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lgg5989 · 2 years

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Church Encounters Chapter 8 Part 1

This fic is written in collaboration with @barbiewritesstuff who is also posting this on her tumblr, go give her some love! Please enjoy the moodboard and you can also read this story on AO3 :) Check out my Masterlist for the previous chapters.

Guys this chapter has made me in a Christmassy mood so don't mind me I'm off listening to Elvis Christmas albums and watching Christmas Vacation again! Enjoy!

---

“We have missed you so much!” Isabella Seresin said, practically jumping at your throat five minutes after Jake parked the truck and set about unloading bags, “My children,” she added, “Are making me go crazy.”

“Come osi, madre, noi siamo angeli,” Maria smirks, leaning against one of the porch pillars.

“Angeli! Angeli!” She exclaimed, “Non fai altro che litigare,” she said to her daughter, then she turns to you, “They only argue. I will go crazy if they keep arguing.”

“I don’t know how you think she’ll help that,” John said as he stepped out of the house and onto the porch.

“I do not think she will help, but it will be nice to speak with someone who doesn’t argue about everything,” Isabella replied, a satisfied look on her face.

“I don’t argue,” John replies.

“Yes you do, you’re doing it right now,” Maria said, stoking the fight.

“Ascolta qui, piccola merda --” John started.

“Non ti permetterò di usare quelle parole a casa mia, Giovanni Junior!” Isabella bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at her son, “I am going crazy,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

“You are. Hai dimenticato che esisto,” Jake jokes, but there’s a hint of truth in what he said, in her haste to commiserate with you, she had all but forgotten that her youngest son had come too.

Isabella threw her hands in the air at the sound of his voice, and rushed to her son, “Povero bambino! Non ho dimenticato, vieni qui così la mamma può baciarti,” she forcefully grabs his face and peppers his cheeks in loud, purposefully exaggerated kisses that leave red lipstick marks all over his face. His sibling erupted into laughter and loud mocking repeats at the word, “Bambino,” and the laughter didn’t ease up when he resurfaced from his mother’s embrace looking dishevelled.

“Does our little Bambino need help with the bags?” Tony mocked and Jake threw a duffel bag at him. He would never live it down.

“Come on, Y/n, leave Bambino and come with us, Nonna and Papa are having coffee in the kitchen. We will say hello, he will catch up with us,” Isabella said before grabbing you by the hand and pulling you into the house after her.

Jake stared at his mother, and offended expression etched all over his face, “Grazie mille, Mamma, glad to know I am no longer the favourite,” he huffed

“You never were Bambino. I was,” Maria smirked.

Jake scoffed, “Not in a million years, you were far too much trouble.”

She pushed herself away from the pillar,“Oh yeah? che ha ricevuto un pony per il suo decimo compleanno?” she snapped, clearly offended that her place as favourite Seresin child might have been challenged.

“Alleviamo cavalli, stupido. Ho una macchina per il mio sedicesimo --” Jake retorted.

“ENOUGH! Enough! No more arguing or I swear to the Lord above, I will take out the argument jar again,” Isabella said, shaking her head in disgust. The mention of the argument jar quietened her children for about a second as each considered their next step and the gravity of the threat.

Maria seemed unable to hold it in, “Jake started it!” she exclaimed.

“Maria provoked me!” He shouted back, pointing at her with an open hand. He seemed to be silently pleading with his mother, whose head was going back and forth between her children as though she was spectating a tennis match.

Isabella seemed to be leaning on Jake’s side. He gave her his best puppy eyes and you saw she was about to end the argument in his favour but Maria would not let him win this easily, “He called me stupid!” she all but screamed.

“THAT’S IT, IT IS COMING OUT,” Isabella screams, you flinched at the noise. She moved her hand to rest on your arm as a silent, “Sorry”. You thought she might drag you inside then as everyone seemed to have calmed down but she didn’t move.

Giovanni coughed, “Ben giocato, idioti” you heard him mumble. It was low enough that if you had been standing further away you might have missed it, but you didn’t, and Isabella didn’t either.

“Giovanni, se sento ancora una parolaccia in casa mia…,” She threatened.

“Jake called her stupid not even a minute ago, but when I do it Mamma --” John tried to argue back, but before he could finish Isabella interrupted.

“I am upping the price of the argument jar, five dollars per offence” she spat out.

“FIVE DOLLARS?!” Jake, Maria and John exclaimed in horror.

Isabella said nothing but held out a hand. All three of the offending children took out their wallets and placed a crisp five dollar bill in her palm. It is only then that she turned around and pulled you inside the house.

She smiled a mischievous little smile, “By the end of the week, I will be rich,” she said, leaning against you conspiratorially.

You laughed a little, “What do you do with all the money?”

“I take the best behaved child and we have a fun day out. I have no doubt this year it will be you. Or maybe Alessandra’s baby if it ever decides to grace us with its presence…” Isabella said as she made her way through the house, linking her arm in yours.

You walked into the living room to find Alessandra looking miserable, “We have tried everything and still she doesn’t want to come out.”

“She’s comfortable,” You offered up as a consolation prize.

Alessandra grimaced, “She can be comfortable somewhere else. She is heavy and I am enormous, I cannot even get out of the couch to say hello to you and Jacob.”

She motioned for you to come closer, you leaned in to hug her and she practically squeezed the breath out of you.

“Isabella is right, they have been driving us up the wall with the bickering,” Alessa said as you helped her up, “Gio is the worst, I don’t think he even knows he is doing it,” She leaned close to your ear, “I think he is scared about the baby.”

You looked at her confused, “It’s not his first one though.”

“Oh you will see when you are pregnant. First, second, third or fourth, it makes no difference for them, they freak out just the same,” Isabella interjected.

“Gio has fainted at every single one of my births,” Alessa confirmed.

“And Tony almost missed mine,” Sofia said, walking into the room. All three of you look at her with a horrified expression, “He said it was an accident, but I don’t believe it. I think he’s a coward. I told him if he ever did it again, I would divorce him.”

“And you should! Che disgrazia,” She told her second son when he walked in the front door, carrying the duffel bag Jake had so unceremoniously flung at him.

He stopped and looked at his mother, then at his wife. He shot Sofia a scalding glare, “I had car trouble!” He exclaimed

“Giovanni, get the jar,” Isabella spoke towards the kitchen door.

“Already did it, it’s in the kitchen,” Her husband’s voice answered.

Isabella seemed pleased. She led you to the kitchen where Giovanni Senior and Nonna were sitting around the kitchen table. On the table was the largest jar you had ever seen, roughly the size of a four-year old child and as wide as a fully grown cat. The thing looked more like a glass chest than anything else, but the neat letters on the front proudly announced “Argument Jar, Price: 1$.”

Isabella let go of you to root through a drawer. A minute later, she came back with a sharpie and adjusted the price. She then dropped the 15$ she had already taken off of her children into the glass behemoth.

Gio and Jake walked into the kitchen a minute later looking crabby. Both boys took out their wallets and silently dropped a five dollar note before leaving again.

Nonna took a sip of her coffee, a strange expression on her face, “Isabella, hai dimenticato di insegnargli le buone maniere?” she asked Jake’s mother. Jake stopped by the threshold of the door for a moment before turning around.

“Sorry, Nonna,” Jake grumbled, kissing her on the cheek, “Sorry Pappa” he added, quickly patting his father on the shoulder and leaving again, taking the time to kiss the top of your head. Nonna huffed.

----

You awoke during the night to the sounds of a raging storm and the feeling of tiny little hands touching your face. You opened your eyes to see Catalina in a sleep shirt she must have borrowed from her cousin, as the hem touched the floor by her feet. Her curly blonde hair was adorably dishevelled and she flinched whenever thunder roared.

“I’m scared,” She stated, “Can I sleep with you?”

You were about to ask if she shouldn’t ask her parents to sleep with her, but lightning cracked and she practically dived into your covers, curling up underneath you so neatly that no part of her showed through the duvet.

“It’s just a storm, sweetheart” you tried to reassure her.

In all honesty, you had always been afraid of storms. They scared you ever since the day Annie had told you lightning sometimes landed on humans and proceeded to show you pictures of survivors. You weren’t afraid of death, in a line of work like yours, you had to be pretty comfortable with it, but goodness gracious were you afraid of the purple bruises and muscles pulled straight from the bone.

“I don’t like it, it’s loud,” she said, drowned out by another roar of thunder.

“Try to think of something pleasant,” you said, talking more to yourself than to the toddler, “Like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kitten, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings,” you had gone into the song almost by accident. The Sound of Music had always been your favourite movie, Annie used to put it on whenever you got scared since the day she turned eight and was shown how to use a vhs player.

A knock rang through the door and Agostino appeared, looking scared out of his mind. He joined the both of you on the bed and curled up too, making sure to stay over the covers.

“We can’t all be on the bed,” you said as soon as Luca appeared three minutes later. Rounding up the younger ones you walked downstairs, the oldest holding onto your nightgown with a death grip.

You dropped them all onto the sofa and tucked them into a red chequered blanket before closing all the curtains and kneeling down to look for something to watch. You almost wanted to play The Sound of Music, but the singing would have woken everyone up, so instead you picked something more appropriate for three in the morning. A box with Christmas movies had been laid out and How The Grinch Stole Christmas was on top, since it was also a favourite of yours, you put it on.

As the film started, you left for the kitchen. You opened up cupboards to find what you were looking for, you searched through everything twice before noticing the small box of hot chocolate mix at the back of the first cabinet you had looked in. You set a pan up on the cooker and heated up the milk before whisking the cocoa powder in. Once the hot chocolates were ready and cooled to an appropriate temperature for children, you handed each little pair of terrified hands a mug.

They all sipped happily for twenty minutes, the storm all but forgotten when a particularly bad crack resonated through the house. You all looked at each other, then left your corner of the sofa to huddle with the children. Hurried footsteps came down the stairs.

“Are you scared of the storm too, Uncle Jake?” Luca asked, looking over the edge of the sofa to see Jake, sleepy and scared, trying to act natural.

“No,” Jake lied, “I was worried when I didn’t see you in your beds.”

“We’re watching the grinch,” you stated.

“Which one?,” Jake asked, “Don’t tell me it’s the new one?”

You looked at him, offended, “I’m not a heathen Jake, it's the live one with Jim Carrey,” at that moment thunder roared and he jumped over the sofa to sit next to you in as much time as it took you to blink, “Is that cocoa?” he asked, looking at your cup.

“There’s some in the kitchen,” You answered. Jake made a move to stand again but the storm loudly announced itself again and Jake sat right back down, grabbing you and holding you close.

“I don’t need it that bad,” he almost whimpered. You laughed, shoving your fear aside, you extricated yourself from his hug and left to make him a cup. By the time you were back, Gio had joined too.

“I’m not scared. I’m just keeping an eye on you two,” He said, trying to look menacing but the quiver in his voice gave him away.

By the time the credits rolled, the storm had calmed down and everyone had fallen asleep where they sat. You were the last one awake but losing your battle fast, there was just something about Isabella’s sofas, why did they have to be so comfortable?

When you woke up again, you found that Catalina had curled up on your knees like a cat. Gio was up already, he had cleaned up the kitchen and made you and Jake a cup of coffee before gently shaking you awake. He had had no success in waking Jake up so far. You lifted the sleeping girl off of your legs and moved from under Jake to help John prepare breakfast.

“Do you know how to crack an egg without leaving shell in the bowl?” He asked, having gotten out all the necessary ingredients to make pancakes.

Putting on your best air of innocence, you asked, “Is the inability to crack an egg genetic?”

“Are you arguing with me?” John asked, trying to hide an amused smile.

“No sir, I don’t argue.” you replied.

“Oooh I need to be careful with you,” He said, looking you up and down, “You’re a sly little --”

“Watch what you’re saying to my girlfriend,” Jake grumbled from the doorframe. He looked strangely attractive with his groggy voice, morning stubble and untidy hair.

“I’m not saying anything bad, I’m just --” John tried to defend himself.

“I heard you, you were about to --” Jake started, his voice sounding heated.

“Boys, you’re arguing again,” You interrupted. You pointed at the jar, taking care to catch John’s vindicated glare, “What?” you asked in your sweetest voice.

You were in it to win whatever the prize Isabella was putting up was, even if it meant pitting the rest of them up against each other. You were a youngest sister, causing chaos in a perfectly peaceful family situation was what you did best and you barely felt bad that Jake had to be caught in the middle.

----

Seresin family traditions dictated that the lot of you needed to head to the Christmas market in town and get a Christmas tree for the house. At home, in Indiana, you were used to going to the Christmas tree farm and cutting your own tree down. You hadn’t had a christmas tree in a few years, the holidays never felt the same when you were away from family, and yours didn’t get together all that often.

As you climbed into Jake’s truck after loading the kids in, they all wanted to ride with you, Jake pulled out of the ranch’s driveway. You turned the radio up, the local Christmas station was on and it was one of your favourites, Jingle Bell Rock. Uncaring of the occupants in the truck, you started to sing, “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time. Dancin' and prancin' in Jingle Bell Square, in the frosty air!”

Jake joined in on the next verse, “What a bright time, it's the right time. to rock the night away! Jingle bell time is a swell time, to go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh!”

The kids, not knowing the song too well just chattered along in the back, giggling at your singing. The whole way to the market was the same, the kids joining in the singing for Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer, and You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch.

When you arrived at the market, you found yourself disappointed. Despite the general Christmassiness of the atmosphere, something was heavily hampering your enjoyment of the Christmas fair. You thought for a few minutes about what it could be when you decided that it was the temperature.

Indiana was known for cold winters so you were used to biting cold, mittens, woollen hats and scarves and maybe some snow. Here in Texas, you could probably have walked around without a coat if you had been brave enough. Jake was brave enough. He sauntered around the market in jeans and a hoodie, holding only a to-go cup full of coffee to keep himself warm.

“Christmas day has a dress code, by the way. I think I forgot to tell you,” he said, “Christmas jumpers only. Well, not only, like, you’re allowed trousers and like stuff underneath but you know what I mean,” he over-explained. You stayed quiet, “I thought it might be cute if we got matching ones.”

“You are full of surprises Seresin,” you said, smiling up at him.

He tilted his head to look down at you, “Good ones I hope?”

“When we first met I really didn’t think you’d be like that,” You said, he seemed to flinch a little at your words, “That’s not what I mean, Gorgeous, I mean I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the matchy matchy Christmas jumper type.”

He hummed into his coffee cup, “You’re lucky you escaped the Halloween party, because I am also a matching costume person. And a his and hers coffee cups person,” He laughed, “I just like doing stuff with my girl.”

“It’s very cute, I like soft Jake,” You said, giving him a soft poke in the side.

“I won’t tell hard Jake,” He said, then seemingly catching the double entendre, “Nope, sorry I didn’t realise -- that’s not what I meant to say”

“You’re a goof,” you said, laughing at his unintentional dirty joke.

Brushing off your words with a shy smile and a blush, he said, “How about I win you a teddy,”

Looking at him confused, you asked, “I thought we were going to get matching jumpers?”

Jake shook his head, a mischievous look on his face, “Nope, I have them already.”

Giving him an overexaggerated look of fear, you said, “See, now I’m scared…”

He feigned offence, pressing one hand to his chest before firing back, “I thought you trusted me?”

“Win me a damn teddy bear,” you laughed. Jake stopped by a stand. After giving the man the fare, he picked up one of the revolvers lining the bench and pointed it at the wooden cowboys running around at the back of the stall. Jake managed to get them all down in one shot. He held the gun close to his face and blew the imaginary smoke out of the barrel while throwing you a wink.

“Which one will it be?” The stand’s owner asked. He was a pleasant looking man, smaller than both of you and with a moustache Rooster could only dream about adorning his very round face.

“The elf one please” You answered, pointing towards a large light brown bear that had an elf hat on, they had unceremoniously hung him from the ceiling. You felt bad for the guy, seeing him sway like that in the wind made you feel a little queasy.

“What are you going to call it?” Jake asked as he handed you the large bear.

“I’m going to call it…” You hesitated, your mind suddenly going blank. You had never been great under pressure and Jake was now seeing the extent of it, “Errr -- I’m going to call it -- Benjamin?”

“Benjamin?” Jake laughed, “Wow -- Actually -- Actually I like it. Benny the bear.”

“There you go! Benny the bear!” you said, glad that your floundering wasn’t overly noticeable.

“I am never letting you name our children, I hope you know that,” Jake said with a laugh, his voice teasing.

“Oh no, please don’t. I couldn’t handle it, I might go the Adams Family route and call it Pubert,” you laughed out.

Jake snorted hard enough that the air coming from his nose pushed the coffee out of his cup and it landed all over his grey University of Texas at Austing jumper, “Look at what you’ve made me do,” he complained, “Now I need a new drink,” he whined.

“We could get hot chocolates?” you offered, taking his hand in your own, the other holding your newly baptised Benjamin.

“With marshmallows?” Jake asked, fishing a paper tissue out of the pocket of his jeans and dabbing the coffee stains on his jumper. The drops on the decal went without a fight but whatever landed on the fabric would need to be washed out by hand.

“Obviously,” You replied. Whoever had Christmas Fair hot chocolates and didn’t pay the extra charge for marshmallows? The grinch, most likely.

With that settled, you walked to the drinks stand where you ordered. Jake had just gotten his card out of his wallet when someone tapped his shoulder and one of the new recruits he had been showing off in front of at the bar the night of your argument embraced him in a hug. He reciprocated in a way that showed he would much rather have been doing anything else, but hugged the man right next to him in a much warmer fashion. You used Jake’s distraction to tap your card against the machine and paid for both of your drinks.

Once he noticed what you had done, he frowned but still gratefully accepted the cocoa you were handing him.

“Friends?” You asked, briefly looking back at the two men he had been talking to.

“Friend. The other guy is his brother. He’s been sticking to me like toilet paper to a shoe… I just can’t get rid of him. He texted me to ask to hang out a few times… Seems like my usual method of being unfriendly and never texting back isn’t working on him,” he smiles a little guiltily.

“I need some food in me, what do you fancy?” He asked, looking around at a cluster of food vans.

You let out a sigh, “Don’t know…None of them feel Christmassy enough…”

“No? What do you mean? Chicken Chow Mein not screaming ‘Birth of Jesus’ to you?” Jake asked, laughing a little.

“Maria told me something,” you look at him, “She said you bullied them into changing a forty-year old tradition…”

Jake looked at the floor, “Don’t know what you mean,” he lied, his voice getting quiet.

You sighed before continuing, “Apparently you made them change the children’s Christmas reading from Italian to English”

“Maria needs to learn how to shut up,” Jake said, scuffing his foot against the dusty pavement.

“Jake, you don’t need to bully your family into including me,” you told him a little sternly, “But… I think it’s very adorable” you added.

“How about having some Christmas sauerkraut,” Jake changed the subject.

“Hard pass,” you replied, almost immediately, letting out a laugh, “You don’t even like sauerkraut.”

“Err… Christmas con carne?” He suggested, reading a sign for one of the trucks.

“Hot dogs?” you replied, “Wow, these are just getting worse… Christmas con carne sounds good.”

“Christmas con carne it is!” He said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

He needn’t have been. Even though it tasted okay, the look of it left so much to be desired that you only managed to eat about half of it before Jake disposed of both your paper plates and got the two of you some, still warm, Hershey’s kiss cookies to tide you over til dinner time.

In the distance, you spotted the rest of the Seresin clan making their way over to the food truck spot. You turned around to tell Jake something but you find him already looking at you with such a loving expression that it makes your stomach flutter. You leaned close to him, capturing his lips in a kiss and swirling your tongue against his bottom lip. You break the kiss a minute later.

Jake looked at you, a little dazed from the kiss, “What was that for?” He asked.

“You had chocolate around your mouth,” you explained, practically able to feel Jake thinking about going in for a second cookie. Before he can though, someone else’s hand dipped into the paper bag.

“It’s the ‘I have an amazing big brother’ tax,” Gio said, winking at you and breaking his cookie in half to share with his wife.

“We have the tree, no thanks to your help. We’ll be going home now,” Alessa said, giving you both a pointed look before seeing the teddy, “What the f--” she started, “What in the world is that?”

Jake followed her eye line, “That’s Benjamin,” he stated, as though that answer required no further explanation.

Tony, Sofia and Catalina caught up a minute later. Jake tried to hide the bag of cookies, but his brother is too fast, “And who does Benjamin belong to?” Sofia asked.

“He’s our child. I’m going to need Tony’s car seat, you know, to buckle him in properly,” Jake said, his nose in the air with sass.

“You’re a rake, not even married and already with child, I hope your girlfriend had a safe delivery, at least,” Tony said.

“You guys have the strangest senses of humour, I swear,” Alessa sighed, catching your eye and showing you a small, amused smile.

All three boys looked at her and smiled, “At least we’re funny Alessandra,” Jake replied.

“Absolutely not,” she scoffed, she opened her mouth to add something but Jake cut her off.

You know he’ll dig the knife of his comment deeper than necessary but you don’t stop him, “You’re just sour and mean and you never laugh --”

“IS THAT AN ARGUMENT?” Isabella shouts, her voice carrying loud and clear over the market goers, both Alessa and Jake flinch but John grumbled when his mother demanded payment, “Non voglio più un conto cointestato,” he told his wife, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and paying up.

As Isabella gathered up the money, you buckled Catalina into her carseat in the back of Jake’s truck. You were standing on the running board so that you could reach her buckles, when your foot slipped. You expected the pain of your shin hitting the side of the truck on your way down, but Jake caught you, “Careful there,” he said, his hands holding you steady against the truck as you clipped Catalina’s last buckle.

As you stepped down, turning in his arms, “Thank you,” you said quietly, his hands were warm against the slight chill nipping at your skin.

“Of course darlin’,” he said, giving you a quick peck before picking up Luca and setting him in his booster seat. Once everyone was loaded in and buckled up, Jake started the truck up and you were headed back to the ranch. The Christmas station was still on, but there weren’t any songs playing, only commercials. You hit the knob to turn the stereo off, instead turning to look in the back seat at your charges, only to find them all asleep.

You let out a small laugh, “I guess the market tired them out,” you said to Jake, turning back around to face forward.

He glanced in his rearview mirror, looking back at the sleeping kids, “I guess so,” he said quietly, his hand finding yours over the console, he gave you a cheshire smile before asking, “One day will you give me a truck full of sleepy kids?”

A blush burned across your cheeks at his words, “I’ll give you a truck full of kids as soon as you put a ring on this finger and make an honest woman out of me,” you said, an equally large grin on your own face.

With that the two of you drove the rest of the way back to the ranch in silence. When you got there, you took Catalina from the car, letting Jake carry the still sleeping boys in, and you placed them in their beds.

The rest of the family had gathered in the living room, everyone standing around the tree as Gio and Tony struggled with carrying it in. Tony, upon spotting Jake, said, “Hey muscles, get over here and help us,” adding under his breath,”the Lord knows you could carry this damn thing by yourself.”

Jake let out a laugh as he made his way over, “You jealous Tony?”

“I’m not jealous, just pointing out the facts here,” he said, getting a mischievous grin, “Are we sure all that muscle is real? I mean, I haven’t seen you work out once in the times you’ve been home.”

You saw Jake roll his eyes at Tony, “It’s all real, you can ask Y/N,” he said, not thinking about the meaning of his words.

Everyone in the house turned to look at him, “I mean, not in that way no, I just meant, she is a pilot too, we go to the same gym.”

Isabella just held the jar out to him, “For the sake of your girlfriend, you owe me ten dollars for that comment Bambino.”

The whole house broke out in laughter as Jake’s face flushed red, he pulled out his wallet and threw a ten into the jar before picking up the back half of the tree and helped his brothers carry it to the living room.

The tree was decorated before the little ones woke up, little fingers and glass ornaments were not a good mix. At the end of the night, you were surprised when Isabella came into the living room holding a large stack of boxes.

“The moment you have all been waiting for,” she announced to the room, handing the boxes out to the labelled person. Everyone waited to tear into the boxes at the same time. Jake gave you a nudge so that you would open yours as well.

Tearing into the paper, you gently took the top off the box, inside wrapped in tissue paper, was the most beautiful nightgown you had ever seen. It was a deep burgundy with lace trim across the neckline, delicate spaghetti straps were attached to the dress. As you pulled it out of the box, you noticed a grey bathrobe, just as soft as the night gown. Looking up, you realised that all of the women had the same gown and robe. Glancing over at Jake’s box, you saw that he had a grey t-shirt and soft cotton pants that matched the colour of your gown.

He looked at you with love in his eyes, “She always gets us matching pyjamas,” he said, “Do you like it?”

“I love mine, I’ll have to wear it year round,” you said with a smile.

Once the paper was cleaned up, and the children were put to sleep, you all helped Isabella spread the children’s gifts out under the tree. You were one of the first to go up to bed, wanting to try and get to sleep early so that you would be ready to get up for mass in the morning.

As you came out of Maria’s ensuite, pulling the blankets back on your bed, you heard Jake’s voice from the doorway, “Aren’t you a vision?” he asked.

Turning around, you found him dressed in his pyjamas too, the t-shirt straining around his biceps.

“Hey there sailor,” you said, wrapping the bathrobe tighter around yourself.

Jake made his way into the room, pointedly leaving the door open, he pulled you into his arms, giving you a hug. Into your hair he whispered, “Hey there beautiful.”

You pulled away from his embrace slightly to stand on your tip-toes and give him a kiss. He deepened it a little, pulling you back to him. You slowed him down, giving him a few quick pecks before pushing him away, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, making his way back to the door, a whispered, “Sweet dreams,” thrown over his shoulder as he left.

You kneeled down next to the bed, bowing your head in prayer. You thanked God for sending his son down to live amongst us, for all the blessings he had bestowed in your life, and for Jake, that the two of you would have a good Christmas celebration.

You climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin after taking off your bathrobe. The night dress was a little different from what you were used to, but it was very comfortable. As you fell asleep, you thought of the kiss that you and Jake shared, you dreamed sweetly all night.

#hangman #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman fanfiction #hangman fic #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun

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zory · 4 years

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#Francis Moodboard 😅😅😅#Junior Express #JE #Francis #Pics #Season 5 #El Pijama de Osito

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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Please Love Me (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: arranged marriage, childhood friends, CEO kids; angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: seemingly controlling parents but not really, sexism, future pain and eventual smut (18+)

Word count: 13,000

Series summary: As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

A/N: I had this in my head for months and I thank @hansolmates for that nudge to finally write this. I love arranged marriage aus and broke down this 48k monster into 3 parts to manage my emotions. This story is special to me and I love these 2 so much so I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it (despite my tears).

ALSO please check out this moodboard made by @jeonwiixard who’s been so sweet about her appreciation for this story :)

Series Masterlist

He looks good.

The thought crosses your mind as you glance towards the front of the reception venue where Jungkook is happily chatting with your sister and his brother, laughing like old times, with your older sister pinching his cheeks like she always did. He must be blushing, you think, imagining 10-year old Jungkook and his flushed face when your then 17-year old sister called him cute after finally noticing his dimples.

He might still be blushing, if his smile that reaches his eyes is anything to go by. Maybe it’s the innocent crush he may still be harboring on Seoyeon; maybe it’s the fact that Seokjin, your brother and a man he looks up to, is finally married. Maybe he’s just happy to be home.

Junghyun, his brother, calls out to you. You excuse yourself from the ladies who have been gushing about how you look and asking when it’s going to be your turn, and walk up to the group – your sister Seoyeon and her husband, Min-jun, your childhood friend Junghyun and his wife, Yeri, and right in the middle is Jungkook, with his parted hair, dressed in an immaculate black suit. You bite the insides of your cheek to try and control your facial expression and don your practiced smile as you near them.

“How are you busy and your sister isn’t?” Junghyun asks as he pulls you in for a hug. You return his affection, constantly thanking the stars for gifting you with another brother in the form of this man.

“It’s because I’m married, and she isn’t. You know how these people are, especially now with Seokjin getting hitched. Eyes are on her now as the only remaining unmarried Kim,” Seoyeon responds with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin. “How many proposals have you received, huh?” she continues.

“Six too many,” you respond with a sigh. You should be used to it by now. As the youngest (and remaining single one) of the Kims, your father’s friends and affiliates lose all self-respect when it comes to presenting their own sons for you to consider as your husband, and they’d take every chance they can get, too. Of course, they’d think doing that during your brother’s wedding is a sound plan.

“No one interesting enough?” Jungkook pipes in. You turn to him and will yourself not to have a change in demeanor, as if how he looks does not affect you one bit.

“They’re all too rich for me,” you shrug, causing laughter from everyone.

“Says the child of the CEO,” he quips.

You let out a laugh, which he returns with a smile, the smile that’s had the same effect on you all these years. “You’re home,” you finally say. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been 5 years actually. The last time he was home, you were both just starting junior year of college, you in Seoul and he in the U.S. He came home to attend his brother’s wedding, and then returned 4 months later to attend your sister’s. You barely talked then, not that you were surprised. Ironically, between the Jeon and Kim siblings, you were the only ones of the same age who also attended all the same classes up until he was shipped off across the world, yet you two never really developed the kind of friendship that was similar to what you share with his brother, who is 4 years your senior. Jungkook was definitely close with Seokjin, 3 years older than both of you and who completed their trio of rascals whose favorite pastime growing up was pulling pranks on Seoyeon. Her being older definitely did not hold them back and instead, made it that much more exciting for the 3 boys.

You alternated your time between the Jeon and the Kim estates growing up in Busan – playing tag or catch in the garden, trying to beat each other at Street Fighter, watching horror movies, and all the other fun things that young (wealthy) kids enjoyed doing. You spent most summers and holidays together and kept each other company during those boring social events you were required to go to. By now, you’re each other’s extended family, and this makes sense considering how far and deep your families’ relationship goes. Your great-grandfathers had been good friends, built their respective companies side-by-side from nothing; your grandfathers expanded them, your fathers turned them into empires, and now the eldest of both families are being trained to eventually take on the companies’ leadership. The kinship is intergenerational, for the most part at least.

