#that second one fried my brain for a good minute there holy shit

[teddybeartoji]

hi mickey! 21 / 22 / 49 for your ask game :3

HELLO MY IOEST IO<33333333333333333333333

21. something you've kept since childhood

i have a normal answer and i have a not so normal answer. the sane thing is a lovely little painting that i did when i was like... six lmao but it sits very proudly on my shelf and even though it just looks like i spilled one color onto the canvas and then tried to salvage the thing i like it a lot it's very me. and as for the not so sane thing - teeth. i have a small little blue box that looks like a treasure chest and there are just eeny meeny baby teeth in there how many times do you think i tried to write tooths btw

22. what type of person are you?

IO I'M GONNA SPIRAL WHAT IS THIS QUESTION what type of person.... the type to be very open about everything. the type to not know what counts as tmi. the type to pet every single stray cat. the type to break a bone when stepping out of their bed. the type to rather risk hypothermia and drowning than to eat their own words. the type to have a tick phobia. the type to laugh out loud at typo memes??????? they always get me idk what's wrong with me. the type to hate getting ear piercing while already having 17 of them. the type to remember lines and full scenes from movies. the type to always get sleepy when getting a tattoo. the type to be absurdly afraid of kelp touching their legs????? especially in the middle of an ocean????????? when they're never even gonna be in the middle of an ocean????????????? kelp doesn't even grow there???????????????? the type to shave their head just to spite some people. the type to take a rock from the street in the middle of town just bc it was a perfect square. the type to suck at connect4. the type to cheat in monopoly. the type to sleep on their stomach and then why about their face being slanted as fuck. the type to steal from work when the bosses are being assholes. the type to love you<3333

49. can you skip rocks?

I THINK SO??? honestly i haven't done that in a fat fucking minute but as far as i can remember i can definitely get at least four skips in okay actually idk if that's a lot or not but it is A Skip meaning i can in fact Skip Rocks

[egg-on-the-run]

I got my first proper request and I literally accidentally deleted it. Am I stupid? Yes. Did I immediately panic? Yes. Do I remember what was on it?........ mostly.

Haha anon I hope you see this I'm so sorry but ily.

The turtles s/o who's usually very calm but just bursts into anger.

Notes: swearing :) I think it's funny

Leonardo:

He's used to a very calm s/o, you like to meditate together, he's always been good with helping you with breathing exercises.

You both like to keep arguments to a minimum, and even when fights do take place there isn't a lot of yelling

But when your mother came to visit :) that was just :) a lot of pressure :)

And she stayed in your apartment :) for a week :) everything was fine :)

Leonardo hadn't seen you for an entire week, not an overly long time, but certainly not pleasant. And he knew that you got stressed when you couldn't see him often. So as soon as you texted saying you had dropped your mother off at the airport, he immediately came round.

You were already screaming the moment you walked in the door.

"Oh she has some nerve! Some nerve! Speaking to me like that!"

"I'm guessing you're car ride went smoothly."

"She's been bugging me all week! When are you getting married? When are you have kids? I want some grand babies before I die! Ugh! She's obsessed with maintaining this perfect image all because her friend's kids are married and making babies like rabbits!"

He stayed quiet, not exactly sure how to comfort you. It wasn't like he could provide you with these things, and by the sounds of it, your mother would never approve of your huge turtle boyfriend.

"She just can't get that I'm happy! I have my own life and it's perfect the way I want it to be! I have a perfect boyfriend! You're a fucking delight! She–she's just so obsessed with her image that she'd never get that!"

"You... You think so?"

"I know so! She's too stubborn and she'll never get how fucking great you are and it just— UGH! It fries my brain."

"Even though I... I can't give you all those things... I can't legally marry you, we can't have kids."

"Even if you could give me a mansion and a diamond ring, or if all you could give me was a-a fucking walnut! I love you Leonardo, not that prim and proper white satin wedding she's made a thousand Pinterest boards for. I love you, I just wish she would get it."

Leonardo leaned down and kissed your cheek

"I love you too."

He believed in dealing with anger appropriately, but seeing you defend him with such passion made him feel so much more secure.

Raphael:

He's seen you angry before, he encouraged it. He's all about helping you with your confidence, teaching you to not be afraid to take up space and stand up for yourself.

But holy cow. You were mad that night.

He'd warned you not to take the trash out at night, wait to the morning — or better yet, he'll take it out for you when he came to visit after patrol.

But you are Raphael's girl. You are stubborn.

So you take the trash out, and some absolute creep decides that "flirting" in a dark alleyway in the key to a girl's heart.

Raphael swooped in, told the man to scram. But bold and drunk, the man spits back with a "Oh yeah? And would she want anything to do with a freak like you? What are you gonna do? Hit me? Aw, big angry turtle, you're gonna scare your girlfriend away."

