your friends and they ask how plans for the yearly Halloween party you'd always throw with him are going. When you see a news article about him and the boy's album release. You breathe.

Because you are angry with him. Angry for making you waste your time, making you think that it was you and him. That he still loved you, and that you knew him.

Going back in your head, everything had seemed fine. The two of you hardly fought, you told each other I love you every morning and every night. You still had your weekly movie nights every Friday. You laughed together. 

Nothing had changed, right? You knew him, right?

A week after he's been gone, it hits you that you never knew him that well at all.

You didn't even know him well enough to tell that he was falling out of love with you.

Two weeks after the breakup, and you no longer feel angry. You feel the dragging feeling of sadness creep up on you again. The anger probably would've stayed, but he'd come to get his stuff earlier in the week. 

He forgets a few things, but you don't say anything. Why don't you say anything?

Getting used to life without him is a process. You forget that you don't have to buy those off brand crackers he likes. You never wake up in the morning to his humming in the shower. Things...change.

The bed was never this big, was it? It always seemed small, small enough that the two of you always crowded together, legs tangled together, arms around waists.

Now, it's massive. You pull the blanket up to your chin, and even though you probably shouldn't, you press your cheek into his pillow. 

When you fall asleep, you dream of him.

His skin is bathed in moonlight, pale and soft. The two of you sit in the big clawfoot bathtub, the one you both loved, empty and fully clothed. He's quiet, and anyone else would think that's because it's nearing three in the morning, but you know him. You recognize the subtle shaking of his hands, the sweat beading at his hairline even though it was freezing inside the apartment, the way he taps his fingers together in rhythm.

You know him.

"Hey." It's the first word spoken since you'd sat down. He's facing you, curls going every which way from attempting to sleep earlier. Holding up the bag you'd snagged before you'd followed him in here, you grin. "Want some marshmallows?"

Jimin's lips twitch into a smile, and even though it disappears as quickly as it came, it's something. Massive hand plunging into the bag, he grabs a handful and proceeds to shove a few in his mouth. You settle for popping them in one by one; the small, colorful bits melt on your tongue. 

The bag empties faster than expected, so soon you have nothing to occupy yourselves. As you start to suggest opening the other bag in the pantry, he speaks.

"It's happening again", his shoulders rise up to his ears. His hands rest in between his knees, tangled together, fidgeting.

With a heavy sigh, you lay a hand across his own. "I know." Jimin's eyes meet yours, honey colored and exhausted. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than they have been, and although it's not as bad as the last few times, it's still bad.

"I don't want it to happen again."

And well, you don't quite know what to say to that. Because you don't either. This feeling was always with him, always simmering underneath the surface. It never completely disappeared, but it did get easier to deal with. It was bearable, almost nonexistent at times.

You know it hurts him, and him hurting makes you hurt. He deserves so much good, he is too good, to have so much weight on his shoulders. To be plagued with so much anxiety and pain, and for what? You don't even know the answer.

No one is perfect, as living with him for this many years often reminds you. He's definitely not. He leaves his shoes in the middle of the floor. He forgets to replace the tissue when the roll runs out. He's never had a plant that's lasted more than a week, because he's either not here or just forgets. 

So no, he's not perfect. But you know damn well he's the closest thing to it you have.

"I'll be here." You swallow, fingers slotting in between his. "I am here. No matter what, rain or shine, you know that." Jimin lifts the side of his lips into a smile. "I love you."

Switching in his spot, he turns, leaning back against your chest, rejoining your hands soon after. "I know." He brushes his lips across your knuckles. "I love you, too."

Your other hand combs through his hair, twirling curls around your fingers like thread.

The two of you don't retire to your bed until the sun begins to peak over the horizon.

You wake up with sweat beading at your hairline.

In for three, out for three.

You ignore the phantom taste of marshmallows on your tongue. A shaky hand pushes the blankets off of your body, and you're taking the familiar path to the kitchen before you can really think. There's a bag of mini marshmallows where they always are. You grab them, tearing a whole in the top as you walk towards the bathroom. 