While it was expected for the 3 boys to get along, the surprise was that you and Jungkook never did. It would have been ideal for the same-age Jeon and Kim kids to get along (date) but that wasn’t the case. You’ve always been fond of him. You always said your first memory of him was him inviting you to play in the playground during Recess, tiny hands stretched out with excited doe eyes waiting for you to accept his offer, but you said no and instead opted to stay in the bench to watch all the other kids play. It took another couple of years before he invited you to play again in the park, yet the answer was the same.

“Yeah, it took Seokjin hyung getting married to get my ass back home,” he laughs, breaking you out of your trip down memory lane.

“And it took me guilt-tripping him that his niece and nephew would never know how fun their uncle is if he doesn’t stay,” Junghyun adds.

Your ears perk up. He’s back for good?

“You’re back for good?” you ask.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he chuckles. Funny how he detested leaving the country for university then and now, he doesn’t seem to want to stay. His absence the past 5 years should’ve been a hint.

“Not like I have a choice; not like I ever did.” You don’t miss the bitterness in his voice. “Dad said the 2 and half-year work experience in the New York office was enough and now I’m ready for the big league,” he explains, saying the last bit with a mocking tone. Your eyebrows shoot up, as if asking what happened to the other half year that was missing. “I went backpacking for 6 months in South America. It pissed him to death and that was the most fun part,” he expounds.

Junghyun merely laughs, already used to his little brother’s antics when it comes to their father. “What he means to say is yes, he’s home for good and will be starting work in a week. I’d say I’m glad I get to boss him around but I’m just really happy I get to see his face again,” he says, with a twinkle in his eyes when he turns to you.

You smile at the older man, trying to digest the information. “Glad you’re back, then,” you say, turning to Jungkook. He smiles, and then nods as you excuse yourself when your dad calls you to see another person he wants you to meet. He watches as you exchange pleasantries with a man Jungkook can tell is roughly your age and definitely wealthy, if his Brioni Bespoke suit is anything to go by. You flash the man and his parents, Jungkook supposes, your signature smile and he feels betrayed by how his heart twists a little at the sight.

You’ve gotten even more beautiful since the last time he saw you, but he would never tell you that. He’d never tell you that he now thinks you’re the more beautiful Kim sister, and that your crinkled smile is currently his favorite part about you; it used to be your pigtails and perpetually rosy cheeks. He’d never tell you these because he’s not supposed to think of you this way because he doesn’t want to. He’d deny it has anything to do with you crushing his 4-year old heart when he asked you to play with him at the playground and you’d said no; he’d deny it’s linked to you missing his 13th birthday celebration or that you wouldn’t attend the parties he’d (indirectly) invited you to; it’s definitely not because you never watched any of his soccer games in high school. He’d always say that aside from your social standing, it’s because you two are nothing alike.

Your lives are intertwined because of the deep connection your families have with each other, but the connection ends there, he always says. You are the epitome of perfection to many – rich, beautiful, and intelligent. You are warm, kind, and easily likeable. You always say the right things – to the teachers, the parents, even to strangers. He knows you’re quiet and introverted, though, that much he could tell growing up because you always stood peeking behind your brother or sister whenever there were others around and because you had hung out with the same 3 people your entire life, barely saying much and often looking away when he or his friends were nearby.

But you’ve grown up and when it comes to these social events, you always know how to act. Your smiles are measured, enough to ensure you can sustain them for the rest of the night, your greetings well-practiced, and your responses calculated – you say enough and always what is needed, smiling through any comment that undermines your abilities and praises how you would make the perfect (trophy) wife for any “respectable” man who would be lucky enough to marry into the Kim family.

He’d seen that when you were in high school, 5 years ago, and tonight. You’re even more beautiful now, but you will always be the same girl who didn’t want to play in the playground, who didn’t want to enjoy her teenage years by going to parties and getting drunk with friends; you will always be the girl in her floral dresses who didn’t want to get sweaty or get dirty, who was so princess-like and had everybody attend to her every need, who always had to live by the rules, who always had to appease the adults he thinks have always controlled your lives.

How you two were constantly teased by strangers growing up was understandable to him, but by the people who know both of you best – your siblings – it was bizarre; in the past 5 years, his brother never failed to update him about you and your love life and his ex-girlfriends were always being compared to you.

Jungkook likes fun and spontaneous, he likes emotional and assertive, and he likes a bit of that rebelliousness that he has, one that doesn’t want to live up to the expectations put on kids like him - to live and act a certain way, to study Business or Finance, work in the company, marry someone of the same social standing, make a perfect little family, and live in the bubble of their perfect little lives. It’s all strategic, that much he knows. Both of your siblings are lucky enough to actually love their spouses, as they’d gone to the same university and hung out in the same circles (a strategy he always thought that your parents employed to ensure they’d marry in the same ranks). It was easier that way.

Jungkook always thought you’d follow that same path. You somehow did and he shakes his head at how predictable you are, except for your college degree, which is Fine Arts. It wasn’t out of rebellion though, because your family fully supported you, always supported your interest in the arts, in fact. He would never admit it, but that’s why he doesn’t want to like you. It’s unfair you got to pursue your dreams and he never could.

The next time you see Jungkook is at the hospital 2 weeks later. His grandfather suffered from a stroke while visiting Seoul, away from their retirement home in Busan, and you visited as soon as he was admitted.

As you enter the VIP room now, you’re greeted by Jungkook’s grandmother’s excited voice. “____, sweetheart!” She quickly reaches out to you for a tight embrace, earning a cocked eyebrow from Jungkook. When did you get thisclose to his grandmother?

“Thank you for the flowers, my dear,” his grandfather pipes in. “I was looking for the chocolates that came with them, but I couldn’t find them,” he teases. His grandfather too?

“You were fast asleep when I arrived, so I ate the chocolates instead,” you tease back, earning a laugh from the old man. “But I’m glad you’re doing fine, Grandfather. You got us all worried,” you continue, a soft smile gracing your face.

“Don’t worry about me, my dear. It’ll take more than a stroke to end me,” he smiles.

Jungkook clears his throat to let you know he’s in the room, too, and totally not because he finds this exchange quite odd. The closeness of your families is more between the same generations, and he doesn’t recall his grandparents being affectionate towards your siblings, and he definitely isn’t like this with your own grandparents.

“Oh, hi Jungkook,” you say. You take in how he looks – hair slicked back in a midnight blue tailored suit that highlights his features. You better get used to this look so you won’t be so flushed every time you have to see him after work, you think.

“You visited yesterday?” he asks as he stands up, arms crossed.

“Yeah, I had time,” you respond. Working at an art and design firm gives you that freedom, unless you’re working on site or are in a client meeting. You like that part about your job, as the kind that has you staring at a screen all day wouldn’t work for you. You could work on your designs anywhere. Part of the job is also traveling and exploring, which you need for inspiration and also your favorite part.

He nods, unsure of what to say next, eyes dancing around the room. This always happens – without the support of both of your siblings, he doesn’t have anything to say. You look at each other awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

Jungkook’s grandparents watch in bewilderment. How you two have known each other since you were babies yet look at each other as if you’re strangers is puzzling, and truth be told, quite bothersome too. Surely in your 25 years of knowing each other, you’d be friends, right? Or at least, be more comfortable with each other than this?

“So, ____, will you be staying?” His grandmother asks, and you’re thankful for the distraction, as you don’t know how long you could go on smiling at Jungkook and watching him nervously drum his fingers on his taut biceps.

“Oh, no I won’t, Grandmother . I just dropped by to say hi and bring you some fruits,” you say, handing her a small bag of the goods. “I’m supposed to meet the Chois for dinner,” you continue. Jungkook doesn’t miss the slight faltering of your smile.

“Another prospect, I see,” the elder Jeon infers. “Seems like your brother getting married revived the pressure on your parents to marry you off.”

“Pressure on them, yes, but not on me. If I don’t agree then nothing happens,” you respond.

How lucky, Jungkook thinks, and how unfair. Of course, amidst all the wealth is someone who can have her way. What a perfect little life you’re living. The absence of a partner is still surprising, though, surely by now you’d have found someone, if his brother’s mentions of your long list of suitors is anything to go by.

Your smile returns to its full form. If it were him, he would’ve changed the topic immediately; marriage is something he’s not keen on talking about, especially with his grandparents. He knows the drill far too well, and being arranged to be married is not something he’d allow himself to be forced into. Although both your parents would never term it that way.

The elder Jeons smile in understanding. You excuse yourself and head out to prepare yourself for another one of those dinners that your parents request you to attend. You’re thankful that they never coerce nor pressure you to choose a spouse from the dozens that ask to meet with you.

Ever since your last relationship, you no longer think it really matters who you end up with, as long as he’s someone who will treat you as an equal and will respect the life you choose to live, career included. You’ve dated someone in your (social) circle and someone who isn’t and it didn’t work out both times.

It’s not that you’ve given up; in a way you’ve kind of just been indifferent to it. You didn’t grow up socially the way your siblings did, so the chances of you finding a partner within your circle of friends was slim, yet sometimes you let yourself think how good it must be to fall in love with your spouse, one directed (planned) for you to be with, like them. Still, you have your job that you love, hobbies you enjoy, people you care about, and other interests to keep you preoccupied. These “dinners,” and the eventual finding of a partner, are just tucked in the small crevices of your life. Whether you find the “one” or not isn’t really an issue; it’s finding the suitable companion that matters.

It’s around 2 weeks later that your dad informs you of another one of those dinners, an important one, he says. “It’ll be at the Jeon’s on Sunday,” he states, and you can’t help the tightening of your chest and the drying of your throat at what that may mean.

Sunday at the Jeon’s almost feels like you’ve travelled back in time - only this time, you’re in the Seoul Estate and not in Busan, and the little kids running around are your sister’s and Junghyun’s children and not the 5 of you (well 4, since you never really joined them when you were young).

Your grandparents are in town for an event and Grandfather Jeon is still being monitored as he regains his strength, with Grandmother Jeon staying by his side.

Like families do, you all engage in your usual talk and banter as everyone settles in, and this continues towards the end of dinner. By now, the sun has set, the kids are tired, and you’re still nervous.

It’s usual for a get-together between both families to take place, especially since you’re complete, but you know there’s another reason for tonight, and they’re dragging it out until the night’s end.

Finally, Grandfather Jeon clears his throat.

“I’m thankful for everyone being here tonight,” he starts, eyeing each person on the table. “I’ve been missing home these past weeks but being here with you all has definitely made me feel like I'm home, too.”

As he goes on to say about how much has changed, what with their grandkids having grown up and being able to spend time with their great grandkids, you discreetly glance at Jungkook from across the table, wondering if he knows what’s about to happen. Your calm smile doesn’t match your fidgety hands and nervous breathing. Still, you’re fine; it’s Jungkook you’re worried about.

“While I was recovering, I was able to do much reflection,” he continues, eyes distant but full of emotions. “I didn’t think of my successes as much as I thought about the constant things in my life, and the most constant thing aside from my family, I’ve realized, is the Kims,” he says. Eyes on your grandfather, he continues, “ Brother, we’ve been through too much. I don’t think there’s a greater friendship than what we have.” Your grandfather nods in agreement.

“And we’ve always talked about how best to manifest or symbolize the bond of our families than through a union.”

You turn to Jungkook and see his furrowed brows. “A merge?” He whispers to no one.

Your heart races. No one else seems to be curious.

“ Brother, cut to the chase,” your grandfather chimes in, the elders laughing at the long introduction.

“Okay then. What I mean is, solidifying our family’s unbreakable bond through union in marriage.”

Jungkook chokes on his drink. Clearly his grandfather is talking about you and him, right? Words fail him, as his grandfather turns to him with a sigh.

“We’re done being subtle,” he says. “Clearly, sending you and ___ to the same schools, enrolling you to the same classes, and all those weekends and vacations together didn't do anything.”

It’s the confirmation Jungkook doesn’t need. “What, so did our parents plan on conceiving us at the same time too?” He sarcastically asks, a bitter laugh escaping him.

He turns to you, as if to ask for back-up in letting everyone know how insane this plan is, but you look calm and collected, another one of those measured smiles gracing your face. This angers him even more. How can you not react to this? How can everyone else seem to be okay with this? Why does it seem like he’s the only one in shock? This is a marriage they’re proposing, a marriage with you, one person he has nothing in common with. This is a lifetime commitment.

The thoughts manifest in his face, which doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone else present. Jungkook has always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve; he’s never had a problem expressing his discomfort and displeasure of things, especially when it came to the life he’s forced to live.

He was always questioning, challenging, defying expectations. You figured that much when in high school, he was dating around and getting into trouble, whether it was a speeding ticket or underage drinking. That’s why he was shipped off to the U.S. for college; his bad boy image was starting to affect the company, and his family thought his experience there would be humbling enough to get his act together. It did, somehow, but clearly, agreeing with them isn’t part of the new Jungkook.

“It’s just a proposition, Son,” your grandfather clarifies, a gentle smile on his face doing its job of calming Jungkook a tinytiny bit. “It’s still your decision at the end of the day. We’re just laying out our families’ desires for you both in a more forward manner this time. You don’t even have to give us an answer now.”

Jungkook nods, appreciative of the clarification, although it doesn’t alleviate his worries one bit. It’s when he shoots daggers at you that Junghyun decides enough is enough, and he pulls Jungkook out of the table to get some air.

As if to minimize the gravity of the matter, Grandmother Jeon asks for the dessert to be served, and the chit chat about things other than what just transpired resumes. From under the table, Seokjin holds onto your still-fidgety hands. “He’ll come around,” he reassures.

Time passes and you’re now in the den, having separated from the older adults who have started discussing uninteresting matters. The kids have been prepared for bed and are now starting to doze off. You stand up to help your sister with the bags until the Jeon brothers return.

Junghyun gives you an apologetic smile. Jungkook, with his stoic face, stands next to you with his arms crossed, eyes focused away from you. “Let’s have dinner this week,” he says.

You arrive at the restaurant a little flustered, teeth biting your lower lip as if in apology.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. My car wouldn’t start so I had to take a cab,” you explain, as you take your seat across Jungkook. “And it was traffic at the intersection so I just walked.”

Jungkook’s eyebrow shoots up. He takes your form clad in a short sleeve satin dress and pumps, barely breaking out in a sweat. How do you look so fresh? You pull out tissue from your bag and dab it on your forehead. You’re human after all, he concludes.

“A cab? Why didn’t you just get picked up by your driver?”

You purse your lips. “I would’ve been more late if I waited,” you say, and proceed to order.

The restaurant is in one of your family’s hotels and your table is situated in a more private area. Jungkook hasn’t said much since that Sunday night at his parent’s house. You figure he needed the time to sort things out; so did you.

You’d spent the past few days weighing out the pros and cons with your best friends - Nari, Yeji, and Minhyuk - the 3 people you grew up with and the only other people who know you well. “Regardless of what we say, you know your decision, and you’ll stick with it. But if it helps, Jungkook isn’t bad. Behind all that attitude is actually a good guy,” Nari said. Her evidence, you know, is taken from Jimin, her almost-boyfriend-at-one-point and also Jungkook’s best friend.

He and Taehyung, on the other hand, were ecstatic at the news. “Holy shit, you get to marry Kim ___?” Taehyung exclaimed. “You don’t deserve her.”

“I know, right?” Jungkook responded.

“She’s too good for you,” his friend clarified. “But then again, you’re not too bad. You’ll do, I guess.”

“Excuse me what?” Jungkook questioned, livid at his friend’s statement. “You mean she’s lucky she gets to marry me.”

“In your dreams, bad boy,” Jimin laughed. “___ is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She’s smart and talented. I don’t know if that’s your type though, seeing your list of exes.” Jungkook proceeded to throw a pillow at him, which earned him laughter from the boys. Jimin doesn't take it back, though.

Since when did you have his friends on your side?

“So…” you start, “why did you want to meet?”

It’s that smile again, Jungkook observes, the calm and practiced one. If he hasn’t been irate this whole week, he would easily fall into your charms. But no, not today, he thinks. There’s business to discuss.

“Did you know about their proposition?” Of us getting married, Jungkook doesn’t want to say.

“My parents informed me of what our grandparents wanted days before,” you respond, just enough to answer the question.

“So I guess I was the only one kept in the dark, huh. No one else seemed surprised,” he clicks his tongue, irritation laced in his voice. “So much for shipping me back here to take a big role in the company. Apparently they just wanted to marry me off.”

You’re not stupid. You saw how affected Jungkook was, still is. If Junghyun hadn’t pulled him away during Sunday’s dinner, you don’t know what would’ve happened. But you saw the news from miles away, years ago, in fact, hence why you never let Jungkook’s apparent dislike towards you affect you, and why you never let yourself feel even a tiny bit of displeasure towards him. Sure, it's partly because it’s not in your nature to harbor negative feelings towards another person, but it's also because of the fondness towards the boy that you’ve always had.

It wasn’t just his doe eyes and bunny teeth, paired with his lanky figure during his pre-pubescent years that was always playing around and getting himself dirty; it wasn’t just his knack for adventure or for anything that could definitely hurt him; it wasn’t just his infectious and child-like laughter and boyish features that he has until today.

It’s also his kindness towards others, especially those not of the same social status as him, and treating them as his equal. It’s his intelligence that he tries to downplay, his passion for things that he tries to temper, his desire for perfection that he understates. It’s his caring tendencies, his protective nature, and his fierce loyalty towards those he loves.

You saw this from miles away yet you also didn’t think it would actually happen. Jungkook was away for years - you’d heard of his relationships from his brother, too - and you almost thought your last boyfriend was the one you’d marry. Now, the 8-year old boy who loved to draw tiger lilies during art class and who has an entire galaxy in his eyes could potentially be your partner for the rest of your life. You know what you’ll do, you’re just not sure if he'll do it too.

“Your grandfather said it was some sort of epiphany he had when he felt like he was at the end of his life,” you counter.

He scoffs. “He was being dramatic. You know him and his theatrics. It’s how he always got people to agree with him.” He chows down a steak and sips on his wine. “But I know I won’t be able to get to my own parents who obviously never gave me a choice in anything. Not even my brother. So I figured I’d get to you,” he continues, making his intentions for this dinner now clear. His brother had calmed him down when they talked but Junghyun, unlike all the times that he defended his little brother, didn’t; he seemed convinced it was a good idea to marry you. You’re now Jungkook’s only chance.

“Get to me?”

“Yeah. You’re the treasured one, aren’t you? Your parents always let you do what you want - go to the university of your choice, pick the course you want, work where you want… I doubt they had any bad things to say about your exes, too.” He cocks an eyebrow. “You can tell them you don’t want this.”

You look at him, hoping your gaze can replace the words you don’t want to say.

“You don’t want this, right?”

The silence drags on; you’re hoping he gets the message this time.

“Wait, don’t tell me you want this,” he says, eyes wide and hands suddenly gripping on his utensils tightly.

“What if I do?”

“Why?” You don’t miss the shocked tone of his voice.

“Because my family does.”

“Since when do you do what your family wants?”

“You think they didn’t want those things for me too? What I do makes me happy. They want that for me. And I know they want this, too.”

“So you’re doing this for them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why are you shocked that I actually want to adhere to what my family wants?”

“I’m not... Well, if anything, you just confirmed what I’ve always thought of you,” he says, condescendingly.

“Rich kid who will marry a rich man, sticks to her social circle, complies with everything her parents want of her, acts the way society expects her to… Did I miss anything?”

“Predictable.”

“Did you predict I wouldn’t get into the family business? ”

“No, but since you didn't, it’s predictable they'd marry you off to someone who will, say, someone like me. Perhaps the men your parents have been introducing you to weren’t good enough?”

“I’m surprised this is a shock to you. They tried to be subtle but they’ve clearly wanted this ever since we were kids.”

“I don’t know why it wasn’t clear to them that I don’t want this. Never did. What other aspect of my life do they want to control?”

“You think it’s about control?”

He glares at you in response.

“Don’t act like we don’t have a say on the matter, Jungkook. Our parents and grandparents are good at what they do because they’re strategic and persuasive. But family has always been their weakness, their soft spot; they wouldn’t let us do something we don’t want,” you say, your calm voice irritating Jungkook even more. You could speak for your family but you can’t speak for his, he thinks.

“I’m asking you again. Why do you want this?”

“It’s practical. Our families are like families already. I don’t mind who I end up with as long as they don’t treat me like a trophy wife. I know you enough that you won’t. I can do what I want and so can you.” You say, almost robotically, like it’s practiced. You did, though, practice this spiel. You knew coming in you'd have to convince him.

He doesn’t seem to fully buy it. “What else?” He’s looking at you intently, coaxing you to say what you really mean.

You release a drawn out breath. “My whole life, my parents let me do what I want. For once, I want to do something for them,” your voice softens a little bit, eyes darting to the table, to the window, anywhere but him. Jungkook notices. For the first time, he feels, you’re being honest.

“Predictable, yes. But your family means so much to mine. Somehow I can’t help but think that they can’t trust anyone else but you. They’ll be at ease. They know you’ll treat me well, won’t take advantage of me, of us. I don’t want them to worry any more than they already do. You know the history of our families; no one else apart from us would understand. This would mean so much to them and I just…” you sigh. “I want them to be proud of me. I can’t do anything for the company. I can at least do this.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to make of what you just said. You sound so vulnerable, so honest, almost desperate. It’s true what you said, it’s hard for outsiders to truly understand your families’ bond. Perhaps marriage is the strongest bond there is. But do they really think this could work? You’d both never shown affection towards each other, how will being married change that?

Jungkook eyes you. He’s close to giving in. It seems not one person in his life thinks it’s a bad idea. How everyone else thinks you’d be good together is beyond him. His last option was you, seeing as you’re the other half of this arrangement. But it seems like you’re convinced too, tricked into believing there’s sense to this.

“Let’s give them a month,” you say, before he gets to say anything else. “A month to decide if we’ll push through with the engagement. They didn’t give us a timeline; clearly this isn’t for show. It’s not rushed so at least we’re not pressured. But we shouldn’t be wasting each other’s time, too.”

He weighs your words. It’s a fair compromise. Maybe you’ll realize this isn’t a good idea, so he nods.

“But we should at least try, Jungkook,” you plead, as if reading his mind. “Try with me.”

It’s almost like a demand, but if he pays enough attention, there’s a hint of desperation in your voice. You know his mind is slightly made up; he doesn’t want this with you. But you need him to try. Somewhere in your mind, behind all the reasons you have for wanting this, at its core, you know it’s because you’ve always had a hidden affection for the brown-haired boy; faint but constant. You’d hold onto that to at least try to make this work.

“Okay, I will,” he finally says.

It’s like deja vu, being at the Jeon’s again this Sunday with everybody present. The elder Jeon has been cleared for travel and your grandparents will be joining him and his wife on their trip back home tomorrow. No one’s mentioned the proposal all afternoon, temporarily appeasing Jungkook, until his grandfather clears his throat and asks about your dinner together.

Jungkook doesn’t want to make a big deal out of what transpired that night. He decides to just cut to the chase instead.

“Give me and ___ a month to decide if we want this,” he says, nonchalantly. “We’ll decide then if we’ll push through with the marriage or not.”

The smiles on your grandparents’ faces are some of the softest you’ve ever seen, which are also being mirrored by your parents and siblings; basically everybody, except you and Jungkook.

“It’s something. Thank you, dear,” your grandfather tells you. “Thank you, Jungkook,” he turns to the man.

Somehow the air changes, as if the tension that’s been hovering over everyone on your decision has dissipated. You haven’t agreed yet, but everyone seems to have thought of the worst, given how things went down the week prior. This, to them, is also a welcome compromise.

“You look absolutely stunning, ___. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jungkook decides to marry you right then and there,” Nari says from behind, both of you looking at the full-body mirror at her boutique store.

“Hold up, missy. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He and I have known each other forever and he’s never complimented me like that. Ever,” you say, as you palm the red satin dress that’s hugging your form nicely.

“He’s an idiot.”

You laugh at this.

“I’m just not his type.”

“Still an idiot. How can you not be his type? Have you seen yourself?”

“Yah, I’m more than how I look!” You exclaim.

“Exactly! You’re smart and kind and talented, and you’re gorgeous. Literal full package,” she clarifies, handing you your jewelry and placing your heels in front for you to wear.

“I’m also not spontaneous, daring, feisty, or assertive. In short, I’m not fun. And Jungkook’s always been into the fun ones,” you say, thinking back to the girls he dated in high school and his Instagram stories you’ve seen of him going hiking or diving or partying out with his ex-girlfriends.

“You mean immature ones,” she corrects. You cock an eyebrow at her.

“You forget my closeness with Jimin. None of his girlfriends ever got the seal of approval because they’re immature and rash and superficial. Probably also just wanted him for his money. And the sex.”

She eyes you head-to-toe one more time. “But you, my dearest best friend, are…”

“Don’t say wife-material.”

“I am offended you’d think I’d say that,” she says, slightly pinching your arm. “You are a self-assured, driven, and passionate individual with the biggest heart that I know. You’re your own self who doesn’t need a man to complete her identity.” A final tuck of your hair behind your ear and she gives you her smile of approval.

You smile at your reflection too. “You’ve mastered my measurements, Nari. This dress is stunning.”

“You’re just the perfect muse and model, ___. Any design I whip up would always look good on you,” she says, looking at you like a proud momma. “Now go and change that man’s mind.”

You enter the Grand Ballroom of one of your family’s hotels for tonight’s Gala. It’s one of the events you’re asked to attend to ensure your presence is still felt by the company’s affiliates and to keep up appearances. The Kims is one of the most respectable families in South Korea extending beyond business; your family supports various charitable causes and your mother is a reputable lawyer as well.

You dislike these events for how spiteful the attendees are. It’s the assumption that your parents are still supporting you because “art is just your hobby, right?” It’s the claims of “it’s unfortunate you’re not part of the company,” but it’s the “it’s okay, you can always marry someone who’ll work there on your behalf” that does it for you. It’s the looks of pity masked as admiration for “doing something you love” that “doesn’t make much, does it?” It’s the comparisons to your sister who’s “doing so well for a woman,” and “at least you’re pretty” that send you over the edge. Clearly these people have never heard of a competent woman whose value isn’t tied to her family’s wealth or her husband or whose accomplishments are her own.

Your mother and sister have trained you for this - repeat their statements to them so they’d hear how absurd they sound; stay calm no matter what, composure intimidates people; and keep your smiles measured so you can have them on all night, that way they’ll underestimate you. You learned from the best and you’ve managed all these years without wanting to pull all the hair off your head at the end of the night. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t enjoy these things.

You look around for familiar faces in the room. You, your siblings, and the Jeons used to stay together as a group, but now that all of them are working for their respective companies, you’re the odd one out. None of your friends could make it but they also insisted that you should spend time with your possible fiancé tonight.

You finally see Yeri who’s roughly in the same boat as you in terms of not working in the industry, respectable in her own way as a surgeon. She waves and you approach her, happy to finally see someone you actually want to talk to.

You’re enjoying her stories about their kids until the Jeon brothers arrive. You greet Junghyun with a hug and turn to Jungkook, a mere “hi” escaping your lips. You miss the way he gulps at the sight of you, unable to fully register how beautiful you look in this red gown, his favorite color.

“Hi,” he returns. “You came alone?”

You respond with a nod.

His brother chimes in. “Great, so did Jungkook! You guys should stay together then.” He pulls Jungkook towards you and you both glare at him.

“You’re supposed to decide in a month, remember? How can you do that if you don’t even talk?” Junghyun says, matter-of-factly.

Your silence gives away your agreement.

Junghyun takes Yeri to meet some people and you’re left with Jungkook. You look at each other, the slightly patronizing aura he had from your dinner now replaced with a smidgen of nervousness and uncertainty.

You give him a smile, not the measured one you always have during events like this but the genuine one, like something you give an old friend you haven’t seen in a long time. He seems to relax at this, the tension from the previous meeting slowly fading away.

Before either of you could say anything, your father approaches you with two others who, based on their extravagant clothes and blinding jewelry, are part of the social elite invited to this Gala as well.

“Finally, you get to meet my wonderful daughter, ___, and this is Jeon Jungkook of Jeon Enterprises,” he smiles. “These are Mr. and Mrs. Jung. They own multiple 5-star resorts in Europe and Asia.”

“Oh what a lovely couple you two make!” Mrs. Jung exclaims.

“Oh no we’re not -“ you and Jungkook say at the same time, nervous to be correcting her.

“My apologies, my dear,” she giggles, picking up what you were both trying to say. “I was quick to assume that such a handsome young man and such a gorgeous young woman would be together. Although come to think of it, a Jeon and Kim couple would be perfect! Your children would be so beautiful!” She says, hands clasping together. “___, I heard you work for an Art Studio, that means you’d have time to raise your future babies, am I right?”

“Yes, any committed working parent would find time to raise their kids,” you respond with a smile. “Both my parents worked hard in their respective jobs and made time to raise us; they still do. I’m sure Jungkook would do the same,” you continue, smile not faltering one bit.

“Well of course,” she says, lips straightening a little bit, not having anything to reply. The Jungs and your father eventually excuse themselves and you’re more than glad.

“Seems practiced. How many times have you had to answer that?” Jungkook asks as you both sit down.

“Too many times, unfortunately. How many times do you have to answer questions about how you’re doing at your job, what you think about the stock market and current economic trends, what your thoughts are about political and global issues?”

“Too many times,” Jungkook responds, chuckling.

“And questions about your relationships, when you’re gonna get married, how many children you want, how you’ll balance raising them and working, if they don’t assume you’ll quit your job in the first place?”

“Barely,” he says, head looking down.

You respond with your genuine smile again. You don’t mean to make him feel bad, you just want to make a point.

Jungkook absorbs this, however. Practiced responses, measured smiles, calm demeanor… there’s a reason for these; now he knows why, and it’s not just about to keep up appearances.

The rest of the evening is the same as how it started - dull and repetitive. Questions and comments from random people you’re introduced to are the same, save for the ones assuming you and Jungkook are together. Discussions are uninteresting, and people are superficial; it makes you sleepy. These events are about socializing and you’ve run out of energy to keep going.

“Bored?” A cheeky voice asks. You look up from your scrolling through Pinterest on your phone and meet onyx eyes and an amused smile. Jungkook left earlier to meet some people as part of his continuous on-boarding in the company. You’re about to fake interest in this event but realize trying means being honest.

“I’ve made 2 moodboards, Jungkook. I’ve returned to the dessert table thrice already and my energy is drained.”

