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bitsandbobsandstuff · 3 years

Text

Take the edge off

Summary: One night, you discover Bucky has a peculiar way of dealing with stress - so you decide to help him find a better solution.

(It’s sex. Sex is the solution.)

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ only (oral sex, sex in a bar), language, some fluff and a hint of angst, shirtless Bucky beating the crap out of someone, Sam being a soft snack, Wade Wilson being himself.

A/N: WELL HELLO AGAIN. Been forever since I posted a fic, but some words finally poured out! So anyway, the thought of getting all sexy with a cocky, sweaty, bruised and shirtless Bucky a la Fight Club is making me have all the feelings. Enjoy the feelings with me.

“Nah man, this is crap. You said you didn’t want any food. Your exact words were ‘I’m not hungry Sam, just get your cheeseburger and hurry the fuck up,’ so not only are you a liar who ate all my fries, you gotta put five dollars in the swear jar.”

“I hate that fucking swear jar.”

“That’s ten dollars.”

“Fuck you.”

“Keep going and you’ll pay for my new Xbox.”

Licking salt off his fingers, Bucky grumbles under his breath as he pushes open the front door of their apartment, flipping on lights as he goes. Sam slogs behind, kicking off dirty boots and throwing his duffel bag and shield on the kitchen island with a dramatic groan.

“I hate this part of the job. Should I should clean it all tonight, or..." he trails off, glaring at the mud caked bag. He answers himself immediately. "Yeah no. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, I’m done with everything today.” Turning to Bucky, he fixes him with a pointed stare. “What about you? You're going to bed, right? Or you gonna be that guy who cleans everything and writes his report right away so I feel like a slacker? I hate when you pull that crap, some of us actually need sleep you know.”

Bucky fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.

“Yeah, yeah. Same. I’m going to bed. Soon.”

Sam eyes him suspiciously.

“I know that voice. That’s your liar voice. Same one you used when you promised not to eat my fries. Are you - “ Bucky bristles and Sam sighs. “Of course you are. Seriously?”

Ducking into the refrigerator, Bucky digs through the packed shelves until he unearths a monster sized energy drink. He gulps it down in three swallows.

“Yes, seriously,” he says tersely. “It makes me feel better. I’m not gonna apologize for it.”

“Man, I’m not asking you to apologize, I’m just saying.”

Crumpling up the empty can, Bucky chucks it into the overflowing blue container labeled RECYCLING ONLY!!!! in Sam’s careful cursive. He says nothing. They’ve been here before.

“I know. You’re always just saying.”

“Sometimes you’re the worst,” Sam says flatly. “Just a reminder, if you call me again in the middle of the night and I have to come pick you up, I will dropkick you in the nuts.”

With that, he trudges toward the hallway, heading for his room. Bucky leans over the island and calls after him.

“You going with roses or lavender tonight?”

“Actually it’s the cotton candy one you got me for Christmas,” Sam hollers back. “It makes me smell like a snack and I like that. So goodnight and go fuck yourself.”

“Swear jar!”

The sound of Sam’s laughter fades as he bangs his door shut. Alone now, Bucky takes a deep breath, counting slowly in his head.

Standing in his bright, cheerful kitchen, all those flashbacks of gunshots and explosions should be fading. He has more than enough combat training to know how to tune out the bad and focus on the good. And normally he’d pop an extra strength sleeping pill, call it a night, and pass out under his favorite feather quilt.

But there was something about this mission that was agitating. More than usual. He feels that familiar energy skittering under his skin and he knows. He has enough experience with his own fucked up brain to know it won’t disappear unless he does something about it.

“Fucking fuck,” he mutters.

Scrubbing a frustrated hand down his face, he decides to throw on a fresh shirt before he goes. Not that it matters, it’ll be sweat stained and blood splattered soon enough, but it makes the process feel less like a suicide mission and more like a ritual. The illusion makes a difference.

He hurries down the hallway, feeling immensely grateful your work trip was extended, so you’re not here to witness this idiocy. He still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you this particular vice.

Nudging open his bedroom door, tosses his coat on a chair and starts to strip off his shirt, but then he sees it.

Something is wrong.

The room is empty, but his bedside lamp is shining bright, bathing his messy bedroom in a warm yellow glow.

Something is definitely wrong.

Since Sam spent three hours last month berating him for their sky-high electricity bill, Bucky’s made damn sure to turn off every light the moment he leaves any room, because Sam and his soapbox are exhausting. He checked all the lights before they left. Every single one. He definitely turned this off.

The pile of blankets on his bed begins to move.

Bucky silently shuts the door and drops into a low crouch, drawing a curved blade from his boot. Knife tight in hand, he inches closer.

A familiar face pops up from under the blankets, rubbing tired eyes.

“Bucky? Is that you?”

The knife drops with a clatter and Bucky huffs a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. Climbing onto the bed, he presses a kiss to your forehead, inhaling the light scent of your peach moisturizer.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you scared the hell out of me. What’re you doing here? Thought you were gone another two days?”

“Came home early,” your voice is low, raspy with sleep. “But I'm all kinds of jet lagged, timezones can kiss my ass. How was your mission?”

Bucky smoothes his thumb across your cheek. That jittery feeling briefly fades at the touch of your warm skin and he thinks longingly of crawling in bed and wrapping himself around you. He shakes his head, desperate to force himself off this weird precipice, but the energy pulses again.

“Mission was fine,” he lies softly. “I’m just gonna shower and finish a few things, and then I’ll come to bed. Okay?”

Eyes already fluttering closed, you snuggle into the blankets and steal one his pillows, offering one last sleepy smile.

“Okay. Hurry though, won’t stay awake long.”

Bucky leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, but you're already asleep. He whispers in your ear.

“I'll be back soon.”

*****

When you wake, the room is dark. Beside you, where Bucky should be, the sheets are cold. Struggling to sit up, you peer into the dark corners of the room.

“Bucky? Where are you?”

Tiptoeing to the bathroom, you flip on the lights. The space is empty, everything in order: toothbrushes in place, the jar of cottonballs packed full, Bucky’s expensive shampoo beside your body wash. Towels are folded over the rack, crisp edges hanging straight. When you brush your fingers over his plush green towel, you notice it’s bone dry.

Confused, you wander out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. The dim glow of streetlights outside throws sharp shadows across the wall and as you step onto the balcony, you expect to find him nursing a whiskey or stealing a smoke or reading a book. Something.

Nothing.

This isn’t completely out of the ordinary. Now and then, when the thoughts start swirling, he wanders out for a walk, letting the night air and the concrete heartbeat of Manhattan work it's magic. But normally, he kisses you awake and begs you to come with him. He never leaves without telling you.

As much as you hate being that person, you can’t help the ripple of nerves. Creeping down the hall, you decide to knock on another door.

“Sam. Sam. Are you awake?”

There’s a faint thud and a metallic clang, followed by a string of muffled curses. A moment later, the door swings open revealing a bleary eyed and fully naked Sam Wilson.

“God dammit Bucky, I broke my toe again, what do you - oh shit. Shit, hi. Sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Shit.”

Fumbling behind the door, Sam grabs the red, white, and blue shield and hurriedly covers himself.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you, I didn’t mean to see your, um, your - stuff. Your, you know. Your goods,” you babble, voice ratcheting up. “Anyway. Yeah. Um, I was just wondering if you might have any idea where Bucky might be?”

“My goods? What the hell, way to make it awkward,” Sam chuckles. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know where he is, but - didn’t you talk to him before he left?”

“Kind of, but I was mostly asleep. He said he was coming right to bed.”

There’s no surprise from Sam, only resignation. Leaning against the doorframe, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Of course he did. So listen, I’m gonna level with you here and if he has a problem with that, he can deal.” He pauses for a moment, choosing the words. “You know how sometimes after a really rough mission, there’s shit just bouncing around in your head? Like some crazy adrenaline rush you can’t ignore? Well sometimes you gotta find a way to deal or it fucks with your head. Make sense?”

“Of course. Decompression tactics.”

“Exactly. So anyway, we all got these routines to stay sane. Me, I like scented bubble baths and sleeping naked.” He gestures vaguely at his bare chest and the strategically placed shield. “Wanda bakes. Natasha eats Skittles and shoots things. Everyone’s different. Whatever your brain wants you to do, you listen. Except Steve, I guess. We try not to listen to Steve.”

“Why?”

“Steve likes to karaoke.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Sam sets his mouth in a grim line. “He doesn’t sing, he raps. And he has dance moves. He’s like a bargain basement Eminem.”

“Yikes.”

“Yep.”

“So, Bucky’s off decompressing? Why wouldn’t he just tell me?”

Part of Sam thinks you should ask Bucky yourself, but the other part - the part that grudgingly likes Bucky Barnes even though he’s a dumbass lacking basic self-preservation skills - feels like he should spill the tea.

“I guarantee he’ll be back in a few hours, he always is, but since he has some personal shit driving his little ritual, I’ll tell you where to find him just in case.”

And so you listen solemnly as Sam explains. When he's done, you can't decide if you want to hug Bucky or smack him in the head.

“Thanks Sam," you sigh. "I’ll go find him. Make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“Good luck with that. If you figure out how, I could use some tips.”

Sam steps back to close the door, but you stop him.

“Wait. Since I can smell the bubble bath on you, can I just check - are you okay? Do you need anything?”

At your concern, a slow smile tugs his lips. He nods.

“I’m okay. But thanks for asking. I mean it.”

Keeping the lower half of your body demurely away from the shield and naked Sam, you gingerly lean in to give him a one armed hug. A sugary scent wafts off his skin, so sweet it makes your teeth ache.

“Is that cotton candy?”

“It’s delicious right? Now get outta here, before I tell Barnes you were trying to peep on my goods.”

*****

Down a dark street on the Lower East Side, there’s a nondescript black door beside a vacant laundromat. Tacked on the brick beside the door is a dingy brass plaque, with the surname of some long-forgotten tenant etched in barely legible letters. Rubbing your thumb over the thin metal, you can feel the letters spell out a word.

K-u-l-a-k.

While your Russian is not as fluent as Bucky’s, sounding out the letters under your breath is enough to let you know you’re in the right place.

Kulak. Rough translation?

The Fist.

Glancing around the empty street, your fingers find the smooth brick four down and two across, before giving it a firm push. It pops out, revealing a black keypad. Punching in the eight-digit code Sam shared, the door clicks and slides silently open. Slipping inside, you see a rickety looking elevator and before you can talk yourself out this insane excursion, you punch the round black button, step inside, and hold your breath.

With a whoosh, it plummets. Faster and faster it falls, until you feel the odd vibration of rumbling metal beneath your feet. It sounds like a heavy bass beat, the feel of a thousand drums tickling through your toes, crawling up your legs, banging in your chest.

The elevator bumps to a stop.

When the doors open, the sound knocks you back like a physical blow.

The cavernous room resembles an underground warehouse, exposed metal beams twisting along the ceiling like the ribs of some giant beast, layers of mesh wire adorning the walls. Down one side of the room, a long bar takes up the entire wall, hundreds of liquor bottles illuminated by coils of neon lights.

On the opposite wall is a massive tournament bracket. Names, rankings, and win-loss records are listed out, betting odds outlined beneath each.

Bewildered, you scan the list of names until you see it, listed under the ELITE division:

BARNES RANK: 1 W-L: 4-0 ODDS: 2:1

“Bucky, what the fuck,” you mutter.

In the middle of the room, a wide space is roped off into a square ring. Assembled around the barrier, crowds of people are screaming and cheering, stomping their feet, sucking in a collective breath, as some gruesome scene plays out before them.

Elbowing through the throngs of people, you duck under pumping fists, cringing when you rub against the sweaty armpit of one very enthusiastic, very hairy man. By the time you reach the edge of the ring, you’re covered in sticky spilled cocktails and sour beer. Gripping the rough black rope, you lean forward, finally discovering why everyone is going crazy.

Bucky stands in the center of the ring, dressed in a white shirt and black jeans, worn combat boots on his feet. His right hand is wrapped with wide strips of white tape, stained rusty red and his face is a patchwork of bruises - purple-blue along his jaw, a shiner ringing his eye - and blood oozes from his busted lip. When he rakes a hand through his hair, it stands up in messy, sweaty spikes.

Bouncing on his toes, he dances around the ring, his eyes wild and bright. Before him is a lanky man covered in freckles, sporting an electric blue buzzcut, and hissing at Bucky with unconcealed rage. Locking eyes with the man, Bucky casually wipes away the blood on his mouth and flicks it at him.

And then he grins. That cocky, wise-ass, bullshit smirk that is equal parts adorable and so infuriating even you want to punch him sometimes.

A piercing siren blares.

Blue Buzzcut launches himself at Bucky, fists swinging. Bucky ducks almost lazily, before returning a punishing gut punch and an elegant uppercut that lifts the man off his feet. He flies backward, hitting the ground with a heavy groan and Bucky keeps dancing in place, waiting for him to rise. The man crawls shakily to his knees, before collapsing with a groan.

Knockout. Less than 30 seconds.

The crowd goes ballistic.

The siren blares again and Bucky raises a victorious fist in the air, before sauntering off to his corner. Gulping down a bottle of water, he flexes his fingers, examining the bloody tape and ignoring the mob of voices chanting his name.

“Barnes! Barnes! Barnes! Barnes!”

Jumping in place a few times, he shakes out his arms and cracks his knuckles. He grabs another bottle of water and takes a long drink, before dumping the rest down the back of his neck. And because he tends to be excessively theatrical even on a normal day, he pulls his shirt off and tosses it behind him with all the flair of a professional stripper.

The crowd goes completely, utterly, and totally insane.

From your vantage point across the ring, you see the smallest curl of a smile, before he smothers it down with a snarl. Rolling his shoulders back, he sinks naturally into a fighting stance and waggles his fingers, beckoning the next fighter.

“Come on, big boy,” he calls. “Let’s see it!”

Gripping the rope, you watch a black haired giant slowly enter the ring. Covered in red and black tattoos and at least seven feet tall, he towers over Bucky. Wrapped around his hands, you see a wicked set of bloodstained brass knuckles.

“Okay, listen up you bunch of drunk degenerates!”

The snarky voice booms through the room and you turn your head to see a familiar figure perched in a chair high above the melee. Dressed in red and black spandex, his face covered by a mask, Wade Wilson sounds positively gleeful narrating the show.

“Here he is, straight from the cold ass fucking streets of Moscow, give a big round of applause to this badass motherfucker who goes by - wait, seriously? Dagger? Dude, that's the name you picked? What the fuck's wrong with you? Jesus Christ. Alright, well his name is real fucking stupid, but he looks like he could eat your fucking face, so anyway, Dagger's gonna give our boy Barnes here a run for his money. Fists up, you crazy assholes, these people came here to see some motherfucking blood and guts, so FIGHT!”

There’s the shriek of the siren and both men step forward, quick as lightning. Dagger starts with a flurry of short jabs, and Bucky knocks down every hit with nonchalant ease, the gold vines in his vibranium arm glittering under the neon lights. His grin grows wider.

Dagger keeps punching, his frustration growing with every missed hit. His swings get progressively wilder, until he overreaches and stumbles sideways. Bucky twists gracefully aside and begins to laugh, eyes dancing merrily as he glances toward the crowd.

And somehow in that crushing madness, with hundreds of screaming fans - his eyes land on you.

The laughter dies instantly. Shock flashes through his face, eyes growing wide and panicked. He freezes on the spot and in the middle of a bloody fight, that hesitation becomes a very painful problem.

Dagger swings again and this time, Bucky takes a brass-knuckled fist square in the face.

The momentum behind the punch sends him sprawling and he hits the floor hard, breath punched from his lungs. Rolling away, Bucky avoids a boot to the head, and scrambles back to his feet, backpedaling around the ring to where you stand. Dagger beats his chest and faces the screaming crowd with a triumphant roar.

Blood pouring from his nose, Bucky leans into the rope barrier, yelling above the noise.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I was looking for you!” You shout. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dagger turns back to face him, snorting and bellowing like a bull in a ring. Bucky grimaces.

“Ah fuck. Listen, can I just - can I finish this first and then we talk? I’ll make it fast, I swear.”

Throwing your hands in the air, you wave him away.

“Go! Just please try not to get your ass beaten!”

Relieved, Bucky nods frantically and dashes back into the fray.

With the knowledge of you waiting behind him, he spits a mouthful of blood at Dagger’s feet and barrels back into the fight with a vicious sneer. Whirling and ducking, he lands three quick hits in rapid succession, short and sharp to the belly, but it’s his right cross that seals the deal. Dagger spins away, blood spraying the crowd, and lands spreadeagled.

Out cold.

The siren blares one more time and the crowd howls their delight, stomping and clapping as another 'W' is added on the bracket next to BARNES.

Snatching up a towel, Bucky wipes his face and waves at the announcer stand.

“I’m done Wade, I’m out! Pull me off!”

“What?! God dammit Barnes, you cocksucking piece of shit, I dumped all my fucking money on you!”

Ignoring Wade’s furious shrieking, Bucky flips him off and jogs back toward you, hopping over the rope barricade. He lands at your side and you grab hold of his sweat slick arm.

“Bucky, what in the world -“

“Hang on,” he interrupts. Curving an arm tight around your waist, he steers you through the crush of people. All around, unknown hands slap his back, his shoulder, his arm, shouting congratulations and insults and even a few marriage proposals, but he ignores everything. Guiding you to a dimly lit hallway, he shoves open a heavy door, pulling you inside a small bathroom before flipping the lock. The noise is instantly muffled.

He moves to the sink and flips the facet full blast, splashing icy water on his face, rubbing away drying blood from rapidly healing wounds. He squints at his reflection in the dirty mirror and sighs irritably at his now crooked nose. Placing three fingers on either nostril, he snaps the bones back in place with a pained grunt. Drying his hands on his jeans, he takes a deep breath and turns back to you, eyes on the floor. There’s a long moment of silence, before he finds the courage to look up.

“Okay, let me have it.”

But of course you can’t. Not when you know why he’s in this club, shoulders slumped, shame in his eyes.

“Buck. I’m not mad at all. You just had me worried, since I had no idea this was something you did…I had to come make sure you were okay.”

Bucky softens at that confession. Longing fills him up, to take away your sadness and never distress you again.

“Thank you for being worried,” he says. “But I’m okay, I promise.”

Gesturing at the cuts and bruises littering his skin, you shake your head. “Are you though? Sam said you had other reasons for coming here. Stuff from your past.”

Taking tentative steps closer, Bucky watches your reaction. You can smell the faint scent of his deodorant, under the tang of sweat and blood.

“I really am okay, sweetheart. But I’m sorry you found out like this, I should've come clean a long time ago.” Bucky frowns, gathering his thoughts. "It all started years ago when I was still with Hydra. There was one handler who had all these - side jobs, I guess. Ways to make money under the table. One night, after this shitty mission in Detroit, he met me at the rendezvous point and I was all over the place. Could barely see straight, the whole thing had set me off. And this guy, he takes one look at me, tells me to get my ass in the car, and he drives to an old warehouse outside the city. I honestly thought he was taking me somewhere to kill me off. Like maybe he figured I wasn’t worth the effort or something. It scared the shit outta me, but I also felt kinda relieved. You know?”

The ghost of a smile flickers. It bruises your heart.

“Buck - “

He shrugs. “Nah, it’s okay. So we get in this rusty elevator and when the doors open, we’re in a basement and it’s just - it’s full of people. Lights and music and shouting. In the middle of the room, there was an area roped off like a boxing ring and these two men were beating the shit out of each other. Punching, kicking, biting. Fucking brutal. There was a bookie taking bets and the handler gave them my name and threw all his money down on me. I won every single round I fought. That was my first fight club, but it wasn’t the last.”

The way Bucky describes it, the Soldier terrified he was about to be executed, only to be thrown into another fight, it sets your blood boiling.

“He made you fight people? Why?”

Bucky smiles at your angry indignation. He adores these little moments when you get protective of him. It makes him feel bright and shiny. Like someone worth protecting.

“Guess he knew I was a sure thing. No one was gonna beat me, no one ever came close. We never went to the same place twice, and I always wore a mask and gloves, so no one knew who I was. I’d blow off some steam and he’d make some money. It was a win-win. And after, I actually felt better. Like I could breathe again. Most of those missions were fucking horrifying, and I'd just - I’d come out of them so jacked up on adrenaline. Once I got in there and worked it off, I felt better.” Bucky grimaces. “I hated going back on ice when I was anxious. It made the nightmares worse. Anyway, then later on there was another new guy, so I suggested a club and it sort of became a ritual I guess.”