When your back meets the familiar chill of the tub, you can feel the way your throat begins closing up. But you push it away with a hand full of marshmallows, which distracts you from the aching burn settled deep in your chest.

You've never done this alone. Every time you've sat in this exact same position, marshmallows in hand, he's been here. But there's always time for change. At least that's what you tell yourself.

You'd spent all your time in this tub with Jimin. There weren't any more of those times. No more late night baths where you just talked about your days. No more pic nics on the living room floor when you didn't feel like going out. No more hugs or I love you's or simply just seeing him across the room. 

And another. In for three, out for three. Focus on something else. Anything else but him. Your eyes switch from the wall to the bottle of soap on the ledge of the tub. Strawberries and honey. His favorite. Something else. The two towels hanging on the rack, one yellow and one red. You remember picking them out the night you moved in. It's getting harder to see with the tears in your eyes, but it's fine. It's fine.

Because you don't miss him. You can't, because the smell of strawberries and honey are fading from the pillow that's beside yours. The red towel hasn't been used in a month. There's never a box of off-brand crackers with his name on them in the cabinet anymore. And he's not here.

And you can't wish that he is. 

September is different this time.

The streets are full of people, and you're filled with a happy sort of warmth as you wait outside of a coffee shop. Rubbing your hands together, you blow warm air on them to rid yourself of the numbness starting to creep in. It's the type of cold that sets in slowly. You nudge your nose against the scarf you're wearing with a shiver.

People around you pass by with smiles, arms full of bags or holding others hands. It's peaceful.

"You're going to drop them!"

Glancing up, your eyes dart around until they find the source of the noise. There's a part of you that wishes you hadn't. A part of you that wants to shove your nose back into the fabric around your neck. 

Seeing Park Jimin is...weird.

There's a certain type of irony in the way that you see him during your first September without him. It twists and tears at you with bleeding fists.

"Jimin, let me carry some!"

The girl next to him is pretty. She's more than pretty. Jealousy ebbs in your chest for a mere moment at the smile he gives her, the way his eyes sparkle. Remembering how he used to look at you like that pours salt onto the wound. 

His hair is blond now. He looks good. Jimin had always looked good, though. There's no doubt in your mind that he's one of the prettiest people you've ever met. But he looks good. He looks like he's glowing. He looks...happy.

I'm just not...happy anymore.

"I've got it", he laughs, leaning his head back with a smile. Turning, he regains his grip on the bags, switching his gaze over, over, over. "See, like…" His eyes are sparkling. He looks happy. Is this what he meant?

I'm not happy and I don't think I make you happy anymore, either.

"Y/N?"

You quickly avert your eyes, turning and stuffing your hands into your pockets with a huff of breath you can see in the cold air. For a second, you can hear his footsteps getting closer. Of all the ways you thought you'd bump into him, it was safe to say this wasn't on the list. Seeing him wasn't on the list at all. Avoiding the problem until it went away seemed like a good enough plan.

Just as you're ready to turn around and face him, even if you really do not want to, a hand lands on your shoulder. Gentle.

The endless run on thoughts of what you're going to say become muddled as you open your eyes. 

"Sorry it took so long. Since someone wanted peppermint hot chocolate, even though they were obviously going to be running out, I had to wait a little longer." The corner of his lips lift into a grin. "Didn't mind though. Anything for you, I suppose." 

You shake your head with a smile as he hands you the cup. "Thank you." The drink warms your hands, the numbness melting away. 

"Ready to go?"

Jimin's behind you. Jimin is behind you with a girl who may not even be his girlfriend, but a girl who makes him happy. Makes him smile. 

And you think you're a little okay with it. 

You don't really have a choice, but. It's easier to swallow than you'd expected. 

You've learned to live without him. And even though there's a piece of you screaming and throwing a fit like a child that just wants and wants, you don't break. 