This earns you a laugh from him. “Do you want to get out of here?” Your eyes widen in surprise. “Or not?” He asks, unsure.

“Can we go to McDonald’s?” You shyly smile.

He laughs to hide his amusement. “Sure, let’s just say bye to everyone.”

Goodbyes and several knowing and cheeky looks from your families later, you and Jungkook find yourselves with a tray of chicken nuggets, fries, and chocolate sundaes, clearly overdressed for a Saturday night out at a fast food joint. You divide the food in half, “to make sure I don’t overeat my share of the bill,” you’d said, and proceed to eat, gracefully biting on the nuggets and dipping your fries in the sundae.

Jungkook steals glances and laughs to himself, something you eventually pick up.

“Not so predictable now, am I?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. “Did you wanna come here to prove a point?”

“I don’t have anything to prove to you,” you answer back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I just know what you’re thinking and to answer whatever your question is - at some point you get sick of fancy food that you just want grease, and there was a McDonald’s near my apartment in college which the girls and I went to often when we were too lazy to cook.”

“You had your own apartment in college? You cooked your own food? You eat grease??” You’re not sure if the shocked look on his face is genuine or not, but you indulge him nonetheless.

It was a take-off point to talk about your respective college lives - you did freelance work so you could pay your rent because you wanted to be more independent, and lived with Nari and Yeji even if you all went to different schools. You learned how to do everything then - cook, clean, do the laundry, even fix wires at some point.

Jungkook stayed with his aunt when he was in New York and enjoyed the full American college experience (frat parties and spring break, including some other not-so-legal things). He got his own place after graduation when he worked in their U.S. branch but still had someone come over to clean. He’d lived off deliveries and cup noodles during those years.

Food all gone and digested, you both decide to go home. Safe to say he’s a little surprised to find out where you live, which is definitely not in the high-end part of Seoul. But then again, you seem to not be living up to what he’d imagined you to be.

You looked like you enjoyed your Gala getaway; so much for trying to convince you not to push through with the engagement, but you did say you'd both try. As he glances up at you while you rest your chin on your arm by the window, taking in the city at night, a small part of him is glad he gave this a chance.

He pulls up in front of your apartment and bids you goodbye. You turn to him before you close the door. “Are you free for dinner this week?”

He nods and agrees to you texting him the details. He makes sure you’re safely inside before he leaves and just when he’s about to, you turn back and give him one of those smiles that he can now tell is the genuine one. His heart leaps at the sight. And that, he definitely did not predict.

Things were going well. You’d met Jungkook at the rooftop restaurant you’d chosen for dinner and it was enjoyable. You talked about your friends, the Nari and Jimin almost-relationship, your siblings, and a bit about work. The night ended well, with you going your separate ways and texting each other a “thank you” and “good night.” It’s the last 3 days of the week that had Jungkook in one of his fits again.

His dad went off about a decision on one of their products that Jungkook shouldn’t have made, which he could’ve gotten over soon enough. It was the allusions to his (rebellious) past and tendencies to do whatever he wants without thinking of the consequences that got to him. But of course his dad had to push it - “I heard you and ___ went out to dinner. That’s really good, son. I’m proud of you for giving this a chance,” he’d said.

It seems like an innocent statement but to Jungkook, it was but another reminder of what your engagement means in the grander scheme of things, and that choosing his spouse is another way that his dad can control his life, like he already has in other aspects of it. Add to that, proud? Marrying you is what would make his dad proud? From what he knows of your family, he’s sure your dad doesn’t treat this potential marriage as an achievement of yours, and he’s definitely giving you more leeway, and less pressure, to make your own decision than Jungkook’s dad is giving him.

“He’s just being hard on you because he knows you can do better,” is what Junghyun always says. Jungkook hears it enough to almost believe it but what he dislikes is that it goes back to you again. Should you decide not to push through with it, your parents will be fine; he knows he can't say the same for him, and this just makes him angry.

His frustration gets the better of him, opting to ignore your message asking about your attendance to the kids’ soccer game on Sunday. That Friday, Jungkook goes to a bar with his friends, flirts with one of the women, and takes her home.

You don’t expect Jungkook to show up that Sunday during the kids’ soccer game. He didn’t respond when you asked, and Minhyuk said he’d seen Jungkook at the bar being too friendly with some woman. You try not to let it bother you; you’re not engaged, and you’re definitely not dating. The dinner was just that, a dinner. Jungkook is free to do whatever he wants. You just wish he wouldn’t be wasting your time.

He plops down next to you and you turn to greet him. Even in black joggers and a grey hoodie, he still looks good. The bun exposing his undercut isn’t helping your heart beat slower either.

“What did I miss?” He asks, eyes squinting to look for Jihoon, his nephew, and Sunghoon, the half of your sister’s twins.

“Sunghoon was tripped by this kid so Soojin chased him across the field,” you say, laughing at what transpired 30 minutes ago.

“Soojin did what?” He chuckles.

“Chased the kid, wanted to take revenge for his brother.”

“And where did she learn that?”

“Hmm, let’s see… Seoyeon grew up with 3 very rowdy boys who always teased her so… she learned her lesson and taught her own daughter to fight back. It’s just that Soojin is overprotective of her brother so she fights back for both of them,” you say, looking out so fondly at your niece. You spot her near the bleachers and she waves ecstatically at you and her Uncle Jungkook.

It’s a nice spring day for a soccer game. Seoyeon and Min-jun are with Mina and Yeri, who’s carrying baby Jin-a, up front taking photos of their kids while Seokjin and Junghyun are busy coaching the boys’ soccer team.

This has become a staple Sunday for your family ever since the kids became old enough to join the little league, and while you can’t commit every week, you said you’ll try to go as much as you can.

You and Jungkook coo over the kids and their little legs running about the field. You cheer when one of your own makes a good pass or gets near the goal. Jungkook engages you in conversation in between. You can’t help but feel a tiny ache in your heart when he scoots a little closer, prompting you to match his movement with a move away. He notices this but doesn’t think much of it, especially with how tender your smile is. You laugh at his jokes and agree they’re way funnier than your brother’s.

The girls’ team is now playing but you and Jungkook remain on your own on the bleachers. You talk about his time being part of the soccer team in high school, with him not so subtly bringing up how you were always somewhere else drawing or painting and never watching. You reminisce on the summer and winter vacations you’d spent together growing up, playing hide-and-seek in your grandparents’ homes - he doesn’t miss stating you’d never joined - and spending nights secretly watching horror movies with the older ones always screaming or crying during sleepovers. You both laugh hard at that last bit, recalling how your brother never dared touch a camera for years after watching Shutter.

There’s a pang in Jungkook’s chest when he receives a message from Jimin, saying that according to Nari, Minhyuk had seen him at the bar with some girl and that you most likely know about it. Jungkook turns to your smiling form, body enveloped in your oversized yellow sweater, cheering for Soojin as she runs towards the goal with the ball.

You’re not in agreement yet about what the two of you will do, except that you’ll both try. What he did was not trying, it was him being a jerk. He was angry and like he’d done before, he’d taken it out on you; back then it was feeling an almost irrational displeasure towards you - being distant, being too critical, baselessly judging you - this time it was taking that woman home and almost fucking her.

He didn’t though, that was the thing. They’d made out in the car, her hand inching its way towards his aching member. She stopped and invited him inside her place where they could continue but as she turned around, all Jungkook could see was you. He apologized to the woman and sped off, spending the rest of the evening and the whole of Saturday cursing at himself for even considering another woman when he should be making up his mind about you. He may not be into you romantically but he’s not an asshole; at least that’s what he tries to convince himself.

Your shriek over Soojin’s made goal breaks Jungkook out of his thoughts. He doesn’t know if you’re just acting oblivious by not bringing it up or if it genuinely doesn’t bother you, but Friday was a moment of weakness and he promises himself it would be the last one, for as long as you’re both figuring out what to do.

“Do you want to have dinner this week?”

Jungkook’s question catches you off-guard. You suppress the image of Jungkook with another woman and think that you have 2 weeks left to make a decision. Spending time with him should be a priority.

“Sure,” you respond with a smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Dinner would be nice.”

The week felt too fast; at some point you’d wished it slowed down so you could have more time to show Jungkook that it could work but at the same time, you feel like you’re breaking ground.

You and Jungkook went for Italian that Tuesday evening. The second floor of the restaurant does nightly painting sessions that you could enjoy with a glass of wine and Jungkook had charmed his way to get the teacher to sneak both of you in. You tried to focus but Jungkook kept making conversation.

“Are you trying to distract me so you’d have a better painting, Jungkook?” You’d asked.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, ___,” he’d replied, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yah, don’t think I’ve forgotten how competitive you are. This is my turf, Mister. Know your place,” you’d said, but Jungkook didn’t miss the playful tone of your voice, gentle still, despite the teasing.

He’d chosen Van Gogh’s Starry Night without thinking that you’d done it a dozen times already.

“I’m an idiot,” he’d said after comparing your works.

“I won’t argue with that,” you’d laughed, “but I’m impressed. It’s good. Although I’m not surprised. You always did well during those art classes we took together in elementary.”

“Drawing isn’t like painting, ___. This is a different territory.”

“You could’ve at least chosen flowers. You always liked drawing them,” you’d said, recalling the freesias and peonies and carnations he enjoyed drawing then.

“You knew that?”

“I sat behind you in all our classes, Jungkook. You were always doodling on your notebook instead of listening to the teacher.”

Jungkook is quiet for a while, reminiscing his younger years when he felt freer during those art classes they let him take with you. He replaced pencils and crayons for a camera years later to channel his creativity, something he’d neglected once he started university. That’s why he went backpacking for 6 months after college, to “feel human again,” he’d said. “You’re lucky you get to do what you love for a living. You get to be creative, imaginative… free.”

You let that sink in, knowing that Jungkook respects what you do because he understands the value of being able to express yourself, of finding beautiful things and capturing them. He captures them through a lens, you capture them through paint and brushes.

Two days later, you found yourself together again. He was required to attend an affiliate’s event that, according to Junghyun, is the most boring thing he ever had to sit through. You volunteered to accompany Jungkook, more confident now as he doesn’t seem to be bored with you. The giggles you’d shared and the fact that you ended up eating convenience store curry at 10PM was proof of that.

Another two days later and you were in one of the art galleries in the city that’s hosting a new exhibition. Jungkook tried to keep up with your ramblings but was still amused with your interpretations of the pieces. You returned the favor by taking him to a camera store, one that sold the vintage and modern kinds. It was your turn to be amused with his fondness for the instruments.

The next day, you spent the afternoon in the mall carnival and arcade with the kids, Jungkook not wasting this chance to show off. “Gotta win the prizes for the kids, you know?” He’d said with a wink. You chuckled but enjoyed the little competition between the Jeon and Kim men, and you tried to not think too much of it when he spent his excess tickets on a little whale plush toy you were eyeing and gave it to you.

Before you knew it, it’s Saturday again. Your one month ends the next day, which is also the day you’ll tell your families if you’ll push through with the engagement or not.

You decide to take the lead this time. You pick up Jungkook after lunch and drive east to head to the beach. The drive isn’t long - less than 2 hours - but somehow you both decide to enjoy the ride in peace. Neither of you start conversations, opting instead to be absorbed in the soft background music and the scenery out the window, the gravity of the decision to be made not lost on both of you.

You settle on a more secluded area of the shore and look out on the vast ocean, wishing more than anything that its tranquility would rub off on your mind that’s clouded with worry.

“Looking at the water helps me think,” you say, the most either of you has said in the past 2 hours since he got in your car.

“And what are you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m thinking that I would still like to push through with this, Jungkook. My mind hasn’t changed from a month ago,” you say, eyes focused on the ocean.

Jungkook lets your answer sink in. “How are you so sure about this, ___? This is a lifetime commitment,” he states, eyeing you from the side. Is it really just about making your parents proud? Is it worth it to spend the rest of your life with someone you’re not in love with just to make them happy?

“I won’t pretend that I’m 100% sure about this. A part of me is scared too - what if we don’t get along? What if we don’t know how to handle things?” What if you get bored with me? What if I fall in love with you and you don’t feel the same way? You choose not to say. “But I’ve enjoyed this past month with you.” You let your toes play with the sand and feel the coolness of the water tingle you. “I know it’s more than just that but it’s enough for me for now.”

“What happens when it stops being enough?”

“We’ll figure it out, then.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he chuckles.

“Sometimes it is. I trust you and I respect you, that will always be enough.”

“But you’re not in love with me.”

Your prolonged silence makes Jungkook nervous. It’s a statement he needs you to confirm.

“You’re right, I’m not. Neither are you, but I could if you’d let me.”

“But what if you don’t?” He asks, choosing not to focus on the last part of your statement.

“Relationships aren’t always about love, that’s something I’ve learned. It’s not enough to love someone, so why focus on that? Like I said, I trust and respect you.”

The guilt of what happened the other week eats at Jungkook. He knows you know, but how can you still trust him despite that? He takes a deep breath.

“I was at this bar the other week and there was this woman,” he starts, unable to look at you. “We uhm…”

“I know, Jungkook,” you say, your calm face not giving away much.

“But we didn’t do it! I mean, we didn’t have sex… we just made out and I took her home and we were supposed to but I…” he tries to explain. He doesn’t know why he’s stuttering telling you this.

“It’s okay, Jungkook,” you chuckle. “But you don’t have to explain. We’re not engaged and we’re not together,” you say, repeating the things you convinced yourself so you’d stop feeling bad about it. “You can do whatever you want, even if we choose to do this.”

“I felt guilty that’s why I left,” he continues, hand scratching the back of his head. The effect you have on him is making him feel things; normally this isn’t something he would be nervous or apologetic about because you’re right, you’re not even together. He’s not even supposed to want to. But somehow upsetting you in any way is something he can’t seem to stomach.

“You don’t have to. But thank you for telling me. It doesn’t change anything though, in case you’re wondering.”

He breathes a sigh of relief until he realizes that despite his confession, you still want this. It would’ve been easier if you got angry and decided not to push through with the engagement, but he’s realized you’re not one to harbor negative feelings towards people. He wonders how you’re still able to see the good in others despite everything, despite him being hostile against you, questioning you, patronizing you.

“Do you still need more time?” you start again, seeing as he hasn’t said anything. “I’m sure they’ll understand…”

“I’m okay with it!”

He says, startling you. You turn to him abruptly. Of course you want him to agree but hearing him say it feels surreal to you.

“I mean, yes. I’d like to push through with the engagement,” he clarifies.

The accompanying crash of the waves to his statement provides the calm that your mind has been asking for since you started the day, since a month ago. He made it clear at the start he didn’t want this, adamant that it’s just another way for his parents to control his life. You wonder what changed.

“I was thinking about it the other day how important family is,” he continues. “I know I complain about my dad a lot and that probably won’t stop,” he chuckles, “but at the end of the day, I want to do right by him, by everyone. It’s no secret that they all adore you, ___. Makes me kinda jealous.” This last statement earns you a laugh.

“Jungkook, you’re the one who charms everyone you meet! How are you jealous of me?”

“It’s true though. My entire family seems to have a soft spot for you,” he says, recalling all the times growing up when his parents and brother were always nagging him but coddling you, always making sure you were comfortable and well-fed whenever you were over, always ensuring that you weren’t tired when you were on vacation. Jungkook would always get scolded whenever he teased or bothered you even if all he really wanted was to get your attention. He stops short of sharing more, thinking that he’s not ready to elaborate on the jealousy he felt towards you growing up.

You blush at his statement but internally agree with him, nonetheless. “I was everybody’s baby growing up,” you giggle. “Everyone was spoiling me because of that.”

“That, I agree with,” he says, turning to you. “___ with her cute dresses and pigtails, all dainty and graceful all the time,” he chuckles.

“Nothing like your muddy t-shirts and scratches all over your body from climbing trees and rolling down the hill, huh?” You say, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh god, the scolding I got from my parents,” you both laugh at the memory. “And there was everyone quick to wipe off the tiny bit of sweat from your face when the sun was shining a little brighter than usual.”

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed, but a grin plastered on your face. “And your point is?”

“My point is that I was always getting into trouble. I outgrew the tree climbing and breaking things and I turned to partying like crazy, sneaking girls at home, and you know… the other stuff,” he laughs, masking the embarrassment he feels as he enumerates all these to you. “I feel like I’ve done a bit of growing up,” he continues, using his fingers to illustrate just how little he feels he’s grown, which isn’t much, “and I just feel like I need to make up for all the trouble I caused, you know? I wish I could say my parents have stopped stressing over me when I became an adult and started working but I can’t.”

You turn to him, wanting to give him some form of comfort.

“What you said about not wanting your parents to worry about you, I want that, too. Like I said, they adore you but they trust you, too. Plus, they always treated you like their own daughter so might as well make it official, right?” He says, smile faltering just a little, feeling once more the gravity of the situation.

Is it really this simple? What about his needs, his desires? He hates that he thinks about the girls he’d slept with that he didn’t have any emotional connection to, that he didn’t have feelings for, and that he compares that with a life with you - having sex, fucking, but never making love.

You let the silence linger before you finally say, “I’m sorry, Jungkook. I know you didn’t want this, didn’t think you’d want to marry me or fall in love and spend the rest of your life with me.”

He nods, thinking that expressing his agreement in words would make it final. “I could try.”

It feels like an almost unnecessary celebration, but that’s exactly what this is - unnecessary and a celebration.

After you and Jungkook decided to go through with the engagement the day before, you both told your families immediately. You didn’t think it was imperative to have a grand announcement; you just thought to get it over with. You shouldn’t have underestimated their ability to make this a big deal but then again, you also didn’t expect anything less.

You’d entered your parents’ estate and was greeted with an abundance of your and Jungkook’s favorite food. The setup in the garden was the kind you’d have when there were social events hosted there; your mother had even put out her most prized flatware and Seokjin brought your favorite bottles of wine of his that he rarely lets you drink. The kids running around even had their bow ties and ribbons on.

You look at your plain and simple blush dress and compare your outfit to the little ones.

“Is there a party I didn’t know about?” You call out once you arrive. “I feel slightly underdressed.”

“Oh sweetheart,” your mother approaches you and pulls you in for a tight hug. Everyone else follows from both families and embraces you.

“Where’s Jungkook?” His father asks, looking around.

“I don’t know, Uncle. We didn’t come together,” you respond nonchalantly.

The distressed look on his face is eased when Jungkook jogs towards you. “What did I miss?” He asks. He looks around and sees the well-decorated venue. “Is this for us?”

“Well, of course! We’d only been planning for this ever since you were both born,” Jungkook’s mother confesses, a proud smile gracing her face. “But honey,” she turns to Jungkook. “You didn’t pick ___ up?”

“I… didn’t think I should? I mean, we’re…” he looks to you, unsure what to say.

“Technically still not engaged.”

You see the panicked looks on your parents’ faces. “I mean, there’s no engagement ring yet or anything…” you say, making an excuse. You may be engaged but you’re not a couple, you clarified to each other.

“Right, that’s why we’re all here. Come, you two,” your mother calls out, motioning for you and Jungkook to follow her towards the table. She guides you towards the two seats at the center. You don’t miss the way Jungkook laughs incredulously to himself.

You catch him and he shakes his head, “this is so…”

“Absurd, over-the-top, excessive?” You continue. You both laugh, wondering what else is in store for today. Your question is immediately answered when Jungkook’s mother approaches him with a little box in her hand.

“This is the first piece of jewelry that your grandfather ever bought your grandmother, son, 10 years after they got married” she says. “She handed it over to me when they welcomed me to the family.” She opens the box to reveal a silver band with an opal gemstone decorated with a halo of small diamonds. “Here,” she says, handing it to Jungkook. “We had it adjusted to ___’s size just in case.”

Jungkook takes the box and stares at the ring, something he’s very familiar with. He’s seen his mother wear this several times; had seen old photos of his grandmother wearing it, too, minus the shiny diamonds twinkling around the gemstone. This is a very special piece of jewelry that’s being handed to him, for his future wife.

He turns to Junghyun and Yeri, wondering why such heirloom skipped his brother, looking for any sign of displeasure; he is the elder son, after all. But there is none. His brother and his wife have such tenderness painting their faces, watching the scene unfold before them.

His mother calls his attention and he plucks the ring out of its box and turns to you. He shakily takes your left hand and you jump a little, surprised, as your friendship has always been void of any kind of physical contact that something as simple as taking your hand is causing your heart to speed up. This is so, so real, you think.

Jungkook slips the ring on your finger and he can’t help but admire how beautiful it looks on you. You continue to stare at him as he holds onto your hand, and you’re both broken out of the daze when your father calls you from behind.

“Yes, Father ?” You turn to him, curious about the small box he has on his hand. He opens it to reveal a platinum ring.

“This was gifted to my father by his older brother who passed away. He gave it to me after I started working at the company to mark that important part of my life.” He hands the opened box to you. “I want to entrust it to Jungkook through you. Let it mean something more.”

You look at the ring a little longer than necessary and place it on Jungkook’s finger, feeling his calloused hand, the one you’ll be holding for the rest of your life, the one that will comfort you, protect you, take care of you.

You and Jungkook look at each other with a mix of disbelief, shock, fear, and worry. Your parents had just passed onto both of you very valuable parts of themselves, of your families. If it hasn’t sunk in yet what the decision to be engaged really means, and how truly important it is to everyone, now it has, and these pieces of jewelry decorating both your fingers will remind you everyday.

You’re both snapped out of your trance-like states with Soojin shouting at the 2 boys who were chasing her around. You all laugh at how familiar the scene is, but it’s a welcome distraction for you and Jungkook.

Everyone proceeds to enjoy the food prepared, with you and your now-fiancé constantly glancing at your own and each other’s hands where the rings lay. Somehow things still feel surreal.

“So, shall we talk about the wedding?” Jungkook’s father asks. You didn’t think you’d have to do it so soon, but again, it’s not like you expected anything less.

“___ and I have talked a bit about it,” Jungkook starts. “Nothing big or fancy. This shouldn’t be publicized, which means no announcements.” You’d decided on this yesterday on the way home; if they wanted you two to get married, it would be on your terms. Neither of you were fans of the flashy stuff anyways.

“So, nothing like how all our weddings went?” Seokjin asks, laughing.

“Nothing like those,” you confirm. “We want it small and simple. Outside of the city, if possible. If it’s as important to our families as you say, then we’re the only ones we need.” You don’t say that it would be hard to convince outsiders of your relationship, of your love for each other that doesn’t exist.

“No worries, honey,” your mother says. “Anything you want.”

It surprises you how easy this is. You somehow prepared yourself for a debate, if not a battle, over the kind of wedding you’ll have, recalling the grand and intricate ones that your siblings and Junghyun had. But the control you’re being given is convincing you that there’s really nothing more than your families’ desire to solidify the kinship through you and Jungkook - it’s not a social or business statement, not a PR stunt (which Jungkook had initially suspected given his troublesome past), not a misdirection or a part of a grander plan; it’s more sentimental than that. It is, simply put, a union, a symbol of an unbreakable bond that’s stood the test of time, love be damned. You wonder if they believe that’s something you two can eventually have, though.

The rest of the day goes by too fast. Both of your parents have gone on to discuss the wedding details, which you and Jungkook excuse yourselves from because of the overwhelming feeling of it all, but not before calling your respective grandparents and having both of you commit your Sundays to planning and dealing with wedding stuff.

The rest of you proceeded to the den to play with the kids and finally tell them why they were forced to wear their prettiest clothes because “Uncle Jungkook and Auntie ___ are getting married,” to which Jihoon shouts, “I’m going to have a cousin!” Your siblings couldn’t help but laugh at the scandalized look on both of your faces.

As everybody prepares to leave and your siblings give each of you their final congratulations and hugs, Seokjin turns to Jungkook and says, within your earshot, that “I love you like a brother but I’d do anything for my sister; please don’t hurt her.”

Junghyun repeats what Seokjin said and as Jungkook assures his brother and yours that no, he won’t hurt you, he looks at you and admires the joy that naturally radiates from you. Suddenly he thinks you’re too beautiful for this world, and the thought of how loved you are by everybody he cares about scares him more than anything because deep inside, he doesn’t know if he could ever truly love you the way they want him to, the way they think you deserve.

Series Masterlist

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#jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts fic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook arranged marriage

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danijimenezv · 3 years

Text

Coercion

Prompt/Summary: Based on the lovely Christmas moodboard that @jamespotterthefirst made ❤

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Jillian Valentine), and a little bit of Bryce Lahela x Ivy Valentine (MC’s younger sister)

Warnings: nothing, mostly fluff. Maybe a swear word here and there, but nothing serious.

Word Count: 1722 words

A/N: I’ve never written anything for this fandom, so I’m tagging a few people that I’ve seen around the main tags. If you don’t want to be tagged if I miraculously write anything else, let me know, no hard feelings at all! As always, feedback would be very much appreciated!

“Absolutely not.”

Ethan stared horrified at the velvety monstrosity the younger Valentine was presenting him, while Lahela and Mirani stared expectantly at him. He shook his head vehemently one more time, in case his previous statement hadn’t been clear enough.

“Come on, Ethan.” Baz clasped a hand over his shoulder, “It’s not that bad.”

“Uh, it’s not bad at all!” Ivy Valentine exclaimed, fully offended.

“Yeah, how come he gets a normal sweater but I get an ugly Christmas sweater?” Bryce complained.

“Because you look good in anything.” Ivy fluttered her eyelashes at her boyfriend.

“Smooth, Valentine.” Bryce hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, immediately crashing his lips against hers.

Ethan rolled his eyes at their very public display of affection, and turned back to the papers scattered all over his desk, taking advantage of the fact that they were no longer focused on bothering him.

“Doctor Mirani, was there anything you wanted to discuss about the case?” he redirected the subject of conversation.

“Not about the case.” he grinned unapologetically when Ethan narrowed his blue eyes at him, “The day is almost over anyway, there’s nothing else to discuss about it today, and you should be trying to make yourself presentable.”

“I am presentable. And I’m sure there are things still left to do here, so you should focus on that.”

“Come on, Ethan, this is huge. It’s all everyone has been talking about.”

“What?”

“Yeah, everyone knows tonight is the night.” Baz wiggled his eyebrows, “You’re having Christmas dinner with the Valentine’s, aren’t you? That’s a big step for you and Jill.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, hating, now more than ever, how the hospital gossip traveled around. He never cared much for it as long as everyone did their jobs, never paid much attention to it, but now it involved him, his girlfriend and her family, and that was what made it all the more annoying.

Girlfriend. The word popped up in his mind in a fraction of second, and although it still felt sort of weird, it wasn’t unwelcomed. It had taken them quite a lot to get to exactly that point, namely most of it was his fault, but to be able to call Jillian Valentine his was something he was incredibly grateful for. The second-year resident and junior fellow of the diagnostics team had practically weaseled her way into his life, and she had made such an impact, with her coquettish charm and quick wit, that he could no longer imagine his life without her.

“Ramsey, please.” Ivy returned her attention to him, “You’re a grumpy old man, aren’t you supposed to like this kind of sweaters?”

“I’m not a grumpy old man.” he barely looked up from the paper he was reading, “And I’m still not wearing that thing.”

“I even got you a different shade of green to match your eyes better. More blueish, instead of the plain green.”

“Much appreciated.” he let out sarcastically.

“Bryce.” Ivy whined softly, asking her boyfriend for help.

“Ramsey, my man.” Bryce grinned widely, knowing exactly how to approach it, “I have it on good authority that Jillian would love it if you wear this sweater tonight.”

That made him falter. No amount of begging from the youngest Valentine would make a difference for him. Jillian, on the other hand, was another story entirely; at this point, he was sure there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

“Super true.” Ivy caught on quickly, “She has a similar one, and she’s probably going to wear it tonight.”

“It’s less than half an hour for dinner, don’t you two have to go get ready?” Ethan tried one last time to get rid of them.

“I don’t have anywhere to be right now.” Baz pointed out, causing the older doctor’s glare to direct at him.

“Not you, them.”

“We are ready.” Bryce winked confidently, gesturing to his and Ivy’s matching red ugly Christmas sweaters.

“Jesus Christ, you two are nauseating.”

“As are you and my sister.” Ivy rolled her eyes, “But you said it yourself, it’s less than half an hour for dinner, what the hell are you waiting for?”

“I’m simply waiting for Jillian, who, unlike the three of you, is still working.”

“Or she’s changing in the locker rooms.” Bryce offered, “Ivy and I finished our surgeries a while ago. Just admit it, doc; we, surgeons, are just way better than you, medical guys.”

Ethan simply scoffed, but before he could retort back, Baz spoke up, “Wrong, but that’s a debate for another day. I should go find Zaid, and you need to get going to that dinner. You can’t be late, Ethan.”

With a wide smile on his face and a last wave, Baz exited the office, humming a catchy Christmas song softly.

“Okay, enough of this, I’m done.” Ivy marched towards him and shoved the sweater in his face aggressively, “I’m Jill’s sister, and as her boyfriend you need to keep me happy, right? So wear this tonight.”

Ivy spun around on her heels and strut right out of there without a look back. Bryce shrugged, not being able to come up with an explanation for his girlfriend’s loss of patience, and quickly followed after her, leaving the diagnostician finally alone. He inspected the item of clothing closely one last time, before cursing the youngest Valentine. Time seemed to stretch as he continued to stare at the sweater, almost with offense, before he sighed in defeat and pulled it over his clothes. He was in the middle of grumbling under his breath about the damn piece of clothing he felt forced to wear, when his favorite voice resonated from the doorway.

“Hey, I’m sorry for the delay, but I’m ready now.”

He looked up in time to see Jillian halt completely and inspect him from head to toe, but before he could offer some kind of explanation, a breath-taking smile overtook her delicate features as she spotted the sweater. And just like that, all the insults and complaints that had been swirling in his head since Ivy showed it to him disappeared, because even if he wasn’t a huge fan of it, wearing that damn sweater made it all worth it if it got his Jill to smile like that.

“You got a Christmas sweater?” she asked breathily, still staring in wide-eyed wonder at him.

“No, not those awful sweatshirts your sister and her boyfriend are sporting around proudly. This barely counts as a Christmas sweater, and it’s as far as I’ll go for the holidays.”

“Good enough for me. It’s the sentiment that counts.”