“Are you -“ you hesitate, but Bucky nods encouragingly. “Are you angry? Is that why you want to fight?”

“No, no, no, not at all. It isn’t anger, I’m not mad. It’s honestly just stress relief. I work off the energy and then I feel better and go to sleep.”

Relieved, you finally relax. And you start to think.

Bucky stays quiet and nervously chews his thumbnail while you mull over his story. Finally, you reach for the waist of his jeans, hooking a finger in the band and tugging him in. He goes easily.

“Thank you for telling me, Buck. I love you.”

“I love you too. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, I just felt…stupid. Here you are, this smart, gorgeous, insanely talented woman, and here I am, some dumbass picking illegal fights in a warehouse in the middle of the night.” He grins ruefully. “I didn’t need to remind you that you’re crazy for being with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I mean, you are a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

“I love it when you sweet talk me,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

Even amid all his anxiety and adrenaline, the kiss is slow, his mouth moving leisurely against yours.

Behind you, the door suddenly rattles, startling you apart. Someone starts kicking it , yelling for you to hurry. Bucky slams his fist against the door in retaliation, yelling right back.

“It’s occupied! Fuck off!”

The angry snarl disappears the moment he looks back at you. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he breathes in your ear, voice full of that sweetness he reserves for you alone. He peppers small kisses along your jawline, the corner of your mouth, your nose, your eyelids, before he lands on your lips again. You sink into the delicious pressure once more, before coyly pulling away.

“You know Buck, if you needed to work off your energy, you could've just asked me for help.”

Bucky looks aghast. “Hell no, I'm not asking you. I’ve told you, our wrestling stays in the bedroom. I’m not sparring with you, I’d never forgive myself if something happened.”

Trailing your fingers lightly down his chest, your nails click invitingly when they reach his belt buckle.

“I didn’t mean sparring. There are other ways to work off energy you know.” Fiddling with the belt loops, your hands slide lower, teasing fingers cupping his cock. He sucks in a startled breath when you squeeze. “Did you ever think about that?”

The gears crank in his brain while he attempts to work out your question. Unhelpfully, all the blood in his head rushes south.

“What do you - "

Oh.

Sex. You mean sex.

Sex can burn off energy. Instead of sneaking into illegal clubs, goading enormous rage fueled men into fistfights, and scrubbing dried blood from under his fingernails, he could have been at home. With you. Sweaty and naked. Fucking.

“I never thought about it," he breathes. "Holy shit, I’m a moron.”

Curling a hand behind his neck, you tug him closer.

“I don’t like you fighting Bucky, you do enough of that in the real world. If this is something that makes you feel better, I’ll support it.” Nuzzling against his jaw, you lick a slow path up his neck. He shivers. “But I’d rather you use all your energy on me. Doesn’t that sound like more fun?”

When you nip his ear, he swallows a groan, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Oh god,” he sighs. “Yeah, that’s a better idea. So much better.”

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, Bucky chases your lips, drunk on this new thought. His sweaty body stretches against yours and you can feel him, hard and heavy between your legs. An irresistible idea pops into your head.

“Are you still buzzing now?”

“I am, yeah,” he admits, voice rough. “But now it's 'cause I'm thinking about your sexy ass. Makes me wanna fuck you right here.”

“Then do it. Take the edge off. Then I’ll take you home and finish the job.”

Bucky gapes at the request.

“Wha - here? In here? Are you serious?”

Reaching under your skirt, your fingers hook on the silky band of your underwear, and you slide them down. Tucking them into Bucky’s back-pocket, you slap his ass.

“Your move, Barnes.”

He stares at you, every muscle tense. A dark gleam appears in his eyes and he licks his lips, still unsure. But then he feels you grinding against his cock, whispering for him to touch you, and in the next breath, his mouth slants over yours.

The kiss is wild, tongue and teeth, salt and danger. Delicious.

Breaking away, he sinks to his knees, eager hands sliding up your calves, squeezing your thighs. He shoves your skirt up and pins your hips back against the door, and then his dark head is between your legs. Vibranium fingers tickle up your belly, a firm hand holding you still as he flattens his tongue and licks long, slow strokes up your pussy.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you moan. Shaking hands grab handfuls of his hair, tangling in the damp strands. He growls at the feel.

“Keep pulling my hair, baby. Just like that.”

He nudges your legs wider, sliding a hand up to rub against your core. His tongue tickles your clit, sucking it between his lips and you can’t stop the cry when he pushes two fingers inside your cunt. He thrusts up again and again, driving you onto your toes until you're seeing stars. Grasping his shoulders for leverage, you feel hard muscles straining beneath his flame hot skin.

“Bucky,” you whimper, weak against the onslaught. “Oh god that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, I’m gonna come, Bucky please - “

He moves his hand faster, fingers fucking into you harder. Even with the music blaring outside, you can hear the slick, wet sounds of desire. He answers your desperate plea with one of his own.

“Go on, give it to me. Come on, cum for me.”

That does it, the throaty vibration of his deep voice rumbling against you and suddenly you snap. Knees shaking, you squeeze his head tight between your thighs, yanking a fistful of his hair as you gasp out your orgasm. Bucky growls happily at the feel, his thick fingers gently stroking inside you, while you shiver through the aftershocks.

Breathing hard, you brush the hair back from his forehead. He gazes up at you, that cocky smirk on his lips.

“I thought we were working off your energy, not mine,” you pant.

Bucky turns his face against your thigh and laughs, the brush of stubble along his jaw scratching your skin.

“Couldn’t help myself, I know how good you taste. Been thinking about it all week.”

“You're ridiculous. Now get up here and fuck me,” you urge, cupping his chin. “I want this to be about you. Whatever you need, take it. I’m all yours.”

His face lights up and he pops to his feet, belt buckle clinking, shaky hands fumbling with his zipper. Glancing around the bathroom, he shimmies his pants halfway down his thighs and then grips your thighs, lifting you off your feet. His heavy body presses you tight against the door.

“Don’t touch anything, it’s fucking filthy in here,” he rasps in your ear. “Hang onto me, I won’t let you go.”

He maneuvers your body just right, staring down between you to watch the blunt head of his cock slide teasingly through your slick folds, lubing himself up. Desire crawls up your spine as you watch his expression turn dark and hungry.

“Bucky, please -”

The order fades to a startled gasp when he yanks your hips down, burying himself deep inside.

“Oh god,” he groans, a ragged sigh of pleasure. His mouth searches for a bare space of skin on your neck and he sucks, grounding himself. Clenching your thighs for leverage, he thrusts up. The metal belt buckle slaps your thighs with every sharp jerk of his hips, echoing off the walls. Each thrust is followed by a warm exhalation, a quiet grunt that sends shivers rippling through you.

“You feel good Bucky, you feel so good.” Eyes drift closed and you give yourself up to the feel of Bucky using your body, taking what he needs from the soft, wet heat.

He breaks from mouthing at that comforting space on your neck, licking along your jaw until he takes your mouth in a rough kiss. He bites your lip as he pulls back.

“Look at me,” he pants, hips rolling faster. “Open your eyes. Watch me.”

It’s a herculean effort to drag your eyes open, but the sight of Bucky’s bright blue keeps you locked in place. He watches you intently, his expression a blend of sweet adoration and fierce lust. Pressing his forehead against yours, he thrusts harder, driving his cock deeper. Every slap of his hips jolts your body against the door, tightening the coil in your belly. He brings you right up to the edge, as you drink in the image of this bloodied, bruised, beautiful man.

He has a spectacular bruise blooming down the side of his face, blood still smeared on his cheek, sweat slicking the back of his neck. Beneath your palms, you feel scorching hot skin and taut muscles shifting with every sensuous roll of his body. In that moment, he’s never looked sexier than he does tonight, fucking you in this dingy bathroom with graffiti painting the walls and the neon glow of blue and purple lights illuminating the sharp angles of his body.

This time, the orgasm catches you off guard. Eyes rolling back, you scream out his name and Bucky feels your cunt gripping him, squeezing tight.

“Fuck baby, that’s it,” he grits out. Rough hands grind into your skin harder, harsh thrusts moving faster, as he chases his own pleasure. You feel his heavy cock filling and stretching your aching core, until he chokes out a strangled groan and buries his face against your neck.

In the silence of the bathroom, you can hear the sink dripping, and the buzzing crackle of the fluorescent light. Breathing heavily, Bucky relaxes against you. It takes a minute before he can speak.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says hoarsely. “You’re fucking amazing. God damn.”

He lowers you carefully to your feet, zipping himself up before hurrying to grab a handful of paper towels for you. Reluctantly, he pulls your panties from his back-pocket and returns them.

“Here, you might want these until we get home. But then I want them back later, okay? They're my trophy tonight.”

Laughing, you brush the wrinkles from your skirts.

“Weirdo.”

“Yup.”

With just these few minutes together, he already seems calmer, more peaceful. Rubbing his arm, you tentatively ask.

“So you feel better? That helped?”

“Hell yeah,” he says softly. “Feel much better. It’s different than normal, but like - a nice different.”

“Good,” you say, tenderly kissing his still semi-crooked, swollen nose. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you, baby,” he murmurs. “For being here, for doing this. For being you.”

“Anytime, Buck.”

Turning toward the door, you straighten your dress and steel yourself for the frenetic crush of people still raging outside, but a question pops in your head. You stop, turning back to him with a serious expression.

“What’s up?”

“Do you think Sam might let us have some of his bubble bath? The cotton candy one? I think we need a detox after - well, after this.” You wave your hands vaguely around the dirty bathroom with a grimace.

Bucky wraps an arm around you and laughs.

“I actually bought myself one too, Sam ain't the only one who likes bubble baths. Let’s go get naked.”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bitsandbobsandstuff

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lemonjoonah · 4 years

Text

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi and @ladyartemesia thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t.

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later.

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.”

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...”

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot.

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights.

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression.

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?”

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves.

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall.

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?”

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return.

“So we're in the same boat?”

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.”

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by.

“Yes, thank you so much!”

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist.

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?”

Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present.

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.”

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin.

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination.

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill.

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts.

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved.

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!”

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright.

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.”

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown. “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.”

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another.

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop.

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation.

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time.

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon.

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road.

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?”

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?”

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence.

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-”

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.”

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle.

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat.

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now.

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.”

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape.

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors.

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation.

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat.

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper.

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt.

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation.

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart.

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car.

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted. See you tomorrow, - Namjoon

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in.

KNJ: Are you awake?

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can.

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm.

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.”

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

“Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

“I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it.

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away.

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn.

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?”

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?”

“Eleven okay with you?”

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down.

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk.

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art.

“A win-win.”

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.”

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection.

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on.

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers.

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?”

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?”

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is.

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you.

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear.

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips.

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces.

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible.

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?”

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before.

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you.

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm.

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior.

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.

“I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

��That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text.

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment.

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.”

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor.

You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself.

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.”

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome.

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.”

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend.

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink.

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.”

“Valerie...” Eric growls.

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?”

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.”

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you. “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?”

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again.

“Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia.

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon.

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size.

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer.

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid.

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.”

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to.

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms.

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?”

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”

Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall.

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays.

...

-Christmas Eve-

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning.

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver.

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along.

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised.

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk.

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.”

“It’s the holiday sea-”

“I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!”

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer.

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover.

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.

“I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.”

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.”

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him.

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...”

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive.

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.”

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first.

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left.

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.”

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned.

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow.

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party.

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.”

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.”

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift.

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time.

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?”

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person.

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.”

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.”

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.”

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look.

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait.

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds.

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not.

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you.

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear.

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in.

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground.

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air.

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth.

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile.

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.”

“I want that too. I want you.”

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.”

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft.

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch.

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes.

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #bts x reader #rm #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts christmas au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts wrapped together

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supremeinlilac · 4 years

Text

What a Year

MERRY CHRISTMAS <33

So this is my secret santa gift for @honeysorwell and I really hope I did soft!Mina justice for you Val :)) I hope you like it and that everyone has a fabulously happy and safe Christmas Day!!

also massive thank you to the wonderfully fabulous @grilledcheeseandguavajelly for organising this secret Santa so well!! you are appreciated, have an amazing day <33

Pairing: Pre Apocalypse!Wilhemina x Reader

Word count: 4186

Valentines Day

You’d finally made Wilhemina a valentine’s card, after several failed attempts at finding violet paper online, and signed it ‘From your secret admirer’. It made you laugh to yourself as you did it, not believing for a second that she’d fall for it. Sneaking out of her grasp in the bed the next morning, you’d buried the card within all the post at the foot of the door, before returning to your girlfriends’ warmth.

You’d both silently agreed that the day would be relatively normal, which meant no lie-ins despite the occasion. You also both had work to be getting to; long office hours which dragged in the absence of each other. The day was inherently normal, and boring so you found yourself anxious to return and relax with your girlfriend in the evening.

Upon arrival back home, you were met with Wilhemina sat at the table, your card held up in her fingers, a playful smirk set on her face. She’d obviously returned and began to sort through the mail that had been disregarded that morning, finding your card within the mess. You quickly fumbled to hand up your coat and kick the shoes into the footwell before making your way over to her in the kitchen.

“Secret admirer hmm?” she mused, eyes flicking back to the writing in the card. “Looks like you may have some secret competition eh Y/n. What do you think?”

Ignoring the humorous shake of your head, she pushed a card across the table with the letter opener, which was addressed to you in Wilhemina’s staple neat handwriting. “Ooooh” you teased, slowly prising it from beneath her finger and shaking it at her, smiling. The card was small and delicate, with Mina’s loopy writing across the page in her favourite deep purple ink. Pressed flowers adorned the front of the cards, arranged in a bouquet and you gasped at it.

Little one, I am so grateful I can share such occasions as this with you, and I hope to make our own festivity traditions in our future. Happy Valentines Day. From your love, Wilhemina Venable <3

Seen as you were busy smiling at the fact she always signed her full name, and blushing down at your feet at how she wanted to make traditions with you; you failed to notice the small paper package Wilhemina had drawn from a bag beside where she sat.

You were shocked when she pressed the parcel into your hands, eyes darting from the gift up to meet hers and returning slowly to what was in your palms. “What’s this?” you quizzed, hand coming to playfully nudge the woman sat in front of you to hide the surprise you felt at receiving a present.

A faint blush painted her cheeks, and an uncharacteristic nervousness overcame her, hands joining on her cane in front of her as you held the small, wrapped box up. Mina was nervous in case you thought she was going soft, or that the gift was unnecessary and unpractical, so you’d hate it. Her worries were uncalled for though, you’d loved any gift she had bought you previously and would continue to do so in the future.

As the paper was removed to reveal a CD in a blank case you couldn’t help but let confusion cross your face momentarily. Looking up to your girlfriend, she tentatively removed the disk from the casing and ushered you to sit before her.

“It’s a mixtape. I always hear you singing to music in the kitchen when you think I’m not listening, so I found the songs and made you this. I know you could very easily get a playlist nowadays but I’m not incredibly informed in all this new technology you see.” She paused, allowing you to lace your fingers between hers on top of her cane. “I wanted you to know that I don’t want you to have to hide something you love to do because you think I’d disapprove. Your voice is quite beautiful, my dear.”

You were speechless, simply just staring at your girlfriend in disbelief at the effort she had gone to, to give you a gift you’d cherish. You tried to say something but your voice caught in your throat, mouth opening and closing again. At your lack of a response, Mina’s face fell slightly and her fingers twitched on the cane she held.

“You hate it.” She stated, clearing her throat and face tightened, trying to avoid looking disappointed at your reaction. That broke your trance, head shaking rapidly and turning to cup her face in your hands, shocking her as you did.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you.”

“You’ve just made my card look bad now, that’s all.” You admitted, laughing softly and shrugging. She chuckled lightly, placing the CD back in its casing on the table and standing, hand finding yours and pulling you into her.

“I can think of another gift you can give to me little one.”

April Fools

You glanced over your shoulder at your girlfriend reading the book she’d recently found on the shelf, occasionally stopping to spoon muesli into her mouth before returning to the words. Happy that she wasn’t observing your actions, distracted by her book, you subtly spooned a teaspoon of salt into the mug on the left, and sugar into the other.

The clink of the metal spoon against the ceramic filled the kitchen, the noise oddly soothing and domestic in the otherwise heightened buzz of life. You picked up both mugs, bending slightly at the knee as you walked to the table. Wilhemina nodded as you placed the left mug beside her bowl; eyes not leaving the pages they were fixed on.

“Would you be dear and get the milk for me?” She asked just before you sat at the chair opposite and you obliged, crouching at the fridge before returning with the milk. She thanked you when you placed the milk down and settled in your chair, breathing heavily and scribbling on the crossword beside you.

Placing the book down, she gripped her mug between her hands, warming fingers against the ceramic, nails tapping slightly.

You met her eyes over the rim of both of your mugs, hers glinting with what looked suspiciously like mischief. You watched her take a big drink from her mug, tipping your own head back and doing the same as to not arouse your own suspicion, breaking your eye contact as you did so.

“Urghg what the?-” you spluttered, coughing at the harsh taste that invaded your mouth. You’d taken a very large gulp, not expecting the jarring taste prompting you to swallow and choke on the still hot tea. Calming down, you looked up at Mina, who was contently sipping at her drink, eyes bright and playful. Lowering the mug, you could see her lips pulled into a smug grin as she settled comfortably back into her chair, bemused at watching you trying to figure out how she’d managed to pull the wool over your eyes.

You groaned in defeat, head falling into your hands dramatically. You’d fallen for her trick, getting that milk that she never even touched. You didn’t notice. Why did you think she didn’t know what day it is. Wilhemina pushed herself up from her chair, hovering over your still hunched form. “Nice try little one” she cooed, patting your hair before leaving the room to get herself ready for work.

You huffed, arms crossing at your chest, smirk pulling at your lips at the fact she’d actually joined in on the pranks. Despite now having a disgusting taste in the back of your mouth, you felt happy at the fact you’d been challenged.

‘Oh it is on’ you thought to yourself, brain already wandering to things that could get Wilhemina back.

Easter

“I hate chocolate” she stated bluntly, making no attempt to take the egg from where you were eagerly holding it out to her.

“No one hates chocolate Wilhemina” you sulked, arms pushing the chocolate furter towards her, a pout set firmly onto your face. She gingerly took it from you, weighing it between her hands and looking at you through amused eyes.

“I made a rabbit pie for the festivities”

“You made a what- No. No!” you beckoned her with a finger to come closer as if you were to divulge a deep secret. You whispered urgently, “You baked the Easter bunny!” you feigned offence, as she scoffed at your theatrics.

You stopped. “Wait. Where did you even get a rabbit?” you stared, eyes wide in shock as she let a soft chuckle escape her lips, hand tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as she did. “It’s chicken darling. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Holding the egg up and giving it a wave at you she spoke. “Share this with me then? It is a very copious amount of chocolate for one person to enjoy” she smiled, enjoying the way your face lit up at her request. Beaming, you quickly pecked her jaw before giddily skipping into the other room. Mina stayed for a second, bringing her fingers up to brush where your lips had lingered.

Birthday

Wilhemina carefully lifted the tin out of the oven with one hand, the other clutched desperately at her cane, steadying herself from accident. Stretching up and sliding the cake onto the tabletop, she let a deep breath out, thankful to have been able to complete this baking malarkey without hitch. Needless to say, Wilhemina was not one for such domestic acts, as baking a cake for a loved one or planning a surprise that wasn’t a casual act of viciousness.

The cake looked too simple for Wilhemina’s high standards when she’d prised it out of the tin and onto a plate. It was a very humble cake, which she would have been quite happy with had it just been her birthday; but she needed it to have a little more character since she new how eccentric you could be.

A candle and a small sprig of lavender later, and she nodded proudly to herself. The cake looked exactly as it had done before; only now it had a candle and some lavender perched on top ridiculously. The sight would have made anyone else laugh, but Wilhemina didn’t see the need for excessive decoration when the cake was meant to be the centrepiece. It was, after all, the thing she’d just spent over two hours preparing, and having unnecessary distractions from it was not something she required.