"Yeah. I am."

Pivoting, you walk forward. He's still relatively far away, but close enough that you can see him in your peripheral vision. Close enough that you make eye contact once more as he readjusts the bags in his arms. Close enough that you see the sparkle in his eyes.

You take a breath as your shoulders pass, mere inches of space between you. He still feels far away.

In for three, out for three. Breathe in.

It smells like strawberries and honey.

You smack your lips together as you continue on.

You're craving marshmallows.

Two Months Before

Park Jimin is scared.

Which isn't something he'd normally admit so easily. But, given the circumstances, he doesn't think too much of it.

Filling his cheeks with air, he gnaws on his bottom lip in thought. He's been chewing on it for so long he'll probably tear a whole in it, but he can't help it. Thinking back on the conversation he'd had hours before scares him. Leaves him with an unsettling feeling in his stomach. Anxious, deadly butterflies.

"How're things with Y/N?" Taehyung sits back, sipping from a stark white coffee mug. "Not that we don't see you guys every two weeks, but, you know."

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. "They're good. She's good, amazing." He's smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. 

"God, stop looking like a lovesick fool", his friend teases. He tilts his head, scoffing. "Propose already." Jimin must look as lost as he feels, because Taehyung raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He blinks, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, I'm good. I guess I just...never thought about it. Marriage and stuff. I mean, I have, I just…" He shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "Never really thought about it too in detail." Why does his stomach feel like this?

"Do you want to marry her?"

"Yes." The answer is instant. Something hidden underneath, but something all known. 

Taehyung smiles. "That was pretty fast. Are you sure you've never thought about it?"

Jimin wets his lips, clearing his throat. "Guess it just...doesn't make sense with anyone else. It makes sense with her though. It feels right."

The blue haired male across from him smirks, huffing out a laugh. "Guess you'll need a ring then, huh?"

Marriage had always been a far away concept. Something to be worried about later down the line. It seemed like, without even realising it, down the line had come sooner than he expected. He's known Y/N for five years, and while every moment has been one he wouldn't give up, it's sped by so fast. 

But when he thinks about it, it doesn't make sense if it isn't her. Nothing makes sense if it's not her. If he closes his eyes and pictures his wedding day, no matter what, in every scenario, every way you look at it, she's the one walking down the aisle. Every time. It's her.

Jimin reaches into the dresser drawer beside the bed, feeling around until he finds what he's searching for. His fingers brush against the velvet box he'd shoved in there an hour earlier. When he brings it out, the butterflies in his stomach have friends. 

He wants to marry her. He wants to do it right. He wants to put this ring on her finger and watch her eyes light up. And plan the wedding with her and discuss color schemes and where to seat guests at the reception. Wants to kiss her in front of a room of people as his wife for the first time. He wants to adopt a dog and buy a house with a backyard.

Park Jimin wants to do all of this, and he wants it to feel right, and it only feels right with her.

But if she said no. If she didn't want him the way he wanted her. Park Jimin is terrifyingly in love with her. The type of love that makes him crazy. That makes him wake up early just to pull her back into his arms, because he knows how she likes being held. Because he knows her.

So if she didn't need him like he needed her, he doesn't think he'd be able to handle it. Because she may be able to walk away and find someone new, but he won't.

She's it for him. This is it for him. He doesn't think there's ever gonna be anyone else. 

He's loved her every day since the moment he met her.

The not wanting is what might tear him to pieces. Can nervous butterflies die?

The sound of keys turning in lock nab his attention, and he jumps to his feet, heart in his throat. Something in him aches. "Jimin? I'm home!"

Rubbing his thumb over the velvet box once more, he slips it back into the drawer, way in the back. He closes it, and breathes. In for three, out for three. Jimin looks up, and puts on a smile, even with this ache.

He loves her.

"Coming!"

✒ tags : @lysjeon @goldenlilyz @savageprince7