Jillian walked decisively to him and threw her arms around his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to reach better, while Ethan slouched slightly and wrapped his own arms around her waist. She giggled softly as Ethan ran his nose against hers, their foreheads pressed together and blue eyes boring into honey-colored ones.

“Did you wear it for me?”

“Most things I do are for you, Doctor Valentine.” he smiled softly at the adoring glint that sparked in her eyes, “But I was also coerced to wear it by your incredibly annoying younger sister.”

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t have to deal with Ivy as an intern, then?”

“Of course I am. She’s Harper’s problem, I already have my hands full with one Valentine on the medical team.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jill grinned, “Right?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” he leaned in and kissed her, though the moment was too short-lived for Jillian’s liking, because she whined softly when he pulled away, “Now, I believe we are expected to attend Christmas dinner with your family, so we should get going. I don’t want to be late.”

“What if we just… skipped it?” one of her hands wandered slowly down the expanse of his chest, gripping the sweater and releasing it multiple times.

“Jillian Valentine, is there a reason you don’t want me to have dinner with your family?” his voice was teasing, light-hearted, but the question had a twinge of worry underneath.

“It’s not like that.” Jillian spotted his doubt immediately, with that uncanny and unexplainable ability to pick on his thoughts as if reading his mind, “It’s just… as loving as they all are, my family is a bit complicated. My siblings are a nightmare, you would know because you’ve already met Ivy. And my parents are… intense. You’re too important for me, I don’t want them to scare you away.”

“That’s what you’ve been worrying about the whole day?” Ethan asked, placing his hands firmly on her hips and looking down at her with a stern expression on his face, “Jill, there’s nothing that could take me away from you. I thought you already knew that.”

“I know, I know, but I’ve just been overthinking about it.”

“Well, I promise you, there’s nothing in the world that can change the way I feel about you.”

“Okay.” she whispered, completely dazzled by the intensity of his words.

“Was that all?” he wanted to make sure.

“Yes, I promise. Nothing else. Definitely not any doubts about you or our relationship. I’m in for the long haul.”

“Good, because so am I.”

Jillian caressed his cheekbone delicately, “Don’t ever doubt my feelings for you, Ethan. After all, I was the one who fought for us, remember?”

“That you were.” he agreed, sighing in relief, “And I’m so very glad you did.”

“Me too.”

This time, when he kissed her, he made sure not to rush the moment. As soon as his lips came in contact with hers, they kissed passionately and urgently, like they couldn’t get enough of each other. Ethan deepened the kiss and pulled her as close as he physically could, his hands exploring the soft skin and subtle curves he already had memorized by heart. Finally, Jillian pulled apart from him, softly nibbling his lower lip before letting it go.

“Now, let’s get moving, Doctor Valentine.”

“Yes, boss.” she answered back mockingly, biting her lip to stifle her giggles.

“Jillian.” Ethan warned her.

With a heartfelt laugh, Jillian pulled away from his embrace, but entwined her fingers with his, and finally, they made their way out of the office together, ready to meet the Valentine’s for Christmas dinner.

*******************************************************************************************

Tags: @jamespotterthefirst, @missflashgeek, @parkerattano, @openheart12, @starrystarrytrouble, @takeharryandgo, @aestheticartsx, @choicesfanaf, @caseyvalentineramsey, @utterlyinevitable, @aworldoffandoms, @the-pale-goddess, @dr-ramseys-rookie, @drariellevalentine, @tsrookie, @perriewinklenerdie, @genevievemd, @drethanramslay, @openheartthot, @mvalentine, @justanotherrookie, @lucy-268, @paulfwesley, @writinghereandthere, @rookie-ramsey, @missmiimiie, @openheartfanfics, @ramseyandrys, @ruinedbypixels

#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey x jillian valentine #ethan x oc #ethan ramsey x oc #choices fic #open heart fic #open heart #dani writes

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Text

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore.

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him—good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

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ambitionsource · 4 years

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AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “Cold Comfort” [ 2.05 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows) || S2 Tag || Official Page

ON THIN ICE – The holiday season brings less cheer than usual as reality settles in with the winter. New traditions replace the old. Invitations to the Matthews’ annual holiday party are extended to all, but a select few are left out in the cold.

58 Minutes (14K words) || No warnings apply.

[ ← Valerie De La Cruz ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ How the Twinks Saved Christmas → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Christmas Time Is Here” as performed by Vince Guaraldi Trio || Performed by AAA Juniors

Flurries are falling over a chilly grey Manhattan, winter descending upon the city. With winter break right on the horizon, the vocals of the junior class set the mood for what is certain to be an uneven holiday season.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S ROOM - DAY

RILEY MATTHEWS is feeling that uncertainty as she finishes addressing and sealing invitations for the annual Matthews holiday party. She’s got a sizable stack for her classmates in a pile on her desk, just finishing off the last few. She scribbles Clarissa’s name on the top of one and adds it to the stack, methodically moving to the next one.

As she continues to work, a montage shows us little glimpses of how other homes are looking around this time of year...

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - DAY

The Hart apartment is cozy but empty, both its inhabitants out on the grind. No decorations are up within the place, which seems off.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

The Minkus home is in the process of being lavishly decorated for the winter and Jewish holiday season, but its only the help participating. Although the aura gives the appearance of being festive, none of the Minki are around to appreciate it.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

A collection of cutely wrapped gifts has begun to accumulate at the foot of a pretty Christmas tree in the Babineaux living room, JADA BABINEAUX home for winter break and in the process of adding some to the pile.

INT. FOSTER HOME - DAY

No such room for gifts at the foster home, where a gorgeous fir tree takes precedence in the living room but has no collection of gifts to go with it. Instead, letters addressed to each of the foster kids dots the tree like ornaments, presumably holding pricey but thoughtless gifts inside.

INT. GARDNER HOME - DAY

The Gardner home is elegantly curated for the most important time of year, ELEANOR GARDNER putting the finishing touches on the garland and stocking arrangement over the fireplace. She also touches up the glass miniature set of the birth of Jesus set up on the mantle, not one detail out of place.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

At the Friar apartment, nothing is different. The place is quiet and dark, and the window to Lucas’s fire escape is open even with the frigid weather.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - DAY

ERIC MATTHEWS pulls a rack of cookies out of the oven, frantically blowing to cool them off and dropping them on the stovetop. Behind him, gift bags with the names of his fellow faculty wait to be filled in preparation for the last day of school.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - DAY

JACK HUNTER decorates his apartment with simple but sweet touches, SHAWN HUNTER and ANGELA MOORE playfully arguing in the background over where their old stockings should go. Jack seems to have a moment of melancholy, before he’s pulled out of it by ANNE MARIE WINTHROP approaching from behind and giving him a peck on the cheek. She hands him a mug of hot chocolate, which he accepts.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Riley hesitates on the last couple of invitations, all sealed and ready to go but not bearing names. It’s clear she’s debating whether or not to address them at all, glancing up at her rather blank moodboard for guidance. It doesn’t have any, obviously, so she’ll have to make her own call.

Determined, Riley quickly writes the last two question marks on the envelopes -- Lucas and Farkle. Then she adds them to the top of the pile, tying it together with a piece of twine and heading out.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Riley makes her way down the street to the mailbox, snowflakes catching in her hair. She stands in front of it for a long moment, gazing down at the invitations and attempting to swallow the last of her trepidation.

Then she drops the stack into the mailbox, shutting it and fast-walking back up the street to escape the cold.

Cue title sequence.

This episode, much like the Les Mis one of the first season, takes on a slightly different structure than usual. It unfolds in miniature vignettes, capturing the unique experiences of each of our main players as first semester comes to a close.

Between each story, a small quote indicates a transition in time and focus. So, over black:

PART I There’s a world outside your window, and it’s a world of dread and fear. And the only bells that chime there are the clanging chimes of doom...

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Even with the uncertain mood permeating the junior class, the atmosphere still feels festive. Lockers are decorated for students’ respective holidays, and with only a day left of class, energy is higher than usual. Students from all different grades greet one another in the halls, dressed in their most cozy-looking apparel and exchanging small gifts.

LUCAS FRIAR is at his locker, evidently not in the same spirit. He looks as disgruntled as usual, fighting with one of his notebooks before just tossing it down in the bottom and calling it a day.

However, he’s got forces working against him to bring the holiday cheer. He jumps when ASHER GARCIA and DYLAN ORLANDO pop up next to him, slamming his locker closed and launching into a goofy, pitchy duet of the opening tones of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” They point to one another as they sing the name “Dasher,” Lucas unable to hold back a smile.

Lucas: You did it, mission accomplished. I’m officially anti-Christmas.

They jeer at him, knowing his whole dismissal is a facade. The two of them seem more than ready for the season, Asher looking sharp and cozy in a burgundy cardigan and Dylan in what might be the most outlandish holiday sweater ever manufactured.

Lucas: [ to Asher ] You look like adolescent Mr. Rogers. [ to Dylan ] And you look like Buddy the Elf.

Dylan, happily: That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

They go on to ask him what the plan is for the techie party this year is, but Lucas claims he doesn’t know. He isn’t even sure they’re still doing it.

Asher: What? We can’t not do it. It’s tradition.

Lucas: We’ve done it, what, two years? That’s not a tradition.

Dylan: Well, not with that attitude.

The three of them begin walking to class, Lucas expressing that the planning for the party usually falls on Isadora. So they should maybe ask her -- oh, but wait, they can’t, because she’s far too busy hanging with her new diva cult to think about it.

Dylan: [ to Asher ] There’s a cult?

Asher: No, it’s just a -- don’t worry about it.

Dylan: I’m not worried, I’m offended. I thought we were going to start one first.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The full A class is assembled on stage, waiting for Shawn and Harper to arrive for announcements regarding the last days before winter break. As they’re hanging around, DAVE WILLIAMS has the eye to point out Lucas’s newest aesthetic feature.

Dave: Hey, man, nice new kicks.

They’re the boots he was eyeing in the store window during Thanksgiving break. He thanks Dave smugly, ISADORA DE LA CRUZ tuning into the conversation and frowning. She knows damn well Lucas can’t afford new shoes, let alone ones like that… she makes eye contact with Riley across the circle, who is wearing a similar skeptical expression.

Harper finally arrives, giving the basic low down of some non-stressful last few days activities they plan to do. Shawn jogs in a few moments later, stating after Harper’s dismissed them into small groups that he needs to meet with the techies separately.

Asher and Dylan look to Lucas, curious if he knows what’s up. He shrugs, the three of them marching off with the rest of the crew to their usual spot in the back.

Once they’ve settled into the chairs in the back center section, Shawn stands in front of them and begins his explanation. He speaks with uncharacteristic hesitancy, so it’s evident that whatever he’s about to tell them isn’t going to be good news. And it’s decidedly not -- he informs them that the technician’s booth will be shut down and off-limits until further notice. They aren’t allowed inside.

All of the techies are shocked by this, pointing out how that’s going to impact their work and wondering how long it’s going to be in effect -- but Lucas is downright feral. He’s the loudest opposition out of all of them, asking how the hell they’re supposed to do their jobs and stating there can’t be a good reason for this. As Shawn notes, however, they’re literally a day away from winter break so they won’t be doing much work anyway.

When Lucas presses on why the mandate was laid down, all eyes turn expectantly to Shawn. He stammers out an explanation about new equipment, claiming they’re running on old juice and it’ll be great for all of them to get some better upgrades.

JEFF MONROE and the others seem somewhat excited about this, but Lucas remains unconvinced. He grits his teeth as Shawn continues on with announcements, already thinking ahead.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S ROOM - NIGHT

Ousted back into his reluctant abode rather than recluse in the booth, Lucas is cramped in his bedroom with the door locked tight. The window is still open to let in the cold but fresh air, Lucas slouched on the floor in front of his mattress. He’s wearing a worn-out Knicks sweatshirt, an outdated behemoth of a laptop computer on his lap as he squints in the dark.

His focus shifts as his phone lights up with a text from Isadora. She heard about the booth, and is just checking in to see if he’s okay or if there’s any way she can help in the meantime. Lucas opts to ignore it, tossing his phone back down and getting back to work.

On the computer, he’s deep on a web search looking up the models of their equipment in the booth. Based on what he can tell, most of the stuff they have in there is already updated to the latest model. All of this is way too fishy, and he’s not buying a second of it.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Lucas sneaks into the school at the crack of dawn the next morning, still wearing the same sweatshirt and his hair stuffed under a beanie rather than his usual snapback for warmth. He makes his way up to the booth, taking the stairs two at a time.

He takes a moment to make sure no one is around, and then swiftly picks the lock into the booth and breaks inside.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

From what he can tell, everything looks about the same as he left it. He goes to get a good look around, double-checking his list of their equipment and his theorized models, confirming his suspicion that the upgraded equipment excuse was a lie. His fellow techies may not notice, but he spends far too much time in the booth to be fooled.

When he goes to check his usual nook, he’s stunned to find that the panel he usually takes out of the wall has been screwed shut. No more easy removal of it. Lucas curses to himself, checking in the other hiding places where he’d keep his overnight stuff and finding nothing.

Everything is gone.

Starting to panic, Lucas’s attention drifts to a safety notice that has been taped up above the paneling. It reads like an inspection notice, stating that the current area has suffered a “pest infestation” and needs to be fumigated and closed off until further notice. Case in point, the real reason they aren’t allowed in the booth.

Lucas scowls, ripping the notice off the wall in a fury.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

The notice is slammed down on Jack’s desk, Lucas hardly able to contain his emotions as he meets with him.

Lucas: This? Is bullshit.

Jack takes the notice from him, making a comment about how he wonders how Lucas got his hands on it. Oh, no, silly him. Of course he just disregarded a mandate from his teacher and barged his way into the booth anyway.

Jack, deadpan: Glad to see we’re remaining consistent right up until the last breath of the semester.

Lucas isn’t in the mood for jokes. Whatever sort of authoritarian bureaucratic fuckery this is, it’s all wrong. They don’t have the right to bar them from one of their most important spaces when they don’t even have a legitimate reason for doing so.

Lucas: I have been in that booth for hundreds of hours -- I practically live in it -- and not once have I seen what I would consider a “pest.” Can’t even make a joke about Minkus or Hart, since we make a point of keeping them out of there. This is unfounded.

Jack: And you can’t trust the authorities in your life that perhaps there is a reason?

Lucas: When all of their excuses so far have been absolute crap? Actually, no, I can’t.

Jack caves, raising his hands in surrender. Lucas wants the truth? Fine. The infestation referred to on the notice isn’t about mice or vermin -- janitor Harley informed him that he discovered evidence that someone or someones might be staying in the booth. That’s a major no-no, not to mention a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Lucas does his best to keep his expression neutral. He continues to stammer for more arguments, but for what it’s worth Jack can see right through him.

Lucas: You can’t just do this based on a suspicion! You don’t even have proof!

Jack: Proof? You really want proof?

Lucas: Well, since you don’t have any --

Jack: Fine!

Jack rises from his desk, going to the small storage closet in his office. He retrieves a full duffle bag of things -- the items recovered from the booth when Harley stumbled upon it. He drops it on the desk, watching Lucas’s expression as it shifts from aggressive to stunned.

Jack: These were the items Harley found in the booth. Look familiar?

Lucas: … I --

Jack: Think they should. I’m fairly certain they belong to you.

Checkmate. Jack knows Lucas was the one staying in the booth, and he knows that’s why he’s taking this whole thing so personally.

Still, he responds with empathy. He attempts to get Lucas to talk about what’s going on, or how long this has been a thing, but such difficult conversations can quickly go nowhere. And with Lucas’s current emotional state, that’s exactly what happens. He lashes out instead, shutting down rather than taking Jack’s offers of help.

So Jack has to switch approaches as well, warning Lucas that he cannot keep doing things like this. His behavior is increasingly causing more issues, and with certain people keeping their eyes on the school this is not the time to be lighting more matches. He can’t continue to look out for him if he’s going to take advantage of it at every turn.

Lucas, defensive: Then don’t. News flash, I don’t care about this stupid school!

Jack tries to get him to stop and actually talk, but Lucas is over it. He scoops his things off the desk -- confirming they are in fact his, to Jack’s clear dismay -- and storms out of the office.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Lucas is attempting to stuff some of the things in his locker, any holiday cheer that he may have picked up earlier in the day long gone. Dylan and Asher come to find him again, obviously concerned by his palpable anger and wondering how he’s handling being kicked out of the booth.

Not well, obviously. Dylan tries to say something to cheer him up, but Lucas isn’t hearing it. He’s gathering his things into the duffle.

Asher: Well, hanging out with the crew will make you feel better. We’ll be able to figure out the plan for the holiday --

Lucas, harshly: Pretty sure the party’s off, spaghetti. Not that it fucking matters anyway.

Lucas slams his locker, marching down the hall. Asher and Dylan call after him, wondering where the hell he’s going.

Lucas: Anywhere but here. I’m taking winter break early.

Asher tries to get him to stop, but he’s already gone. The two of them exchange worried looks.

EXT. AAA - DAY

As Lucas is jogging down the steps, he gets a call from Isadora. She asks where the hell he is before class. He brushes off the concern, and when she changes the subject and asks about the techie party plans, he snaps. He states it’s funny that she’s bothering to ask, but she’s wasting her time. He doesn’t feel much like celebrating, and he won’t be participating this year.

Isadora: Lucas, are you kidding? You can’t just bail. If you don’t do the break-in, then what are we supposed to do?

Lucas: Oh, you’ll figure it out without me. You’ve gotten really good at that.

Lucas hangs up before Isadora can respond, stuffing his phone in his pocket. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the icy air and running the rest of the way down the steps. As far away from AAA as he can get, as fast as possible.

PART II Merry Christmas, darling, we’re apart that’s true, But I can dream, and in my dreams I’m Christmas-ing with you…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

While Lucas is accosted by Dylan and Asher in the background and they launch into “Rudolph,” we’re now following ZAY BABINEAUX as he makes his way through the halls with his duffle. He nods to friends as he passes them, high-fives with YINDRA AMINO as they cross paths outside the black box. But his destination that morning is a bit further away, a quick stop before the rest of the school day unfolds…

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

He makes it to his and Charlie’s usual studio just as CHARLIE GARDNER is wrapping up a routine, totally focused on the choreography. Zay takes a moment to watch, leaning against the doorframe with a fond smile on his face.

Once he’s done, Charlie whips around and spots Zay. He reacts in surprise at first, claiming he scared him and wondering why the hell he’s just hanging in the doorway when he should’ve just come in. He could’ve easily stopped the run through. Zay brushes it off, sauntering in as Charlie excitedly claims he has something to show him.

He retrieves something from the front pocket of his backpack, turning back and giving Zay a grin and eyebrow raise. When he prompts him to go on, Charlie enthusiastically dangles his key ring between them, now bearing a new car key.

Charlie: Early Christmas present from the folks. I mean, I’m still terrified to use it, but now the option exists. [ with a nudge ] Maybe now you can stop having to drive to and from Queens all the time and I can save you the trouble.

Zay: Whew, Santa, baby. You’re giving me an extravagant gift just from gas money savings alone.

Charlie cracks up, returning the keys to his backpack. Zay takes the opportunity to shift gears, dropping down to unzip his duffle bag. Speaking of gifts… he may have a thing or two for him. Charlie is caught off-guard, claiming he wasn’t expecting a gift exchange. He can’t possibly accept something from him. It wouldn’t be fair.

But Zay is too darn cute to refuse, and he assures him it’s not a big deal. The first thing he presents is a slip of paper, which he brandishes with a flourish as he hands it to Charlie.

Upon closer inspection, it’s revealed to be a coupon for all-he-can-eat French fries at their Queens diner. Charlie laughs again, nodding appreciatively.

Charlie: Okay, okay. If this is what you meant, then I guess me braving my fear of the New York roads to see you is equal enough.

Zay: Hey, that’s a steal of a coupon you’ve got there. Don’t take that generosity lightly. [ a beat ] And there might be… one more piece.

Before Charlie can argue, Zay drops down and grabs his last gift. It’s a bundle wrapped in newspaper. Charlie gives him an eyebrow raise as Zay encourages him to unwrap it, clasping his hands together in front of him.

The newspaper falls away, and suddenly Charlie finds himself holding one of Zay’s sweatshirts.

His expression shifts from playful to something softer, obviously not sure how to react. He holds it delicately in his fingers, lightly shaking his head.

Charlie: Zay…

Zay: Ah, no, don’t worry. I’ve already thought about everything you could possibly say. I’ve thought it all through. I picked the best one based on which would be least likely to raise eyebrows, as well as one you could conceivably have in your own wardrobe... you know, if you ever shopped anywhere other than the GAP for once.

[ Charlie can’t help but laugh. He unfolds the sweatshirt a little bit more as Zay continues his explanation. ]

Zay: It’s also one of my newer ones, so it’s just broken in enough that it’s like, me, but not worn in enough that it would seem like a hand me down. You can easily say to anyone that asks that you just bought it. I really only wear it around the house, so as long as you don’t wear it at my place of living, you should be all clear.

Charlie: What made you think of this?

Zay: Well… I know that this is exactly the kind of thing you’d like to have, but wouldn’t ask for on your own. Thusly… happy holidays, Chuckles.

And he’s exactly right about that. It’s a thoughtful gift for a couple who has been together for six months, even in secret, and it’s more than clear how much it means to Charlie.

Charlie, sincerely: It’s perfect. [ hugging it ] Thank you.

Zay gives him a nod, smiling brightly. Charlie goes on to apologize again, feeling bad that he didn’t try and figure out something similar to give him. Zay assures him that it’s fine, but subtly suggests that he might have a solution.

Zay: You can always make it up to me… by coming over for dinner.

Although the aversion is pointedly less strong than it was even a couple episodes ago, Charlie is still freaked by the suggestion. He claims he can’t do that, but Zay attempts to change his mind by explaining the full context -- his mom is super into like, knowing his friends, and she wants to have an evening during winter break where he invites some of his closest over for a casual dinner sort of thing. His parents are super friendly and not at all suspicious, and considering how often he talks about Charlie they wouldn’t think anything of it if he were in attendance. In fact, it might be weirder for him to not be there.

But that’s not enough. There’s something in Charlie, deeply rooted inside him somewhere, that cannot wrap his head around such a possibility without thinking about the implications. He sticks by his original answer, despite how much it hurts to do so.

Zay tries not to let the rejection sting, but his disappointment is getting harder to hide. The longer they’re together, the more he has to wonder if things are ever going to change the way he keeps hoping they will. He understands, of course, but at what point is it going to get easier? If it ever does?

Zay: Kind of ironic, isn’t it? Most wonderful time of the year, and we’re still so stuck.

The comment isn’t said harshly, but it makes its point. Charlie tries to say something to fix it, but comes up short. Zay walks away before he can stop him, stepping out of reach as he tries to take his arm.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Blue Christmas” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

Zay emerges into the hall, launching into the bluesy holiday classic. His voice is heavy with emotion as he saunters through the school, passing by other classmates and friends already reveling in the joy of the season and welcoming the incoming freedom of break together.

More to the point, it’s as if Zay can’t escape the echoes of what it is he most desperately wants. He passes by other students in romantic relationships openly being together, exchanging gifts, joking about mistletoe, making holiday plans. Dylan and Asher fall into giddy laughter by the latter’s locker, Asher nudging him lightly before pulling him into a kiss.

By the time he gets to the last verse, he’s returned to his locker. Across the hall, Charlie is at his, exchanging a quick chat with HALEY FISHER and CLARISSA CRUZ before they saunter off to class. The distance between them is suffocating, in spite of how close they are in every other way.

Elvis and any other performer have no idea what longing means compared to Isaiah Babineaux. He leans against the wall of lockers and watches Charlie disappear around the corner without a second glance. Then he adjusts and tilts his head back against the cold metal, crooning out the last few notes as the piano takes us out.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - DAY

Winter break kicks off, the front door to the Babineaux home opening to find Riley, Yindra, and MAYA HART there on the doorstep. They cheerfully greet Zay, exchanging hugs with him as they step inside. DONNA BABINEAUX is quick to come greet them, explaining that she just started on food and that Omar and Jada should be home soon.

Maya and Riley head to the living room, Donna hanging by the door and asking Zay if they’re expecting anyone else. What she means, naturally, is are they still waiting for one more. Zay shrugs, trying to cover his ill feelings.

Zay: Wouldn’t count on it.

He follows his friends into the living room without further comment, Donna giving him a curious look as he goes.

INT. GARDNER HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

As is tradition in the Gardner household, the children are assembled to decorate the tree together. ROSAMUND GARDNER is hard at work, determining where each ornament should go while DAISY GARDNER unwraps them from their tissue paper and hands them off.

Charlie is supposed to be on box duty -- retrieving the new boxes from the storage bin and passing them to Daisy -- but he’s sort of slacking on the job. He’s zoned out, lost in his own head and turning a baby angel over in his fingers absentmindedly.

He’s broken out of his fugue by a soft ornament to the face, Daisy remarking that he’s not being very much help. He tosses it back at her, snarkily excusing himself as he pushes to his feet. Daisy and Rosie watch him go, once again observers to his unusual behavior.

Daisy: What’s up with him?

Rosie, wisely: Testosterone.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

Charlie enters as his mother is busy slaving away, baking an assortment of holiday cookies for the upcoming festivities. She greets him cheerfully, passing a peanut butter drop cookie towards him from fresh off the rack. She knows how they’re his favorite.

He accepts it gratefully, breaking off a piece and taking a bite. He glances towards the refrigerator, where Riley’s invitation is hanging. He tentatively asks whether or not it would be okay for him to attend the party. Eleanor checks out of the baking zone, glancing at the invitation again and reading it over before granting him permission. It doesn’t conflict with any of their family plans, and Riley has always seemed like a wonderful girl and good friend to him. It would be rather rude of him to decline the invitation when she took the time to invite him, now wouldn’t it? You know, a good friend like Riley…

Implications of how his family thinks of Riley aside, Charlie searches for a change of subject. On the subject of their family plans, he softly questions whether or not Bridgette will be coming home for Christmas this year. Even though she’s not facing him, it’s obvious that the query catches Eleanor off-guard. She tries to skirt it, her nonchalance kind of pissing Charlie off.

Charlie, curtly: Was she even invited?

Eleanor: [ with shocked disappointment ] Charles.

For as quickly as the boldness shot through him, it’s zapped away even faster. He avoids his mother’s gaze, pushing away from the counter and claiming he needs to go call Riley to let her know he can come.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S ROOM - DAY

Safely hidden away in his room, Charlie leans back against the door and hides his head in his hands. Trying to get a grip on his emotions, which seem to be fluctuating more than ever nowadays. Too bad he has no idea how to settle them.

Well… maybe that’s not entirely true. A thought strikes him, Charlie going over to his duffle bag and digging through his school things. He finds what he’s looking for, grabbing Zay’s sweatshirt and holding it out in front of him.

After a moment, he pulls it on over his head.

Not an instant cure all, but maybe a little bit better. Charlie adjusts it on his shoulders, flopping onto his bed and staring at the ceiling. Lost in the way he wants things to be, not certain how to make them so or if he even has the courage to follow through if he did. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and crossing his arms like he’s hugging himself.

As if with the sweatshirt, it’ll be like he’s hugging him.

PART III Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams, I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams…

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Maya and Isadora are in the dressing room together, hanging out before theater lab. While Maya has definitely noticed that Katy has been so weird about money lately, she’s found a new way to spin it in her head that makes it seem like a positive rather than a negative.

Maya: It’s totally some kind of surprise thing. Like a big present for the holidays. Tickets to a Broadway show, or maybe even a trip. God, how cool would it be to go to like… Los Angeles? The Hart women take L.A.

Perhaps a new level of delusion. Isadora doesn’t look sold on the idea, but she doesn’t want to burst her friend’s bubble either. Maya takes her expression as a lack of interest in L.A., lamenting that she’s been there dozens of times to see Valerie, so of course she doesn’t find it all that impressive. She’s jaded to the west coast allure.

Isadora: Ah, yes, the allure of smog and snail trail traffic is truly irresistible…

Maya gives her a look, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Case in point, what Maya wouldn’t give to explore the other entertainment hub of the world. And maybe, if the way they’ve been siphoning away money is any clue, she just might get her wish.

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

That night, Maya takes the straight-forward approach in pitching this take to KATY HART. She jokingly asks her when they’re going to stop playing charades, when she’s going to reveal whatever the big secret is. Although Katy continues to act aversive and Maya plays along, it’s clear from the way Katy doesn’t want to talk about it that it won’t be a trip to Los Angeles. Clear to everyone except Maya, who has rooted herself into a state of denial.

Only one more night before winter freedom, Maya declares, giving her mother a kiss on the head and fluttering off to bed. Katy watches her go, a wistful expression on her face. Suddenly, she’s looking all around the apartment with a similar emotion -- it might be a dump, but it’s home. It’s where she’s gotten to raise her daughter, the most important thing in the world.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Slipping Through My Fingers” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by Katy Hart (feat. Maya Hart)

Katy gently slips into this nostalgic power ballad, continuing to roam the extent of their small apartment. As she goes, small glimpses of flashbacks come into focus, featuring her and Maya as she grew up through the years. A toddler Maya running away from the bathtub as Katy chases after her, wrapping her in a towel and cuddling her close; the two of them singing together as they make dinner together when Maya is in elementary school; a middle school Maya in her leotard, showing off a routine she just learned in dance class to a fond and proud Katy.

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - DAY

The song continues into the next morning, Maya getting ready for the last day of the semester. Katy offers to braid her hair specially in a crown around her head, the two of them sharing laughter as she does so. As Maya heads out for school, she blows a kiss to Katy.

Once Maya is gone, the tone of the piece seems to shift somewhat. Katy begins taking things down, packing certain things away in boxes in her room. She grows tearful as she goes, having to take moments to step away from it.

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Maya takes her verse while rehearsing in the dance studio, the thought of whatever might be going on with her mother obviously distracting her. When she turns to face the mirrors, she envisions Katy standing there behind her, encouraging her to keep her chin high and smile on. The exercise works like a charm, Maya going back to run the routine again.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As song floats through the final verse, Katy wanders the halls of AAA. It’s a bit unprecedented for her to be there, but it’s clear she’s on a mission.