You skipped through from the living room at the sound of her calling for you, stopping still when she shouted “CLOSE YOUR EYES!!” Raising your arms in exasperation and dropping them dramatically at your sides again you stood by the doorframe. “How am I supposed to come in when I can’t see where I’m going” you sassed, arms coming to cross at your chest. Wilhemina scoffed, ignored your lip, instead guiding you forward to sit at the table and settling herself, leaning on the back of the chair opposite.

“Open them.”

As you took in the sight of her with the cake candidly placed in front of you, a warm grin formed on your lips, stretching wider when her lips curled up to match yours in glee. You pictured her swaying in the kitchen to classical music, wrapped in your favourite yellow apron with a dusting of flour on her nose.

“You made this?” you giggled, plucking the lavender out of the cake and smelling it. “Yes. Don’t act so surprised little miss. Want a piece?”

She turned to retrieve a knife and plates and you struggled to bite back a surprised laugh, a small giggle escaping as you did. She stopped and turned at the noise, eyebrow quipped in question as your hands lingered in front of your mouth, grin still firmly in place. “Mina. Turn around.” She slowly did as you asked, the flour print on her butt coming back into your view, a stark contrast from the deep purple skirt.

You couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from you, bending over to clutch at your aching stomach. Wilhemina at first went rigid, hand trying to inconspicuously wipe the flour from her dress when she realised the source of your laughter. Then she took in how your shoulders shook, and you let out a little snort, and she found herself laughing as well, hand on the table for support as you both gasped at each other.

When the laughter had bubbled to nothing, you both sat eating the cake and discussing weekend plans. The cake was vanilla; plain, but so incredibly Wilhemina it made your heart ache with pride at her first edible cake being made for your birthday. “It is not as bad as I had bargained it to be.” She hummed, fork between her teeth as you used yours to pick up crumbs from the plate.

“It was delicious. Thank you for making it for me, I know how you hate to bake.”

Nodding at your compliment, she gathered the plates towards her and pointed towards the front door. “Fetch my bag sweetheart?” she asked, sighing into the back of the chair, watching you rise to do as she asked. While you searched for her bag she clattered the dishes into the sink and retired into the living room, sinking down into the armchair.

“Thank you.” She breathed, taking the bag from your hands and motioning for you to sit at her feet on the carpet. This was a usual position the two of you found yourselves in, your head resting in her lap. Watching her, she pulled out two parcels from her bag, setting them in from of you on her lap.

She’d bought you a pale lilac lacey lingerie set and a desk organiser- always the one for practicality over vanity. Having overheard you complaining about your work desk always being littered with stationary and hazardly strewn papers no matter how many times you’d clear it, she’d taken it upon herself to right the issue.

You weren’t surprised at her observance, as she had the sharpest eye of anyone you knew; but you were touched that she’d taken the time to find items she new you needed and wanted out of her otherwise very busy days.

Wilhemina never liked outward shows of emotion or physical affection in the early stages of your relationship, even in the confides of your private home; so she was thoroughly taken aback when you launched yourself into her. “Thank you Mina, I love them.” You squeezed her tighter, careful to avoid the curve of her spine in your giddy excitement. Overcoming the initial shock, she slowly encased you in her arms, inhaling into your hair that sat just to the side of her face.

“Happy Birthday little one.”

Bonfire night (apologises if this is just a British thing)

“There you go, little one. We can’t have you getting cold now can we?” She tightened the scarf around your neck, fastening it and patting it down, pausing to flash her eyes down your body. You were buried in enough layers to warm the dead, arms poking out at an angle because they couldn’t lie flat. Your flushed face peeked out between hat and scarf, smile fixed on your lips as you watched her fix her own scarf into place, her own outfit lacking the excessive amount of layers she claimed you needed.

You bit back a comment about never being cold again in all this wool as she nuzzled her face into yours. “Lets go!” you squealed, grasping her cane from where it stood, propped against the wall and pushing it into her waiting hands. Wrapping your arm around her waist you opened the door, cold wind pushing into the house, and ushered you both out into the night.

Your town was holding a bonfire night firework display which you’d convinced Mina would be a beautiful thing to watch together. She’d let you know her disdain for the occasion; how it had come about because of an old man wanting to blow up the Houses of Parliament who was consequently put to death. Gruesomely, she added; sparing you none of the details of his demise. She also pointed out the mistakes in the plot that she insisted she would not have made if she’d wanted to do such a thing.

Once you’d guided Mina over the softened grass of the field, careful to prevent her from slipping on the mud of a slight slope, you both settled together near the fence so she could use it for support should she need it. The fireworks started, intrusive bangs and bright light flooding your senses which somehow managed to hold their beauty, despite their obtrusiveness.

You stood in front of her; your back to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around your waist pulling you against her in the darkness that encased you. Although there was quite a crowd in the field with you for the display, you only felt the presence of your lover behind you. Her warmth seeped through into you, her warm breath on your cheek leaving smoky vapours to curl around your face in the night.

It was cold. But Wilhemina made you warm.

“You see that lilac one there?” pointing skywards at the firework and burying her chin into your shoulder. “They use potassium to get that colour, see?” Another purple firework exploded in front of you, reinforcing her point.

Turning your face towards her, nosing bumping when she didn’t pull away, you gazed at her. Despite her previous opposition for attending the fireworks, you didn’t miss how her eyes glistened when they would pop in the sky, eyelids fluttering as they’d descend in shimmering light through the atmosphere. “I love you.” You confessed, in awe at her knowledge and how she never let you feel unsafe in her presence.

“I love you too my darling. Now, you see that red one up there?”

Christmas

“It’s Christmas” you hummed, craning your neck to pepper Wilhemina with kisses over her closed eyes until they fluttered open and fixed you with a fake annoyed look. “What do you want me to do about that?” she huffed in fake annoyance, batting you away to pull herself out of bed, smoothing the covers down behind you.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, You and Mina had had many conversations about how Christmas day would go, seen as you were an avid celebrater of the day and she would merely go about her day normally if you’d allow it. Meeting in the middle, you’d agreed upon a cosy and relaxed day at your home; cooking dinner together and wearing matching jumpers.

Okay, so Wilhemina hadn’t exactly agreed to wearing any sort of Christmas attire, never mind matching with you. In fact, she’s been explicitly vocal in her opposition of the idea. Naturally, you’d gone ahead and bought two matching jumpers anyway, knowing she’d cave in with a little persuasion on your part.

“But Mina.” You whines, childishly tugging on her sleeve as she prepped the carrots and potatoes for dinner. “I even toned down my choice, just for you.” She stopped, quirking an eyebrow in question and handing you the peeler to continue while she checked on the turkey. “Well, I was going to buy ones with bells on. But I didn’t! I chose a borringg one just for you.” You pestered, dragging out the sentence and flicking a piece of carrot at her, grinning stupidly.

She finally gave in after you promised to stop mithering her and allow you to cook quietly, the steady thrum of the Christmas music outside washing calm over the both of you, now donned in matching Rudolph jumpers, working in synchronised unison without having to talk. Mina liked it like this, and you were content to sway lightly and hum a quiet carol to yourself.

The dinner you made was absolutely the most beautiful thing you’d experienced with Wilhemina. Both sat in jumpers, walls completely down for the other and simply existing alongside the person you loved most in the world, eating Christmas lunch and laughing. Really laughing. At the corny jokes in the crackers, to the way your paper hat drooped down over your eyes making Mina fawn.

After the dinner you moved seamlessly to the living room, wordlessly content to leave the dishes for later. Resuming the usual position of Wilhemina in the chair and you kneeling at her feet, head in her lap as her nails lightly scraped at your scalp. The gifts under the tree had been moved to allow you to reach them from where you sat, Mina guiding you with a nod about which gift you were to open first.

Wilhemina had provided you with gifts that held hidden meaning behind them, but were more material than she’d usually purchase; for example the earrings you’d fawned over when you shopped together one day that she just couldn’t help but nip back on a lunch break to retrieve. She’d also gotten you her favourite book that you’d yet to read, even after insisting months ago. “Now you’ve no excuse but to read it. It really is an exquisite book Y/n.”

All of her gifts were perfectly wrapped in her signature brown paper and secured with a curled purple ribbon. Setting them under the tree had proved a challenge for the redhead but she’d been insistent that she place them herself when you offered. “No. I purchased these gifts, so I will be the one to arrange them under the tree.”

You had taken a more practical approach to her presents, knowing she was not one for material goods, nor small sentimental items that would be lost or forgotten about in the rush of your lives within a week. You’d clumsily wrapped your gifts in glittery silver wrapping paper which left silver glitter over everything it touched. It made Wilhemina’s nose scrunch up in distaste as she unwrapped them, her hands sparkling in the glow of the light with glitter.

After some arguments with yourself over the best practical gifts for your girlfriend, you’d settled on a deep mauve weighted blanket which could ease her back pain on difficult days and simply be a comfort on others. Accompanying that, you’d bought her some more leather fingerless gloves and another expensive cane with silver piping and a hummingbird engraved deep into the wood of the handle.

She’d gasped when unwrapping the cane, as you did the earrings, at the intricacy of the detail running through them. Lingering kisses and warm touches followed the gift giving, basking in the glow of the fire in the living room where you knelt by her chair, neck craned to meet your lover in a kiss against her soft lips.

Wilhemina had started to ramble again about the ridiculous notions of Christmas, face flushed with the alcohol, face serious as you gazed up from your position of the floor, equally buzzed with inebriation as your counterpart. “The insinuation that St Nicholas can visit ever child’s home in one night is simply-“she faltered, hiccupping and waving an arm for effect, “-is simply just abhorrently, scientifically wrong. I could never entertain the idea.”

“And as for the idea tha-” you silenced her with another kiss, rising from the floor to straddle her lap and press your body against hers. “I love you.” You breathed, head resting in her neck and fingers numbly playing with her loose hair.

You stayed in that position, happy in each other’s embrace as the evening drew on. Fingers tangled lazily within hair and other fingers and shaped were traced on bare skin. Whispered stories of pasts were shared and comfort given when needed, tears wiped by the careful brush of a thumb. Eventually you fell asleep, mind blank and peaceful after the first of many shared Christmas days between you both.

New Years Eve

“You’ve never kissed anyone on New Years Eve before?” you quizzed, cocking your head at the older woman beside you, who crossed her arms across her chest and huffed dramatically.

“I have simply never been in the company of anyone I wished to share such an intimacy with” she chimed back, before softening and smiling down at you, “until you my dear.”

The clock chimed and you smiled up at her, fingers dancing behind her neck as you pulled her down to meet you in a kiss. She relaxed into you and you felt her smile against your lips, hands reaching for your waist to pull you flush against her.

As the chimes faded, you let yourself slip from her embrace, thumb coming up to brush over her swollen lower lip as you blushed. “Happy New Year Mina.” You whispered, head falling to her chest as you wrapped your arms around her in a hug.

Patting your back a few times; still quite unsure about such acts of physical attention, she finally allowed herself to relax. Melting into your body, her chin rested on the top of your head, dipping only to linger a kiss in the hair.

“Happy New Year Y/n.”

#secret santa #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson #ahs #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #sarah paulson imagine #wlw #spsecretsanta

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣#i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half...#and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap

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fandomtookoverlife · 4 years

Text

Home for Christmas

Pairings: Hotch x gn!reader, Jack x maternal!reader

Summary: you take steps towards your future with your boyfriend and his son, and it just so happens you be your favourite time of year🎄🎄

Warning: swearing(?)

Words: 4.7 k

Category: fluff

A/N: wow this one turned out longer than I expected😳😂, it’s my longest fic yet so I hope you like it. (It’s not proof read to my standards so take it with a grain of salt)

And yes btw I did Photoshop the picture at the end, why, you ask, did I do so much extra work even though I was on a time crunch, you know what that’s a good question, the answer is because I couldn’t find one I liked so screw it I’ll make it myself, I hate my self 😂😂

I have the outline for spiral part two so that should be what I post next.(the unfinished outline is like 600 words or smth😳 maybe I’ll post a little of it) Anyways hope you enjoy 😘😘

Other blog: @mac99martin

Masterlist

---

It’s December 1st, in your opinion it’s the best time of year and one of the best days. December 1st, ever since you were a child, has always been the day you decorate for Christmas: tree, lights, ornaments, Christmas themed knick-knacks, the whole shabang, Now, you prefer a real tree, traditions die hard and all, but when you got your own place and since you lived on your own, you’ve settled on a fake in your adult life. So while this morning you put up your fake tree and decorate your apartment, this afternoon you got to live vicariously through your boyfriend and his son when you went with them to get a tree and decorate their house.

Now you are doing the finishing touches on the house’s decorations, Jack has begged you to come and decorate with him. And Aaron, well apparently decorating is not his forté so he didn’t mind the help. Speaking of Jack you have no idea where he ran off to, he had been acting weird all morning. While days prior he had begged you to come over, he had been acting cold towards you all day and now was nowhere to be seen. Aaron hadn’t said anything to you so you chalked it up to kids being kids. Besides children's attention spans are not great, so he probably just woke up on the wrong side of the bed and then got bored.

A little while later you had finish perfecting the house and you venture into the kitchen to find two boys making hot chocolate you had to smile to yourself, they were just the cutest, jack was on a step stool so that he could reach the stove and Aaron was next to him watching him like a hawk making sure he didn’t burn himself. They were smiling and laughing, Jack launched off the stool and ran around the kitchen climbing the counter coming down with a bag of mini marshmallows. You really do love watching them together, sometimes you catch yourself thinking, “my boys” but they're not yours. Sometimes you get caught up in your thoughts that you fool yourself into thinking you’re a part of their family, it’s dumb really, but you forget and you can see yourself in that place, having that family. But like all good things, they come to an end and you have to remind yourself, that's not your place, and you wonder if it ever will be.

Aaron catches your eye, he has a giant smile on his face, as he does anytime he is with his son. Jack went to grab mugs for the hot chocolate, he grabbed two, you tried to chalk it up to that he's a kid and he only has two small hands, he probably didn’t even know his implication. None the less you smiled as Aaron grabbed the third mug and poured some in each handing them out. He tried to distract Jack from the giant bag of marshmallows, that kid really didn’t need more sugar, he failed but it’s always worth a try. You all mitigated to the living room, wrapping up the festive day with a classic Christmas movie. And again something was off, Jack barely said a word to you and sat on the other side of his dad. He always does that cute thing of snuggling in the small crevice between you and Aaron, but not today.

Eventually, the day came to an end. Jack was in bed, after barely saying goodnight to you, and you and Aaron were snuggling on the couch, “Is everything alright?”

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be”

“I don't know, Jack, he was just acting weird today,'' Aaron had this strange look on his face. You knew that he noticed it, but there was something else there, but god, you have no idea what it could be, something was wrong wasn’t it? “D-did I do something?”

The last thing that Aaron wanted was for you to think you did something wrong, that you were anything less than perfect. He was the one that was, he doesn’t want to say wrong, because you could never feel wrong to him, you feel so right in every way, and he can’t screw that up. But he doesn't know how to not screw anything up, with you or his son, or between you and his son, which he did, but also has the one thing he wants to right now.

“No, no, of course not honey, me and Jack were just talking last night, and, and it didn't go how I had planned.”

“But he was fine with you today, he was basically stuck to your side all day, it was me he was avoiding”

Shit, this was all his fault, what you don’t know is that the reason Jack was avoiding you today, the conversation they had last night, was about you. Aaron wants so desperately for you to be a part of his family, and that's what he and Jack were talking about last night, but Jack didn’t respond well to the sentiment, he didn’t explain why, he just climbed up and said he was going to bed, not that the why was a very hard guess for any father, never mind one that was a profiler. And then you were here, and Jack was acting weird towards you, and how could you not notice, but now you were thinking it was your fault when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“No, that's not what was happening, I promise,” he hopes anyway, “I’m sorry it's my fault, I don't know why he was acting like that, I’m sorry it ruined the day, I know how much you love it.”

“No no it didn’t, I just, don’t want to screw anything up.” you snuggled into his chest, sensing that he wasn’t going to say anything more of his explanation, just continuing with his reassurances

He only hopes you believe him.

Aaron really did feel horrible that he caused a rift in your relationship with Jack, he wanted to fix it, he did, but he was nervous. You and Jack are the most important people in his life, he just wanted everything to be perfect but what if he couldn’t do that? What if he tried and he made things worse again? With a million thoughts running through his brain he really didn’t know what to do.

Thankfully Jack’s mood only lasted 3 more days, correction 3 more very long days, which was all spent with you. Spending so many days in a row with you was not unusual in the slightest, the only unusual thing was Jack’s enthusiasm, more accurately lack thereof. He never said anything about it, mostly because he wasn’t saying much, but he just kept away from you. Over the course of the three days, he got better, until the fourth he went completely back to normal as if nothing happened. Aaron, if he was being honest, was very relieved when Jack went back to his normal self, the only problem was that something had happened and he needed to talk to his son about it.

It was December 7th, Aaron took Jack out for the day, doing this and that's, it was a nice father and son day, but it was just a cover for the conversation that he wanted to have. The day was done, they were finishing up dinner when Aaron finally built up the courage, “jack?” jack simply looked up at his father, a smile still on his face, god I hope that smile stays, “can I talk to you about the other day?”

Jack thought about it, but ultimately decided, “what do you mean?”

Deep breath, choose these words carefully, “you know the other day before you went to bed, we had that talk?” Jack’s face faltered a little but he nodded, “well after you weren’t acting like yourself, can you tell me why?”

Jack went quiet and kept his eyes down, of course, Jack knew why, but he couldn’t say why, so he just didn’t say anything.

As parents knew their children, Aaron knew Jack needed some prompting, “is this about Y/N?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders while fidgeting with his shirt, he was quiet for another minute before, in the tiniest voice, “I-.... I don't want to replace mommy” Aaron sighed, somewhere he knew that that is what this was about, but it hurt, it hurt so much to think about, to talk about, it was just so painful not only for him, but his son, and the thought, the reminder that his son had to live through something so unimaginable, well it wasn’t something Aaron liked to think about often, or by choice.

He took a deep breath, standing up, picking up his son and moving them both to the couch, only attempting to speak once his son was snuggled up on his lap, “Jack, I promise that we are not, and would never replace mommy.” he was squeezing his son so tight at this point so probably couldn’t breathe, but Aaron, not Jack cared right now, “do you think that I’m trying to replace mommy with Y/N?” Jack slowly shook his head, he didn’t think that, but he thought about it, “do you think that Y/N is trying to replace mommy? do you think you’re replacing mommy with Y/N?” Jack snuggles further into his father’s chest and nods his head. Aaron feels like his heart is being pulled down with weights, he’s so close to breaking.

Jack’s voice is barely above a whisper, “what of Y/N replaces her and we forget her.”

Aaron kissed the top of his son's head, “We will never forget mommy because we love her and she loves us. And that will never change.'' Jack felt better, but he wasn’t fully convinced, “why don’t you ask Y/N what she thinks, I think that will help ya?” Finally, Jack had a smile on his face, it was small but it was there, that all Aaron could ask for. Aaron and Jack cuddled on the couch watching a movie until they fell asleep.

That's how you found them the next day.

Aaron, the night before, had texted you saying that things went well, you asked if you should come over today and he said yes, so this morning woke up with the sun, got ready and went to all of your favourite breakfast spots and got coffee and food. You had to have grown extra hands or something because you were somehow able to hold everything while simultaneously taking your key out and opening the door.

You expected to find the boys somewhere running around the house, jack probably having away too much energy and Aaron trying to keep up. What you didn't expect was to find them curled up on the couch dress in what had to be yesterday's clothes? You giggled stepping further into the house, removing your shoes and putting the food and drinks down, thankfully before you dropped them everywhere. You finally went to shut the door, that's what did it, Jack and Aaron did not immediately wake up. Well, you shouldn’t say immediately, when technically they both woke up, jack bolted up screaming your name and running into your arms. While Aaron, he slowly groggily opened his eyes. Watching Aaron was the funniest yet cutest thing to see and you loved it. “Hey, buddy! What's going on here?” you both looked back at Aaron who was now slowly realizing where he was and what was going on.

“Me and daddy watched a movie last night!”