It was two of his biggest insecurities. His appearance and his rage, especially in regards to scaring you away. It was a low blow, Raphael should have known to just walk away.

But he clammed up, he'd never admit when his anxiety got the best of him and you don't blame him.

"Oh go fuck yourself. If a vile man like you doesn't scare me, why the hell do you think a good man like him would?"

"A good man? He's not a fucking man! He's some freaky turtle thing, a pretty little thing like you deserves a real man."

"And are you a real man?"

"More real than your little pet."

The next thing you knew, the man was on the ground. You assumed Raphael knocked him out, but Raph's standing behind you and you're the one with your hand in a fist.

"Oh my god. Oh–Oh Raphie I knocked him out! O-Oh my god!"

"Holy shit Y/N! You probably broke his nose!" Raphael is grinning, shaking your shoulders.

"I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He deserves a broken nose at the least for messing with you! He was an asshole and he needed someone like you to set him straight!"

"I, um, well, I suppose he did! Saying such horrible things about you, I-I guess he did need someone to put him in his place."

Raphael ruffled your hair, "Thank you, my knight in shining armour."

"That make you my Prince?"

"Your Prince who was right about not taking the trash out at night."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He appreciated you standing up for him more than you could imagine. And he found it mighty hot how hard you hit that guy. Seriously! He must be a good self defence teacher.

Donatello:

Donatello loves you so much, loves holding you and hugging you whenever he can. He adores it when you sit on his lap while he works.

But do you like to cuddle when you sleep? Tough luck. Getting him to bed is like trying to lick your own elbow: near impossible.

Regardless, you try. Because every once in a while Donatello is too tired to fight and he will go to bed.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

"Baby, please, just come to bed. Everyone's already asleep."

"I'll be there in a minute, just go on without me."

You sigh, not really seeing the point in fighting. Instead you return to his bed, trying to keep yourself awake playing games on your phone. When half an hour passes, you go back and try again.

"Donnie come on, aren't you tired? I just want to cuddle."

"I just need to put some stuff on a hard drive, April's writing a new article, she needs it for tomorrow."

You sigh once more, "Promise you'll come to bed right after?"

"I promise."

Donatello's bed is comfortable, but it's more comfortable with him in. You force yourself to stay awake; despite your exhaustion you're determined to cuddle tonight. It's all you want.

But it did not take an hour to put some documents onto a hard drive. And he's being awfully loud for just typing away on a computer.

"Are you fucking joking right now?!"

He jumps, almost dropping the box of beakers in his arms, "Hey love... Can't sleep?"

"You're rearranging your lab?! Why are you—since when do you rearrange things, huh? What the hell?!"

"I just y'know, thought things needed a change..?"

"Oh, and now is the time to change things, really? Of all the times to move your fucking beakers you decide to do it in the middle of the night after I specifically asked you to come to bed? Seriously?"

He gives a nervous grin, the kind that usually made you smile in return. But it was late — rather it was early at this point — and you were cranky.

"You can sleep without me, you're a big girl." He teased.

"I want to sleep with my boyfriend! I want to cuddle! Is that so much to ask for?!"

Donatello blinked, "You're right, I'm sorry, but I swear, I promise, I'll be ten minutes, honest."

"You can finish this tomorrow. If you're not in bed in the next ten seconds, I am going to scream and wake everyone else up."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"Ten."

Donatello jumped, quickly moving to shove supplies in cupboards a little recklessly. You continued to count down from ten, storming off back to his bed for hopefully the finally time this night.

By the time you got to the very firm "Three... Two... One..." Donatello was racing to bed, dived in beside you, crashing and knocking your heads together.

He'd never tell you, for fear you'd let it get to your head, but he kind of liked it when you got bossy.

Michelangelo:

Anger and Michelangelo just don't mix. They just don't. He's the king of communication, he's tries his hardest to avoid fights at any and all costs. You've always appreciated his determination to talk things out with you.

But with his brothers? He shuts down, he goes quiet and just accepts whatever blame they put on him: he knows they don't mean it, they only say mean things when they're angry.

But it hurts, hearing his big brothers tell him he's stupid, that he's childish, that he's lackadaisical.

"What kind of word even is that?! I swear Donnie must read a thesaurus as a bedtime story.."

So he's allowed to complain, and you let him ramble when he comes to visit. He sits on your bed and the words just tumble out of his mouth, lets you move around the room tidying up while he rants.

"I just—Raph keeps calling me stupid. And I just—I-I just—You know, sometimes I believe it."

You freeze, sweater only half folded and turn to him, "But you're not stupid. Just because you're not some brainiac like Donatello doesn't make you stupid. If that was the case, then I'm stupid, Raph's stupid, April, Leo, Splinter is stupid. Do you think we're all stupid?"