INT. AAA - CORY’S CLASSROOM - DAY

Katy lightly knocks, surprising CORY MATTHEWS from grading papers. He greets her happily, wondering what would’ve brought her all the way to AAA.

From the way her eyes are glossed over with tears, it’s not going to be for anything good.

Katy: I hate to do this, but… I need to ask a major favor.

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - EXTERIOR HALL - DAY

Maya is on the phone with Riley as she walks home, confirming that she’ll be at the party.

Maya: Why you decided to mail invitations like we’re in the 1930s, I have no idea, but you do you babe.

After she hangs up, she takes a second to eye their bare apartment door. Then she unlocks the door, stepping inside.

INT. MAYA’S APARTMENT - DAY

Katy is already waiting at the kitchen table when Maya enters, nervously twisting her fingers. Maya doesn’t catch her demeanor right away, commenting that it’s a bit weird they haven’t put up their wreath yet. Or any decorations, really. Maybe they should get on that, with the holiday right around the corner?

Katy, timidly: I don’t think we’re going to be able to do that this year, baby girl.

The moment she hears her tone, Maya immediately loses her teasing attitude. She grows more serious, asking what’s wrong as dread creeps into the room. Katy gets up from the table and guides Maya to sit with her on their couch, indicating there’s more to say.

That’s also when Maya realizes Cory is there with them. He rises from his seat in the arm chair to greet her, but his presence just makes her more confused and thusly, more nervous. She continues to ask Katy what the hell is going on, bordering on panic.

Maya: Mom, what is he doing here? What the hell is going on? Mom --

Katy shushes her, trying to keep it together for her sake. She goes on to explain the situation as coherently as she can -- the diner isn’t making ends meet anymore. They’ve been struggling to pay bills for months. She tried to find additional work beyond the two jobs she already has, but there’s not enough time and she doesn’t have enough credit to her name.

The bottom line is, they can’t afford to live in this apartment anymore. She can’t afford to stay in the city right now.

In an instant, Maya is in tears. She’s shocked, bewildered, and bubbling with millions of questions. How could this happen? Why didn’t she tell her? She could’ve picked up a job, she could’ve helped search. But the true question rises eventually -- what about AAA? How is anything going to work the way she’s known it her entire life if they’re moving away?

This is where Cory steps into the conversation. With prompting from Katy, he calmly explains that they’re extending the invitation for her to come move in with them. Now that Topanga has moved out and they’re rearranging things anyway, they have more than enough room and would be happy to have her.

It’s a nice sentiment, and Maya appreciates it. But… she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to leave this place, and she for sure doesn’t want to be apart from Katy. She stammers out as much as she’s overcome with tears, Katy pulling her into a tight hug as she starts to cry as well.

Katy: I know, baby, I know. But it’ll work out. In time, it’ll work out. And you need to be here. You need to be here shining your brightest, I’m not gonna let all this take you away from that. [ pushing some hair out of her face and wiping her tears ] The dream is priceless. We’re not letting you let it go for any reason.

Maya nods, but she’s still crying. The two of them embrace again, dreading the moment they’ll have to let go.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Maya drops the last of her things in the sparse master bedroom, all of Cory’s things having been moved and Riley’s stuff scattered in the process of moving. Cory explains that with Topanga vacating and Maya moving in, the two girls could share the master given that he won’t be needing nearly as much space for himself.

He leaves her alone to settle in with a pat on the shoulder. She waits for him to go, closing the door behind her. She starts to go to her suitcase and unpack, but can’t bring herself to do it. Her hands are shaking. Somehow, her entire world has turned upside down.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Home” as performed by Beauty and the Beast Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Maya Hart (starting at 00:40)

In this moment, nothing matters other than Maya’s vocals. It’s one of her most powerful, wrenching performances to date, nothing in the unsettled space to distract from how raw the experience feels. She’s truly lost the feeling of home, and she has no idea if she’s ever going to find it again.

She settles into the undecorated bay window as the number peters out, tears shining in her eyes as she gazes out at her new view of the city. Snow falls gently outside the windows, the melancholy captured in Maya’s reflection through the glass as the screen fades to black.

PART IV They’re singing “Deck the Halls,” but it’s not like Christmas at all, ‘Cause I remember when you were here, and all the fun we had last year…

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “River” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Picking up with soft piano where Maya left off, Farkle demonstrates his piano skills again as he practices alone. His solitude seems to echo off the walls, dominating the performance despite how great his voice is as always. The lyrics speak to his feelings aptly enough, although if he wasn’t saying them under the guise of practice he likely wouldn’t be expressing them at all.

Charlie pops in just as he wraps up, claiming that they’re getting ready to close the building for break and they have to head out. Farkle thanks him for the heads up, gathering his things. Before he goes, Charlie takes the second to wish him happy holidays.

Farkle nods and offers a tight smile, but it’s gone as soon as Charlie is out of sight. It’s clear he’s more of the opinion of like… is it? Are they, really, happy holidays?

Slinging his bag over his shoulder as he leaves, he flicks off the light and sends the practice room into darkness.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle’s invitation to Riley’s party has arrived, sitting on the top of the pile of mail sitting on the counter by the doorway.

As JENNIFER MINKUS bustles in with URI MINKUS and EZRA MINKUS, one of them accidentally rams into the stack and knocks it to the floor. Jennifer chides both of them, guiding Ezra into the suite and requesting of Uri that he clean them up.

Headphones in and obviously annoyed, Uri flips through the first few and determines they’re all junk. He scoops all of it -- including the invitation -- into his hands to promptly dumps it into the trash, absolving him of the burden without further ado.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S ROOM - DAY

Farkle slips back into his summer habits, reverting back to his appearance and slump of the start of the season. His hair is untidy and even wilder than before now that it’s grown more, and his baggy sweater is going to get worn out from overuse.

He spends a majority of the break sleeping, not feeling the motivation to get out or do much else. It’s what he’s preparing to do that afternoon, drawing his blinds shut from the pleasant view of snow falling over the city, when LILA MINKUS pokes her head in. She’s chewing on a granola bar, back from college for the holidays and distinctly unimpressed with his habits.

Lila: Are you really going to waste your entire winter break lazing around?

Farkle: Are you really going to spend your entire existence annoying the fuck out of me?

Lila: Real classy, germ. If you’re just going to do nothing, you could at least make yourself useful and help mom with holiday prep.

Point made, and hard to ignore. Farkle glances at his bed waiting for him so invitingly, sighing as he slouches out of the room to make his presence on this Earth worthwhile.

INT. MINKUS HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

That’s how he finds himself assisting his mother with dinner, plaintively cutting up vegetables as she attempts to keep up conversation with him. Given how lethargic he is he’s not all that talkative, but she does her best. She tries to gauge if he has any plans for the remainder of break.

Farkle: No.

Jennifer: Nothing?

Farkle: Just practicing.

Jennifer: Well, I’m sure your friends must have things going on. They can’t all be off on vacations or something. Why don’t you see if one of them wants to do something? [ a beat ] I’m sure that Maya --

Farkle: Trust me, they don’t.

This doesn’t sit well with Jennifer. It’s clear that whatever is going on with Farkle is concerning to her, but she doesn’t know how to confront it or figure out what the real trouble might be. So she continues to problem solve aloud.

Jennifer: I can see who isn’t going out of town, if we’re looking for company. [ excitedly ] Oh, you know who I should call? The Shapiros. I can see if Roberta is free sometime in the next couple weeks, God knows she could use the date --

Farkle, disturbed: No thanks, I’m fine, thank you!

A notification on Jennifer’s phone disrupts their discussion, prompting her to take her medication. She crosses the kitchen to the corner cabinet and sorts through an array of pills to take them dutifully, Farkle eyeing her as she goes through the motions.

He questions what she takes all those medications for, to which Jennifer gives him an offhand and brief run down of what ailments run in their family and what a pill cocktail they’ve got going on in that cabinet. She points out the fact that he might very well also be iron deficient with how sickly he’s felt lately, so she is going to have the doctor run a blood test when he goes in for his annual physical in the spring.

Commotion from the entryway pulls them out of the conversation, Ezra gleefully exclaiming something. Farkle and Jennifer exchange a look, making their way out of the kitchen.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

STUART MINKUS has returned home with EZEKIEL MINKUS in tow, fresh from the airport and another successful semester at college. He enthusiastically greets Ezra and picks him up into a hug, joking that he has got to stop growing while he’s not around. Jennifer comes to shower him with affection, Stuart stepping past them and exchanging a playful look with Farkle at all the hubbub.

While the moment of attention from his father is a treasure, getting to see his favorite brother is a pretty sweet deal too. Ezekiel gestures him forward to meet him, wrapping him in a hug that Farkle eagerly accepts. For the brief moments that he’s fully surrounded by family and actually being acknowledged, Farkle seems to relax.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DINING ROOM - NIGHT

The table is more lively than usual as family dinner progresses, Ezekiel acting as a lively contributor to the conversation and the mood considerably lighter given that Stuart is actually in attendance. Lila and Uri argue over something inane, Ezra jumping into any part of the discussion where he can manage to understand what’s being said.

Farkle doesn’t speak, but he isn’t nearly as pallid as he actually consumes his dinner. He smiles lightly as his father and older brother speak, simply glad to be back in their presence even if just as a spectator.

The room quiets a bit as Stuart lightly clinks his knife against his glass, getting all of the family to draw their attention to him. He expresses how happy he is to see the lot of them together again, how this year is always his favorite time of year -- and not just because the stocks are rising (ha ha ha, oh Stuart). He states how wonderful it is to have Ezekiel and Lila home for the holiday, and that he’s looking forward to video calling with Raziel later in the week all the way from Europe where he now resides.

Farkle starts to zone out when he begins lauding Ezekiel’s accomplishments and discussing what good fortunes are going on for their family, lasting much longer than Lila or Uri. However, he snaps back to attention when Stuart begins discussing early Hanukkah presents, simply because he calls Farkle out specifically.

Farkle: [ blinking out of his daze ] Huh?

Ezekiel watches with a knowing smile as Stuart goes on to explain the tradition they have within their family, as sons approach their sixteenth birthday. Given that Farkle’s is in just a couple of months, this year means it’s his turn to accept the early gift.

Stuart passes a small, long gift box across the table. It settles in front of Farkle, who picks it up as Lila watches derisively and Uri continues to stab at his green beans. Ezra leans over and practically climbs on top of Farkle to get a good look, bursting with excitement at the prospect of an early Hanukkah present.

Farkle opens the gift, surprised to find a specially made gold name plate with his name engraved into it. He takes it out and turns it over in his fingers, expression hard to read as he gets a good look. Ezra loses interest, going back to his food. Stuart begins a whole spiel about the tradition, how the name plate is -- in theory -- passed down to each young Minkus man who will go on to uphold the family legacy and invest in the family business.

A nice sentiment, but Farkle is a bit short on emotional bandwidth at the moment. He frowns, lifting his head to lock eyes with his father.

Farkle: What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

This is far from the traditional reaction. Jennifer scolds Farkle, Uri actually tuning into the conversation and Lila choking on her food to hold back a snort. But Stuart assures Jennifer that it’s fine, he just wasn’t clear about the purpose of the present.

Stuart, genially: It’s not so much functional as symbolic. It’s just meant to demonstrate how proud I am of you, and how excited I am for you to one day join me in the family business.

Farkle: But I’m… not. I’m not going into business.

To his credit, Stuart is a patient man. He nods, acknowledging Farkle’s current perspective with only a hint of condescension.

Stuart: Yes, we are all quite proud of the accomplishments you’ve made with the performing arts. [ off Farkle’s disbelieving expression ] I only mean for when you’re older, beginning to think more seriously about your future. When this performing fad passes --

Farkle: It’s not a fad. My passions are not a fad!

An argument unintentionally brews in the midst of all the tension, misguided good intentions and a frayed mental state making for a toxic combination. Stuart doesn’t appreciate Farkle’s waspish tone, turning the tables on him and asking what he expects his future to be then. At what point is he going to stop dreaming and start operating strategically? Farkle defends his ability to be strategic, pointing out that Stuart wouldn’t know what strides he’s making either way considering he’s never fucking around.

Jennifer attempts to end the open fire, but Stuart isn’t finished. He again reiterates the looming question of the future. What is Farkle’s grand plan, when all is said and done? This one stumps Farkle, as anything beyond living day-to-day has kind of felt unrealistic, and the actual notion of a capital-F future seems foggy. The truth is, he has no idea, and that sort of lack of preparedness is simply unacceptable.

While all eyes are on him for his response, Farkle pushes out of his seat and states he’s being excused. Stuart watches him go, immediately beginning to discuss with Jennifer in hushed tones what the hell that was all about. Ezekiel gives his father a comforting pat on the arm, reminding him that growth can take time.

Lila leans forward to pick up the name plate, looking at it with bland disinterest before offering it to Uri. He makes a face, swatting it away with his fork. Major pass.

INT. MINKUS HOME - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

That night, Farkle is crashed on the couch and tuning out everything else. He’s distracting himself by continuing to reread The Great Gatsby, the cover and spine cracked and the pages crinkled from use. It’s not the first time he’s read the novel, not by a long shot.

Jennifer comes in to check on him, perching on the back of the couch and reading over his shoulder for a moment. She comments on whatever is going on in the book, to which he hums in response but doesn’t start a conversation. She changes the subject, getting his attention and trying to placate the situation from earlier. She explains that his father is proud of him, they all are, things just aren’t all that simple when don’t meet one another’s expectations. Farkle doesn’t seem bothered either way, but that’s more likely due to repression than an actual acceptance of complexities to the situation.

She gives him another fond look, leaning forward and brushing some hair from his forehead.

Jennifer: My talented boy. [ softly ] I love you.

Farkle returns the sentiment, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Jennifer gives him one last pat on the cheek before heading to bed, turning off the main lights and leaving Farkle illuminated by the lamp on the side table.

Farkle continues to read, slouching further into the couch. The grandfather clock standing against the wall continues to tick on, creating a lulling tempo…

INT. MINKUS HOME - LATER - NIGHT

The room has gone dark, the lamp suddenly out on the table. Farkle has dozed off on the couch, the clock no longer ticking. His arm is dangling off the couch, still holding the novel loosely in his fingers… inches from the hardwood…

He drops it, the moment it hits the floor waking him with a start. He rouses with a deep inhale, sitting up on his elbow and rubbing his eyes. When he realizes he fell asleep on the couch he sighs, falling back onto the cushions and throwing his arm over his eyes.

That’s when he hears the rustling.

He immediately stiffens, eyes open wide as he listens more carefully. The movement from somewhere deeper in the house continues, although it’s not coming from the hall where all his family are fast asleep. Someone else is in there with him, and it’s not anyone he can account for.

Cautiously, Farkle climbs off the couch and eases back towards the other end of the living room. He searches for a way to defend himself, taking the fireplace poker off its holder and flipping it in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he slowly begins to ease his way towards the entryway where the sound seems to be coming from… squaring his shoulders… ready to do some serious diva damage if necessary…

When he spots the figure of the intruder and raises his weapon to attack, the stranger spinning around to face him catches him by surprise. He shouts, stumbling backwards and blinking to make sure he’s not making this up.

Eric: Careful with that, Farkle! You’ll take someone’s eye out with that thing.

Farkle: [ in disbelief ] Counselor Eric? What the hell are you doing in my house?

It’s not quite Eric, see. It’s Dream!Eric. He ignores Farkle’s query, brushing it off and instructing him to drop his weapon of mass destruction. If he does so, then he’s more than welcome to follow him. He was just heading out.

Farkle rubs his eyes, but no. Eric is still there, stepping out into the main hall and on his merry way. Farkle hesitates, before letting the poker clatter to the floor and taking off after Eric.

INT. MINKUS HOME - ELEVATOR HALL - NIGHT

As Farkle catches up to his dream counselor, Eric asks him if he’s feeling blue this holiday season. Disconnected, out of sorts. Farkle offhandedly comments that he wouldn’t limit it to just this time of year. The two of them stop in front of the elevators.

Eric wisely states that often times, people feel immense pressure during the holiday season. Higher expectations, more socializing, and the sheer emphasis that this should be the most wonderful time of year can lead to it always falling short. Sometimes, you could do with a little reminder of what’s really important. Which Eric is happy to help with… if Farkle is willing to take the journey. The elevator dings, the doors sliding open even though Eric never pressed the call button.

Oh, so it’s that kind of dream. Farkle wouldn’t think of himself as any George Bailey, but if Eric wants to It’s A Wonderful Life this sitch, then he supposes he might as well go along for the ride.

He steps into the elevator, glancing at Eric next to him then back out towards the familiarity of the hall to his family suite. As the doors slide closed…

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - NIGHT

When Farkle steps through the doors again, he’s emerged into the dressing room hall at AAA. On the wall next to him, a flyer for the Kossal audition is on display, as well as a signed poster of Les Miserables by the sophomore class. They’ve been transported back to last semester, before everything changed due to an ill-advised fit of emotion. Or, as Eric puts it:

Eric: Before the end of the world.

A good time, Eric says wistfully. Farkle doesn’t understand what he means, wondering why the hell he brought him here… when suddenly the sound of music catches his attention. It’s muted, muffled by the doors separating them from the auditorium. But it’s clear that Farkle recognizes it, remembering the memory associated with it.

He looks to Eric in confusion, who nods him along. He can explore as much as he likes, granted he can get himself to do it. Farkle gazes back towards the doors to the wings, tentatively making his way towards them. Then he’s walking faster, the music growing louder as he pushes through the doors --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Mambo No. 5 (a Little Bit of…)” as performed by Lou Bega || Instrumental

The song is already in full swing as Farkle enters the scenery, the classic jam playing over the speakers as the sophomore class is in the process of striking the set from Les Miserables. The performers and techies are working together efficiently, creating a fun time out of it by dancing around and goofing off as they get the work done.

It really is an entirely different era. Everyone is lively, comfortable, functioning as a class. Zay and Jeff have a playful dance off, Yindra cheering them on and NIGEL CHEY poking at JADE BEAMON to join the dance. Dylan and Asher are dancing together, Isadora weakly attempting to pull them back into work before they threaten to pull her into the dance too. Dylan manages it, Isadora laughing and surrendering seeing as it doesn’t seem likely work will get done anyway.

Charlie is goofing off with Haley and Clarissa, twirling the latter. Riley is all smiles as she grooves with Lucas, actually getting him to move a little bit as he spins her under his arm. And front and center of it all is Farkle and Maya, dancing back to back and being their full diva selves as they jam out to the bop. The way they used to be -- when they were friends.

Present-day Farkle navigates the scene as it unfolds around him, awestruck and struck by the nostalgia. He can’t remember the last time AAA felt like this, bright and hopeful and carefree. It’s a lot of fun to step back into, all that enthusiasm and camaraderie…

And even harder to watch disappear. As Farkle steps into the place of his former self the imagery melts away, leaving him standing alone on the empty stage. Dark, quiet, only the ghost light occupying the space with him and casting him in an eerie glow.

He’s startled from his reminiscing when another voice beckons him from the shadows of the audience. He squints, trying to get a good look.

Jack: Come along then, Mister Minkus. We don’t want to be late.

Dream!Jack, dressed professionally as always, doesn’t wait up. He marches back through the doors to the atrium, Farkle scrambling off the stage and running through the aisles to catch up.

INT. MINKUS HOME - ELEVATOR HALL - NIGHT

Farkle emerges from the elevator out of breath, surprised to be back in his hallway. He spins around to try and find Jack, scoffing and holding out his arms.

Farkle: That’s it, then? Giving up on my monster soul already?

Jack: Sarcasm is only charming in small doses, Mister Minkus.

Jack is in fact still there, hanging by the door to his apartment. Farkle approaches, commenting that he doesn’t see how sending him home is going to show him anything important. He spends enough time there alone. Jack corrects him, stating that he’ll find this is no ordinary version of his home. He explains that people often forget the imprint they leave on other people -- and that may be especially true within the Minkus clan.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

As they step back through the doors, it becomes clear what has changed in this version of their apartment. On the wall by the coat rack where all the children have their portraits hung up, Farkle is no longer present. This is a scape where Farkle is absent, a figment just like Jack rather than a member of the Minkus family.

Said family is gathered for dinner, business and enterprise dominating the conversation like usual. As far as Farkle can tell as he observes it… it doesn’t seem all that different. Uri looks a little less broody and well-dressed, given that his sibling pecking order changed, but otherwise it looks about the same.

But there are small details that Farkle isn’t picking up on. Like how Ezra is uncharacteristically quiet, far more muted and less eccentric than the way he is today. Lila is exchanging her digs with Uri instead, the two of them no longer semi-comrades in disdain but adversaries. The home is polished and well-maintained, but it also lacks something too. Behind where Farkle and Jack are watching, the grand piano is no longer in the living room.

Farkle states that it looks about the same to him. What did Jack expect to show him, his entire family being miserable without him? Unlikely, since none of them pay attention to one another anyway and he’s the black sheep as it is. Jack tries to point out the nuances but Farkle isn’t listening, pointing out all the ways things seem better, like how no one is arguing about their dreams or storming out of the dinner as an embarrassment to the family legacy.

Jack shifts gears, growing frustrated with his inability to see where he leaves an impact. He spins them to face the living room and throws them back into memories, a series of them shimmering like a mirage. Him and Ezekiel talking together on the couch in 112; his mother having him help cook when he was little, Farkle gabbing on and on with his unbridled energy and Jennifer laughing along; Farkle leading a younger Uri and Ezra in imaginary games, both of them enthralled and delighted as the fantastical story unfolds in their living room. Bringing creativity and unconventionality to a home that sorely needs it.

Then, a moment from a different Hanukkah season years ago. Stuart hands a nine-year-old Farkle his copy of The Great Gatsby, pride shining in his eyes as he gifts the brand new copy. Farkle takes it eagerly, giving his dad a hug and showing how there are common interests between them.

Present-day Farkle edges towards the warm memory, captivated. His eyes are shining with tears, Jack thinking he’s made his point.

Jack: Don’t you see that? Don’t you see how that feels?

Farkle: I see it… [ uncertainly ] But I don’t think I know it.

The feeling of that memory feels about as distant as the time it occurred. It fades, along with Jack, as Farkle settles back onto the couch and the room falls back into darkness. For a moment, Farkle debates going back to sleep to escape all the melancholy.

But the dream isn’t over yet. The grandfather clock chimes, startling him as it bangs out successive clangs to the midnight hour. But it continues to chime even after it should’ve stopped, confusing Farkle and causing him to rise and investigate it.

While the hands are lined up to midnight, the clock isn’t moving. The second hand doesn’t tick onward. It’s completely frozen.

Farkle reaches forward curiously, another familiar voice halting him from messing with the clock when they speak up from behind him.

Angela: Come on, Farkle.

He whips around, eyes wide as he spots his favorite teacher waiting patiently for him across the room. It’s Dream!Angela, and although she lacks the usual warmth and energy of the actress her presence alone is cause for emotion.

Angela: We really should get going.

Farkle lets out a strained exhale, jogging over and enveloping Angela in a hug. She doesn’t respond, as she’s merely a spiritual apparition, but the concept of the gesture alone seems to give Farkle some comfort. He embraces her tightly, only pulling back when she gently nudges him and takes his shoulders. She gives him a wise look.

Angela: We don’t dare be late for the future.

INT. FARKLE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

As they push through the doors, Farkle finds himself stepping into an unfamiliar apartment. It’s lavish although essentially vacant, the only object worth note being the grand piano that has relocated to the center of the room. Farkle looks to Angela uncertainly, who nods him forward.

Approaching the piano, a flyer becomes visible laying on top of the piano. Farkle reaches for it once he’s close enough, revealing that the flyer is actually a playbill. It’s a Broadway show -- although the details are nondescript, as they don’t matter -- and flipping to the inside, Farkle is first billed. He’s the star of the show. His big break.

Farkle: It’s… I’m… Angela. Angela, look --

He whips around to show her, the excitement wiped from his face when he realizes she’s gone. He’s alone again, facing this potentially successful future… with no one to share it with. Just him, a playbill, and a needlessly spacious apartment.

Angela: Do you remember what I told you, Farkle?

Angela is seated at the piano again, lightly playing a tune on the piano. Upon careful listening, one might be able to identify the diddy as the ending verse of “The World Was Wide Enough,” but it’s hardly the focus of the scene.

Angela: You once asked me if the dream was worth it. And I told you it was. Undoubtedly so. But I told you something else too. Do you remember?

Farkle looks down at the playbill, searching for the joy that seeing such a future should bring him. Then he gazes around the empty apartment, void and cold. The answer is quite simple.

Farkle: Empty.

INT. MINKUS HOME - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Farkle jolts awake, the lamplight illuminating the room signaling that we are in fact back in real time. The grandfather clock has resumed motion, ticking in its usual time. He tries to shake off a sense of panic, breathing uneven as he pushes himself into a sitting position. Footsteps in the kitchen behind him freak him out, glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes just as Ezekiel pokes his head out with a glass of water.

Ezekiel: Farkle? What are you doing out here?

Farkle wants to respond, but words aren’t working at the moment. Ezekiel notices his frazzled state, shifting gears and rushing over to ask him what’s wrong. Settling down on the couch next to him, he reaches out and tries to calm him down. Farkle flinches as his brother wipes tears from his cheek, ones he didn’t even realize he had shed.

Ezekiel: Must’ve just been a nightmare. But it might help if you weren’t sleeping out here on the couch. Come on, let’s get you some real rest, yeah?

Farkle allows his brother to help him up, hands clammy and shaky as he rises to his feet. Even as he goes, it’s clear from the haunted expression on his face that he won’t be forgetting that dream any time soon.

Behind them, The Great Gatsby lays forlornly on the floor.

PART V Somewhere in my memory, Christmas joys all around me, Living in my memory: all of the music, all of the magic, All of the family, home here with me…

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

Riley takes the final segmented part of our story, experiencing a torn existence within the apartment. She and Cory kick off their winter break by moving around all of their things, Riley beginning the process of moving her belongings into the more spacious bedroom.

As she drops her moodboard against the wall by the door, she questions if her father really wants to make this swap. He assures her he’s of sound mind, stating that the last thing he needs is a reminder of all that empty space haunting him. Gloomy. Besides, he goes on, with what Katy requested of him they may very well be giving Riley a roommate to share all the space with.

It’s clear Riley doesn’t know how she feels about that little detail, but she’s happy to provide help where help is needed. She’s feeling jarred enough swapping spaces in the apartment she’s lived in her entire life, she can’t imagine being removed from it entirely.

Their conversation is interrupted by Auggie cheering from the living room. They exchange a look, making their way out into the hall.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - DAY

As expected, Auggie’s fanfare is in response to the arrival of TOPANGA LAWRENCE. She gives him a tight hug and a big kiss on the cheek, offering the same enthusiastic greeting to Riley as she jogs over to greet her. She even grants Cory a familiar kiss on the cheek, obviously in good spirits due to the holiday season.

That, and she does seem simply generally happier. As if the decision to file for divorce and take control of her own life how she wants it is empowering, despite how effectively it’s caused a ripple effect to everyone else around her. It’s evident that she intends to treat this holiday season like any other, pretending everything is right as rain in favor of a good Christmas time.

This includes their annual holiday party. It’s tradition, and they sure won’t be slacking this year. She immediately launches into all of the things they’ll have to get cracking on, operating with that charming discipline she’s so well known for. Auggie grins up at Riley, who gives him a soft smile in return and nudges him along to follow their mother.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - LATER - DAY

Now in the process of preparations, Riley and Topanga work together to set up and decorate the Christmas tree. As they’re hanging ornaments, Riley ventures the question of how Topanga is liking her new place in Midtown. She claims it’s fine, and an invigorating change of pace, but she’s not certain she’ll be staying there long. It’s just a squatting place, a space to regroup until she can figure out where she truly thinks she would fit.

Riley plays along, suggesting some other areas of the island where her mother might thrive. Her phone ringing disrupts it, and although it’s clear she is savoring this actual attention from Topanga, seeing Isadora light up the screen makes her think she should take the call. She excuses herself, jogging back into the hall to her makeshift bedroom.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

Riley answers as soon as she’s alone, Isadora letting Riley know she believes she will be coming to her party. You know, if that’s still cool. Riley assures her that of course she’s more than welcome, she did send her an invitation after all. But she has to admit she’s confused as to why she’s not attending the techie party instead. That was likely going to be the same time, wasn’t it?

Isadora huffs, reluctantly stating that the techie party isn’t happening this year. The cause as to why it fell apart goes without saying, both of them quite aware of how Lucas has been acting as of late. Riley repeats the notion that Isadora is welcome with her.

Isadora murmurs that the holiday season certainly doesn’t feel much like the holiday season this year. Riley can’t help but concur, promising that she’ll see her soon as they end the call.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

And as the party edges closer and closer, the more true that seems to become. While Auggie is never around for the sharpest moments, Cory and Topanga begin exchanging digs and snapping at one another again. Although the apartment sure looks festive, it feels far from it.

As Cory and Topanga get into a tiff about one of the items on the food preparation list, Riley finally cracks. She questions why they’re even bothering to have the party in the first place, since working collaboratively seems to be such a burden for all of them. For appearances? To pretend like everything is fine and dandy? What a lovely, shallow Christmas vignette they make.

Topanga is surprised, and Cory tries to comfort her, but Riley escapes before either of them can get a word in edgewise. She disappears back into the hallway, her parents exchanging sheepish looks.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley retreats into her new room… only that doesn’t make her feel much better either. It’s in complete disarray, just like everything else, and now Maya’s added stuff feels even more overwhelming.

Without thinking, Riley grabs her coat and pulls it on in a hurry. Then she’s yanking open the bay window, climbing out onto the fire escape.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Where Are You Christmas” as performed by Faith Hill || Performed by Riley Matthews

As Riley emerges into the cold, snowy winter night, she takes a deep breath to center herself before quietly launching into an impassioned rendition of this ode to innocence lost. She begins making her way down the familiar streets of the city, the lights and charm of the holiday season the true visual spectacle of the performance.

But as usual, the true star are Riley’s vocals. They build in volume and power as her emotions escalate, reaching a fervent pitch as she makes it to the final part of the song. New York is her stage as she spins around the winter wonderland, lamenting how what used to be her favorite time of year suddenly feels as far away as everything else she once loved.