“Ah, I see.” there were bright smiles on your faces, Aaron not so much but you'll give him a pass. Looking back at Jack you cup your hand around his ear, “guess what I brought” his eyes shoot to yours filled with excitement, you point behind him to where you put breakfast down, Jack immediately sees it almost jumping out of your arms “why don't you go bring everything to the table ya?” at that he scurried out of your arms. You laughed at the but before turning to you now awake and approaching him, looking at his state only made you laugh more, to which he glared at you for to which you laughed harder, only stopping when he scops your face into his hands, placing his lips on yours, you smile into the kiss as you hand wrap around him.

While it was a simple, innocent kiss, that didn't stop the loud “ewwwwww!” coming from the table, you both broke the kiss with giant smiles watching the sour look form on Jack’s face

“Hey! Is that table set up yet?”

“Almost!”

You went to walk away to help Jack but Aaron caught your wrist, when you looked back at him he had a more serious look on his face, in big constants to the happy one only moments before. He took both your hands in his, kissed them and brought them to his chest. Aaron noticed your furrowed brows and worried face and gave you a slight smile.

“What is it? Something wrong?” you really have no idea considering the complete and utter happiness on all your face this whole time.

“No no nothing wrong.” he picked up one of your hands and pressed a kiss on your palm before returning it to the warmth of his chest, “just, Jack’s going to ask you a question later okay?”

“Um, okay, just thought you’d give me a heads up?” you smiled but you were still worried.

“ya, just forewarning you.”

You studied his face, while you are -very- worried, he doesn’t seem to be at all, you signed, taking his calmness as comfort, “Alright.”

“Alright?”

Your hand came to the back of his neck, you placed a chaste kiss on his lips, “Alright.” you place one last kiss on his lips before pulling away and making your way toward and very patient Jack and a perfectly splayed out table.

You had eaten and enjoyed breakfast, Jack particularly the donuts you brought, on the other hand, you and Aaron were quite partial to the coffee.“Hey, jack why don’t you go get changed and then maybe we could go for a walk?”

“Ok!” the little boy spirited towards his bedroom

You stood up intending to clean up but Aaron stopped you “Hey, I’ll clean up, how about you go for a walk with Jack.” you looked in his eyes, they were sweet and caring but his face was tense and his lip was pressed into a line, you exhaled and grabbed his hand, you knew that he wanted you to talk to Jack, you had had a serious talk with him before, but you have no idea what this is about, the whole concept is terrifying.

Aaron can see how nervous you are, he can't say he doesn't understand, truth be told he’s a little nervous himself, but he knows you, and he loves you, but that's probably why he's nervous, “hey” you look into his eye, he just smiles at your love and adoration apparent, “everything’s going to be fine, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come on, let’s go let’s go let’s go let’s go” Jack takes both your hands pulling you off the couch

“Hey buddy, I’m going to clean up and you and Y/N can go for a walk, okay?”

“Okay” oh god, even Jack looks nervous.

“Okay, buddy let's go” you and Jack get your coats on, take each other’s hands and head towards the door, you look back at Aaron one last time, his eyes giving you all the comfort and encouragement needed, god I hope this goes well.

So here you are, halfway done you walk and you have said anything, you look at the boy ahead of you running and picking up snow, throwing it in the air, smiling as it slowly falls on him, “so Jack” oh god how do you even start this conversation, “why don’t we go sit on that bench over there?” he nodded, running over to it and sitting on it before you even take more than a couple of steps towards it. Thankfully, despite it being December it's not overly cold today, the temperature is nice with a chilly breeze, but the sun is out so it evens out nicely. You sit and put your arm around him, “is there anything that you want to talk about?” he looks down but shits his body to face you. You turn towards him as well and your arm falls from his shoulder and you place it on your knee, opening your palm to the sky, Jack takes the invitation and puts his hand in yours, you close your hand around him, squeezing it, smiling at the contact.

“I miss mommy.” ugh god no, that's it, there goes your heart, it's complete;y broken, irreparable, just cracked right in half. “I don't want to replace her” you squeeze his hand tighter, closing your eyes trying to hide how much his words are actually affecting you.

“Hey,” you lean down to look in his eyes, “I will never replace you, mommy, I love you so much baby, and I love your daddy, and I love you, mommy, just like you do. She was such a good mommy to you,” you lift and hand and boop his nose making you both laugh, “... no matter how hard I try I will never be as good as her, but I can love you both for her and I can be here for you both for as long as you want, I think she would like that, don’t you?” he looks up at you, a little smile growing on his face and jumping into your arms. Your arms wrapped impossibly tight around him and you took a shaking breath, thanking whoever the fuck is out there that that went well. And you thought about Haley, hoping that what you said was true, that she really would like you, that she's happy and that she thinks you’re good enough for her boys, that you are good for them.

“Why don't we make our way back to the house and see if we can rope your dad, into building a snowman with us?” he leaps off the bench, sprinting back to the house at the thought of playing in the snow with his dad, with you trailing behind him.

When you get back to the house you share a look letting him know everything is alright. You manage, with minimal protest, to get Aaron outside, you do in fact build a snowman, but you also have a snowball fight, you defend yourself saying, “it’s unavoidable'' and “a part of Christmas.” eventually you all, wet and cold, went inside, curled yourself up in blankets and snuggled, trying to warm up. Jack says on your lap, Aaron beside you. The three of you had a night of joy and laughter. You watched your, very, sexy boyfriend cook dinner, you ate, eventually got Jack into bed, and found yourself once again snuggling up with Aaron on the couch. “Do-, do you think Haley would like me?”

Aaron gave you a curious look, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and smiled at you, “ya I do.” although you don't seem fully convinced. He tilted your chin up, your eyes meeting his, “I think she would love how much you do for Jack, she would adore how much you yell at me,” making you both chuckle because you know how true that is, “she would love how kind you are, and how caring, gentle and patient you are. I know how much she appreciates how you keep her memory alive, and despite never knowing her, you still love her, so yes I think she would love you.” he leans in and places a gentle kiss on your lips, you smile and wrap your arms around his neck.

It's December 10th you're at a store doing some shopping you just remembered you had forgotten about. You pride yourself on being very prepared so not being done yet freaks you out. You are under strict orders not to get any more gifts for Jack, that you spoil him too much, but you can't help, so you choose to ignore that little detail as you're walking through the store.

“Daddy?”

“Ya buddy.”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Aaron smiled, “ya?”

“Mmhmm”

“So when do you think we should do it?”

Jack taps his lips and scrunches his brow as if in thought, “Christmas Eve!”

“Alright, that seems like a good time.” Aaron has wanted to move forward with you for a long time, it could not make him happier than his son wants that too.

It's Christmas eve morning, one of the worst days because it's not Christmas eve yet and it's not Christmas morning, it's a day of anticipation, it feels like something should be happening but there's nothing left to do but wait. Excitement courses through your body and it have no outlet to escape, just a boring day that feels exciting but can't be. And you have a very energetic little boy on your hands. He's almost literally bouncing off the walls, needing something to do, “why don't we make cookies for Santa?”

“YA YA YA YA YA!” Jack screams jumping up and down

You just put the cookies in the oven and were closing the door when you felt a tug on your hand, Jack was pulling at your waist and Aaron was leaning against the door, Jack had a smile on his face “Will you sleepover tonight?!” You were a little taken back, you had slept over before but it had never been while Jack was home. The lonely time close would be when Jack got dropped off early and you and Aaron hadn’t gotten out of bed yet.

Aaron loudly cleared his throat and Jack looked guiltily, lowering his head and bringing his shoulders up to his ears. You gave Aaron a confused wary look, you didn’t know why Aaron reacted like that nor do you know why Jack looks so guilty “well would you.”

“Are you sure that’s alright?”

“Of course it is”

You studied his face for a split second more, he had a sweet smile on his face, but there was something more, something you didn’t know, nevertheless you accepted

The little boy celebrated jumping into your arms, sending you into a fit of laughter

Aaron sat back and watched, could this be forever? He really hopes so.

Aaron cooked what had to have been what is one of the best dinners you've ever had. The dinner was slightly fancy and he had opened a good bottle of wine, you didn’t think too much of it, it was Christmas Eve. but he and Jack were acting weird, had refilled your glass and told you to “go, relax, I got it.” and was pushed off into the living room. They started off in the kitchen but then they started whispering and now you don't know where they are. So you sit here enjoying your glass of wine, looking out the window as the lights on all the houses shine and snow drifts down. You have a smile on your face, honestly, you're not even conscious of it, you just have had such a good day and it's just so nice sitting here right now, enjoying life.

Your attention was drawn away from the scenery outside by the previously mentioned boys that just so conveniently disappeared, now walking into the living room. Their faces aren't quite mischievous but they are definitely hiding something. When Jack looks at his father your suspicions are confirmed when you see Jack hiding something behind his back, “what going on?” Jack looked at his father for permission, Aaron simply nodded in your direction, sending Jack racing towards you.

You eye Aaron, narrowing your eyes at him before moving them to the boy in front of you. He stood in front of the couch bouncing on the balls of his feet, might go as far as to say that he looks extremely giddy. He takes his hands from behind his back revealing a medium-sized velvet box with a ribbon tied around it, you smile and take it from him, “and what this?”

“Present!”

“But it's not Christmas yet.” you muse

“Does it have to be?” you look up at Aaron with a tight smile and raised eyebrows, but ultimately answer his question by just shaking your head.

You look back at Jack who is now sitting anxiously on the floor, “open it!!”

“Alright alright,” you slide off the couch, joining him on the floor, while Aaron sits on the cushion next to where you were previously sitting. With one last look with Aaron, you turn your eye to the box. You pull the end of the ribbon releasing it from the box, not even watching as it falls to the floor. You carefully open the box revealing a dainty chain with a beautiful key hanging from it, the letters H O M E pressed into it. Your breath was stolen from you, not only by the jewelry but by the implication it holds.

“Y/N” you would look up at your boyfriend but your eyes are glued to the necklace

Aaron watches your face, you are in complete shock, you stare at the necklace committing it to memory, all the muscles in your face pull up slightly, a ghost of a smile spreads across your face, he reaches down for your hand, taking it in his own and you meet his eyes. You both break out into smiles, “I love you, we love you, will you move in and make this your home?”

You blush at the compliment, and smile at the question, “yes” you beam, somehow brighter smiles appear on your faces as he leans down to kiss you.

While Jack would usually be utterly disgusted with this act he simply, “do you like it?”

“I love it, baby.”

“Put it on putting it on!”

“Alright.” you carefully take it out of the case and hand it to Aaron lifting up your hair as he reaches around and clasps it around your neck. Jack crawls into your arms, hugging you and playing with the new piece of jewellery around your neck. You sit and smile and snuggle enjoying the moment and engraving it into your head for the rest of your life.

With the first yawn from Jack you know it's time for bed, “alright Jack bed” you tap his side, motioning for him to get up as he is still on your lap. He gives you big puppy dog eyes and so just reminds him about a certain visitor coming tonight and that has him racing up and to his room, ordering you both to follow.

Aaron helps you off the floor smiling as his hands make their way from yours, trailing up your arms and down your sides placing them on the back of your hips, he smirks and leans down to kiss you, saying you better hurry up to put jack to bed,

How much does he think he’s going to get away with tonight?

You said good night to Jack and now are leaning against his door frame, listening and watching as Aaron puts his son to the bed. You take your necklace into your hands, they talk about the presents and getting up early tomorrow, having to go to bed now so Santa can come, they talk about cookies.., and they talk about how happy they are. You stand here listening thinking how, right now, this, them, it's the rest of your life, that tomorrow will be your first Christmas with your boys, but not your last. And you find yourself just as anxious as the little boy, unable to wait until the morning.

Aaron smiles at you as he leads you into his room- your room, his hand stays on your back as he closes the bedroom door, okay maybe you can wait a little longer for tomorrow.

---

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@spencers-renaissance @averyhotchner @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

But Once a Year (4/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: Another 9K or so, but with feelings AN: I had every intention of posting this on actual Christmas, but there was a Doctor Who marathon on and, well—I got distracted by other time travel. Hopefully my timelines are more consistent than River Song’s. Sorry, River Song. Here’s a whole bunch of kissing and feeling feelings.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

“Were you ever actually going to paint?”

No eyebrow movement that time, although Killian’s actual eyes widen ever so slightly and that particular reaction is starting to do dangerous things to Emma's ego. He keeps his coffee mug hovering just above his lips, which she’s certain is a carefully calculated ploy to also keep her staring at his lips, but that’s not all that difficult and she’d spent at least seven full minutes kissing those same lips senseless that morning.

In bed.

The one they’ve slept in — for four days straight now, which is probably more time than it should be, but he was right. Falling asleep with his arm around her is far easier than the opposite, and he only occasionally complains about the frost-like tendencies of her feet. Mostly into the back of her neck. That’s just where his mouth ends up.

So, everything is still going great. Not potentially problematic. Because neither Regina nor Tinker Bell have come up with a working time-travel theory, and Emma’s baking endeavors haven’t gone over all that well either, but she’s discovered Killian’s tendency for stealing batter, and that’s even more ridiculously endearing information that’s only sort of skewing with her sense of reality, and— “Is this you volunteering?”

Startling, Emma almost forgot she’d asked a question. His mouth does something else. Stupid, and distracting and he uses almond milk in his coffee.

Claims it’s a modern convenience he’s more than willing to take advantage of.

Great, great, excellent. Possibly falling towards something, in a free-fall sort of way, and Emma shakes her head. Brushes away dangerous thoughts and hard-drawn lines in the much more metaphorical sand, and she wonders if sand ever lingers in their entry way during the summer.

They must go to the beach.

Spend time on the Jolly Roger, and she hasn’t seen much of the ship, but she’s starting to think it’d be nice to pass an afternoon on the water, with the sun and the salt and— “Swan,” Killian says, obviously not the first time he’s tried to draw back her attention. Chair legs scrape across their kitchen floor when he stands, and Emma’s brain barely acknowledges that particular pronoun before he’s crowding her space and bumping his hips against hers and nothing like that has happened yet, because that’s not just a line, it’s an entire rhombus or some other geometric shape that’s more like a tangled mess and knotted feelings and she flinches.

When his hook drifts under the hem of her shirt.

Floral patterned, and far gauzier than anything Emma would even think about owning now. Or then, she supposes. Tenses continue to be their own specific type of issue, and she’s starting to like the clothes hanging in her questionably large closet.

They’re soft.

Which is probably not a commentary, or observation of whatever tense she’s willing to use, but it’s definitely different and possibly better and Killian chuckles in her ear as soon as her head falls to his collarbone. He kisses the top of her hair.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Scoffing into his shirt threatens to rumple the fabric, and she doesn’t really miss the billowy fabric of what’s now years past, but she also wonders if he kept them and where he docks the Jolly during the winter, and she can’t start giving pirate ships nicknames. Not now. Not yet. Not when she’s got to leave, and that only makes, like, half her muscles ache, so it’s probably not as bad as it could be.

“They’re not worth that much,” Emma mumbles, the soft laugh she gets warming her from the inside out. A mix of magic and much more, and she’s back on the alliterative. As a defense mechanism or something.

For her heart, maybe.

“Luckily for you, I’ve got something of an eye for undiscovered treasure and—” “—Is this a line?” He laughs again, noses at her temple and the crown of her head and neither one of them mention how tightly Emma’s arms wrap around his middle. “If you can’t decipher when I’m flirting by now, we may have some issues.” “Some is a vast understatement.” “It’s going to be alright,” Killian promises, but it rings a little hollow and part of Emma knows. Still dark and distant, it doesn’t want to acknowledge everything it’s ignoring and a pointed voice echoes between her ears. With the same mantra.

Magic is emotion.

And Emma’s emotions are decidedly split. Just like Pan thought they’d be. Maybe she’s not just a coward; she’s selfish and greedy and inching dangerously close to a crying jag in the middle of the kitchen, but then Killian’s fingers drag across her spine and it’s a rhythm she can time her breathing to.

“We’re running out of time.” “That’s not entirely true. Time travel’s apparently heavily involved, makes deadlines rather defunct, don’t you think?”

Emma scrunches her nose, but the voice is back and it’s sharper and a little angrier and stamping on several different parts of her brain if the growing pain is any indication. All magic comes with a price. “Talk to me about paint instead.” “Not much to talk about,” Killian says, but the caution in his voice makes it obvious they’re both all too aware of what they’re avoiding. Possibly even dreading. Emma is, at least.

She’s going to strangle Peter Pan when she sees him.

“But you haven’t done it.” “Some other things have been going on, you see.” “Don’t you want to paint?” “It’s not particularly high on my list of ways to occupy my time,” he admits, one side of his mouth tugging up. Flirting is getting easier. Some joke about practice, Emma is sure. “But, if it’s something you’re willing to help with, and it will get those thoughts of yours to settle for a few moments, then—” “—Who says my thoughts aren’t settled?” Tapping the all-too-noticeable furrow of Emma’s forehead, Killian’s eyes widen again. “Absolutely God awful at masking them, m’dear.” “Maybe that’s just a you thing.” “Aye, my mind-reading talents have been well-documented, but I suppose if we’re going to wait for Her Majesty to come up with yet another pointless—” “—Kinda harsh,” Emma mumbles. He kisses the furrow. Traces the lines of her brows, and hovers just on the edge of her eyes, grazing cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, until Emma's skin is buzzing and her magic threatens to pour out of her, and she’s only just able to contain whatever wave joke is pressing against her lips. Good, since those lips can be put to much better use against Killian’s. “Better plan, anyway,” he mumbles, working his arm back around her waist. So he can tug her up, and pull her closer to him and neither one of those things feel like the multitude of other problems Emma’s overactive brain is dealing with and they do eventually get out of the kitchen.

Finish the coffee, and figure out where Hope’s favorite hat has disappeared to, because Emma’s rather quickly learned that this hat has legs that quite often move from its spot on the shelf into the hallway, and the overall width of Mary Margaret’s smile when she opens up the farm’s screen door isn’t as jarring as it would have been a week earlier.

Getting back home takes longer than it probably should — ducking into the alley behind Granny’s for at last forty-two seconds of totally uninterrupted kissing, and Emma’s not entirely sure this is what being a newlywed is like, or was, she supposes, but it’s still pretty fantastic and she doesn’t want to name the sound that works its way out of her.

Part giggle, a hint of overjoyed, and some sort of lingering fear because this isn’t quite real, but feels like the exact opposite, and they find old drop sheets in one of their half a dozen closets. Right next to the shirts she’d been wondering about before, and that’s probably not serendipity or fate or anything except Killian’s own sentimental tendencies, but she’s got to change her clothes anyway, and she doesn’t drown in the fabric like she worried she would.

Likely not a metaphor, either.

“Cheating,” Killian accuses, reaching for Emma anyway and moving the furniture isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Until Emma also remembers she’s got magic, and the ability to be very attracted to the guy who can’t seem to keep his hand off her, and she only has to blink once.

For the furniture to move into the basement, at least for the time being.

“Impressive, right?”

“Look who’s fishing for compliments now.” “C’mon, that was a shit ton of—” She doesn’t get the rest out, far too busy gasping and blinking and he’s swiped paint on her nose. “Are you kidding me?” Shrugging, he dances out of her reach before Emma can totally react and the paint’s already starting to dry. And crack. The signs are just getting obnoxious now. Makes much more sense to keep ignoring them.

“No, no,” she argues, not bothering with the brush stuffed into the top of her leggings. Twisting her wrist, paint soars towards Emma’s fingertips, curling around her wrist and practically vibrating with the energy she’s flush with.

Killian takes a step back. One more, another. A quick shake of his head makes the strands falling across his forehead shift again, and she’s not counting how often that happens, but she’s also paying fairly close attention to it and—“Revenge is never wise, love,” he advises, not able to keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pots and kettles, and all that, right?” “I’m completely reformed now. Ask anyone.” Humming, Emma advances on him. Magic ripples up her arms, power she’s never quite experienced before and it’s oddly intoxicating. Not in an overwhelming, potentially villainous sort of way. It’s far too warm for that.

Villainy has to be cold, Emma’s sure.

As it is, she’s not quite sweating, but she’s decidedly comfortable and all of her internal organs are functioning with an ease that belies their situation, or the problems it presents, and none of the paint ever touches her skin. Hovers in the air around it, wholly controlled and that’s not something Emma’s particularly familiar with.

It’s nice. It’s—much more than nice, but she fell once while trying to do the long jump in that one Minnesota high school she spent a few months in when she was fifteen, and the prospect of something similar makes her wary of leaving the ground again. The line’s still there. Drawn with precision, and possibly permanent marker, and they can’t paint over that.

Not yet, at least. Not entirely.

“It does kind of match your eyes,” Emma says, hoping Killian doesn’t notice the shake in her voice. No such luck, she knows. Can see the flicker of concern in his gaze, but he’s able to push away. Not from the wall, and there’s something cyclical and symmetrical about this too, emotion almost visibly hanging between them. Another thing they haven’t talked about, and likely won’t have time for.

Totally fine. Absolutely great.

Falling for—

No, no falling. Standing and walking and Emma lifts her chin. Lets her magic twist its way up her spine, and flicker towards her bare feet, and Killian’s mouth twitches again.

“Care more about the dress, really.” “What’d it look like? And where was Elsa’s—you said it was a wedding, right?”

“Her wife was here, you saw Mulan yesterday.” “No shit!” “Always with the perfect response,” Killian grins, “but yes. Met while Mulan was doing ambassador work for Aurora and Phillip, and love conquers all or so I’ve been told.” “Say it again without making it a joke.” Not shuddering under the force of his ensuing gaze is another victory Emma’s going to relish, even when she’s wherever she’s actually supposed to be, and she hopes she remembers this. In picture-perfect detail. “Conquers all,” Killian repeats, “as far I know.”

“Personally?” “Deeply so.”

Emma licks her lips. Killian stares. Tries not to, but she really is getting better at reading him and he doesn’t put up as much of a fight about information anymore. Seriously, everything’s so fine, the word barely holds any meaning now. But, like, in a positive way. “So, we went to Elsa’s wedding because—” “—You and she are rather good friends. Hope’s godmother, in fact.” “Oh. That’s—wow, that’s kind of nice.” “It is,” Killian agrees, not adding to it. He doesn’t have to. They both hear what they haven’t said — how few and far between friends are for Emma, and she briefly wonders if he knows about Lily or the kids who showed up, only to disappear just as quickly, and it would be second-nature to tell him. Part of her wants to now.

Rehashing seems silly, though.

“Anyway,” he adds, “Elsa and Mulan got married, and there was a dress that I will admit to thinking quite a lot about still, and it was blue. With these…” His eyes flutter closed. Magic roars in the very center of Emma. “Little bits of twisted fabric on top, looked like starbursts.” “Like the candy?” Gods, she an idiot. An entertaining one, if Killian’s smirk proves anything, though. So that’s something, at least. “Did we dance?” Nodding, his eyes keep darting back towards Emma’s hand and the paint that’s become some part of a questionably romantic thing, but she’s also starting to get the suspicion he’s using the wall to stay upright. Something thumps into it.

Light bursts from the end of Emma’s hair.

“Oh,” Killian groans through clenched teeth, and a jaw that can’t possibly be comfortable, “that’s hardly playing fair, sweetheart.”

Huh.

The light grows. Flares, even — until it’s casting streaks across the floor and hovering just under Emma’s skin, because apparently she can glow now, and she almost feels like she’s floating. On endearments and sentiment and the air blowing through windows opened solely so they didn’t suffocate on paint fumes suddenly smells a little sweeter.

“You’ve got your hook embedded in the wall,” Emma points out, none of those words all that even either. She doesn’t sound like herself, but she also didn’t know she was a person who reacted quite like that to one ten-letter word, yet here they. So, whatever really.

Wider eyes and slightly parted lips meet her somehow still-lifted chin, and Killian’s nod barely warrants the description. Leaves his chest shifting, but Emma’s also admittedly staring at his chest because for as big as the shirt she’s wearing is, his is just as tight and touting a college she figures Henry thought about going to at some point, and she seizes her opportunity.

Paint flies — literally. Soars across the barley-there space between Emma’s toes and Killian’s socks, and she genuinely cannot cope with how he only ever takes his socks off to sleep. He gasps when color splashes his cheeks and his shoulders, hangs from the ends of his hair, and threatens to find the edges of his lips. “Gotta close your mouth,” Emma advises lightly, getting the exact spark in his eyes that she was hoping for and she yelps all the same. When he ducks his head, nosing at her neck and the line of her collar. Which is technically his color, but she’s been using all those collective pronouns, that it can’t possibly matter at this point and she definitely giggles. While his fingers trace patterns across her stomach and the side of her waist, dragging lines of blue paint over skin and fabric and she’s not sure when they fall over, just that they’re a tangle of limbs and slightly ripped sheets and— “Do you think I could magic the paint on the walls?” Emma asks, flipping her paint-covered head to her side. Without opening his eyes, Killian mumbles an agreement, his fingers fluttering against hers until they lace between them and she’s only like seventy-four percent positive he does it on purpose.

Concentrating on the twenty-six percent that absolutely knows it’s that same instinct and inherent habit from before, Emma twists her lower lip between her teeth. Feels the first brush of magic, and the small inferno that erupts between her ribs doesn’t actually set her on fire. So, more victories.

And it only takes about twelve seconds.

Give or take.

Blue walls appear around them as if by—well, magic. Not a streak out of place, or mark on the baseboards and Emma’s only a little annoyed that they bothered to move any of the furniture. “Single most impressive thing I’ve ever seen,” Killian mutters. “Your eyes are still closed.” “Aye, but I know it’s happening.” Not letting go of her lip or his hand, Emma’s heart thunders in her chest as soon as she notices the question sitting on her tongue. “When did that start? Because—well, as far as I know you can’t tell in Neverland.” He doesn’t respond. Not immediately, anyway. And that’s only momentarily terrifying, before a slightly different and passably darker shade of blue meets her. “That’s not entirely true. It gets a little confusing, though.” “Don’t offend me like that.”

“I’m not saying you won’t understand,” Killian laughs, “just—the other time travel adventure? Well, that happens rather early in my timeline. And, uh...well, by that point you’re feeling some things and—” “—Kissing as a distraction,” Emma breathes, realization shaking her and this version of the puzzle is equally surprising and wonderful.

“You’re an eavesdrop.” “Piracy excuse.”

He laughs again, kisses her cheek and pulls her closer to his side until nearly all of him is touching all of her and that’s another word much bigger than nice. “As far as I’ve been able to reason it, that sets off a chain of sorts. Magic exists in you, can be felt by me, I don’t entirely remember it—” “—You don’t entirely remember it?” “Making it difficult to tell the story.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s always been this sort of—presence, I suppose. In the back of my mind, a reminder of something. Good and possible, and it makes it rather easy to tell when you’re agitated, actually.” “Seems like cheating.” “Piracy excuse,” he repeats, and Emma’s mind trips over itself. Falling across line and thoughts and leaving here might be one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Part of her wonders if she knows how, though.

“You know about Neal. Everything that—” Her breath catches, out-of-place tears already threatening to fall, and that’s kind of lame. Killian’s cheek brushes Emma’s. While he nods. “For what it’s worth, your parents do feel bad about the naming legacy one they realize.” “He’s not here.” “No, that would be rather difficult for him. He’s—” “—Dead?” “Honorably,” Killian says, even through the hint of acid and Emma drapes her arm across his stomach. “And he does care about Henry, quite ardently. But...well, I don’t imagine I’ll ever entirely forgive him for everything he did, and it was difficult to rationalize the Bae I knew with he Neal who acted like that.” “Probably weird to be attracted to that, huh?” Chuckling, his lips press against her hair. “Whatever way you’re willing to be attracted to me, is something I wholeheartedly approve of.”

“I’ve got another question.” “Waiting with baited breath.” “You’ve got a ship still, right?”

Tensing the way he does isn’t really the reaction Emma anticipates, although she should probably be ready for anything now, and Killian mumbles, “aye, I do.”

“Could we—I mean, I’m capable of teleporting, right?” “I’ve got no doubt. But it might be cold.” “Good thing you just radiate heat, huh?” His tongue pokes between his lips. Emma’s staring again. Has a hard time stopping, really. Which makes the magic return all the stronger and all the more suddenly, and Killian’s soft hitch of breath is oddly pleasing, even as the smell of salt replaces half-dried paint.

Strictly speaking, Emma hadn’t spent much time exploring the Jolly Roger before they got to Neverland. Portal-based travel, and those mermaids and massive rain storms, all made it difficult to notice much else, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s blinked them into the captain’s cabin.

“Efficient,” Killian observes, already perched on the edge of the room’s lone cot and the bedding looks crisp. Military-grade folds, and pillows that aren’t quite as fluffy as the ones in the house, but Emma’s already glancing at the shelves to her right. Books line them, in what is obviously alphabetical order, while the desk nearby is covered in instruments for navigation, and maps of several different realms, and she knows Killian’s watching her.

Feels the force of his stare as it tries very hard to read her mind again, baited breath that’s not quite as much of a joke anymore. He's hoping. For the response, and the reaction, and she belatedly realizes what a big deal this is.

Falling into the deep end of it all is really the only reasonable thing to do now. And appropriately water-based pun.

“Give me another random fact,” Emma says, failing to keep the demand out of her voice. “Royal decrees are coming much easier for you now, Your Highness.” “Something good.” “I’d hardly give you a bad fact.” “Weird, I’m still waiting for one.”

Stabbing a finger into the space next to him, Emma’s leg bumps Killian’s when she sits down and she’d been right about the body heat. All of the blankets stay exactly where they are. “We go to Boston one weekend, relatively soon after we get married. To—” He clicks his tongue, as if he’s deciding what details to include. “Get some stuff out of your apartment. That’s not the important part. But we bring Henry with us, and drive out there. Spend a few days, and go to all of the tourist spots you say we should avoid, but Hope learned that eye trick from Henry, and it works all the time. So we go to Quincy Market, and that one brewery. Tour guide makes some history jokes, which in turn make you roll your eyes, but we get free samples, and Henry tries very hard to steal one of his own.” “Doesn’t work?” Killian shakes his head. “Not as such, no. I’m rather good at observing, you see.” “All those nights as lookout?” “Something like that,” he agrees, “It’s the first time in a very long time that we don’t have any looming threats. Nothing to worry about, no villains to contend with. We sit and walk and eat, and then eat some more, and it’s not the first time I let myself believe this is real, but it might bet the first time that reality seems to linger.” She’s holding her breath. Lungs burn in Emma’s chest, letting go of a shuddering exhale that also comes with tear-filled eyes, and Killian’s fingers hover near her neck. With the chain around it, and Emma knows it’s important — that ring that hangs just behind her stolen shirt, but she doesn’t ask and she wants to live it, anyway.

Wants those moments to come of their own accord, at their own pace, until they linger as well. Settle into her and take root, building a foundation for everything else.

“Can I do something?” she whispers, another imperceptible nod and he doesn’t object. When she unbuckles the leather at his brace, trying very hard to keep her pulse steady and her magic relatively quiet, but neither one of those things work very well and it doesn’t take very long.

Snaps and pieces of metal give way under Emma’s touch, eventually pulling away from his skin and the scars aren’t worse closer up. Just more obvious, maybe.

It’s another stupid sign.

Following the lines with her fingers, Killian’s not much more than a statue. With exceptionally wide eyes and slightly erratic breathing, watching her like he’s bracing himself for impact or the inevitably of her disappearing. Emma sits. Presses her feet into the floor, and there’s no dust on the floor. She has to swallow more than once while she accounts for every mark on him, though — emotion clogging up her throat and her thoughts in equal measure, and it’s not really instinct to bend her neck and kiss the first spot she can reach, but it’s absolutely want and she wants far more than she’s supposed to have.

Right now, at least.

“Emma,” Killian exhales, without the regret it should hold, and honestly the goddamn symmetry is as good as it is awful. She smiles. Against his skin.

“You said, ‘until I met you.’ Did you mean it?”

Glancing up without moving is another hint of cowardice, but Emma’s neck isn’t all that interested in participating in the conversation anymore and it’s easier to notice the state of Killian’s jaw like this. “More than I realized, actually.” “Yeah, me too probably. If I had said—well, I’m the worst liar in the world, y’know?” “At least several different realms.”

Scoffing, Emma’s teeth graze the blunt edge of his wrist and that only gets her a noise she’s never heard before and it’s better than all the other noises, and she loses her shirt eventually. Nothing else happens.

Still can’t, still won’t. They’re both all too aware of the inability of this to linger, but want’s a funny sort of thing and contentment’s just as strange as ever. Falling asleep with her cheek pressed to his bare chest makes sense, though, the steady rock of the ship lulling Emma until her eyes close and her thoughts silence.

“So, you’re not even trying anymore, huh?” Emma sighs. “Here I thought we’d get through the afternoon without any pointed opinions.” “Well, that was just foolish of you,” Regina shrugs, sitting on the front steps of the farm with her legs stretched out in front of her and that’s almost strange. She’s wearing jeans. No one else is surprised by that. And Mary Margaret is leaning against the door frame behind her.

One arm wrapped around her middle, she doesn’t cross her feet at the ankles like Killian would, and that’s probably for the best. Emma’s brain can only cope with so much at one time, and she might not be trying anymore.

Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.

“You think the wisdom is our problem?” Mary Margaret asks, barely blinking at the sound that erupts from Regina. Snarl and sneer, and Emma rocks back on her heels. Like that will put some distance between her and the queen, who doesn’t appear all that evil anymore, but could be even more determined than ever and they’re still waiting for that goddamn bird to come back.

No one’s mentioned the knights in the forest, either.

Emma’s not sure they’re still there.

“Can’t steal intelligence from the dead,” Regina reasons, and Emma’s shiver doesn’t have anything to do with the cold. It smells like cookies, even outside. “Should that make sense to me?” she asks. Mary Margaret shakes her head.

“Not at all. Just—when Zelena did this...she had a bunch of ingredients.” “She has no idea who Zelena is,” Regina mutters, shrugging at Emma’s slack jawed expression. “Don’t bother telling me you’re standing right there, you’re very predictable and I am painfully aware of your continued presence.”

“Was anyone actually going to tell me who Zelena is?” Emma snaps, a better reaction than the magic she’d like to use. On Regina, and her judgmental face. Tinker Bell went to help in Wonderland. Where magic is failing, more than it was a week earlier.

“The Wicked Witch of the West," Mary Margaret replies. “Was bad, had strong magic, gave up her magic, got it—no, she never got it back, did she?” Regina makes a contrary noise.

“How can you possibly keep track of all of this?”

Mary Margaret’s smile isn’t entirely effective, but there’s still a bit of the friend Emma occasionally worries she’s lost and of all the things breaking the curse did, that’s probably one of her bigger issues. There just hasn’t been time to deal with it. “Living it helps,” she laughs, “but she was holding Rumplestilskin hostage when she built the spell, and that’s—” “—Wait, wait, Gold is dead?” “That’s a little harder to explain, actually.”

“Huh.”

She should be upset. She should mourn...maybe not the jackass who consistently ruined everything, but at least the idea of the person he could have been, or the help he occasionally offered, but Emma’s feeling a little vengeful, and is even more annoyed. By like—the entire state of the world, right now.

She’s definitely not trying. Magic is emotion, and all of hers are far too scrambled to be effective as part of a time travel spell a witch who—“Was she actually green?” Emma asks, before she can stop herself and Mary Margaret’s smile works better that time.

“Occasionally,” Regina drawls. “But as your mother pointed out, she’s also lacking any magic now, and with Robyn in the Wish Realm—” “—That can’t possibly be a real place. And who is Robyn, exactly?”

“You met her. She brought you to—” “—That was a witch’s daughter? You realize that none of the ages for any of these kids makes sense? She was an actual adult.” “Don’t think about it too hard,” Mary Margaret advises, “will only make your head hurt.” “That ship sailed, like, two weeks ago,” Emma admits, refusing to look at whatever face Regina is making while also growling softly. Fire dances between her fingers. “Keep interrupting like this,” she warns, “and I will put you under a sleeping curse.” Jaw dropping and air rushing out of her in a wholly undignified huff, Emma’s reactions are so loud that she hardly notices Mary Margaret’s quiet “that might not be all that bad.” But then it clicks and there’s another puzzle, and more words she should not be thinking about right now, and Regina’s eyes thin enough that it’s difficult to notice any color in them.

“Huh,” she says, echoing Emma and that’s not very comforting, actually. “Well, that’s fascinating isn’t it? Plus, we don’t have any innocence.” Mary Margaret’s shoulders drop. “Oh, yeah that might be right.” Emma’s mouth is already hanging open, and her jaw physically cannot separate, so she can’t quite react like she wants to. Magic rattles around her all the same, Regina’s eyebrows doing a fairly good job of masquerading as someone else’s because— “Back to the drawing board, it seems,” she says, all but jumping back to her feet and glancing at Mary Margaret on her way back into the house.

Moving is something of an impossibility for Emma, torn between embarrassment and objections and the second one isn’t entirely possible either, but her mother only looks passably amused and that’s not the right emotion for this situation at all.

“Sleeping curse could force us into all kinds of realizations,” she reasons.

“That’s fucked up, Mom.”

More titles. More feelings. Not enough time to deal with any of them.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret agrees, “it kind of is. How much batter do you think the rest of your family has stolen?” “At least an entire cookie sheet’s worth.” “Sounds about right, let’s see if we can cop any of our own.”

“Where is everyone going to sleep?” Emma asks, sitting at a dining room table that’s nearly buckling under the weight of food covering it. “And where did they even get all this stuff from?” Fingers drift over her bent knee under the table, Emma’s hands preoccupied with doling out food and Hope’s a very big fan of mashed potatoes. As she should be, really. Less so by the small feast of vegetables her mother has provided, but certainly not cooked because Emma’s spent most of the afternoon with her mother and Regina, trying to figure out if they could replicate Zelena’s time travel spell, and it didn��t work. Like, at all.

Lack of innocence likely isn’t their biggest problem. “Not everyone stays here,” Killian explains, “although I doubt your mother would mind all that much if they did.”

“Doesn’t explain where they’re going to sleep.” “Are you concerned about privacy, love?” “Pirate,” she accuses, but it lacks any actual vitriol and someone whistles when Killian’s lips brush hers. “I just don’t want to sleep in the hallway, if there’s no more room at the inn.” “Very confident in your own brand of religion-based humor aren’t you?” “Oh, color me impressed with your knowledge.” “Not many of your jokes evolve much over time, that’s why. And I think you’ve proven your ability to relocate us fairly well, don’t you?” Twisting her lips only gets her a flash of amusement and eyebrows that move so quick, there should also be smoke involved. “As far as I know, Her Royal Highness Snow White has concocted a rather extensive and possibly color-coordinated sleeping arrangement, that ensures no one will be forced to sleep in the hallway, while also allowing for maximum comfort and the ability to ransack parents as early as possible tomorrow morning.”

Something drops into the bottom of her stomach. It’s dread. And fear, and what Emma knows is that growing selfish streak and if her hand finds Hope’s back, then that’s neither here nor there.

Plus, Killian can totally tell.

The overall volume of her magic helps too.

“Mary Margaret’s pretty in her element, huh?” Nodding, he ignores the brussels sprouts in favor of the broccoli casserole, and she’s resolutely not attracted to that. No sane person could be attracted to side dish choices. On Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve.

“She is, indeed,” Killian agrees, “which is why outsourcing made quite a bit of sense.” Emma’s eyes dart towards Granny, and no one’s introduced her to Ruby’s girlfriend yet, but Ruby also hasn’t announced that she quite obviously knows something about this family gathering is off, and that’s nice enough that pushing the issue seems like another asshole move.

No one can be an asshole on Christmas Eve.

Emma assumes, at least. Hopes a bit too, just for good measure. “Granny made all of this?”

“Eh, certainly tried. Coerced Ruby and Dorothy—” “—No,” she hisses, drawing a few curious glances and half of Hope’s plate is covered in mashed potatoes. Killian’s fingers tighten.

“Someone told you about Zelena, didn’t they?” “I met her daughter without realizing, I guess.” Making a sound of understanding, Emma doesn’t miss the length of Killian’s drink. From the wine glass next to his own mostly-filled plate. “Is that another reason they went to that Wish Realm? So she didn’t have to talk to Dorothy Gale?” “I’m sure it was a consideration.” “Keeping track of all these things is a full-time job. Ok, so—Henry’s staying here though, isn’t he?” More noise, another sip of alcohol that Emma’s strangely jealous of. Nearly knocking her own glass over, her drink is closer to a gulp her dad absolutely notices, and whatever this is, it’s not any wine she’s familiar with.