Even at the lowest times, Riley Matthews truly is too damn talented.

PART VI Everyone would have a friend, and right would always win, And love would never end, This is my grown up Christmas list...

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

It’s the night of all planned holiday festivities, settling us back in a coherent timeline. Riley and Maya are just finishing up getting their now shared room into a decent state, not bad for a couple days work. Maya says as much, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

After a moment, Riley gently reaches out and touches her arm.

Riley: I’m sorry about what happened with your mom.

Maya accepts the kindness, but brushes it off before she gets emotional again. She changes the subject, asking Riley who else is supposed to be showing up to this shindig tonight. Given that she has literally nowhere else she could be, she’s guaranteed at least one party guest.

Riley mirrors Maya’s mocking laugh, claiming that just about everyone from their class RSVP’d. After a beat, Maya curiously asks if that includes Farkle. The query seems more interested than derisive, which seems like a step in the right direction.

But Riley doesn’t have good news in that regard. She covers instead by expressing that Charlie is supposed to becoming, as well as Isadora. Maya wonders what happened to the techie thing if Isadora is planning to come, since she never told her any different. Odd, considering their new status of best friends. Riley opts not to say anything, however, the harsh pre-lapping tones of “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” say plenty…

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch” as performed by Thurl Ravenscroft || Instrumental (up to 1:00)

Lucas is seated at his kitchen table, a Grinch-like glower on his face while he’s lost in thought. He’s watching the snow fall outside, stuck in the apartment he hates but is now forced to be in full time. He’s twirling a wrapper in his fingers, absentmindedly twisting it until it starts to come apart with a simple tear. The music is playing from the small radio on the counter, underscoring the dark mood.

GRACE FRIAR pulls him out of his own head, entering the room and joining him at the opposite end of the table. She lightly questions what he wants to do for dinner, beginning to sort through mail. Lucas offers to go through the junk for her, which she declines at first but then allows when he extends the offer again. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget in this household that people can be helpful and kind.

Lucas moves to the counter as he sorts through it, stopping cold when he sees the invitation addressed to him. He removes it from the stack and gets a better look at it, recognizing Riley’s handwriting in an instant. He holds it delicately in his fingers for a long moment, obviously contemplative…

Then it falls into the trash can with all the rest of the junk.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” as performed by Kelly Clarkson || Instrumental

The radio switches to Kelly Clarkson as the Grinch wraps up, a knock at the door surprising both Grace and Lucas. They exchange perplexed looks, Grace asking if he’s expecting anybody. He shakes his head, cautiously approaching the front door to check it out.

When he opens it, he’s immediately accosted by what seems to be the full assembly of the techie crew. Jade is at the front of the pack, carrying their box of decorations and giving Lucas a cheerful greeting as she pushes past him and into the apartment. Dave is next, carrying a small tree in his arms; then Jeff; then Nate, who gives him a playful punch on the shoulder as he lets himself inside.

Lucas turns to watch them take over his apartment, shell-shocked. They’ve got all the goods necessary for their tradition -- food, decorations, gifts -- and start setting up and spreading the cheer without a second thought. Grace pokes her head out uncertainly from the kitchen, Dave immediately rushing over to greet her and shaking her hand enthusiastically.

Dave, loudly: Hi, wow, you’re Mrs. Friar! I’m Dave. I love what you’ve done with the place --

Lucas whips back around to the doorway, finding Asher and Dylan standing together with smug smiles on their faces. They’ve got their hands clasped in front of them and are dressed for the weather, Dylan’s cheeks rosier than ever as they greet him.

Dylan: Greetings, Mr. Grinch.

Slowly, Lucas starts to piece together what’s happening as his shock wears off. He glances back at the party beginning to unfold and his mother being happily guided into the festivities, obviously surprised but not opposed to this unexpected holiday cheer. It’s not a common occurrence in this apartment.

Lucas shakes his head, looking back to his friends with a sheepish look on his face. Clearly appreciative, even if he doesn’t know how to express it.

Lucas: You guys didn’t have to do this.

[ Asher and Dylan exchange knowing looks, raising their eyebrows. ]

Asher, matter-of-factly: Yeah, we did.

Dylan: Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.

Both of them move forward at once, sandwiching Lucas in a warm hug. Dylan gives him a peck on the side of the head, grinning. Lucas stiffens at first… but then smiles in spite of himself.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - NIGHT

Zay is finishing up getting ready for Riley’s party, Jada and Omar laughing about something in the living room behind him. He’s pulling on his shoes when there’s a knock on their door as well, Donna moving to answer it.

Zay: You expecting someone?

Donna: No, are you?

Either way, there’s clearly someone there. When Donna pulls open the door, Charlie is standing there on the doorstep and quickly turns to face them from looking around at the neighborhood. He looks like a deer in headlights for a second until he remembers that he drove all the way here and chose to do this.

Zay is equally stunned. He blinks at him, trying to figure out if he’s imagining him.

Zay: Charlie? What are you doing here?

Charlie tosses a glance towards him, before clearing his throat and holding out his hand to introduce himself to Donna. She accepts the gesture, stepping back to allow him to step into the house. Charlie states that he’s one of Zay’s good friends from AAA, and apologizes for the fact that he couldn’t make it to the dinner she arranged.

Donna: Oh, well, that’s fine honey. There’s always next time.

Charlie, boldly: [ looking at Zay ] I’ll be there.

Omar and Jada are watching with extreme interest from the living room, Donna subtly questioning what exactly he’s doing there right now. Charlie seems to remember that detail, laughing nervously and explaining that he and Zay are both going to Riley’s party tonight. He promised he’d give him a ride, save him a little gas money.

Jada starts to question if that makes any sense -- does Charlie live around here too? -- but Zay quickly bids them farewell and ushers them out the door before any of them can grill him.

EXT. BABINEAUX HOME - NIGHT

Zay takes his arm and guides him a little ways down the block, wondering what he’s doing there and how he even managed to get all the way out here in this weather.

Charlie: [ holding up his keys ] I’ve got wheels now, remember?

Zay, stunned: … you drove here?

Charlie nods, pocketing his key ring again. That might be one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for Zay. He’s speechless, trying to wrap his mind around it, as Charlie continues with an explanation.

Charlie: You’re not doing all the labor in our relationship anymore. Emotional or otherwise. I felt terrible about… well, a lot of things, and… I just want you to know I’m in this. I know I’m all over the place but… I’m serious about what we have. I’m serious about you. I’m trying, Zay. I’m really trying.

Zay, softly: I know. I know.

Charlie smiles lightly. He unzips his coat about halfway to show that he’s wearing the sweatshirt, Zay unable to hold back a smile.

Charlie: Sorry I still haven’t gotten you something in return.

Zay: Dude, what you just did? Driving all the way here and then... [ nodding to his house ] That’s the best present you could’ve ever gotten me.

Charlie grins, nodding. Pointedly, he steps forward -- closer than usual in public, although it is dark and in the suburbs -- and slips his hand in Zay’s pocket to hold his hand.

The two of them exchange another fond smile, beginning the walk to Charlie’s car.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

Riley is playing hostess as her friends from school arrive, dancing around and making sure everyone is having a great time. Nigel and Yindra try to get her to relax, but she feels better up and about. She’s hosting the party, and yet she’s hardly participating in it.

She rushes to answer the door when Zay and Charlie arrive together, greeting both of them warmly. There’s still an awkward beat between Riley and Charlie, but it feels less hopeless than before. She gestures for them to make themselves at home, the two of them stepping into the apartment just as Isadora shows up behind them.

She doesn’t look very cheerful, all things considered. Riley states that she’s happy she made it, which Isadora nods along to but still seems dazed. Out of sorts. Not where she’s usually supposed to be on this night.

Riley senses her apprehension. Gently, she guides Isadora inside and leads the way through the crowd, the door closing behind them.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley and Isadora are situated on the bay window seat, cooped up and escaping the crowd for a minute. For the first time they really get the chance to talk, expressing how things have felt so off this year, right up until the last few days of the calendar year. Isadora feels more disjointed than ever, and Riley can relate given that they’re literally sitting in a half-sorted bedroom.

Still, Riley has to have hope. She has to believe things will work out, even if it’ll take some time to get there. Isadora shakes her head, laughing in spite of herself.

Isadora: I have no idea how you do that. How can you manage to be hopeful when just about everything has given you a reason not to?

Riley: Because if I don’t… [ with a shrug ] then who will?

A lot of pressure to carry on one girl’s shoulders, but something she’s clearly determined to do regardless. Isadora claims that’s always been her best trait -- the reason they all warmed up to her in the first place. The reason Lucas liked her so much, definitely. They all need some of that energy in their own lives, she supposes.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Believe” as performed by Josh Groban || Performed by Riley Matthews & Isadora De La Cruz

Riley starts the thoughtful duet, reflecting the odd emotional state they’re all existing in right now. “We were dreamers not so long ago” is apt enough, and it’s not long before Isadora joins in to harmonize on the chorus. It’s a soft shared moment of vulnerability between them.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

Their voices carry over the rest of the episode as we touch base with the small moments of hope encompassing everyone else. Spirits are high at the Matthews party, a majority of their class enjoying the time together. Maya holds court with a gaggle of the performers, exuding charisma to cover for the hurt she’s grappling with inside. Zay and Charlie actually sit next to one another as they chat with Yindra and Nigel, bumping elbows and exchanging smiles and allowing themselves to just be.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The same warmth is radiating from the techie gathering, where they’ve fully set up their decorations and are just settling into energetic and gleeful conversation. Dylan has his arm around Asher as they’re seated in front of the couch, Lucas coming to settle down next to them and in front of Grace seated on the couch.

He passes a cookie to her over his shoulder, Grace giving him a grateful smile. Actually enjoying the holiday for the first time in forever, love filling a space that usually feels so cold.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

All on his own, Farkle carefully lights the first candle for Hanukkah. He tends to the small flame gently, lifting his gaze to glance out at the wintery landscape of the city laid out before him.

So high above it all, trapped in his version of reality.

END OF EPISODE.

#S2 #episodes #205 #well.... yes. well.

12 notes · View notes

ethertae · 6 years

Text

Hurricane - Jeon Jungkook (M)

Hurricane (part 1)

Beautiful moodboard by @introsgf

Word count: 7.7k

Summary: You love Jungkook, and he loves you. But he lives with the stars, and you simply content yourself to look at the night sky from a dead field, desperate to reach for something you know will never truly be yours.

Genre: angst, light smut. Ex-boyfriend! Jungkook.

Warnings: light smut. This is not the depiction of a healthy relationship, this is fiction - pls don’t let yourself be emotionally abused this way (even though it may not seem extreme, it really is.) Jungkook, here, is a character that needs development, so it will be easier to understand the actual issue - we’ll dig into his mindset in the second part.

Requests: open

+ (playlist for the story)

(A/N: I know Namjoon’s figurines cost more than 3000 dollars – rich boy, lmao – but this an au where they cost about 50 -70 dollars)

You’re awake again.

The light from your television screen is the only thing that allows you to see in the otherwise dark room. You can’t fall asleep. The noise is drowned out by your solitude – this time of night is the only moment you can seem to think. You are used to it now.

He’s back.

Images of him appearing at your doorstep, with a hurt and lost gaze, flashes before your eyes. A part of you expects him to come. It’s been two days, and still no news. You let yourself think you don’t want to see him anymore; that his face would only bring out a deep-seated anger, one that has accumulated over the years, from all the times he left you.

You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, shivering from the cold air that wanders from the open window and into your living room. Whether you like to admit it or not, you miss him. Your heart can’t help but yearn for the way he would wrap his arms around you at night, being the one to shield you from the bitter cold. But, you can’t. You can’t let him in again.

A buzz resounds, breaking the low murmur of your television show. The rate of your heartbeat increases, a pitiful twinge of hope curling your stomach. Picking up your phone, you unlock the screen.

2 messages from chimchim:

[Y/N, go to sleep…]

[stop doing this, it isn’t healthy.]

You frown – does Jimin know he is back too?

Of course, he does. He is one of his closest friends afterall. You decide not to answer; you don’t want him to worry about you. You would rather let him think you are asleep. You hear another chime.

A message from chimchim:

[I hope you are really asleep, and not just ignoring my messages -_-]

2 messages from Jeon Jungkook:

[Y/N]

[Are you still awake?]

You do a double take, blinking away your fatigue to make sure you aren’t seeing things.

It’s him.

Your heart feels as if it is lodged in your throat. You heave, chest rising up and down, because it’s him. Eyes sweeping over the message multiple times, a flood of emotions invade you. Six months. It’s been six months, and he has texted you.

You stare blankly at the screen for several minutes. A shaky breath leaves you, and you swallow the big lump, feeling as though your esophagus could tear apart from the width.

You’re scared, because he’s back. You’re frustrated, because he’s back. You’re despaired, because he’s back.

You’re relieved – because he’s back.

And no matter how hard you try to hate him, forget him each time he disappears, you can’t bring yourself to. Jungkook knows that, so he uses it. Uses your love for him, so he can come back, just to make you fall harder and then leave. He tells you, this time is the right one, this time he’s ready, but you wake up alone a few weeks later with a note on your dresser, saying that he can’t be tied down.

It started five years ago, when you were still a freshman in college, and he was a junior. You met through Jimin. You were sweet, naïve, and Jungkook was the mysterious boy, who had all the girls at his feet but wouldn’t give any the time of the day. He intrigued you, and although he would constantly say, you weren’t his type of girl, the tension was undeniable. And you were relentless in tearing at his cool exterior, till one night, he finally caved and kissed you at Jimin’s Christmas party - had you into a shuddering mess with the way your clothes bunched up under his large hands. Now, you say your stupid-self was too curious for your own good, too in love with him to see past what he really is – a coward. All he knows how to do is run – run away from his feelings as soon as they are too much to handle.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

Should you?

You think about all the times he hurt you.

No, you shouldn’t.

2 messages from Jeon Jungkook:

[I’m sorry]

[I miss you]

A whimper escapes your lips – your heart clenches painfully, writhing as though it has been stabbed. He always does this, and you always fall for it. You can’t, not again.

Looking at the ceiling, you turn off your phone. The lights in the shadows of your walls, travel with the pass of each car, and you keep your eyes transfixed on the movement. Maybe if you don’t give him a reason to stay, he’ll leave sooner. Maybe this time, if you don’t cave in, he won’t come back. Unconsciously, you ache at the thought of never seeing him again.

You let your head touch the rough material of your couch, legs curled against your chest, and blanket tight around your trembling body. You won’t let him, no you won’t.

Tears glide along your temple.

No. Not this time.

“What are you doing?” Jimin berates, grabbing the expresso that is tightly clutched in your hands. He runs to the nearest trash can, trench coat swaying with him, and throws the cup in.

You gasp, “You ass, I needed that!”

You shuffle to the bin, looking inside longingly before glaring at Jimin. You do indeed need it, you haven’t been sleeping much this past week, and Jungkook hasn’t contacted you since that night. It doesn’t sit well with you.

“It was your fourth cup, and it’s ten in the morning. You need to calm down.”

Jimin starts to walk ahead of you, and you pick up your pace to catch up with him. He is quiet as he advances, trying to reach your destination quickly, but you find the silence stressful – any type of distraction from your thoughts would be welcomed.

You wrap your coat tighter around yourself, regretting the fact that you didn’t put on gloves before stepping out in this treacherous cold.

“Jimin?” You whisper, unsure whether to start this conversation or not, but it has been tearing through your mind incessantly for the past week, so you ask anyway.

“Have you –“ you take a deep breath, the cold air burning your lungs, “have you seen Jungkook?”

He doesn’t react, like you thought he would – he was expecting it – instead, he sighs.

“Yes, Y/N.”

You nod, a stillness invading the air around you, even more so in the dead of winter. You try to tell yourself that it was enough information, that you don’t need to know any more of it – but you do. You always do.

You rush out, “how is he?”

Jimin takes a moment to look at you, hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his coat. He regards you silently for a moment before answering, “He’s fine. He asked the same about you.”

You’re speechless, lump caught in your throat, and heart palpitating so fast, you fear it might stop. You bite your lip, eyes directing themselves in front of you, leaving Jimin’s flushed face.

“Don’t get any ideas, Y/N.”

You nod, breaking from your reverie, “Of course not, Jimin. It’s over. It’s been over.”

“It’s for the best.”

“I know.”

Your trek continues in absolute silence, walking down numerous streets and under the grey sky, to finally get where both of you have been planning to go for the past few months. But, you kept putting it off because of your busy schedules.

You exhale when you finally enter the figurine shop, the warmth of the heated room engulfing you in a hug. You look around – the shop is small, and shelves line the walls, rare collectable figurines arranged neatly on them.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask Jimin, whose already deep in the shop, touching the delicate objects that are displayed.

“I’m super late on Joonie’s present, and I promised him something cool. And, you said you’d help me choose.”

“Ah yes, I remember. And, Joonie’s birthday was 2 months ago.”

“Shush, I’ve been busy – I did the cake, okay?”

You cackle, touching the wings on a beautiful fairy figurine – she’s crouched, hands touching the ground and expression sorrowful, like she’s lost something – you find you relate to her.

“Damn –“ Jimin’s voice startles you, and you almost knock down the delicate fairy, but stabilize it quickly, checking around if anybody has seen.

“They have all sorts of figurines, they vary so much – Hey, come here, this is the sort of stuff Namjoon likes.”

You reach Jimin. Observing the collectables along with him, you notice that most of these Namjoon already owns. You made sure to sneak into his room and take a picture of his figurines, so you wouldn’t end up buying one he already has. You take out your phone, finding the picture, and looking from the device to the shelves of packaged items.

“Chim, he doesn’t have this one,” you crouch, picking one from the bottom shelf, it seemed to be matching one of the sets in the photo.

“We have to go shopping for Jin and Tae’s birthdays soon.” You add as an afterthought, suddenly remembering your other friends’ birthdays would barely be a month from now.

He groans, “Don’t remind me.”

He takes the covered object from your hand, and you show him the picture. Jimin smiles, seemingly happy with the choice and taps your nose, before sauntering off to the cash register.

You follow him, stopping beside him and clutching the counter. The nervous tap of your foot starts as your mind wanders to places you’ve been mulling over repeatedly. Has he changed the color of his hair again? Is he okay? Is he hurting as much as you are?

“Hey, Y/N – so,” Jimin clears his throat, uneasiness clear on his soft features, “um – so, we are going to be having drinks at Seokjin’s place, later tonight…with Jungkook – you know, to celebrate his return – and, well, it would be weird for you not to be there.”

The awkward tension is palpable, Jimin making sure to look anywhere but at you. He takes out his wallet, handing out the necessary cash to the man behind the counter and thanks him, bidding goodbye.

You amble at his side, too busy replaying his terrifying words over and over in your head, to answer him. The cold air hitting your face – as he opens the glass door to the streets – is like a harsh wakeup call, and you struggle to make the words pass your lips.

“Oh – yeah. That’s fine.”

“I mean, don’t feel like you have to – we would totally understand if you don’t come” He trails off, looking far into the distance at what seems to be the Christmas lights decorating a lonely lamp post. You have always wondered about that, why they bring out the festivities so early in the season.

“No, no! It’s fine, I’m fine…. I’m okay.”

He eyes you briefly, honey colored hair following the currents of the wind – “are you sure?”

When you don’t answer, he sighs – his perception getting the better of him. You’re spacing out again, and he doesn’t have the heart to tear you away from the visual novel playing over in your head.

“Hm, do you want to have some mulled wine?” he dares to ask, sending you a wink.

You look up at him, perceiving the small grin hidden by his thick red scarf, “It’s only 10:30 in the morning, Jimin.”

“So, what? We both need it. Plus, mulled wine is so good.”

You can’t help the subdued smile that molds your features, almost imperceptible but there. “I guess I wouldn’t mind some spices in my system.”

You pass by a small bar, one which sells the hot beverage you crave, a special you can only find during the holidays (- or at least when it nears the holidays, if you can call a month near). Entering it, you take in the bad interior décor. The dimmed lights of the bar illuminate the room in an almost welcoming way, the poorly strung Christmas ornaments adding a sad touch to the already uncommon view of a bar so early in the morning. One too few people, most of which are splayed on the tables, populate the dark box – if it weren’t for the windows, it would feel as if you were in a homely cave.

Sitting at a table as close to the windows as possible, you relish in the comfiness of the sunken seat you placed yourself in. The waiter comes with a disgruntled expression, a notepad in hand, and judgement evident in his beady eyes.

Jimin orders for the both you, falling back in his chair once the odd man leaves, “what do you think got his panties in a twist?”

“He probably thinks anybody that comes to a bar this early in the morning must have issues.”

“Well, obviously, that’s why we’re here.” The blonde jokes, prodding the chipped wood of your table with his small fingers.

“Har, har” you tease, pressing your hands together and blowing warm air into the space created between your palms, proceeding then to rub them together, till you feel the tingle of rushing blood. Winter has come early this year.

“Here,” the man comes back, dropping your drinks off, and leaving dismissively with the tray nested in his pit, before you even have the chance to thank him.

“Do you think he spit in our wine?” Jimin whispers, and glances down at the hot beverage, mocking worry laced in his brown eyes.

“I hope not,” you say, taking a tentative sip at the cinnamony goodness of your mulled wine.

Jimin hums in approval, a small, involuntary crinkle to his nose as he inhales the spicy aroma that now lingers in the air around you. The endearing twitch makes you smile, mouth curving upwards in subtle delight.

Slowly, your thoughts start drifting, and your grip loosens around your sturdy paper cup, eyes focusing on the small slice of orange floating around in the murky red. Your thoughts wander to Jungkook.

You remember the first Christmas you spent together.

You visited your family with him, since he mentioned he had none of his own. And, when you tried to press on the matter, he would only get eerily quiet, refusing to deliver any other information. Your family disliked him – you saw it as soon as he stepped into the threshold, their critical gazes eating up the way his hair was dyed an extravagant pink.

But, you didn’t care, you didn’t realize the importance of family approval or judgement.

You remember the champagne induced buzz you felt at the Christmas party, belly filled with pot roast, and filth being whispered in your ear, while Jungkook traced teasing circles on your lower back. You remember the way he pushed you against the bed, mapping out your body in the room of your childhood and teenage years spent fantasizing such things would happen.

You also remember the absence of his warmth the next morning, duffle bag gone along with everything he wore the night before. A note was left neatly on top of your dresser, written on the paper you used to confess your secrets on at 14.

That was the very first time he left you.

When you made it down to breakfast, you were sure to have your tears dry and a small smile plastered on your face. You excused him, lies leaving your lips messily – some sort of nonsense, like he had an emergency back home that needed to be tended to immediately.

Your mom saw right through the act – somehow – even though you felt like you had hidden it well enough. And, instead of chastising you, and giving you a meaningless lecture, she comforted you and explained to you the hardships of going through heartbreak.

Jungkook was your first real heartbreak. And, as unbelievably simpleton as it sounds, he was your first everything.

“– I’m thinking about getting a cat, and naming it Yoongi, just to piss Yoongles off. I want to get back at him for making fun of my love for candles.”

You shake your head and laugh, memory still in the forefront of your mind. “He’s going to kill you. But, make sure you buy a cat that’s as cute as him.”

“Sure thing,” he smirks, bringing the cup to his lips, twinkle in the boy’s eyes as he thinks about the man he loves, but is too afraid to tell.

“You know,” you look at him intently, “if you just told Jungkook how you feel.”

“Jungkook?”

Blanching – you stutter, correcting yourself, “sorry – sorry, I meant Yoongi.”

“Hm,” you avoid Jimin’s intense stare, “should we practice?”

You scrunch your face in confusion, “Practice?”

“Yeah, what you’re going to say in front of Jungkook.”

“What – why?”

“So, you don’t say anything stupid, or incredibly awkward. We both know words are not your forte when you’re nervous.”

“Who isn’t awkward when nervous?”

“Me,” he clicks his tongue, finishing the last drop of his wine.

With a roll of your eyes, you gesture for him to continue. He beams, adding quickly, “it’s for you, and the sake of all of us that I’m doing this. I don’t wanna have to kick myself from the tension tonight.”

“Ok, so what I think you should do is not really talk to him.”

“What? How is that not awkward?”

“– let me finish,” he wags his finger.

“So, as I was saying, don’t really talk to him tonight, I think you guys should rehash your problems alone – but,” he looks at you dead in the eye, “I swear don’t fall for his shit again, or I’ll kill both of you. I love Kook, but he’s a complete douche.”

You purse your lips, hands laying atop your thighs, and the tap of your foot starting again. No, you cannot be alone with him. No, definitely not. You play with your fingers, eyes strained on the way your thumbs twiddled together.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be alone with him. I don’t want to talk to him anyway.”

“Good,” Jimin nods, a big enthusiastic smile gracing his lips, almost as if he hadn’t been giving you serious advice just mere moments ago. You find the small crinkle of his eyes strangely reassuring, because they’re so kind especially when he smiles, “don’t worry everything will be fine, it’ll go by super quick.”

You almost believe him

“Seokjin! Hurry up, it’s freezing!” Jimin knocks harder on the wooden door.

“Can you wait, you brat!”

An annoyed Jin opens the door - you and Jimin shuffle in the house immediately, desperate to escape the cold of nightfall. But, as soon as you hear the clang, your chest feels heavy. You can’t leave now. You’re trapped here – with Jungkook.

“Hey,” Jin hugs you, a waft of vanilla tickling your nose pleasantly, you take in his comforting scent with a soft sigh. His arms leave your back, and so do yours, taking a step back to stand at his side.

“Where’s my hug, hyung?”

“You don’t get one, because you’re disrespectful.”

You decide to leave your friends in the entryway, making your way to Seokjin’s bathroom, maybe to throw up, or hide the entire time? Yes, that sounds good.

You pass the numerous doors that line the hallway, rushing to reach the last one, which has a cute plaque marked ‘restroom’ in cursive. Your shaking fingers meet the metallic knob, and twist it open, switching on the light.

Closing the door behind you, you pull down the cover to the toilet seat and sit on top of it. You take off your coat, the thickness suffocating considering the heated rooms of Seokjin’s home. You lay it on your lap.

Okay. So. You are going to see Jungkook. You are not going to talk to him. It’s as simple as that. You also will NOT cry when you see him. No. That you won’t do.

You heave a shaky breath, rising and convincing yourself that it is way time you start facing your fears. You look at yourself in the mirror that hangs over the small sink – you look, normal, casual – no – you look half dead. You feel like you have been through a zombie apocalypse, died, then came back to life.

You shake your head. No! No! You look great, damn it!

You open the door and pinch the bridge of your nose, turning to walk out of the hallway. But, you stop in your tracks, the sight almost making you jump out of your skin – it’s like you see a ghost, and Jungkook is standing right in front of you.

“Y/N –“ he exhales, taking in your appearance with depraved eyes.

“J-Jungkook?” You splutter, shock splayed across your features with how much he has changed. He no longer has blond hair, instead he decided to dye it black – it sweeps his forehead gently, longer around the edges and you have the sudden urge to run your fingers through them, like you have always done in the past.

God, you missed him. God, do you just want to run into his arms and pretend he hasn’t left you so many times before.

Your gaze falls onto the way his lower lip is no longer bare; how it’s now so beautifully decorated by a ring, and how it rests at the edge undisturbed. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the way he looks at you – his stare filled with remorse, like all the other times he begged for your forgiveness, falling to his knees in front of you and laying his head on your stomach as you cried, because you already knew he had you under his spell.

You both stand there – immobile, waiting for the other to utter a word, to break the trance. It’s almost as if a dark cloud nestles itself above your heads, still silent but preparing something that none of you anticipate, because you say to yourself that if you make it through this, then you are home free. The reunion is always the hardest; the moment you see him after months of expecting his return, you crack. But, this time, you won’t let yourself be so foolish.

Hesitating, he takes a step forward, and you take one back, brows knit in caution. He stops upon seeing your dejection, lips upturned and face sullen – he speaks, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” you whisper, the image of him almost too hard to bear, you feel as though you are dreaming.

He nods, “I’m glad.”

Silence. Tension.

It’s suffocating.

Heat starts rising all over your body, beads of sweat rolling off in unconventional places – you can’t handle this, you need to get out of here.

“Jungkook? Y/N?” Namjoon makes an appearance at the end of the hall, your panicked eyes make contact with his surprised ones.

“Uh –“ he nearly gets whiplash with how fast his neck twists from you to Jungkook, “let’s go to the living room, guys…”

Coughing, he rubs his throat nervously and walks out of sight, running for protection and away from the dark cloud that looms over you.

You brush past Jungkook, lips sealed into a tight line, and unable to help the tremble that overtakes you when you catch his sent – it hasn’t changed, it never will. You hear the clonk of his boots follow you to where the boys are, their incessant whispers coming to a halt as soon as they feel your presence in the room.

“Hey, guys!” Hoseok chirps, large smile in place; subtly trying to diffuse the tension with a friendly pat to the cushion, pointing out the free seat at his side.

You shuffle to get there, a quiet sigh leaving you when your back makes contact with the plushy feel of Jin’s couch. Hoseok wraps an arm around your shoulder and leans in to whisper, “it’s fine – breathe.”

“Thank you, hobi.”

Nodding, he parts from you and unweaves his limb from your shaking frame. Yoongi clears his throat, bottle of soju in hand and shifts in his seat.

“So – Jungkook! It’s nice to see you again, man. It’s been a long time, and I think it’s safe to say that we all missed you – even though you’re a pain in the ass,” Yoongi takes a swig from the bottle, “someone get glasses, I need to get drunk.”

Jungkook laughs lightly, “I missed you too, man.”

“Yeah, whatever – glasses, we need glasses,” the older boy points at the bottle, a small raise to his eyebrows.

Seokjin hauls himself up, muttering something as he huffs in annoyance, “I’ll get the glasses, you lazy ass.”

“I bought the booze,” Yoongi retorts, a grimace curving his nose and morphing the line of his lips.

Hoseok laughs, booming sound piercing your eardrums, and you look down at your feet, from fear of meeting Jungkook’s gaze if your eyes strain in his direction, and you know they would.

Suddenly, your mind reals you back to a particular conversation you had with Jungkook years prior, the memory washing over you in a wave of melancholy.

「The wind blew and intertwined with the long patches of grass, weaving through trees and creating reassuring sounds of despair and lamentation. It yearned to reach the stars in the night sky, but it only met the kiss of nature and the tufts of yours and Jungkook’s hair.

You stole glances at the boy who stared longingly at he open sky, lips parted in slight awe as he lied in the back of his pickup truck, with you by his side.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever wonder what’s it like being a star?”

You frowned at his question, “a burning ball of gas?”

He snorted, shaking his head, “you know what I mean. To be contemplated by millions every night; to be free, and unattainable?”

The crease in your brow deepened, “No, I’ve never thought of that,” you casted a glance at the light that was so out of reach yet illuminated darkness and offered hope to an endless tunnel of despair. “But you know that the stars that are here tonight won’t be the same ones that you see in a couple of months.”

“Stop it with that Y/N,” he huffed, a smile spreading across his face, “I mean, to be so admired, and still be out of reach?”

“Like celebrities?”

“Something like that – “

“I guess that’s why we call them stars… why? You want to be a star?” you teased, rising into a sitting position.

“I don’t know,” he propped himself up by his elbows, “I just want something more; to be remembered. I hate this – staying here, going to college, and for what? Just so I can work an office job and come home depressed and complaining about how much my life sucks?”

Wordlessly, you contemplated the downcast glint in his eyes, how the wondrous twinkle in his eye captured the light that shone on you; it was filled with hope, possibilities.

“I don’t know what I want to do with life, but I know it isn’t this.”」

You blink, eyes immediately searching for his face despite promising yourself that you wouldn’t. The light in his eyes – it’s gone. When did it burn out?

“Y/N, take your cup,” Hoseok shoves the shot glass in your face, urging you to take it. So, with a shake to your fingers, you do.

The strong stench of the liquor drowns out your senses, and you wince at the sting it brings to your eyes – it’s been a while since you have gotten drunk.

“To Jungkook, and his return –“ Namjoon shouts happily raising his glass, and clinking it with Jimin’s, who gives you wary glance.

“To Jungkook!”

But it doesn’t go without a scoff, “he’ll be gone in like a week.”

Heads turn towards Yoongi, “fine, sorry – to Jungkook.” He chuckles, downing the glass and licking his lips as if it were water, already thirsty for more.

“Hit me up again.”

Taehyung complies, serving Yoongi, then bringing the liquor to his lips. His forehead creases in distaste – he never did like strong alcohol.

“So,” Taehyung coughs, liquor still burning his throat, “Kook, how has life been? What did you do while you were away?”

“Uh,” Jungkook sneaks a glance at you, and you’re too busy, making sure the last drop of alcohol has dripped onto your tongue, to notice. “Well –“ your head snaps to meet his eyes, the sound of his voice like the chime of distant bells to your ears.

“- I just traveled around the country, nothing much…”

“Ah –“ Taehyung trails off.

“Yah! Speak up! What did you do around the country?” You recognize Jimin’s voice – he’s uncomfortable, you can tell, this is exactly what he didn’t want, so he tries to break the tension.

“I stayed in motels, drank beer, and got a job as a pizza delivery guy – Jesus, will you chill.”

You take the time Jungkook is distracted, to memorize every new detail of his features – he has a scar on his jaw that wasn’t there before. You need more alcohol. Yes. That’s what you need.

“Ho-hoseok? More Soju, please?”

He gives a languid smirk, filling your shot glass to the brim, and you tip it – the rancid liquid carving its way in your system.

“More?”

The colorless drink slides down your throat for a third time.

Two bottles in, and all of you are hopelessly drunk.

“So, I said to the dude, you can’t touch my rap skills, and he was like yes, I can, so we had a rap battle, and I beat the shit out of his ass.” Yoongi slurs, a lazy laugh exposing his small teeth.

“When was that?” Namjoon chuckles, hand running up and down Jin’s thigh, who is already passed out, and sprawled at the end of the couch.

“When, I was like 17 – damn, I miss rapping, I haven’t rapped in more than 8 years”

“Wanna have a rap battle?” Namjoon wiggles his brows, standing up abruptly and nearly knocking Jin off the edge.

“Fuck, yeah!”

You can’t even think – your mind barely registering your surroundings. You feel awful. You want to throw up, cry, and cry again. Hoseok sits next to you, flushed red to his ears with a blank expression on his face, you find it is quite a funny sight. You giggle stupidly despite the acid churning in your stomach, threatening to climb up and spill everything you’ve eaten today.

Jungkook is staring at the ceiling, legs spread apart - he whispers, “Do you hate me, Y/N?”

You don’t hear.

Gibberish resounds in the room as Yoongi spits out random lyrics. Your eyes flutter shut, head bobbing to what seems like fantastic rap in your alcohol induced state.

“Ha!” Taehyung cackles, “Yoongi is so gonna beat Namjoon!” Arms find purchase at his sides, as he doubles over laughing.

“Naaah! I have my bets on Jooniiie! You hear that Yoongles? Namjoon is going to beat you, and my love for candles will live on! Come on, Joon!”

“Jungkook,” you hum absentmindedly, heart reaching out before your mind has time to react, “why do you always leave me?”

His neck turns abruptly, gaze burning holes into your stirring form. Did you just speak to him?

Your eyes droop, and you fight the urge to fall asleep, “well?”

“Y/N,” he starts, ignoring your question and opting to beg instead, “please forgive me,” he whimpers - barely audible in the mindless chatter that drowns the room. His sweet features bear unmistakable pain and regret – just like they always do when he comes slithering back.

“No – I want to know why.” You demand, the pitch of your tone a tad whiny under all the intoxication.

“Please – forgive me –“

Your eyes threaten to give out.

“Why do you always leave me?” You whisper, a tiny sob retches from your lips before you pass out.

You have been able to avoid Jungkook for the past 4 days. He hasn’t texted nor called you; and even though you say to yourself that it is necessary, a small part of you craves his mere presence.

You’re done with work, after an exhausting night of photocopying sheets and sheets of paper your boss ‘absolutely’ needed, you finally head home – at 10 p.m.

The sad part is, you always end up working overtime – your superior seems to like making you suffer.

You grumble at the thought of her high heels and her ruby red lipstick, the shape of her pantsuit taking on her perfect curves. You admire her level of sophistication, one you can never achieve – but bitterness doesn’t fail to invade you at the thought of her commandeering voice when she orders you to photocopy her stupid forms.

The lack of an elevator in your building makes you all the more grumpy, when you realize you have to hike up 5 flights of stairs just to reach your apartment. With a tired sigh, you take off your heels, carrying them in your hand as you walk bare-footed up the stairs.

By the time you reach the fourth floor, you’re out of breath. You heave, placing a palm on your knee and scolding yourself for procrastinating about hitting the gym.

One more floor.

You turn on the light when you make it to your floor, and almost scream when you finally see the shape that sits at the side of your door. He stands up immediately brushing off his black jeans, dark circles under his dimly lit eyes – so you haven’t been the only one that hasn’t been getting enough sleep.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?”

You can’t help the horrified expression bearing your face – you don’t know what to do.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” he looks frustrated, the strands of his hair tussled, and lower lip swollen from the abuse of his teeth.

“I –“ you almost choke from the big breath of air you take, “It’s not a good idea, Jungkook.”

You try to sidestep him to get to the door, the key shaking in your grasp. He blocks you, “No, don’t do this, hear me out – “

“– why should I?” you hiss, anger filled eyes searching his own.

“Just, please – just – I won’t try anything, ok?” The way his eyes are wide in a plea, makes him so hard to ignore – so you cave, like you always do.

“Fine,” you whisper, opening the door to your apartment and allowing Jungkook to enter.

He steps in behind you, a small sigh leaving his lips, because he has missed your apartment and the way it smells like you. It’s always been so homely, so you – the way you sometimes leave your clothes scattered around from lack of time, or how you always leave small notes on the fridge that remind you of the things you know you would forget.

“Please take off your shoes – oh”

But, they’re already off, and he walks ahead of you, entering the living room. He sits on the couch, hands securely placed on his thighs, rubbing them up and down nervously.

“You can take off your jacket – I’m going to change.” You inform, then proceed to sprint to your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

“Oh my god, oh my god!”

Panicking, you drop your shoes next to your bed mindlessly and scroll through your messages, finding the exchange between you and Jimin.

A message to chimchim:

[Jimin! JIMIN! HELP! JUNGKOOK IS IN MY APARTMENT, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!]

The time you have to wait for his reply seems infinite despite it being only 3 mins.

A message from chimchim:

[wtf? How?]

[okay, uuuuh]

[just play it cool!]

[BE FIRM!]

[don’t give him a window of opportunity, Y/N!]

[you’ll have to explain how the fuck all of this happened!]

[it better be good!]

The series of dings you receive serve to calm the fast thrum of your heart. You take a deep breath, typing in an answer.

A message to chimchim:

[ok. Thank you, Jimin.]

[I love you]

You throw your phone on your bed, ungracefully ditching your skirt and blouse in haste. You rummage through your drawer, dressed in your bra and unattractive pair of underwear. You throw on a random sweater and a large pair of sweatpants.

You patter your way to the living room, Jungkook in the same position you left him in, staring into space.

“Do you want coffee?” you ask softly, breaking his train of thoughts, his head snaps up taking in your form. He nods, “yeah, that would be nice…”

Your kitchen is a slight mess – the sink is charged with dishes, and you forgot to sweep up the abundance of crumbs you spilled on the floor in a hurry to get to work. You place the task to clean up at the far end of your mind, turning on the kettle. The pop of the switch resonates unpleasantly in your ear, the sound amplified in your state of fatigue.

You pull out two mugs from your cupboard, almost dropping them when you notice Jungkook’s old mug peeking out, from the back. It is nestled behind your unnecessarily large number of motivational cups.

You find it hard to breathe again, the sudden memory of him using the mug a copious amount of times, the way he laughed while holding it in his two hands, surges to the forefront of your ridiculous mind.

You push some of your other mugs in front of it, hiding it from view. You close your cupboards with a light bang, making the wall vibrate with the force. You wince, afraid to have disturbed the neighbors. Grimace invading your features, you make the coffee, and stir the finished product with a tea spoon.

You gulp and exit the open kitchen, feet meeting the soft carpet of your living room – the padding muffles the patter of your feet.

“Here’s your coffee.”

Jungkook jumps at the sound of your voice, flustered and lips parted, ring glistening wetly under the warm hue of your lamp.

“Thank you.”

You sit down next to him, placing your mug carefully on the coffee table and turn to face him, eager to get to the point so you could get this over with.

He copies your flow of movement, eyes meeting yours. You shuffle back, the proximity, taking you by surprise and rendering you speechless under his intense stare.

“S-so – uh –“ the nervous tap of your foot starts, and his eyes fly to the tic for a split second before landing back on your face, “what did you want to talk about?”

“I just wanted to say that I missed you – “

All the air that fuels your lungs, leaves your body in a big whoosh. You feel as if someone punched you in the gut, hating the impact his simple words have on you. Jungkook watches the way you react to him with greedy eyes – he rushes to speak again.

“I’m not going to say anything more, because I know you don’t want to hear it – but please let me stay a little bit longer, I’ve missed being near you.”

And there it goes again, the ridiculous pounding of your heart.

“I-I don’t think it’s a good ide – “

He cuts you off, “please?”

You dare to look at his pretty eyes, and they always get you. Your body language gives Jungkook an idea of what your answer will be, and relief floods his system.

With slumped shoulders, you whisper, “Okay.”

You reach for the remote and turn on the television. The recorded laughter of an audience sounds in the room as reruns of The Big Bang Theory fill the screen.

You avert your eyes to the tv, trying your best to ignore the way Jungkook’s warm stare heats up your body in an embarrassing way. Pulling your thoughts out of the gutter, you are determined to keep focus on the episode of where Sheldon and Amy finally have sex – at least someone is getting it.

You cough, shifting uncomfortably with the mixture of your thoughts and Jungkook’s burning gaze. You try not to get any ideas, convincing yourself that there is no specific reason that he is looking at you that way.

You watch the screen intently, directing your attention on the way Sheldon knocks repeatedly on Penny’s door. Over the course of two episodes, Jungkook’s gaze never dies down – you find it only gets harder to brush off.

Slowly, but sweetly the thunderous cloud starts to form over your heads again. The tension suffocating and mortifying – the coffee you drink suddenly feels too hot and the weight of your sweater too heavy.

You inhale deeply, ignoring the way a bead of sweat slides down your temple, and Jungkook’s eyes trail the trajectory down to your throat. His incessant staring grows hotter second by second, and what was supposed to be innocent in the beginning, now turns into something dark – sinful in the way he licks his lower lip unconsciously.

Times seems to stop. Each second grows longer than the other, mocking you and enjoying the torture inflicted upon you with Jungkook in the same room, and yet so unattainable. But, with the temperature of your body steadily rising, and the lack of an opened window, it is almost as if you forget the reason you aren’t jumping Jungkook.

Thoughts of controlling himself are thrown down the drain, and the fox-like side of him comes out to play.

“Y/N?” He hums, inching a little too close to you.

“Yes, Jungkook?”

You both stay at a stand still for a moment, studying the other earnestly. Jungkook stalks you like a lion, nearly positioned on all fours, as he takes in your flustered state – lips parted so invitingly and chest heaving up and down to take in the minimal air that oxygenates the room. One of your knees is propped up on the bed, while the other dangles off the edge – a slightly protective stance but a welcoming one nonetheless.

“Y/N –“ he breathes - the sound dripping with sexual intent and so enticing it has you whimper.

The momentum is broken – and Jungkook lunges for his prey.

You jump to meet his lips, the warm pillowy flesh molding with your dry ones, the sizzling metal of his ring engraving itself into your memory. His hands find your lower back sliding to your ass and down your thigh, hoisting it up as he lies you down. You savor the rough feel of his lips, his teeth coming out to tease your own, and tugging at them till it stings. The way your fingers card through his black hair, has him growling, his grip on your thigh tightening enough to bruise.

“God,” he parts from you, sound wet and crude. His thumb comes up to swipe your lips, parting the swollen flesh and trailing the slickness of your mixed saliva to your pulse point, pressing on it lightly. “I’ve missed you so much,” he presses harder against the beat of your heart, enjoying how it rushes at his touch. “I missed the way you react so easily to my touch,” he replaces his thumb with his tongue, laving the spot gently with the muscle – the sensation has you shuddering.

He squeezes your thigh harder, pulling you closer when you arch your back, eager to press your body into his, to feel the curve of his crotch.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?”

You moan in agreement, drawing his lips back to yours and tasting the metal punctured in his lower one. He smiles, “Hm – someone’s desperate,” his hand leaves the dip of your ass, making way to the juncture between your legs.

Jungkook presses his palm to your pussy, stimulating your clit through the cotton of your pants, and you gasp, a whine following your sharp intake. He kisses your chin delicately, proceeding to dip down your neck and lick a stripe all the way to your wanting mouth. “Tell me,” he presses down harder, “you must’ve been pretty deprived to act so needy – how long has it been since somebody took care of your pretty cunt.”

You close your eyes, lips parted but no sound escaping them – he brings his hand forth again, “nphmg.”

“Come on. Answer, Y/N.” he grazes his tongue against your collarbone.

“Since you left, God –“ you moan as he palms at your core relentlessly, “ – you left.”

Whimpering, you repeat, “you left me – God, you left me.” The mist that fogged your thoughts clears.

Jungkook freezes and fear overrides his lust, “W-what?”

“Stop, Jungkook, stop –“ you struggle to escape the way his body cages you in, reason making way into your mind.

He reels back to other end of the couch, lips swollen, and expression dazed. His eyes contain a mix of confusion and hurt, so different from the dominance they held moments ago.

Breath uneven, you stare at him. No. The memories of all the times you woke up to an empty bed haunt your vision, and suddenly, the light you see Jungkook under, changes. The warm colors of your lamp now cast a dark glow on his angelic features, entangling him with thorns. So beautiful, but unattainable. Just like he always wanted.

“I think you need to leave,” you whisper, looking down to where your pants stick to your sweaty skin.

You don’t bother to look as he gets up, pulling your legs to your chest and hugging them in search of comfort. He wordlessly makes his way to your front door and leaves. As soon as you hear the metal close on it’s hinges, a sob retches from your throat, sound echoing throughout the empty apartment.

↝ Masterlist ↜

(A/N: there is going to be a part 2, might focus on other things first, though. Feedback is really, really appreciated, if you want a second part please say so.)

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts #bangtan smut #Jungkook angst #bts jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #one shot #bts one shot #jeon jungkook #kpopwonderlandtag #prettyboysnetwork #bangtanarmynet #kwordsmiths #bangtanbuds

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bee-kathony · 6 years

Text

The Telegram | Casualties of War

Thank you again @jules-fraser for making this wonderful moodboard!

Response to the @thelallybrochlibrary ‘Queerlander’ prompt #13: Claire has a relationship with a female nurse during the War.

Chapter 1: Bedside Manners | Chapter 2: The Telegram

“Emily sighed, licking her lips, “A small comfort in this chaos… Claire… make me forget.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes and that was enough to make me do what I did next.“

Chapter 2: The Telegram

It had been 8 months since I’d last seen Frank. We managed to meet each other in a little village in France, close to where I had been posted. Letters were almost non-existent between us. Often times I had no idea where he was and he wasn’t exactly allowed to tell me his location. It was rather odd to be married in the war, especially since I felt like we only had just begun our lives together. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Several months had passed since Emily and I had kissed, we both had silently agreed to not speak about it. A one time thing.

Since then we had both been promoted as Senior Nurses, both in charge of supervising the junior nurses and orderlies. I felt I had a real purpose in this bloody war. If I could help ease the pain of anyone, then I was helping in the only way I knew how.

I stood at the sink, running warm water over my hands to try and get the blood stains off. I had just helped a doctor with another leg amputation. It seemed like those were happening more often these days, amputations.

I knew I could never understand what it felt like to be missing a limb and still feel its presence but lately I had been feeling like a part of me had been amputated… taken from me, leaving me broken and in pieces.

Perhaps it was seeing Frank in every young male that had his eyes or hair colour that came rushing through the hospital doors. Or maybe it was simply the strain of the day in and day out loss that never let up.

When would this God forsaken war end? Would it ever end?

I turned off the faucet, drying my hands on the available towel hanging beside the sink and ran my hand across my forehead, pushing the stray curls out of my face. I returned to the open room that belonged to all the nurses, checking to see if everything was in order. Since I had become a Senior nurse, I now only had to share a room with one other person, Emily.

I found Emily in our room, on her bed, crying.

“Em?” Walking over to sit beside her on the bed, I noticed a tear stained telegram in her hands.

She continued crying, her eyes shut tight against the rest of the world. I reached for the telegram and it slid easily out of her hands.

“MS. EMILY HAMPTON

THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEPEST REGRET THAT YOUR fiancé MAJOR HENRY JONES WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON TWENTY THIRD MAY IN FRANCE

HARRIS, THE ADJUTANT GENERAL. 5 45 PM”

The telegram was short, no more information than was necessary to convey the point the Emily’s fiancé had died.

“Oh Em,” I set the telegram aside on her nightstand and put my hand gently on her back, with one touch, she crumpled her weight against me, sobbing into my chest. Wrapping my other arm around, I held her until the shaking stopped. I held her until the sobs turned into silent tears, wetting my blouse. I held her until she was ready to speak.

“I never even got to say goodbye.” Was the first thing she said. “What if he was in pain… in the end?”

I squeezed my arms tighter around her, “He wasn’t.”

“But how do you know?,” She sniffed, wiping her hand against her nose.

“I just do. I also know that he loved you very much. The time you had with Henry… cherish that Em.” I put one hand under her chin, bringing her to look at me. “And never forget him, what he did for our Country. How brave he was…” I saw a spark of light in her eyes, distant but it was there.

“How brave you are…” I kissed the tip of her nose and she slid her arms around my waist, hanging on for dear life.

“I fear that I will wake in the morning and forget. Forget that he’s… d-dead.” Tears welled in my own eyes then, “And then when I remember, my heart will break all over again. Oh Claire! I can’t go on, I just can’t!” Emily pressed her head into my chest once again, her emotions of grief causing a wall to break in me and I held her as tears spilled down my own cheeks. For all the men who we had lost and still had yet to lose.

“It’s alright,” I whispered, to Emily as much as to myself. “It’s alright.”

We ended up laying down on her bed, our arms tangled around each others bodies. The pain of the last few hours causing both of us to be emotionally drained.

“Claire?” Emily whispered, her face just inches away from mine.

“Hmmm?” I responded, too tired for real words.

“I know it’s too soon… and it’s probably very insensitive of me but-“ I opened my eyes to find her green orbs staring straight at me, “but I feel that I very much want to kiss you.”

Emily sighed, licking her lips, “A small comfort in this chaos… Claire… make me forget.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes and that was enough to make me do what I did next.

I brought my hand to cup her cheek, red and blotchy from all the crying and closed the space between us, pressing my lips to hers.

The kiss was salty and warm as tears dripped down her face to where our mouths were joined. All parts of our bodies were touching on Emily’s twin sized mattress, our legs intertwined, our arms caressing one another’s backs.

I felt Emily push my body against hers, our breasts pressed together. She wanted more than a kiss, something that could distract her from the reality that her world had just come crumbling down.

“Claire,” she breathed, pulling apart from my mouth long enough to smile. I returned her smile and slid my hands to her waist where her blouse was tucked into her skirt. With minimal effort, I managed to untuck her shirt and then moved my hands between us and slowly undid each button.

Emily looked down at my slightly trembling hands and let out a breathy laugh. “It’s quite odd to have another woman undress you.” I undid the last button and then Emily’s fingers found my own shirt.

“Yes.” I agreed as she slid the fabric back from my shoulders. “But it also feels very good.”

I removed her shirt, letting it fall to the ground below. “Touch me,” Emily whispered, a plea, a need. My hands moved back in between us and I cupped both her breasts, feeling the hard bud of her nipples poking through her bra.

“Mmmm,” she closed her eyes and I wondered then if it was not my hands she was imagining but Henry’s.

I continued to touch and stroke her breasts over her bra but dared to take it further as I reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting her surprisingly natural full breasts fall out. Her breasts were warm, having been tucked away all day, stuffed into the too tight bra she wore.

“Emily,” I sighed as my fingers caressed her nipples, red as cherries. Her mouth found mine, this time her tongue darting out to touch mine. “Make me forget Claire,” she moaned.

Still massaging her breast, I moved my hand down her stomach making her shiver. My hand moved down her thighs and stilled on her knee, just at the hem of her skirt. Emily moaned when my hand stopped.

“Are you sure Em?” I asked.

“Yes Claire, please,” she begged me, her lips gliding over mine.

I pinched her nipples, eliciting small cries from her as I then slid my hand up her skirt, heat radiating off her body. Her skin was soft and smooth. I let my fingers slide up and down her thigh slowly before moving it between her legs. Emily half rolled on her back and spread her legs for me.

I bent my head and kissed her neck, placing kisses along her collarbones and chest as my fingers found the spot.

“Oh Christ,” Emily moaned, one hand gripping my hair, holding me against her chest.

I began to suck on her left nipple as I moved my fingers against her wet mound. I slid my fingers up and down her slit, seeing how ready she was.

I nibbled on her breasts for awhile before finally moving my finger inside her and she cried out.

Taking that as a good sign, I slid another finger inside and placed my thumb on her clit. It was easy to pleasure her, as we had the same anatomy. Many times after I had sex with Frank and I couldn’t orgasm, I would wait until he was fast asleep and do what he could not to myself, bringing myself pleasure from my own hand.

Emily pulled on my hair, bringing my head up to hers and crushed her lips against mine. “Oh God, oh God Claire, I’m gonna cum.”

I smiled against her lips and quickened my fingers inside her, feeling her walls clench around my hand. Her legs were shaking and she was bucking her hips. “Forget Emily, it’s alright, just forget and focus on me.” I said and watched as she came undone. Her body shook and spasmed, her breasts moving in time with her fast breaths.

I couldn’t help myself as I leaned down once more and took her nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue on that hard bud. I kept my fingers moving slowly in and out of her until I felt her body relax.

“Would you like a taste Em?” I asked, sliding my fingers out of her body and bringing them up in front of her face.

“What? Taste myself?” She gasped slightly but nodded. I placed my fingers against her mouth and she opened for me, her tongue sliding up and down my fingers. She licked her juices off my hand clean and I removed my hand and bent to kiss her.

I felt Emily’s hand sliding down my thigh but stopped her from going further. “No. It’s okay. This was about you Em.”

“But I want to return the favour.” She said, her hand trying to slide up my skirt.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret…. Not so soon anyway.” I kissed her forehead and she let her hand relax back on my hip.

“I suppose you’re right. You always are Claire Randall. But I wouldn’t regret it. Not with you.” She kissed me then, softly. “Will you let me? If not now, then soon?”

I decided then and there that I would let Emily Hampton do whatever she wanted to do to my body. In this war there was often no chance of receiving comfort like this and she was willing to give it to me.

“Yes. Soon.” I kissed her back, pressing her body closer to mine and then lay my head back against the pillow, holding this sweet girl in my arms.

#queerlander #lallybroch library #prompt exchange #claire fraser #outlander #outlander fanfic #claire randall #emily hampton #original character #mclairefras #qlpromptexchange #prompt 13

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crystalsnowmins · 6 years

Text

Yoonmin Scenario #25

7k of how to mess up a good prompt. Be the judge of it. MOODBOARD ON FAN ACCOUNT TWITTER. *******

From Tumblr Prompt: Flower Shop!AU, In which Yoongi works in a flower shop for his aunt and he avoids sociality as much as possible until Park Jimin entered his flower shop with a crying, blotched face giving the order of a bouquet of flowers for a dead one. He ends up with a free arrangement, a hug and a phone number.

Yoongi has avoided interacting with people as much as he could, especially the popular snobby ones. He didn’t have any grudge against them, he is just anti-social and have a mid-life crisis. He has friends, don’t get him wrong, he does have friends and they need to be replaced whenever he can find time.

He works in a flower shop because he finds calmness in simple things. For a 22 years old man, his plate is filled with sadness and depression. His parents thought working might help him distract so they asked his aunt to offer him the job. She did, hesitant because she was worried his poor mood would affect the flowers growth. Somehow working for two months, Yoongi has found solace in that flower shop.

He talks to his flowers, tell about his days, complains about his professors, tell about his friends. He is not sure if plants can truly sympathize with him but it feels nice to let out.

He is usually a quiet person and somehow entitled as one of the ‘bad boy’ of university. Apparently, the categories to be in ‘bad boys of university’ are having a stoic expression, looking dead and not interacting with anyone. He has nothing on him to be known as a classic bad boy. He’s just a soft kitten who loves his flower shop and always wants to finish with university so he can go back to work.

His friends laugh whenever a junior would bump into Yoongi and apologise stutteringly as if Yoongi with pull out his tongue. It frustrates him. He is not bad, he is a good person, just antisocial. His reputation is totally ruined and it makes people stay away from him, especially Park Jimin.

Where can he start about Park Jimin.

Well, Park Jimin came into his life like a typical Regina George entry with university doors opening on it’s own and an angelic being entering the hallways with nervousness but determination. He had heads turned towards him, even Yoongi’s. Even the straightest people had their mouth widen at him because he is just so beautiful.

Yoongi’s friends think that he exaggerates a lot about Jimin but what do they know. He has a theory, it involves that Jimin definitely is an angel descended down by the orders of God to bless everyone with his presence. One smile and your whole week will go well.

Sigh, unfortunately, that smile is never directed to him so he always has a shitty week.

As soon as Jimin entered the university, he became the most popular one, being taken under the ‘best looking’ students of the university. They probably filled him on Yoongi being a ‘bad boy’, lying how he gets into fight and sells drugs.

Pfft, Yoongi is a kitten who cannot fight for his life. He looks like he has come out from The Great Depression 1929 and is ready to start a blood bath, but really, he needs petting on his head and a comforting hug to go by. Jin hyung fills that category for him.

Jimin stays away from trouble and that means he doesn’t associate with Yoongi because he’s a ‘bad boy’. It’s a sad life since he entered university.

Park Jimin though, even if he stays with the popular group, he seems like a down to earth guy. He smiles at everyone, a kind and comforting smile. He is touchy, always has a comforting hand on people’s shoulder. He helps students who are weak in studies, he helps professors.

Who does that in this world? Except an angel would. Which is Park Jimin.

Yoongi wishes to talk to him, but he believes he will piss his pants before that happens. So he admires from far, everyone does, so Jimin doesn’t mind if he catches someone looking at him. He would smile and blink his eyes at them.

On top of Jimin being an angel, he comes from a comparatively rich family that means he ranks high in angel community. Yoongi looks like he has been starving himself since the Korean War. He is so ugly in compare to Park Jimin, he is a displeasure to look at, truly. Jin reprimands him for that, says that if he isn’t confident, how will he ever face Jimin?

Ha! Jokes on him, because he will never face Park Jimin.

But life’s a bitch and it likes to fuck up, especially Yoongi who is already a fuck up. The day he has always been dreading for comes in the form of a crying Park Jimin. He has never seen Park Jimin cry.

Yoongi was working in the flower shop, making small corsages for a wedding coming up. He was talking to his flowers, floundering about Park Jimin…he wore a flannel, that probably wasn’t his size because I couldn’t find his hands sticking out. Anyway, he looked good today as well. He still doesn’t know me, because well, I’m invisible to him.

He doesn’t mind being invisible to Park Jimin, that’s better for so many reasons.

But at that time, life laughed at him and sent Park Jimin in his lonely path.

While Yoongi was busy making corsages, the door to the flower shops open with a chime. He looks up with a fake smile only to let it drop when he sees who came in.

Park Jimin.

Park Jimin wearing the same flannel from earlier.

Park Jimin crying.

Park Jimin sniffs loudly as if announcing his presence and he looks around, blinking hard to let his tears fall so he can look properly. He notices a boy, wearing a navy blue apron and holding a white flower in his hand.

“Pl-please help me,” He requests, hiccuping after it.

What is it, angel? You want my kidney? Take it. I have two anyway.

At that moment, Yoongi was ready to bring all the stars from the universe for Jimin if he asked of him.