“Camelot vineyards are enchanted,” David says, answering another question Emma hasn’t actually asked. Ruby’s eyes noticeably flicker towards Henry.

Who is not very subtle.

“Something about the soil, right?” Regina asks, although it certainly sounds like she’s perfectly aware of the reason, and Emma’s less sure as to why her mouth immediately dries. Possibly because Killian’s fingers have gone vice-like.

Glancing at him isn’t very subtle either, but she couldn’t care less and curiosity’s always been a bit of a thing for her. He probably knows that, anyway. “Camelot wasn’t my favorite place,” he explains, like that’s a reasonable string of words, but this isn’t the time for that and the knights are gone. Disappeared entirely, it seems.

“No Arthur, huh?” Silence descends on the table, silverware clanking on plates and chairs scuffing when they’re pushed away from the table. Emma widens her eyes.

Challenging that no asshole on Christmas Eve policy.

“He was kind of a shitty king,” Henry shrugs, Regina glaring in that same maternal sort of way that immediately makes him look far more like a teenager than a grown man with a kid. Emma can’t figure out the timeline of Lucy at all, either.

“Redeemed himself a bit in the end,” Killian adds. “Had no trouble from that particular area.” There should be more to that sentence. Emma knows, can hear it in the clipped way his voice cuts off and his tongue swipes the front of his teeth, and—“Whatever happened to that girl Henry knew in court?” Ruby asks, and they all lack subtlety it seems.

Emma tilts her head. “Henry knew a girl in the court of Camelot?” “Very complex story,” he mumbles, dots of pink on his cheek and Ella laughing at his side.

“Should I be upset I didn’t know about this?” “He used music to woo her,” Mary Margaret adds, some of the tension hovering over them evaporating. Killian’s fingers don’t move. “Although I never entirely understood how the iPod managed to stay charged.” “Magic,” Henry reasons. “And Violet went back to Connecticut, with her dad.”

Groaning, Emma’s reaction to this wine is even stronger than anything she drank in the diner or the buttered rum, and Henry’s face might stay red for the rest of the night. Festive, at least. “A guy from Connecticut?” she asks. “In Camelot?” “Didn’t click for me at first, if that makes you feel better.” “He was too busy flirting, that’s why,” Killian adds.

Henry scowls. “Reminiscing about any of this is not nearly as fun as you guys think it is. Plus,” he slings an arm around Ella’s shoulders, kissing her temple for good measure, “it all worked out in the end, so—” “—So,” Ruby echoes, “did we decide on snowmen rules, or…”

Voices all but explode around them — shouting over one another, in what is another questionably competitive Christmas tradition, and there are apparently judges involved and boxes of decorations that Mary Margaret keeps stored in the basement. Which Emma assumes is a much better use for the space than hoarding weapons, but any thought about her house quickly gets lost in how delicious this food is and how Henry’s arm rarely leaves Ella, and at some point Hope clamors onto Killian’s lap before Lucy starts demanding snowmen and they’ve all turn into giant pushovers, it seems.

“The theme,” Granny announces from her spot on the porch, because she’s head judge, and that holds more weight than anyone else, “is whimsy. Delight me, or you’ll lose points.” “What does that even mean?” Ruby challenges. She’s already rolling snow together, Dorothy’s head barely visible while she digs through one of Mary Margaret’s boxes and produces a pair of plastic fairy wings.

“Why do you own these?” she demands.

It’s difficult to tell if the color on Mary Margaret’s cheeks is a blush, or simply a product of how cold it already is, but none of that matters as much as the inches Henry has on her and how easy it is for his arm to find her shoulders as well. “Like to be prepared for any potential theme, isn’t that right, Gram?” “Not too old for any of the parental figures around here to ground you, you know,” Mary Margaret threatens. As much as she’s able.

David throws a snowball at both of them. “Build your snowman, kid. You’re going to lose, and it will be something else we can reminisce about for holidays to come.”

“C’mon, love,” Killian says, directing Emma to their own patch of snow and overflowing box and Hope’s already discovered the plastic tub of glitter that’s inexplicably in there. “We’ve got a reputation to uphold.” “Do we win this a lot?” “Don't insult me like that.”

He kisses her to ensure she doesn’t. Emma doesn’t argue that.

And as promised, Regina magics everyone’s snow creations to ensure they won’t melt for “at least a month, maybe longer” and the dread in Emma’s stomach threatens to rise up her throat. Until there’s a hand tugging at the side of her jacket, and—

“Can you get him to smile, Mama?” Hope asks, what looks like a slightly lopsided snowman’s bottom behind her and Emma might be the biggest pushover of them all.

Waving her hand is easy, though. And magic’s getting closer to second nature than she’d like to admit, positioning shiny rocks that Mary Margaret inexplicably had into what actually looks like a smile onto another freshly-made mound of snow.

Hope is overjoyed.

Emma tries very hard not to cry.

And fails spectacularly.

Monopoly is an adults-only game. This takes Emma at least forty-two seconds to come to terms with, but then there’s more wine and it’s a miracle they don’t wake up any of the kids, and Killian really does cheat.

She just can’t figure out how.

Bills appear in front of him like he’s the one with magic in this relationship, and Emma’s definitely drunk enough not to care about her word choice. She’s admittedly far more concerned with the houses that keep cropping up on Killian’s properties and how close some of those properties are to forming multiple Monopolys and he grins at her. From across the board.

David made it very clear that couples weren’t allowed to sit next to each other.

For fear of collusion, or something — although Emma can’t imagine there are actually many alliances formed in this game, particularly after the snowmen and the judging and it took Lucy nearly an hour to come down from the understandable high of her win. Hope was more interested in getting glitter everywhere than properly constructing a snowman.

“What was that about revenge?” Emma asks archly, more than a few other alcohol-saturated adults groaning at what is blatantly even more obvious flirting. And he hadn’t been lying about the state of her parent’s tree.

More candles line the branches, not a fire hazard when the flames have been enchanted and that’s for the best because there’s just—a copious amount of tinsel on those same branches, and a few ornaments that are obviously hand-made by kids and grandkids and it’s nice to know that even descendants of fairy tale characters use popsicle sticks in their arts and crafts.

Mary Margaret probably has a box of those too.

“This has nothing to do with the snowmen,” Killian promises, quirking his lips when Ruby lands on Marvin Gardens. He owns Marvin Gardens. “Look at that.” “Are you playing with weighted dice, pirate?” Ruby cries. “Because that is—” “—Cheating,” David finishes.

Killian shrugs. His eyes don’t leave Emma. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. You owe me twenty-four dollars, Lady Lucas.”

She throws the bills at him.

“How would I even use the weighted dice I don’t own anymore—” “—Anymore,” Henry repeats, and he’s only got a few bills left in front of him. Killian ignores him. Emma is far too charmed by this.

She got a Monopoly on the green properties, though. And she didn’t cheat to get them, so she’s also in possession of the moral high ground. Gives her free room to be entirely charmed by her husband. Kind of. “To calculate what you’ll land on,” Killian finishes. “That doesn’t even make sense.

Shaking her head, Ruby’s hair nearly flies into her face, threatening the state of the board and several other player’s pieces. All of whom are very loudly offended by that. “I hate you,” she sneers, and she doesn’t get back to Go before she goes bankrupt.

In the end, the moral high ground doesn’t help Emma’s ability to turn profits when Killian gets the Monopoly on that yellow corner and immediately starts building hotels and she nearly snarls when she lands on Atlantic Avenue.

“I think I might have won, Swan.” “Shut up.” “You don’t have to actually give me all your money, I’m more than pleased to simply hear the words from you.” “Shut up,” Emma says, and her mom fell asleep at least an hour earlier. David rolls his eyes. When she leans across the board, knocking over pieces and hotels, and Killian built so many goddamn hotels. He’s smiling when she kisses him.

Nothing overly magical happens, but Emma swears one of the candles flickers in the corner of her eye.

They do get a room. Directly next to the one Hope and Lucy are sharing, but Emma’s finding it harder than she expected to walk away from the tree and she never had a Christmas tree when she was a kid. Lights start to blur the longer she stares at it, floorboards creaking in an unnecessary announcement of the hand that finds her and— “I put an ornament on, you know,” Killian says, staring ahead when Emma turns towards him. “Was worried you’d notice, but I’m actually rather good at—” “—Sneaking?” “Covert movements.”

Scoffing out a laugh, her head falls to his shoulder. With the magnets and the feelings, magic fighting against dread and a slew of other feelings that are now as twisted as any family tree they could create. “Is it wrong to ask you what you wished for? Or should we talk about why you hate Camelot?” “They go together, actually.” “Do they just?” He kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s grounding himself or reminding himself of something that may not happen if they don’t somehow fix all of this, and Emma’s tongue is doing that thing again. Taking up way too much space in her mouth.

She’s not sure what she’d say, anyway.

“Dying makes it rather easy to shuffle a man’s priorities, and—” “—You die?” Emma shouts, but Killian’s shoulder only bumps her cheek and half the candles flicker. “How is that—God, that’s…” More kisses. A few hand squeezes. Her knees shake all the same.

“Doesn’t stick any of the times.” “It happens more than once.”

His cheek shifts her hair when he nods, a picture of only passably believable calm, and that wasn’t a question. “Something of a stubborn lass, though. So you don’t accept it very often, and occasionally that doesn’t work very well, but—” Tears fall down Emma’s cheeks, hot in the way a brand is, or she figures it would be, and she swallows as his thumb brushes over her skin. “You save me. Several times over.”

“Does calling me lass ever end well for you?” “Not as such, no.” Sticking her lower lip out is definitely a misplaced attempt to regain control of the situation because Emma’s all too aware of just how quickly Killian’s gaze will drop, and she’s not disappointed. A little nervous, but she figures that’s to be expected and her voice only kind of shakes when she whispers, “That’s not just a you thing, you know that, right?” “A me thing, what?” “The saving. Being stubborn too, I guess, or holding onto this with both hands, and this is an us thing. I’m...well, maybe I’m not totally there yet, but—” Her lips are chapped. Cracking with more emotion than she’s entirely sure she’s capable of, and Emma swallows once. Her tongue doesn’t do anything else. “Is that what you wished for? The saving?” “Awfully selfish, I know, but I—I think I need that.” “No, it’s not,” she objects. “Might be sweepingly romantic, even.” Eyes trace over her face, like he’s memorizing all of it, all over again, and innocence was a long gone ideal when they made out in the jungle, but this feels entirely different and somehow more important and Emma has to push up on her toes. To press her lips to his, and make sure his arm pulls her flush against his chest, and there’s no music or rainbow, but that might have something to do with her greed and her want and neither one of them pull away.

While a clock chimes down the hall.

“Merry Christmas, love.” She closes her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

Something taps at their window. Incessantly, until it’s obvious Emma’s not dreaming the sound, and it takes her a few blinks and one grumbling, half-asleep pirate to realize it’s a bird. Without a sense of direction, it seems.

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, pulling the blankets over her shoulders like that will keep them here and the bird outside and that’s an exercise in futility that lasts less than a full minute. Once the bird realizes he’s at the wrong room.

She counts. Seconds and breaths, trying not to give into the whimper that’s pressed behind her lips, and Killian’s fingers find hers. The floor creaks. Doors swing open, and David’s voice calls for them and Regina, and there are more squeaking hinges and calls to action because—

Mary Margaret knocks before she comes inside, already dressed with a full quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Camelot’s gone,” she says, which may actually be the last thing Emma expects to hear at whatever time it is. Late, if the lack of sun is any sign. “Disappeared in a wave of...nothing.” “How can a wave be nothing?” Emma asks. “That—” “—It’s the opposite of magic,” Regina finishes, curled around the door with her hair twisted and there’s no fire in her palm. It’s in her eyes, instead. The end of reality turns Emma into something of a poet, apparently. “Get ready, we’ve got to head this off before it gets to the town and,” her gaze drifts towards Killian and his hand and his hook his on the bedside table, “might want to get your sword out of storage, Captain.”

Nodding silently, Killian doesn’t show any other signs of acknowledging his marching orders, but then he’s looking at Emma, a mix of expectant disappointment and unhinged longing and she blinks. Twice. They’re dressed.

And his sword hangs from his hip.

“You alright?” he rasps, which seems like more cheating and entirely unfair and Emma nods too.

“Let’s fix this.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #things are happening!#they are decidedly emotional!

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

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Fic: Forged Through Fire (7/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] AO3]

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Note: So, just in case you read the previous chapter before I edited it, a note on timing. I managed to mix up centuries and millennia because… wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. To clarify, Xerxes was destroyed about 450-500 years prior, like in canon. Not 50 years prior, like my brain decided to originally write…

Also, Atticus was picked as a random Ancient Greek name, there’s no deeper reasoning behind it.

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Forged Through Fire

Seven

Riza looked up from the counter as the bell over the shop door tinkled and Gracia entered.

“Hey Riza. How’s he doing today?”

Riza laughed. “He’s stopped rambling and he’s now annoying everyone, so I think he’s getting better. I know that Chris can’t wait to get him off her hands, but we’re a bit concerned that someone might try to shoot him again if we let him out of our sight.” She went and flipped the closed sign, locking the door. The speakeasy was still doing limited trade in order to keep the money coming in, but it was only open to trusted regulars who had forewarned that they would be coming in advance.

Gracia followed her down into the bar. For all she could joke about it, Riza could feel the tension in the place. Hughes had stumbled upon something so big and so secret that it would affect all of them in the long run.

As suspected, it now appeared irrefutable that Bradley had the military alchemists working on creating the Philosopher’s Stone. So far, they’d had several failed attempts, but a recent covert expedition to the ruins of Xerxes had uncovered some interesting documentation. Barely anyone could read it, but it was nevertheless causing a lot of excitement among the upper echelons of the military.

Or, to put it simply, Fuhrer Bradley was trying to make himself immortal.

“Can you think of anything worse than an immortal Bradley?” Hughes was saying as they entered his sick room. Roy was in there too, sitting in the office chair with his feet up on the end of the bed. There were papers scattered everywhere.

“No, right now I don’t think that there’s anything worse than an immortal Bradley. Hi Gracia, hi Riza.”

“Hello Roy. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m very hard at work attempting to bring down a conspiracy in the military!” Roy protested, gesturing around at all the papers. “And no. Officially I am taking a leave of absence to care for my sick aunt.”

Madam Christmas, who had entered the room behind them, gave a pathetic cough.

“See, my sick aunt. I’ve got Havoc and Breda running interference and Fuery’s been sending all kinds of mixed message telegrams. The top brass are so concerned with trying to work out whether or not Hughes is dead that they shouldn’t be paying too much attention to my whereabouts.”

“Right.” Riza shook her head in despair as Roy swung his feet up off the bed, leaving the room with her and Madam Christmas to give Gracia and Hughes some time alone together.

She waited until he had poured himself some coffee from the large pot that had been left on the bar and they’d settled down at their usual table before she spoke again. “Have you found out anything new?”

“Bradley nearly declared war on Xing as an excuse to get in there and try to find the Philosopher’s Stone, but even his closest allies decided that would be a bit much and it would be better to try and create their own.” Roy took a long sip of his coffee. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past him to just lead a one-man charge on the place, he’s certainly bonkers enough.”

“Is it even the kind of thing that can be created twice? I mean, I know we should all take myths and legends with a pinch of salt, but at the same time, all the bits and pieces I’ve read about it talk about it as The Philosopher’s Stone, as if there is and can only ever be one.”

“Well, I think the military are certainly testing that theory.” Roy sighed. “The worst thing about it is that I have no idea what kind of unethical experiments they’re getting up to and as an alchemist I could be dragged into them at any time. I mean, my specialism sort of keeps me safe unless they need to burn a bunch of stuff but considering the lengths they seem willing to go to in order to both keep the secret and try to succeed, I don’t want to rule it out.”

Riza inched a little closer to him, chancing to put an arm around his back, and he leaned into her side, head drooping onto her shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he mumbled to her. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

He gave a little huff of laughter. “That’s my line.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for me to take care of you for a little while. You’ve taken care of me enough in the past.”

“Thanks for following us out the other night, as well. I was so frantic; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there being calm and wonderful.”

Riza laughed. “I’m sure you would have survived somehow.” She held him a little tighter, and he burrowed in closer.

“It feels like everything’s been turned upside down. Except you.”

He looked up at her then, his dark eyes so sad and tired, and Riza’s heart went out to him.

“We never got to finish our conversation from yesterday,” he said.

“The ‘What happens between us now?’ conversation.”

“Yeah. That one.” Roy sighed. “I know that we’ve just ended up in a potentially really dangerous situation, and I know that this is the worst time ever to be talking about it, and thinking about it, and God forbid thinking about the future. But I also know that you’re the only person I would ever want by my side throughout this whole thing, and if we all end up skewered through with one of Bradley’s not-at-all ceremonial swords tomorrow, then I know that not taking a chance with you would be my only regret.”

“Oh, Roy.” Riza leaned in to kiss him softly. “There’s nothing like people being shot to put things in perspective, is there?”

“Nope.” His hand came up to cup her cheek and he returned the kiss, gently and a little hesitantly, but with definite hope and want behind it. “Perhaps I’m starting to see that sometimes the universe just really wants to screw us over, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Exactly. It’s time to let go of the guilt, Roy. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.” She found herself stroking his hair as he resettled against her shoulder.

“We make quite the pair, don’t you think? Both broken up in our own ways.”

“Perhaps.” Riza kissed the top of his head. “But we’ll stick ourselves back together. I think that’s the one thing that I’ve learned the most since leaving home and coming here. The sticking myself back together part. Because I haven’t been sticking myself back together, not really. I’ve had you and Rebecca and Madam and Hughes and Trisha and Hohenheim and all the rest of the crew helping me stick myself back together. And when you get broken, I’ll help you stick yourself back together as well.”

“Thank you, Riza.”

They stayed like that for a long time, and although her arm was going numb, Riza didn’t mind at all. She was enjoying this easy closeness. They had been so close back when he had first known her – perhaps they had never been this physically close, but they’d been so close as people. A part of her had always known that they would end up like this somehow. Maybe not as romantic partners, but definitely as friends.

It was only when Madam Christmas came out into the bar to take over serving and gave them a knowing look that Riza realised Roy had fallen asleep on her, and she just smiled. They’d had a fraught couple of days of it, what with everything Hughes had found out and the aftermath of that; she wasn’t really surprised that it had taken it out of him so much. She was just glad that he trusted her enough to be this vulnerable around her. Well, she trusted him that much, and she guessed that it went both ways.

Madam Christmas came over with a glass of wine; Riza took it with her free hand. It was her favourite, and she savoured the rich taste.

“On the house.” Madam Christmas winked. “I think we could all use a little pick-me-up right now. It’s been a day. I had Rebecca on the phone earlier, she’s been picking up all kinds of stories at the paper.”

Over the last few months or so, Rebecca had become a great friend to them in giving inside information as to what kinds of propaganda were about to be sent out to the general population. Of course, most of what she wrote herself ended up cut and censored by the government-employed editors by the time it appeared in print, but the unredacted versions were always circulated through the speakeasy to great interest. Riza had been happy to set her up with Havoc.

“Good stories or bad stories?”

“A bit of both. Everything’s being swept under the rug, though. As far as Central City’s citizens are concerned, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened in the park two nights ago.”

“Huh.” Riza felt the uneasiness beginning to creep back in. “I don’t like how that implies that people do know that something out of the ordinary happened in the park two nights ago.” She thought back to Hohenheim and the frighteningly powerful alchemy that he’d performed on Hughes, something unlike anything she’d ever known before, and in turn she found herself thinking back to the day she’d burned her back, and his warning that removing her tattoo completely would be too traumatic.

If that was what he would have had to do, she could well see why. Hughes had been unconscious and on his last breaths; she wouldn’t have wanted anything like that to happen if she was anything other than at death’s door.

“No,” Madam Christmas agreed. “It’s worrying. I’m just hoping that there’s nothing that can tie it all back to this place. Rebecca doesn’t think that there is, and she’s running as much interference as she can. Still, I think keeping a low profile for a couple of weeks will be a good idea.” She glanced at Roy. “Are you comfortable like that?”