Yoongi nods, not daring to move towards the boy, although wanting to comfort him.

“What can I help you with?” Yoongi asks with the most soft voice he has ever used. He didn’t even know he could have a soft voice.

“I want an arran-arrangement of flowers,” He tries to speak through his tears. Yoongi nods again, making a move to come closer but not enough.

Who hurt you?

“Is there anything specific?” He asks carefully, not wanting to trigger him further.

Unfortunately, Jimin cries harder than he was and Yoongi can almost picture his life laughing at him, eating popcorn while he watches the scene in 3D.

Yoongi panics, especially gay panic. Because how can this human like angel cry so prettily? Why does Yoongi look like blobfish when he cries? But then he guesses it’s because he is a human and Jimin is an angel.

“Tissue,” Jimin mumbles, crying in his sleeves and wiping his face.

Tissue? What kind of plant is that? Does he mean in texture?

“Can I have a tissue?” Jimin looks up with his bloodshot eyes indicating that he’s been crying for long.

Honestly who hurt him? Is it from his angel community? Because square the fuck up bitch, even though y’all are angels probably, Jimin is the angelest of the angel and with that right, the other angels have no right to make him cry.

Yoongi immediately goes behind his counter to get the tissue box he usually keep. He offers him but Jimin takes the whole box and abuses the usage of tissues. He takes several and blows his nose. In any other circumstance, where Park Jimin wasn’t a literal angel, Yoongi would have been disgusted.

Yoongi goes behind his counter again and pull out the stool he sits on. He offers it to Jimin who immediately takes a seat and keep wiping his face in the tissue.

Honestly, Jin hyung is good at it and he doesn’t know where Jin hyung might be. Yoongi has never dared to talk to Jimin and suddenly life throws him Jimin and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He just wanted to crush on Jimin from far away!

He clears his throat to get attention, which he gets but a small one in which he manages to awkwardly smile. He is on duty and he needs to make 73 corsages and he has done only 33 so far and 40 are still needs to be done before the shop closes. And Jimin being here, crying his eyes out and not giving any order, isn’t helping Yoongi further.

He wants to ask the stool back and start working again but he is weak hearted man and cannot see the love of his life bawling.

“Jimin-ssi,” Yoongi carefully calls out. The said boy looks up with the saddest expression.

Yoongi swears inwardly because anyone who makes Jimin cries should be given a life time imprisonment.

“You know me?” He meekly asks, sniffling.

Yoongi awkwardly smiles, a little hurt that Jimin doesn’t recognize him. What’s new in the neighborhood anyway? He didn’t think Jimin would, the guy never spared him with a single glance. It might be Yoongi’s fault as well, hiding away so he doesn’t get triggered by Jimin’s smile.

“We study in the same university,” He shrugs, trying not to be petty in front of the guy.

Jimin forms a ‘O’ with his mouth and mumbles an apology for not remembering him. Remembering? Yoongi huffs inwardly. More like not knowing he exists on the grounds of university.

For a moment, everything was silent, Jimin wasn’t crying, just playing with the edge of the box in his hand and scratching it. It was quiet until Yoongi opened his mouth and asked, “Anyway, could you tell me what kind of arrangements do you want?” And the damn dam was open again.

Yoongi panic and it’s not even gay panic. He can hear the siren of a police car coming, probably going to arrest him for a lifetime imprisonment because this time he made Jimin cry. Honestly, he shouldn’t have even made that rule.

“Okay, okay,” Yoongi calms him down, at least tries to do that, “I’ll get you a glass of water,” He says and disappears in the backroom, door closing as he leans against it. Anymore wailing, and Yoongi will kill himself.

He hears Jimin cry and feels bad and sad at the same time. Something happened and he doesn’t know anything about it. Earlier in the university, Jimin was a happy puppy, skipping the hallways and laughing loudly with his obnoxious friends. He was all good and made everyone’s day better. Even though no smile was directed in his way, Yoongi’s life was a little bit better because he could hear Jimin’s laugh.

It’s a pleasant laugh, completely opposite to how he is wailing out there. It’s squeaky as if you have stepped on those rubber toys. He remembers the sound because he used to have those shoes that made the same sound when he walked. It was irritating when he had to witness small kids doing it now but Jimin’s laugh…it’s pleasant. It’s breathy and filled with genuine happiness. His face contracts into a complete bliss and if Yoongi had power, he probably could see the halo on Jimin’s head glowing when he is happy. But he’s a normal human being and he only sees his beautiful laugh, mouth wide open but hidden behind his hands and eyes completely disappearing.

Yoongi often think about Jimin’s laugh when he feels sad and depressed, when it’s a gloomy day for him. Suddenly everything seems better with Jimin’s smile and laugh and his whole being. But now, his crying face will be a nightmare.

Yoongi remembers his purpose and quickly fills a paper cup with water. He opens the door again and walks out to the scene of tissues circling Jimin in a heap as the younger abuses the box more. He walks carefully and sit on his feet to look at Jimin carefully. He doesn’t think he has ever been this close to Jimin. He was always maintained a 1m distance.

Up close, and without being biased, Jimin is more beautiful, even crying. What kind of sorcery is this?

Yoongi smiles comfortingly when Jimin sadly looks at him, eyes swollen and filled with tears, cheeks red with constant wiping, lips slicked with…stuffs he doesn’t want to know and nose all snotty. Sigh, still pretty. He offers him the glass which Jimin takes gladly and Yoongi quickly takes away the tissue box which seems lighter than before.

Jimin gulps down the offered water and hand the empty cup back to Yoongi, while he’s still sad and pouting. Yoongi looks at the corsages and sigh, think I have to pull an overnight for this.

“Are you grieving?” Yoongi ask, so he can get started with an arrangement and send Jimin out because this human being’s presence is overwhelming. And Yoongi can’t breathe and he’s so close to hugging the life out of Jimin and pouring out his heart.

Jimin nods while still not looking up.

Grieving, huh.

Yoongi skims around the shelves until he finds what he is looking for. White chrysanthemums, he hums when he collects a bunch of flowers and move around the shop to reach Jimin who is crying, but he has slowed down with the tears.

Yoongi sits on his feet again and shows the flowers to Jimin, who wipes his face and nose but doesn’t look up to ask anything.

“White chrysanthemums, it symbolizes grief,” He explains. He doesn’t have to because he normally doesn’t do it and nor Jimin has asked but he feels like talking to Jimin even with any topic could help him open up a little bit and maybe, not like Yoongi is wishing, because no, but maybe Jimin will acknowledge Yoongi’s effort and notice his undying love for him.

Okay, maybe that’s too much asking.

Jimin reaches his hand to touch the soft petals and he nods in encouragement.

“Can I suggest something?” Yoongi carefully treads.

Jimin nods.

“I know you’re grieving, but what about adding some colors huh?” Yoongi says and that makes Jimin looks up in confusion, red rimmed eyes curiously staring at him. “It will be different, the one you’re grieving for, and I’m sure they are above watching you, they’ll be happy. Nobody wants to die knowing they’ll cause pain to others, yeah?” Jimin is tempted to look up and feel if she is actually watching him, if she actually wants a colorful arrangement.

“You don’t have to, I can just pack-,”

“-okay,” Jimin affirms quietly, fiddling with his fingers, he looks up at Yoongi and nods.

The older boy smiles in appreciation.

“Then how about you tell me something that remind you of…,” He trails off as he doesn’t know the gender of that person.

“Her,” Jimin supplies, sorrowfully.

“Her,” Yoongi confirms.

He gets up and places the white chrysanthemums on the counter and waits for Jimin to speak. When the younger feels a little better and a less sad, he thinks about her.

“She was old, really old,” He starts and look at Yoongi as if waiting for a flower to appear. Yoongi doesn’t know what could symbolize old age.

“That means she lived long?” He smiles at him, to show some comfort. Jimin nods, smiling sadly.

“I could have suggested horehound but we don’t grow those,” He smiles apologetically and sees Jimin face falls at that, “But maybe you can tell me her favorite color?” He asks hopefully, wanting to see that smile on Jimin’s face again.

“She liked flashy color,” He mumbles. “She would get excited around those flashy colors, red, orange, yellow etcetera,” He informs.

Yoongi wonder who died in his family for him to feel so sad. If she was an old person, then was it his grandmother? Was he attached to his grandmother a lot? Anyway, even if he wasn’t, a person death’s is heartbreaking.

While Yoongi skims through his shelves to collect the exact flower he had in mind, he hears Jimin voice fills the silent shop, he smiles because at least Jimin is opening up, speaking up without him insisting.

“She was always cheerful, always wanting to go out despite being old. She liked sunlight a lot,” Jimin smiles at the memory of her.

Yoongi picks up red poinsettia and hums in affirmation. He shows it to Jimin who tilt his head in confusion, “Red poinsettia, symbolizes cheerfulness,” After getting his approval, Yoongi keeps it next to white chrysanthemums.

He urges Jimin to speak more so he can make an arrangement. He doesn’t mind that Jimin takes his time, even though in the starting he wanted Jimin to leave as soon as possible, but he is going to take his time with him because it’s not everyday he can spend time with Jimin.

“She was my best friend,” Jimin almost whispers, suddenly feeling like crying again. Yoongi sympathizes with him, his grandmother was also very close to him, she was the epitome of how every grandmother should be.

Yoongi picks another pot of flower and shows it to Jimin who simply tilts his head for further explanation, “Alstroemeria, symbolizes friendship,” He says, while looking at the pink flower blended with white. Jimin nods, approving of the flower.

“Will it cost a lot?” Jimin asks, looking at the flowers on table. It’s not like he cannot afford it so Yoongi wonders why he is worried about money. “She didn’t like expensive things, she could just smell and tell it’s expensive. I don’t want to disappoint her,” He explains himself, fiddling with himself and Yoongi notices he does that a lot. “I also want more flowers,” He mumbles to himself.

And really if this was Yoongi’s store, he would have sold this store to Jimin without asking money. He is not even playing around.

“Don’t worry, we have discount. It wouldn’t cost much,” He assures him. There’s not fucking discount at this time of year since there’s no festival around the corner. But if Jimin has dilemma, then Yoongi will open his wallet and pay the money for the discount he just simply gave.

Jimin tries to smile and nod at Yoongi’s direction in appreciation.

Yoongi hears Jimin talk about his grandmother a more, a little more relaxed. He would deviate from his true work and tell stories, sometimes smiling or sometimes being sad at the memories. Yoongi would bring him back while showing different flowers and asking his consent.

“She was really affectionate and always looked for receiving it. She kept the family together in some ways,” Jimin shrugs and Yoongi knows it’s personal so he doesn’t make Jimin elaborate himself, “She rubbed the affectionate part on me,” He pouts, more like purses his lips in thought.

In that moment, Yoongi simply looks at his lips and wonders how it would feel to touch it, simply caress the softness and plushiness of his lips. It is always slick with lip balm and moisturizer. Jimin has always taken care of himself, it’s no surprise he’s so pretty day and night. While Yoongi wakes up and just wash his face with water, if he’s feeling good, he’d use a soap for the most. And no wonder he’s ugly in compare to Jimin.

“How about saxifrage, hmm?” Yoongi asks, moving to get the plant.

“S-sexyfrage?” He squeaks from his place on the stool.

Yoongi shakes his head and chuckle as he shows him the plant, a pink colored. “Saxifrage,” He repeats himself properly as Jimin mumbles it to himself, “It represents friendship, many flowers does but it’s different at the same, right?” Jimin just cluelessly nods as Yoongi chats about the flowers. He has no idea of flowers and how many there are and what each symbolizes. It must be so difficult remembering each flowers and it’s symbols, Jimin thinks.

“What flower do you want next?” Yoongi asks, clapping his hands to get Jimin’s attention.

“Uh…She was encouraging. Whenever I’d feel down or not confident, she’d come to me and sit next to me until I feel better, she had her own way to show it I guess,” He shrugs and waits for Yoongi to get a flower.

Yoongi disappears behind the shelves again while he hums and searches for a particular flower. Jimin looks at him between the shelves and thinks he’s really pretty, he wonder how he didn’t know Yoongi studies with him. He makes sure he knows everyone, not really engaging with everyone but he still makes sure he knows everyone studying in the campus. But the name rings in his head and he knows he has heard it somewhere.

“…black eyed Susan,” Yoongi says the last word in his daegu accent, slipping whenever he has to speak in English.

“Hmm?” Jimin asks, distracted by the thoughts of Yoongi.

“Black eyed Susan symbolizes motivation,” He explains and Yoongi looks at the sunflower looking plant. It’s bright and yellow and he’s sure she would love it. So he nods in affirmation.

“Anything for childishness? She used to get her way with everyone around,” Jimin hopefully asks. Yoongi laughs at that and remembers her own grandmother. She used to get her things done by pouting and crying most of the time, emotional blackmailing and telling how she will die tomorrow.

“Don’t all grandmothers?” Yoongi mumbles to himself and Jimin hums, ask if he said something and the older boy shakes his head no.

“It’s really impressive how you know every single flower,” Jimin compliments and smile at Yoongi who looks at him from between the shelves. “You just don’t look like someone who would work here,” Jimin gestures to his outfit and mumbles, “No offense.”

Yoongi looks down at his outfit, faded jeans with more holes than clothe and a white t-shirt, probably way too old and a black leather jacket that he bought from Korean market. To top the marvelous look, he’s wearing a navy blue apron.

“Why because I’m resident’s bad boy?” Yoongi muses, it makes him snort at the label.

“Wha…,” Jimin trails off, not understanding the meaning behind Yoongi’s word. Meanwhile, Yoongi shows his Buttercup flower that would symbolize the childishness that Jimin asked for. The younger boy approves absentmindedly as he follows Yoongi with his tear stained eyes. He wants to know the meaning for resident’s bad boy. When he feels eyes on him, Yoongi turns to Jimin with a sigh and raise his brow.

“Min Yoongi, apparently resident’s bad boy because he doesn’t socialize with people,” Yoongi sarcastically introduces himself although he believes it’s kinda late for introduction since Jimin has been here for half an hour already.

Jimin tilts his head in confusion as he purse his lips in thought, remembering where he heard the name. Yoongi sees three different emotions through Jimin’s face, First was confusion as he thinks about Yoongi’s name, second was realization as he makes his mouth shaped of ‘O’ and third was acceptance but he didn’t seem feared by Yoongi.

“It kinda hurts my ‘bad boy’ heart, ya know?” Yoongi smiles childishly at Jimin, “I’m quite popular, I’m sure your friends must have filled you in on me,” He pouts unconsciously, looking around to his flowers and the ones he kept it on table, it could use some blue in it, Yoongi thinks.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin sheepishly apologise, “I don’t believe in mindless rumors,” He says and shrugs, wiping his snot filled nose. It should disgust Yoongi but he finds the action cute. Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with me?

Yoongi wants to argue that even so he didn’t come to talk to him, he wasn’t obliged, it’s understandable but he didn’t like the fact that his smile were completely thrown away on the way and his stare was not received. As far as Yoongi knows, Jimin interacted with everyone, even if he didn’t know their names. So Yoongi is a bit salty at the fact that it’s going to be a year now and this is the first time Jimin talked to him. He doesn’t even remember him and Yoongi and Jimin have crossed paths or hallways on multiple occasion.

“It’s whatever,” Yoongi waves it off, not wanting to be a victim or anything or seem petty and affection seeker in front of his crush. “Do you want anything more?” He changes the subject.

Jimin sits straight and nods, “Something to let her know I will always miss her?” He meekly day as if he is bothering Yoongi. The older would agree but he doesn’t mind the few moments with Jimin. The younger might as well forget him tomorrow.

“Salvia,” Yoongi answers immediately and he thinks it’s a perfect match to many vibrant colors in the bouquet as of this moment. The violet color of salvia would compliment all the flowers in the arrangement.

“Why do you work here, Yoongi-ssi?” Jimin asks, his voice traveling through the vast area of the flower shop.

“Because it relaxes me,” Yoongi answers and cut the stems of salvia flowers, “I used to smoke, I still do…sometimes but talking with flowers help, helps with filtering bad thoughts,” When Yoongi comes in front of Jimin, he sees his with mouth agape with astonishment, Yoongi almost blush at the attention, “I’m sorry, you are already having a lot in your plate and I’m filling more with my sad life,” He apologises and keeps the salvia flowers on the table.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, somewhere lost in thought and Yoongi takes the time to stare at him like he always do. Sad Jimin looks beautiful, nonetheless, but it’s not an expression that suits him well. Jimin has a face that suits a happy expression and he may have his bad days but if Yoongi could help, he wouldn’t let Jimin cry or be sad. It just doesn’t suit him.

“Danbi uses to help me with sad days,” Jimin mumbles, suddenly emotional at the thought of it. His eyes fills with tears again as one drops, two drops and three drops then it’s an open dam. He silently cry, sniffling while Yoongi is panicking. His hands itches to touch Jimin and console him but he stays on his spot.

“Danbi is a nice name,” He tries.

“It is!” Jimin wails now, looking up and oh,faintly Yoongi hears his heart shattering at the sight of crying Jimin.

Before consoling Jimin, Yoongi again skims to the darker part of the shop where plants grow in shade. He plucks a few forget-me-nots and smiles to himself. This might help.

When he goes back, Jimin is still wailing to himself as he misses his grandmother. Yoongi thinks-Danbi-it’s a pretty modern name, nothing what he expected from a old aged woman. It’s whimsical to think that such a pretty name is used for a old woman who was born probably before the Korean War.

“Jimin,” He slips away the formality and calls him out who looks up and hiccups in a cute way. Yoongi shows him the delicate looking cloud of color flower. “Danbi means sweet rain, did you know?” Jimin nods at that, wails turning into little sobs, “These flowers grow in plenty of rainfall and it symbolizes a lot of things, you know? It’s called forget me not, no pun intended,” Yoongi immediately follows and he sits on his feet again since Jimin refuses to look up and cry. It makes the younger laugh but then he’s back to crying again.

“I’m really sorry for you loss,” Yoongi whispers, contemplates to keep a hand on his thigh for comfort but he’s kinda afraid of placing a hand on his muscular thighs and not squeeze the fat. But he places it, because he’s thinking with his heart right now.

“Dan..bi,” Jimin hiccups, “She could have li-lived longer,” Yoongi nods at that, he cannot sympathies well but he tries. “One day I’m-I’m coming home and-and-and she’s gone, I did not even get to say a good-bye,” And all of a sudden, Jimin is back to wailing again. It’s an endless cycle, really. Sometimes he’s crying, then talking and then wailing and then sobbing and then talking.

He cries in his hand at the thought of her and Yoongi feels his own eyes watering at the sight. He’s so fucking weak for this guy, it’s not even funny anymore. He wonders how it would feel like to be remembered like this or how Jimin must have been close to his grandmother.

Yoongi is close to his family, no doubt. He has always been. But when he started growing, he started distancing himself because he had this self doubt about himself. He knew his family loved him nonetheless but he never gave himself credit for his existence in their life. And when he came to Seoul, it just so happened that he talked less to his parents, once a week maybe. His grandparents died when he was still young so he doesn’t miss them much. He just doesn’t have anything to cry for, except his sad life.

Jimin wails bring him back to the present, as the younger slouches on the stool. Against the better judgement, Yoongi keeps the flower on ground and he kneels, very slowly he moves in and wrap his arms around Jimin’s shoulder in a awkward hug. When Jimin doesn’t push him away and still cries in his hand, Yoongi moves further in and tighten his holds while he uses one hand to rub his back.

In the next movement, Jimin has his arms wrapped around Yoongi’s shoulders as he cries in his neck about Danbi. And so, on a spring day, a breezy evening, he’s kneeling in front of his crush and hugging him, consoling him while his crush cry about his grandmother.

He let Jimin cry and look outside the glass panes to see the streets bustling with lives. Few notice the inside of the shop and furrow their brows, but pays no heed. In the same moment, a man tries to come inside, the bell chiming above him but then he sees Yoongi being trapped in a sad hug and a boy, sitting in stool, crying like someone has died. Well…

He smiles awkwardly and leaves them to be. All of it doesn’t affect Jimin who’s content with crying in Yoongi’s neck, rubbing his tear stained cheeks in his jacket and his snot on his skin. It should disgust him but he has made it clear how fucking smitten he is.

He hopes Jimin feels better with a hug, he wants to kiss his face until he’s smiling but tough shit. So he takes what he’s getting, a hug. Sometimes, during Yoongi’s hardships, all he wanted was a hug as such and he knew it could have solved so many problems. But he never received one, not heartfelt at least. He’s not salty about it, he’s past that stage. So now he’s hoping Jimin feels his emotions through the hug, the words of comfort that he cannot say but can only show.

Yoongi calms him, pets his hair, rubs his back and whispers, “Shh,” constantly in his ear. He thinks Jimin was really close to his grandmother to be wailing this sadly, as if his whole world has turned upside down in a moment.

The Jimin he saw this morning was the Jimin he saw every morning. Skipping steps and greeting everyone on the way, his laugh resonating through the crowded hall. It would take everyone’s attention, certainly Yoongi’s. He seemed happy today as well, if his grandmother was on deathbed, he didn’t show.

He hears Jimin’s voice telling him something and he focuses back to the bundle of warmth in his arms, body slightly shaking with the intensity of crying. Yoongi can feel all the types of liquid on his neck but he doesn’t push Jimin away.

“…and then we found Danbi under a huge tree, injured and scared. I remember it was raining that time as well, so we kept her name as Danbi,” He feels Jimin tense up in his hold but Yoongi doesn’t do anything about it because hold up, what now? Jimin found his grandmother under a pole, crying and injured?

He feels like he’s missing something here. Damn it! He should have listened to the whole story.

“Yoongi-ssi…?” Jimin calls out for him, pulling back to see what had stopped him to pet his hair. When Yoongi’s eyes zeroes back on Jimin, he can see how close Jimin is, looking sadly into his eyes, yet with confusion. His face his red from crying and lips slicked with spit, tears, perhaps even snot.

“Danbi is an animal, Jimin?” Yoongi calmly ask, because that can’t be it, Danbi cannot be an animal.

“Hmm, a cat,” Jimin confirms, “Why, who did you think Danbi was?” He asks tilting his head. The earring he is wearing, dangles. Yoongi hadn’t noticed it before.

He thinks hard about Jimin’s question, who did you think Danbi was?

Oh, I don’t know…perhaps a human? Perhaps a grandmother? Perhaps anyone but a cat!

“So Danbi is a cat?” Yoongi confirms for the last time. He’s holding onto his patience by fisting Jimin’s t-shirt from behind. He hopes Jimin doesn’t feel it.

Jimin nods, pouting.

“And you’re crying because your cat died?” He asks again, elaborated so that he can understand why Jimin has been wailing. It can’t be because of a cat. When Jimin nods, unsure, Yoongi deadpans, “You’re crying because your cat died,” He states.

“You can’t say like that!” Jimin protests, pushing him away a little so he can sit straight, “Danbi has been with me for twelve years!” And then he’s back to crying because of Yoongi now.

Yoongi stops himself from hitting Jimin because one; he is Yoongi’s crush, two; he’s such a beautiful person and three; he cannot see Jimin cry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Yoongi apologises although he still doesn’t understand how someone can wail like a madman when an animal dies. Yoongi never had an animal to look after, to come to home to. It was always his plants and he knew the plants wilt and had to be bought so he prepared himself. But an animal? Never. It was too much hassle to look after an animal. He couldn’t even properly take care of himself, he doesn’t even think to take care of an animal.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, he just, mind Yoongi say, forcefully, pulls the older to hug him, to comfort him. If somebody would have told Yoongi that today, he’d be hugging Jimin, getting to comfort the younger, his crush, then Yoongi would have given the most unimpressed look he can conjure up and turned to leave the bullshit.

But here he is, comforting Jimin, rubbing his back as the younger cries about Danbi, not a grandmother but a cat. He somehow senses he can understand, 12 years of relationship, even if with a cat. He must have made a lot of memories with the animal nonetheless. Somewhere he’s happy Jimin had someone, even an animal, when he was sad, happy, angry and every other emotions.

“I’m sorry, Jiminie,” He let the name slip, mindlessly, “It must be tough for you,” He doesn’t understand but he tries his damn best to comfort the younger. “She’s in a better place, I’m sure she’s glad you took her in and cared for her. You’re such a good person, always caring for others,” He can feel Jimin tighten his arms around him in appreciation.

“You-you think Danbi can forgive fuh-for not being there during her last hours?” Jimin asks, pulling away and wiping his snort. It should really disgust him but fuck, he might be in love.

“Yeah, angel,” Yoongi says, letting the endearment spill, “Sorry…Jimin,” He apologises, “I’m sure she forgives you for that,” He says and wills himself to separate from Jimin, his warmth. This might be the first and last chance for him for all he knows. He picks up the forget-me-nots and stand up, letting Jimin clean himself. Yoongi offers tissue and grims when Jimin abuses it again.

“I’ll arrange these for you, do you want anything else?” He asks, walking over to the counter and going behind it. Jimin shakes his head no and affirms Yoongi to prepare the arrangement of flowers.

He starts arranging, first arranging the white chrysanthemums into a small bouquet and the arranging all the other symbolic flowers around it, mixing with the white chrysanthemums. He wants to let the chrysanthemums be regarded more in the symbolism of grief. After being happy with how it came out, Yoongi chances a glance at Jimin who was already looking at him and blushes away. Yoongi bites his lips to stop smiling.

He trims the ends of the stems and sprays the flowers with the water. He hears Jimin walking towards him, after being clean of body fluids from his face. Yoongi smiles at him as he secures the flower with a rubber band. Then he wraps a brown paper around the arrangement, securing the paper with a ribbon skillfully.

He shows it to Jimin who nods and takes out his wallet. They do their work quietly. Jimin takes the bouquet in hand and astonishingly looks at it. He can’t really remember the names of flowers or what color each of them were, but he remembers the symbolisms added in a bouquet and he is satisfied. He hopes his cat loves it from above.

Yoongi cleans the desk as Jimin looks at the flowers and takes a whiff of it, smiling to himself. Then he just looks at Jimin, who’s rolling the flowers in hand, happy about it.

Jimin looks at him and smiles shyly, then eyes open wide in thought.

“Oh, how much does it cost?” Jimin asks, placing the flowers carefully before he picks up his wallet and open it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yoongi shrugs, not trying to be cool.

“Oh, no, I can’t,” Jimin says, “Let me pay for it, I was an inconvenience to you,” He pouts and Yoongi gulps, gay panic rising again.

“You we-weren’t,” He stutters, looking away.

“Still, I should pay,” Jimin determinedly say, eyebrows furrowed.

“I told you, don’t worry about it. Just take it. I’m sorry about you cat, I hope you feel better,” He genuinely say.

Jimin smiles and nods, “Thank you.”

It costs like a motherfucker and Jimin would have been able to pay, sure, but Yoongi is hopelessly in love with Jimin and he can give the money for the bouquet from his paycheck, even though Jimin will never return his love. But like…whatever.

“I should go,” He directs his thumb to the door and Yoongi nods, feeling gloomy that Jimin has to leave. It might have been first and last time they would have talked.

“Thank you again, for the flowers…the hug,” He says, almost whispers as he bows down in thankfulness.

“And tissue?” Yoongi teases.

Jimin blushes as he looks on the floorboard to see dirty tissues lying around. He feel bad that he made such a mess and looks at Yoongi with a pout.

“Don’t worry about it, I clean up before I close the store,” He shrug and Jimin nods apologetically. He bows again and turns to leave until he reaches the door and Yoongi’s voice stops him.

“Yeah?” He asks.

Yoongi comes out from behind the counter, he picks up a card looking like thing and walk over to Jimin doubtfully. He does present a card, a pastel card. Jimin takes it confusingly.

“My number is on the back…if-if you wanna talk sometimes,” He shrugs, mouth pinned together as he dances on the ball of his feet.

“Th-thank you,” Jimin nods, clutch his fingers around the card as he looks bashfully at Yoongi.

“Wait a second?” He asks if Jimin who nods assuringly.

Yoongi goes behind the shelves to look for a flower, once he finds it, he cuts the stem of the flower and rush to his desk where Jimin notice him carefully. He cleans the stem of thorns and wraps a foil paper around it to secure the stem. Then he sprinkles water on it and hums to himself.

Yoongi looks up to see Jimin looking at him, head titled. When the younger notice and it’s too late, he just smiles and bite his lips. Yoongi approaches him a shows him a pink rose.

“For you,” Yoongi whispers.

Jimin takes it and rolls the stem around his fingers. He takes a whiff of the flower and notice the natural smell of it. He opens his eyes and notice Yoongi smiling.

“What does it mean?” He asks.

Yoongi blushes then because he didn’t Jimin would ask.

“Uh…um, it, uh,” He stutters and Jimin comes closer as if promoting Yoongi, “It means happiness,” He breathlessly answers.

“Really?” Jimin doubtfully ask, taking a whiff again.

“Ye-yeah, I hope you can overcome this sadness and become happy again,” Yoongi wishes, looking away to the far wall as he can feel his blush working up his neck. Fuck.

“I’m happy now,” Jimin answers, it make Yoongi’s breath hitch as he looks at Jimin who’s sharing the contact.

“O-okay,” He nods.

“I’ll go,” Jimin says and he means it.

Don’t.

“Yeah,” Yoongi moves back to create a distance. Even with surrounded by flowers and Jimin holding a bouquet, Yoongi can only smell the scent of the younger. Sweetness.

“Thank you, Yoongi-ssi,” Jimin thanks him again.

“Hyung is fine,” Yoongi shyly mutters.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin tests on his lips and nods in appreciation. He waves a goodbye at Jimin and leaves the shop, with bells chiming.

Yoongi falls back on stool with his heart going ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

And if his friends wonder how Jimin willingly comes to Yoongi and shyly talks to him and calls him hyung, then yes, Yoongi exaggerates his story of how he met Jimin on a spring day.

With every version exaggerated.

#and so I did it #I had plans for it but I think I messed it up #I don’t know what kind of genre this is even #but the moodboard is pretty so take a look #yoonmin #yoonmin au #yoonmin scenario #suji #jimin #yoongi #hoseok #seokjin #taehyung #jungkook #namjoon #bts #bangtan boys #flower shop au #YMSN3

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