“Not really. My shoulder’s gone dead. But I don’t mind.”

“Oh, to be young and in love once more. Don’t deny it, Miss Hawkeye. I’ve known you long enough.”

Riza shook her head, but she didn’t respond. Something good would come of it all. It had to.

“Do you really think that Bradley would risk wiping out the entire population of Amestris in order to gain immortality? I mean, surely the whole point of him gaining immortality is so that he can remain Fuhrer and rule over us forever. It wouldn’t be much fun being immortal if he was literally the only person in the country.”

Two more days had passed, and the rag-tag bunch of investigators had become a full-on research force, although they weren’t any closer to finding out what was going on in Central Command than they had been before. Every new piece of information they uncovered just seemed to be adding to the confusion without clearing anything up.

“I mean, if the legends of Xerxes are anything to go by, then he’d get wiped out too.” Hughes brushed some peanut shells off the table and slammed down another piece of paper. “Take a look at that.”

Riza looked up at the clock; it was almost eleven but none of them showed any signs of stopping. The entire crew of Roy’s friends from Central Command were gathered in the bar, and Madam Christmas had closed up shop temporarily to allow them more space to spread out in the main area rather than everyone being cramped in the office that had been Hughes’s recovery room. Hohenheim had given him the all-clear earlier in the day, but he still hadn’t actually left the speakeasy and gone home. Gracia and Rebecca had joined the party as well, and although Madam Christmas was trying to remain as aloof from it all as she could, more concerned with keeping them all safe in the bar than with the military conspiracies going on, she was offering insights wherever she could.

Hohenheim and Trisha had gone home. Riza hadn’t seen all that much of them since the night Hughes had been shot, and she got the impression that Hohenheim was trying to avoid everyone in the wake of what he’d had to do. Not that anyone who had been there and who knew what had happened held his strangeness against him, quite the opposite in fact; they were all extremely grateful that he’d managed to save Hughes’ life. Still, if he wanted space then they would give it to him.

Riza craned over the others to take a read of the paper that Hughes had put down, but the writing was too small for her to make it out.

“What is it?”

“It attributes the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone to an alchemist named Atticus, who was the King of Xerxes’ personal alchemist. But it also says that Atticus died in whatever catastrophe wiped out the rest of Xerxes, so even if Bradley does succeed in creating the Philosopher’s Stone again, it won’t leave him any better off than when he started.”

“Just another hunk of rock in an empty country waiting for some Xingese merchants to take it home to Tim Marcoh,” Roy mused, and Riza couldn’t stop herself from bursting into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry. I know it’s really not that funny. I think I need more coffee.” She extricated herself from the gaggle around the table and went over to the coffee pot. Considering the vast array of alcohol that was available behind the bar and the fact that the coffee pot had never seen all that much use before the night Hughes had been shot, it was certainly earning its keep now. They’d been refilling it almost constantly all day.

“Hey.”

She looked up to find that Roy had followed her over. They hadn’t really had the chance to spend all that much time together since they’d had their talk. Well, that wasn’t strictly true since they’d spent most of the intervening two days in each other’s pockets whilst trying to work out what on earth was going on in the country, but they’d always been surrounded by other people. This moment leaning on the bar was as close as they had come to having a moment to themselves.

“Hey yourself.” She smiled at the memory of the other night. Roy had been so embarrassed when he’d woken up, and it had been sweet to see him so flustered. Naturally, she’d had to kiss him to stop his litany of apologies for falling asleep on her.

He helped himself to another cup, draining the pot. “How are you holding up?”

“All right, I guess. It’s just so surreal that I’m having trouble believing that it’s all happening and I’m not in some kind of crazy dream. More like a nightmare, actually. How come none of this has ever come to light before? Something this big and all-encompassing, surely someone would have found something out.”

“Someone probably did,” Roy said grimly. “And that someone, and all the someones who came before and after them, probably met the same fate as Hughes would have met if he hadn’t had a handy Hohenheim around.”

“It just boggles the mind. Who would even want to be immortal in the first place? Can you imagine having to live on and watch everyone around you grow old and die?”

“I don’t think psychopaths like Bradley really see it in that way.”

“But what about his wife? Their child?”

Roy shrugged. “I don’t think he sees it that way. If you want something badly enough, then everything else falls by the wayside.” He paused. “I… No. Sorry. That’s not an appropriate train of thought.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

“It’s about your father. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Riza nodded. Although her feelings for her father remained complicated, the time and space between them made it easier to look at things through a more neutral lens. She didn’t think that she was ever going to forgive him for what he had done to her, but at the same time, she was no longer wasting her energy being angry at either him or herself. He simply wasn’t worth the emotional investment she had given him for so long.

“I was thinking that I can see certain similarities between Bradley and your father.” Roy glanced at her, but she nodded for him to continue. “There’s something about them both, that single-mindedness and that disregard for others. Your father’s desire to protect his complex array above all else, his willingness to completely destroy your life in order to achieve his own ends… I can see that same drive in Bradley, and I dread to think what would have happened to you if Hawkeye’s goal had been immortality instead of anything else.”

Riza shuddered. “Yes. When you put it like that, I can see why Mrs Bradley and Selim wouldn’t cross his mind at all. I don’t even want to think about my father being immortal. He did enough damage in the fifty-three years he had.”

Roy reached across and took her hand. He didn’t apologise; perhaps he knew better than that now. After so many years of carrying guilt around, Riza had hoped she’d made it clear that he didn’t have to anymore.

“At least it’s over now.”

Riza nodded. “Yes. It’s over now. And in the end, I don’t think my life has been completely destroyed. I mean, it might be if Bradley does something drastic, but I can’t lay that one at my father’s door. I think that I’ve still found something good in spite of him and his disregard for everything.”

Roy smiled, and Riza could see the colour coming up in his cheeks. It was sweet to see it; the persona he wore within the military and when he was around the rest of the customers in the bar was always confident and self-assured, an easy-going ladies’ man, but Riza had known him long enough to know that the real Roy was just as flustered around her as she had been about him when she had first realised that she liked him as far more than a friend.

They were settling now, having put the cards on the table the other night, and Riza knew that, if the circumstances in the outside world had been easier, they would have been moving ahead with the relationship without any concerns. But the circumstances were what they were, and with danger lurking in every corner, it felt premature to be making any kind of long-term plans beyond the fact that they wanted to be together right now in case they never got the chance in the future.

Roy’s fingertips brushed her face, touching the frown line between her brows.

“It’ll be all right.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Somehow, it’ll be all right.”

It wasn’t the firmest or most confident of statements, but it gave Riza some hope, and she smiled, knocking her coffee mug against his in a toast before they went back to join the others. Breda and Fuery were pouring over a book so old it was practically falling apart, and Riza wondered if it was stock from the shop upstairs.

“Can you make out this transmutation circle?” Fuery thrust the book at him. “Armstrong doesn’t recognise it, but he thinks it’s a forbidden one.”

Roy grabbed the book and turned it this way and that, before his eyes widened.

“I think that’s for human transmutation.”

“Ah.” Breda and Fuery exchanged a worried look. Even the layman most ignorant of all things alchemic knew that human transmutation was the ultimate taboo, not just in Amestris but in general.

“So, once we get our hands on someone who can read Ancient Xerxian, that one could prove to be a game changer,” Breda muttered. He shoved it on the ‘keep’ pile of documents, and Riza went to sit beside him and take a look at what they had so far.

She had only just settled down when she jumped out of her skin as a pounding against the door began. It was the back door that led out into the alley with the garbage, the door that Madam Christmas brought all the booze in through; the door that would serve as their emergency exit if the speakeasy ever got raided.

No one used that door on a regular basis, and Riza felt her blood going cold. She looked over at Madam Christmas, who, although as guarded as ever, looked genuinely concerned. She gave Riza a nod and reached under the bar, grabbing the rifle that was always kept there in case of problems and tossing it to her, and the two of them made their way through the bar towards the door. Roy followed them, pulling on his gloves and getting ready to strike. The pounding was not letting up, a steady and frantic hammering, and as tense as the noise was making her, Riza thought that the fact it wasn’t being punctuated with ‘open up in the name of the law’ and threats of the door being blown in meant that they weren’t being raided.

“Please!” The voice was muffled through the thick wood and obscured by the constant pounding, but Riza could recognise it in an instant, and ice ran through her veins afresh. “Please let me in! Please!”

Madam Christmas unbolted the door and threw it open, catching Trisha as she fell in through the doorway.

“Trisha? What’s going on?” Riza rushed to help her back on her feet.

“They’ve got Hohenheim!”

#FMA:Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

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sapphicmsmarvel · 5 years

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Intimate Things: Wanda Maximoff

-Wanda was absolutely whipped for you.

-Anything you said she was there looking at you with heart eyes.

-Of course, you did the same thing.

-Your home had many, many plants, both fake and real. Terrariums hung from the ceiling in the corners, you had planters on the window sill and many succulents.

-Wanda loves baths. You guys have a whole cabinet filled with bath bombs, bath salts, bubble bath and all the self care stuff. Face masks, body scrubs, lotions, body wash. You guys take baths together quite often.

-Forehead kisses. She's a tad bit shorter than you and the perfect height for you to kiss her forehead and she loves it.

-But since she's short, she kisses your chin.

-She always tucks her head into your neck.

-You two read together at the end of the day.

-If she has a rough day training, you get her out of training clothes and into a bath. After she's done the two of you order takeout and cuddle.

-Incredibly light sleeper. She wakes up even if you get up to get water.

-A lot of the times during intimate moments her powers will cast the room in a dreamy red haze, it's like the northern lights to you.

-When she cooks, you have the most dramatic reactions. "Mhm, Wanda if this food was a person I would get naked and make love to it." She laughed and said, "why make love to the food when you could do it to me?" Because of the fact that you're not used to her saying this shit, you coughed and sputtered.

-She loves christmas, she didn't really have that in Sokovia (cause war) so whenever the streets are decorated she drags you out of the warm cozy apartment into the chilly streets.

-Your gloved hands always together as you two sip hot chocolate while looking at the lights. You get cold and she always wraps her scarf around you.

-With her going out on missions, you had a little talk with Sam and Bucky, "if she dies or gets close to it while you three are out there, I will slit your throats in your sleep, got it?" You quirked an eyebrow. The two men were absolutely terrified by you, your balls to even think about threatening them, especially Bucky, it made them respect you, "of course Y/N. We're still friends right?" Bucky asked. "Of course Solider," you winked as you walked away to go say goodbye to Wanda, your boots clicking.

"That is... a terrifying woman." Sam said, "and i've met my share fair of terrifying women."

-She will destroy everyone and everything to get you back to her.

-She hates horror movies, but you love them. You hate romantic movies but she loves them.

-So you two trade off every friday night, she cuddles into you and jumps at everything. You cuddle her (of course) but you make jokes at the characters that she says she hates, but she laughs at you.

-If you have a panic attack, with your consent, she can manipulate your brain to calm down. But that only happens in serious situations.

-Most of the time, if you want to be held she'll do that, or she'll leave you be if you tell her too. But she never goes far. She'll go make tea or get water, something to help.

-Or she'll go grab something to distract you. You guys have those sequin pillows specifically so you can mess with them during an attack. Fidget cubes as well.

-She can feel your social battery run out, you get exhausted mentally and she feels that weight because you two are mentally connected.

-She'll make some excuse so you two can leave the function, you guys get home and she helps you relax. Concluding the night with your head on her chest, her fingers going through your hair.

-You have a cat, whose name is Soko (after Sokovia). She found him on the street and brought him to where you treated him as the king.

-Soko is not a people cat, in fact he loves you two the most and if someone else comes near him he either hisses or leaves. A dumpster cat through and through.

-But he always sleeps on the bed with you two. He loves to be snuggled between his moms.

-She randomly starts dancing sometimes, just vibing to a song that’s playing or one that’s in her head.

-Either way it’s adorable and your heart always feels full because of her.

-It's your own paradise.

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energon-with-a-curly-straw · 4 years

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Salted peanut caramel squares. I’ve made them many times; a baked pretzel crust, sprinkled with peanuts, a layer of caramel, topped with more peanuts. It can be a bit of a dice roll how hard or soft the caramel layer turns out, but they’re tasty and a hell of a lot easier than my 7 layer candy bars.

The bottom layer is out of the oven. There was a miscommunication on whether I needed mom to make the caramel, but I clear that up and get to work. There’s a pot and thermometer already out. I had been planning to use a bigger saucepan, but I figure mom knows what she’s doing so it’s probably fine. The ingredients are in and I turn on the burner.

It’s important to mention that it has been a few years since I’ve done this; sometimes things get muddled in my brain. I turn the burner to 8 until the butter is melted, than put it on high. Hey, don’t fucking do this, by the way. This is a recipe for severe burns.

It’s boiling. It’s spilling over the sides as I stir and dripping down onto the element. There’s smoke, and a little bit of fire, but nothing that can’t be handled. The caramel still hasn’t reached the desired temperature- sometimes you need to tap on the thermometer top to get the needle to move, but even then we’re still only 4/5th of the way there. My dad is by my side, wiping away the drips with a wet cloth before they fall. It’s looking a bit darker than it should. Dad grabs a digit meat thermometer from the drawer. You can feel the anticipation in the air.

Fuck. The old candy thermometer is off by a fair amount. Plus, it turned out I’d mixed the oven temperature for the candy temperature (who puts the oven temperature in both Celsius and Fahrenheit?), so it would have been wrong no matter what. I can’t use this on the bars. I tell dad to grab a baking sheet and line it with parchment paper. Now. He’s concerned it’ll burn through the paper- he’s looking at the box wasting precious time we don’t have, while I stand there desperately stirring a bubbling pot of burning sugar. I pour the contents onto the sheet, trying to spread it out on the paper before it hardens.

‘Oh, haha,’ you say. ‘A bit of impromptu toffee with a slightly smoky flavour? Jolly good.’ No- I’m not done.

We open the window and take a breath. The toffee itself isn’t bad, but we should definitely throw out the old thermometer. Whether we can save the pot is still undetermined. We hear sirens in the distance. We joke it’s the firetrucks coming for our smoky cooking. The sirens are getting louder, they keep starting and stopping. Flashing lights are coming down our street.

It’s a fucking Santa parade. Apparently one that no one in the village knew about. It’s three or four firetrucks and a handful of cars decorated in Christmas lights. Santa is sitting on top of one of the trucks, and I think I recognize him as the fire chief. Wild, but okay, the fire station is pretty close. I think they were doing something for essential workers the other day, so maybe it’s related?

We have a good laugh; a funny little story. Yeah, we’re not done yet.

I’ll remake the caramel after dinner. We wipe down the stovetop and yield the kitchen to mom. We’re having homemade mac n cheese. I’m sitting in the room other, playing animal crossing. Something’s burning. Flames rise from burner liners- a small amount, but more than with the caramel. This one isn’t even my fault- apparently baked on coconut milk is super flammable. The fire alarm goes off. The next burner, the one beside the one I’d used earlier, begins emitting a great deal of smoke. I can see the firetruck parade out the kitchen window behind us.

Dad throws a cup of water in the flaming burner, wiping the smoking element with a wet cloth. Mom’s battling with the smoke alarm, which annoyingly keeps turning itself back on. We’re opening windows to clear out the haze that lightly blurs my vision. I can see the Christmas lights and sirens between the houses in the subdivision right behind us, all the while we desperately pretend we are not having a fire.

There’s just something so accurate a description of my life right now as having unintentionally made the best (and most dangerous) toffee brittle of my life that is completely impossible to replicate, with three separate kitchen fires, while my tiny town’s fire department flashes in the background, decked out in lights for a parade no one was expecting or prepared for.

#baking #Christmas #2020 #my life right now #everything’s fine #the only damage is that we had to replace all the burner liners again #I turned on the burner to remake the caramel and just ‘yeah that’s going to catch on fire again :/‘#the toffee is the perfect consistency with a delicate mature burnt note it’s actually really good #don’t go thinking my dad is cool and collected he tried to put out my teeny little sparks fire with a paper towel and made it a bigger fire #smells like christmas in here #fire #this could have been very bad but it was very funny

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bolbianddolanhouse · 4 years

Text

BNHA self insert AU [Book 3]

New? Read here! Then here!

Part 1 - Part 2

Chapter 10.75: It’s Vinegar- Wha?- It’s Vinegar, Pussy

I’ve been taking notice of the servants, they all have distinct features and some of them seem to serve a particular family member when they come around. Which leads me to think that this servant that took the picture probably knows the most about the house. From what I remember from the hologram, this servant is male presenting with light skin, sun spots, salt and pepper hair with a very pronounced nose. Problem is, I haven’t seen him.

I had some afternoon tea by myself in the parlor as uncle Tensei did some calls to our extended family. Usually I hate having tea time, because it makes me feel like a pompous piece of shit rich boy and I prefer coffee anyways. But I took the tea this time to observe the servants. I learned that they all gather in the kitchen at 8pm to gossip before the non-live in servants have to leave for the day. So I snuck down to the kitchen to listen in.

“...Can you believe I served afternoon tea again! Ugh, when will I forget he’s dead now?!”

“I saw, nice save that you served it to Iwata-chan.”

“Man that kid beefed up! He used to be so timid and never show his power. But I saw the way he levitated those antiques with ease, kid is like his mother.”

“Maybe we’ll get to see more of the family now that he’s dead?! The mother is just so pleasant to be around.”

“Too bad Thad-kun won’t be here to see them spend more time at the estate. He loved Itati-sama and Tenya-sama.”

I peeked my head in “Who’s Thad-kun?”

The staff yelped and jumped at my sudden appearance.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” I bowed in forgiveness “But I couldn’t help but to overhear that there’s a servant that isn’t here anymore?”

“Yes, Thaddeus was one of the oldest servants here” spoke one of the female servants “he was the previous head of estate’s favorite servant, from Thad’s record, he was about 20 when the previous head of estate inherited the estate. Since then, Thad was in service of him and only him.”

“Yea, Thad-kun passed two years ago of the flu in his private quarters” spoke one of the chefs “Poor man didn’t have any family or children, just spent his whole life serving the Iida family. But he adored all the family that married in and the children, he took pictures of all the children when they’re newborns and puts them in this scrapbook.”

“Oh yea the scrapbook! Pretty sure it’s in the parlor bookcase” chimed in a younger servant “We hid it from the old head of estate, we were scared that he might destroy it or something. Anything to preserve the memory of our friend.”

“Yup, all of us feared that old man. But Thad-kun knew how to calm him and never missed a single tea time” said the chef “We have his journal in the parlor book case as well. There’s notes on what that old man liked in case he wasn’t around to serve him and we dip into it when anything comes up.”

“Hmm, I just might crack into them” I pondered “Thank you for sharing! Sorry for interrupting again, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Any time Iwata-chan!” said all the staff as they waved bye to me.

I float my way to the parlor, trying to not make noise to catch the attention of my uncle or the other servants that have night duties. I search through the books to find an old green leather photo album and a worn black journal. I took the books to my room to look them over, the album had so many pictures of couples and babies with their names neatly written underneath the photo. It was so organized that I could trace back to who was my great-grand father! Apparently I came from a side branch family and that theres 4 branch families and one main, but the main family didn’t marry and had children to maintain lineage. So great grand uncle was the last one of the main family. I only know of one other branch family, the other two are a mystery to me. Getting to the end of the album, I put it to the side and opened up the journal. I get to an interesting part that reads:

March 14th,

I helped Iida-sama take down portraits in the Lineage Hall. He’s asked me to burn them but I don’t have the heart to do so. When he left for work, I hid them in the West wing linens closet. I can only hope he will forgive me someday. Erasing these people and only keeping the heroes this family is the work of a tyrant! Mothers, daughters and non-engine sons are to be celebrated with their hero relatives. May the next heir see the light and I’ll unearth the family hidden history.

The west wing linens closet?! Such a place exists?

-The next day-

“Tio, what’s the agenda for today?” I asked after breakfast.

“Today I’m going to check in with the agency on the phone” responded Uncle Tensei “then talk to the gardeners, then we plan for a welcome ball.”

“Oh uhhhhh can any of those things wait until tomorrow?” I got timid over the full schedule of things “because I found an important clue regarding the portraits.”

Uncle Tensei looked at me with intensity “The agency can wait, show me what you found.”

I showed them the journal entry “...so do you know wheres that linens closet?”

“Hmmm the West wing is used to store the decorative pieces of the estate for Balls or other events” pondered Tensei “Nobody in the family would think of finding something that important there since it’s a servant accessible area...”

We looked at each other and activated our arm engines to zip to the west wing. It was like we shared the singular brain cell at that moment and it was telling us to stop being civil and zoom. And sure enough, there was the portraits! Still in excellent condition and in their original frames. There were some without frames and they were portraits of the women that married in the family in the recent decades, the most recent one was of my mom. I looked at the portrait and was stunted by the artist’s capture of her natural beauty. The way they painted the flower crown and her curls, the exact shade of medium tan skin, the detail of the rebozo on her shoulders and the crisp white of the traditional dress. She was so young in this portrait and it made me wonder when this was taken.

“Oh my I remember when this one was painted” chuckled Uncle Tensei as he caught me gawking at the painting “Your dad had this arranged for your mom’s 24th birthday, months before they got married. These are usually done with traditional wear and since your mom isn’t Japanese, she showed up in that dress and shawl. All the women in the family were fawning over how beautiful her traditional dress was. The artist was so inspired by the flowers in her hair that he had he pose in the garden, making her portrait the only one painted in an outside setting.”

“Wow, she had that type of power over others huh?” I said in awe.

“She didn’t want to at first but the family painter convinced her that she was already the first ethnic woman to marry into the family, may as well make the portrait as unique as possible” a frown slowly crept onto his face “But then great grand uncle wanted the portrait scraped because she wasn’t in kimono and that she looked unkept with her down down and no makeup. Honestly, I feel like he didn’t want Tenya to marry her because of her ethnicity but turned a blind eye on that because she was a CEO and wanted to asset the company. Your dad had this whole plan to make a garden for your mother to frolic in when he gets the estate, with lots of flowers and fruit trees OH and the lily pond! It was going to take up like half of that empty lawn space in the middle.”

I looked at the portrait “So much fuss over this woman.”

“But she was worth it. Look at all the things she contributed to the family!” He started to describe “She doesn’t see it but she’s a blessing to us. We needed someone outspoken and bold to challenge great grand uncle’s tyrannic ways.”

That stayed with me for the rest of my time at the estate. I didn’t know what to think of my mom anymore, yes she’s amazing but she kept an important part of history from me and who know who else?! Finally, after 6 days of tolerating it, I was able to go home! And just in time! It’s the day before Christmas Eve and Lili is flying in today.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” asked Uncle Tensei as I take my bags to the front door “I don’t have any business to attend to today.”

“Naw Tio, I’m good” I sigh tiredly “I’m just a little sick of spending time together like this, as much as I love you as my uncle” I float my bags “I just wanna go home on my own and reflect on things.”

“I understand, every young man needs their time alone” Tensei smiled warmly “Have a safe journey home, see you in a few days.”

I wave good bye “Bye bye tio!” I turn my head to the servants that gathered around “Bye bye everyone else! Thank you for helping me find the critical clue in the portrait mystery!”

Everyone bid me good bye and safe travel until I was out of sight. From there I took a short train trip and two buses home, picking up a few interesting things along the way that I could gift. In total, it took about 3 hours to get home. Whole time I was just thinking of the ways I was going to confront mom about what I learned. The ways I could say how I feel, the ways she might react...I don’t know what to expect! And I’m super nervous. I stood at the front door for maybe 5 minutes because of how nervous I was! Finally mustering the courage to open the door with my eyes closed, the air of baked goods hit me first.

“I’m home” I announced myself, holding my breath to whoever answers.

“Iwata, you’re home” yipped the robo dog as it trots into view “Did you know it’s been 222 days since you’ve last been home?! I missed you very much and so has everyone else.”

I bent down to pet them “Has it? It feels longer than that” I booped their nose “I missed you too boy.”

“Mom is in the kitchen, Dad is picking up Lili at the airport, Hanaka is at her friend’s house and Tensei is practicing with their group” listed the robo “Everyone should be home before 7pm for dinner...it is now half past 4.”

I look at the clock thats mounted at the entrance to confirm the time, then looked down at the shoes. Mom’s were there in their usual spot and I kicked off mine in their usual spot. Now it feels like I’m home. I slowly made my way to the kitchen, and there she was, taking cookies out of the oven in her iconic floral apron.

“Mom? I’m home.”

“OH! Iwata! I didn’t hear you come in!” Mom squealed before setting down the hot tray to embrace me “I thought your were coming home tomorrow?!”

“Nah I’m sick of looking at Tio and doing rich people things” I gagged to drive my point “I left late morning and took public transport. I just really wanted to come home.”

“I understand mijo, I probably would’ve done the same” she pursed her lips and placed her hand on my face “Why don’t you settle back in? I’ll have some food ready for you if you’re hungry.”

My stomach growled in comedic timing “Heh, okay. I’ll go do that.”

My side of the room stayed untouched, as expected. Tensei was a good boy and doesn’t go through my things. I slammed myself face first into my bed and screamed into my pillow. GOD I missed my bed and the comforts of home! As I unpacked, I remembered what I was going to do and dreaded having to bring it up in casual conversation with her. I hid the device in my closet shelf, away from Hanaka’s prying eyes. When I finally showed myself downstairs, mom had my plate of food ready at my spot on the nook.

“How was things at the estate? Tensei hasn’t told me much other than it’s been busy.” Mom said as she washed her hands “Oh that reminds me! The school called tell me that you missed some finals and they’re letting you make them up the weekend before school resumes.”

I sat down “Things were weird mom. I learned way more than I asked for” I sighed and picked up my fork “I never want to be that rich and be without family! Did you know that the oldest butler hid the family portraits that the old man took down?! I didn’t know you had a portrait done with them.”

“You found it?! I thought that old man for sure destroyed it!” gasped Mom “It was a beautiful painting and a very sentimental art piece to your father. He wanted to keep it if the old man didn’t approve it to be hung in the estate, but before he could ask, it was gone! Or so we were told by the artist.” She sat at her spot to listen to me “What else?”

In between bites of chilaquiles, I told her of my time and who I spoke to. I tried to bring up what I wanted to confront to her about, but that look in her eyes and all her attention made me want more of her...I missed my mom and I as torn between all my emotions I was feeling. Wish I didn’t have to do this. Everyone came home and we were finally a full house. It felt so good to be in their company again, I didn’t even mind all the smothering this time! Suppose the confrontation has to wait.

-The next day, at breakfast-

“Damn B, it’s just spam and eggs with toast” said the twins, looking at Lili and me have a breakdown over our food.

Lili wipes her eyes “I KNOW! I have to cook for myself every meal” she pointed at her toast “I have to wake up at 6 in the god forsaken morning so I can buy bread like a peasant woman because there isn’t any chain grocery stores where I live in France!”

“I haven’t had a single decent meal since I lived in the dorms” I held my toast up gently “F in the chat for the toaster in the dorms that Beizu tore apart for parts in August.”

Lili held her toast up with me “F”

“Yall are so fucking weird” Hanaka said with a groan “You don’t see Oro and I do this shit.”

“Don’t make fun of your older siblings” scolded Dad with an arm chop “They’ve had a tough time being away from home. You’d understand once you have to cook for yourself everyday.”

“ANYWAYS! Mom, who’s coming tonight?” cut in Tensei.

“Oh ummm, Mr Hitoshi and his husband. Aunty Mimi with Nikita, uncle Jin, Mei and Beizu, Mr Tokoyami and Petti, the Ojiros” listed Mom “Aunty Midnight, Hoshi and the Midoriyas. So more people than usual.”

“Aw abuela and abuelito aren’t coming this year?” responded Tensei with a pout.

“They’re coming for abuelita’s birthday, so don’t get all pouty mijo” assured Mom “But after breakfast, we gotta get our butts in clean mode because Mr Hitoshi and his husband are coming at 3pm, they’re dropping the kids off at their grandparent’s then coming straight here.”

And so I got back into the swing of things, my winter chore is cleaning the bathrooms and making sure they’re fully stocked with toiletries. I was done before our first guests were supposed to come, so my mind raced with how I was going to talk to mom as I showered.

“You decent?” knocked Lili at my door.

“Yea, come in” I said as I was drying my hair “What’s poppin’?”

She threw her arms around me and squeezed me “I just wanted to come in and hug you” she pinched my arms “Damn boy, UA beefed you up! I couldn’t tell under your baggy sweaters.” She laughed “But forrealzies, how much did you inherit?”

“Straight to the point huh?” I leaned in to her ear “2 million dollars and all the old man’s collectables.”

“Shut the fuck up!” gasped Lili “So you and tio were the only ones on the will?! That’s pretty wack, I’m the oldest and dad is literally that man’s family!”

I sighed “It’s complicated but I’ll say that it all has to do with mom.”

“Damn, but what are you going to do with the money?” asked Lili curiously.

“Might buy myself a house and go to college, or save it if I get a really good job out of high school.” I flop onto my bed “Lili, do you ever feel like mom has been hiding something from you?”

“Yea, it’s a given.”

I turn my head to face her “Wait what?”

“It’s a given. I’m sure mom hid things from us to protect us or because it’s none of our business” She responded “She’s a reasonable person, maybe she’ll tell us eventually when she’s ready to tell us. I’ve been curious of mom too when I was in high school. Nothing made sense and I felt like maybe I wasn’t going down the right path, so I asked her what she did and it opened up her past. After that conversation, I had more respect for her and felt like I can be more open to her about what I’m curious about.”

“Do you think she’ll answer me if I ask her something?” I felt my stomach tie itself into knots “I learned so much about her from other people that I’m not sure if we know the same person.”

Lili put her hand on my back “She’s our mom, no matter what, she’ll love us.”

That made me feel so much better about what I was about to do. I took my calming breaths at the base of the stairs before facing mom in the living room. She was having some down time after slaving over the pot of Pozolé and Ponché, her face still red from the heat of the pots.

“Hey mom, ummm mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure mijo is everything okay?” responded Mom as I sat down in the arm chair adjacent from the couch “You seem kind of stiff.”

“I’m just nervous” I responded “I just... I learned alot of things about you these past months. And I have so many questions that I’m afraid of knowing the answers too.”

“What is it? You can ask me anything” Mom said, looking attentively “You have my full attention.”

It hurt to see her like this, especially with what I had to say.

“Why did you hide about the death of Beizu Iwata?” I asked, looking at her dead in the eye.

Her face didn’t budge from her expression “I didn’t? His death is public information-”

“Stop LYING TO ME!” I yelled “You know what I mean! He was Bei’s dad and you couldn’t save him, and you’re guilty of your incompetence so you had me to give his son a friend. And that’s my purpose isn’t it?! I’m just some living plaything!”

“Iwata why would you say such a thing! I didn’t-”

“SHUT UP I’M NOT DONE TALKING!” I raised my voice “You named me after him, I’m here to just fix your mistake aren’t I? And what about your lovechild with Mr Hitoshi?! Oh and not to mention on why you came over here alone at 15 years old!” I felt myself become tense in this mix of rage and the verge of tears “It’s like I don’t even know you! WHO ARE YOU?!” I felt the hot tears run down my face “and why are things so complicated?”

Mom was white as a ghost and frozen on the couch. And my yelling got the attention of my dad.

“Iwata El Roca Iida! What is the meaning of this!” demanded Dad as he approached us “You dare to yell at your mother in that tone?! What has gotten into you? I-”

Mom held her hand up, commanding dad to stop talking. She then got up, stood in front of me and got on her knees for the deep bow. I’ve never seen her do this before and I got scared.

“I’m sorry Iwata, please forgive me for all my mistakes” she lifted her head to show the tears creeping down her face “I know I’m not a perfect mother and I’m a very flawed human with a very troubled past, but please let me explain things.” She took a deep breath to stabilize her breathing “I named you after Beizu Iwata, he’s one of the few people that I trusted to run the company. He poured his everything into the company and I wouldn’t be as successful without him. His death devastated me, I chased after him when he ran back inside the burning building. When I begged him to get to safety and to leave everything behind, he looked at me and touched my stomach before breaking the 6th floor window to throw me out with a box in my arms. Of course somebody caught me before my body reached the ground and he reappeared a few minutes later. After his death, I learned that I was 2 months pregnant with you, he saved both of us mijo. If I stayed any longer, I risked losing you and I don’t think my heart could take another infant death.”

“Another infant death?” my eye widened “No, don’t tell me-”

“I’m afraid so” She tried really hard not to lose her composure “I lost my first baby that I had with Mr Hitoshi, I wanted to have them so badly. You don’t know how much it hurts to not have a family when you still need them, so you make your own. But it hurts even more when you lose the family you failed to build.”

“Ita, please stand up” gently begged Dad, on the verge of tears “Please love, you don’t have to re-live the trauma. It’s okay.”

“No Tenya, I have to say it. How will we move forward if I don’t say what happened in the past?” She couldn’t look at us and kept her head down to face her lap “I came here to protect my family...” She told me the whole story of what happened in America and her decision that changed her life forever “...And that’s my burden to bear. I wish things didn’t have to be like this and I could be with my family and made my dreams come true back home. I dedicate my life to making sure nobody has to every go through what I went through unless it’s their decision.” She looked at me “I understand that you might not want to associate with me after all this, but just know that I love you so much. I wanted to have you, to nurture you, to teach you that you are free to be whoever you want to be, to love whomever you want” Her expression was full of pain, like it was bottled for years and it’s now surfaced “I know of all the bad things that could hurt you and I shouldn’t let one of them be me. And I’m sorry that I have.”

I felt like the villain, making my mom re-live her trauma and tell me she’s a bad mother. She’s not a bad person, she’s lived a life full of tragedy and we’re the one good thing that went right. And after all that, she still has the capacity to tell me she loves me? I really don’t deserve to be her son. I levitated her up and ran into her for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry” I sobbed “I didn’t know! And I feel awful! I just thought that maybe-”

“It’s okay baby” She shushed me, stroking my hair “No more bad feelings, no more deceit. If you want to know something, don’t bottle it up, just tell me and I won’t turn you away.”

“Okay mom” I held her tighter “I’m sorry I ruined Christmas.”

“You didn’t ruin Christmas Iwata” chuckled Mom through her tears “Your tia set the Christmas tree on fire when I was like, twelve, and it burned all the presents underneath it.”

“Never mind that actually sucks” I laughed, pulling away from her “Then is everything cool?”

“Hmmm, I wouldn’t say that” Mom said, giving me her iconic career ending face “I cleared up and explained myself, now it’s your turn.” She levitates me so I wouldn’t run “Care to explain your little academic double life?”

“Huh? What are you talk-” It hit me, she knows about my double program enrollment “Oooooh, oof.”

“We’ve known since June” Dad spoke up with his arms crossed “Nurse Eri told us when she called to discuss your health exam. We talked to the school to confirm, so theres no use in lying your way out of this one Iwata.”

I looked at my parents and sighed in defeat “Fine, I enrolled myself in the Hero and Intel course after your Great Grand Uncle told me he was going to pay for my tuition. So to spite him later, I was going to show him that I got both and decide to be an agent instead of a hero to break the streak of heroes in the family.” I felt like a trapped animal awaiting death “He insulted my family and I used my favoritism as my upper hand to get back at him that I am my mother’s son and so what?! Fuck that viejo and his hateful ass, I’m half latino!”

“You really are your mother’s son” said Dad in disbelief “It’s like looking at your mother when she was your age, same pettiness and pride!” He cleared his throat “But that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to punish you for lying to us on why you’re always stressed! You know better than to overwork yourself.”

“And on top of that, I had someone on the inside tell me about the device and the old school files” Mom added “So you peeked and meddled into my personal business ey?! And all you did was hurt yourself. We have no choice but to issue capital punishment to you AND Beizu.”

I gasped “You leave him out of this! He’s innocent!”

“Can’t do, he’s your accomplice” Mom pulled out her phone to show me texts “One of the perks of having friends that work in a school is that you have watchful eyes on your children at all times.”

“Damn you got us” at that moment, I knew I was about to hate my life.

“We’ll come up with a group punishment later, but we agreed that you’re to be sentenced to house arrest for the rest of the winter break” Mom crossed her arms “AND we’re taking away cursing privileges, starting now.”

I gasped “NOOOO! Anything but capital punishment!”

The doorbell rang, it was our first guests.

“Hey I brought- oh are we interrupting something?” Mr Hitoshi said walking into the living room.

“Not at all! Just issuing punishment” Mom puts me down and turns to the two men “Iwata was just talking about you Hitoshi!”

“Oh yea? About what?” chuckled the purple haired man as took a seat.

Mom motioned to me “Iwata, care to share with him?”

I gulped the guilt lump I had in my throat “I know about your and my mom’s baby and their death was the reason you left my mom.”

Mr Hitoshi’s face turned white “How did you- There’s no way!”

“He got real nosey and hurt his own feelings” Mom summarized it “Oh you brought the saké! Bring the cups out Tenya!”

“What else did you learn Iwata?” asked Mr Neito.

“I learned that you, um, did the deed with my mom” I cringed “Many times, in the dorms and a few times in the workrooms at school.”

“YOU WHAT?!” screamed Dad with a tray of specialty drink ware.

“Oh don’t act surprised Tenya!” Mom put her hands on her hips “It was totally obvious! I lost my virginity to him. And I rewarded him with intimacy after training and in turn, became a decent person.”

“Yup, sorry Tenya that you got my sloppy seconds” responded Mr Nieto unapologetically “But as I said at your wedding, good for you that you got a woman that can really spice things up.”

“I thought you meant that she’s a good cook!” Dad defended himself “Not that you two had a thing in the past?!”

“Join the club, I didn’t know either until she dropped off the wedding invite” Hitoshi said as he poured the saké “But I’ll drink to that!” He handed each of us a little cup of the alcohol and raised his glass “To Ita and her bomb pussy game, it was the one thing I missed the most.”

“Kampai!” cheered everyone but my dad and I.

I downed my cup and held it out again “Imma need another cup so I can forget that chief.”

I waited patiently for Beizu to come so I can hold his hand as we get flamed my our moms with the group punishment. And when he did, his face was puffy from crying and we just held each other for the brief moment we had before getting flamed. Our mom’s agreed that the group punishment was no sleepovers the entire break and one week of intense training with aunty Mimi. I didn’t know what to do, other than go up to my room with Beizu for blanket fort time.

“Iwa, we were so wrong about things” Beizu said softly as he put his head on my chest “but I’m happy it wasn’t that way. I couldn’t imagine a life without you, it’s the one thing I’m certain about.”

I smiled and stroked his hair “Me too, we’re two halves that can’t be left incomplete.” I thought about my inheritance “When we get older, would you go on a vacation with me or co-own a house with me?”

Beizu thought about it for a minute “Hmm, I’d co-own a house with you. Because then we can spend everyday with each other.”

“What if we do both?”

“Even better but I’m just thinking of all that money we’d need to do that” explained Beizu “the house is a better investment.”

“Okay, say I inherited 2 million dollars and I want to spend it on us, now what would you say?”

His eyes widen “You did not just inherited 2 million?!” Beizu was in disbelief “I’d probably just marry you at that point. Hell, lets get married right now!”

I laughed and brought him in for a hug “Let’s get married and spend all of our money on pillows and our favorite foods. Living easy for the rest of our lives.”

He held me tight “That’s my dream, to be with you forever.”

So maybe Christmas wasn’t ruined by me and I was just being latino-in-a-telenovela dramatic. I feel so much more like myself now. Year two of this shit is really happening!....wonder if it’s gonna rock my shit.

Chapter 10.75, End

#bnha #mha #self insert au #book 3 chapter 10.75 #not canon #will update regularly #ask me anything #//Palma-sama Speaks #Iwata fucked around and found out really hard this time! But finally the confrontation!#Not gonna lie... I cried writing the forgiveness part and I'm a big baby!#I hinted a few things that will show up toward the end of this book...yall gonna go feral over it #Lili is back for a bit bc I know she's some of yall's fave. If you're confused on who she is plz read Book 2 to get acquainted with her #A nice soft moment with the boys to close off the arc uwu bc the plot gets heart wrenching after this lmao #chapters are still on an inconsistent schedule bc school is continuing to kick my ass... F in the chat for my sanity

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