"Well—no, but—"

"But what?"

"But I... I am a little stupid."

"No you're not! Mikey, how many times has you out of the box thinking saved the day? Y-You were the one who suggested playing friggen buck-buck to take down Shredder! Y-Your skateboarding—hoverboarding skills saved the world. You think your brothers could do that?"

Mikey scrunched his nose up, "That's not smart though. They're right. My-my focus is all over the place, I-I could never come up with a plan like Leo, I could never have half the brains Donnie has, and Raph just—he gets things that I don't and I-I am stupid!"

"I need to have a word with your brothers—"

"And that's another thing! Everyone still treats me like I'm some kid! I don't need you to have a word with them! You're not my mom."

"Then you have a word with them! But sitting here and complaining about things that just aren't true isn't going to change anything!"

He's taken aback. Much like himself, you hardly ever yell, never ever raise your voice at him.

"I am not going to stand here and let them insult you day in and day out! Either you do something about it, or I will!"

He blinks at you, you're aggressively folding the sweater in your arms and grumbling about how you could definitely take Raphael in a fist fight if need be. You mumble something about how nobody gets to speak to your boyfriend like that, and it finally clicks with Mikey.

"Alright. I'm going to talk to them," He's mostly talking to himself, "I'm going to show them that I'm not some stupid, ditzy, lackadaisical kid anymore. I'm your boyfriend, and nobody gets to speak with me that way!"

You beam at him, anger disappearing within the second with his newfound confidence, "Hell yeah! Nobody insults my boyfriend!"

"Your boyfriend!"

"My boyfriend!"

"Your boyfriend!"

His brothers' version of a wake up call is to point out his weaknesses, tell him what needs to be corrected. But you much prefer to build him up, point out his strengths.

But jeez, he does not like your angry face.

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

summary: a chance encounter puts Fiona Tanner in the sights of the Cullen family. Emmett takes an immediate liking to her, but Edward thinks she's a threat to the family. No Emmett x Rosalie. warnings: kidnapping, ooc behaviour? words: 4kish

FIONA TANNER SEATTLE, DAY 1

From the moment her boots hit the cement on the busy Seattle sidewalk, the search was on. Holding tightly to the handle of her suitcase she tried to get her bearings. Fiona Tanner’s sister had been missing for months. The cops had nothing, and they weren’t taking any of Fiona’s advice.

“Let us do our jobs, ma’am. We’ll find your sister…” had not so slowly turned into “we can’t find someone that doesn’t want to be found.” Insinuating that her sister had run away with some boy, over the fact that the cops simply hadn’t done a good enough job. Bree was a troubled kid, who left home in a hurry before she’d turned fifteen. But she always stayed in contact with Fiona. Little messages from burner phones to let her sister know that she was okay.

A person could only drag their sister back just to watch her run away again so many times before they needed an alternative solution.

Like she was going to just sit around and hope that they were right. She was an extra set of eyes and ears. There was nothing that could stand between her, and finding her sister. At the very least she was going to get the truth.

Besides, she knew for a fact that her sister was dead.

The bus dropped Fiona off in front of an old diner. It looked out of place next to two modern buildings, but the charm of it drew her in. The ladies inside were friendly, offering her a table and some coffee. She ordered a burger with fries and a root beer. While the waitress withdrew to the kitchen, Fiona pulled out a map of the city that she had started using as her guide to remember everything. The map and a small notebook she’d bought at the dollar store.

The map had a small blue X over a bookstore just a few blocks over, which was her first stop after getting some lunch. Now seemed like the best time to take stock of everything she knew so far.

Bree’s friends had no idea where she was. But they weren’t the brightest bunch, and not really the trustworthy type either.

Another boy from the area had gone missing recently as well. Riley Biers, last seen in May, 2010. He went missing near Pike Place Market.

Bree wouldn’t ever just run away with someone without telling her. She was in trouble.

And that was it. That was all Fiona knew.

But the family couldn’t just move on. Bree had looked exactly like Fiona did at her age. It became a curse when her own parents would struggle to look into her eyes, preferring to stare into their glass whenever she entered the room. It was like that a year ago, but when she had to tell her parents that she’d been talking to Bree, and hadn’t told them…

Being away from them wasn’t the worst thing right now.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about at that moment. Her concentration needed to be on her investigation.

“Here ya go,” the waitress said, setting down the plate of food. Fiona smiled, and slid her map out of the way. She was starving.

She picked up a fry and brought it to her mouth, but suddenly felt… wrong. There was a weird feeling in her mind. Like someone was watching. No, not watching. Listening.

Then clear as day she heard it. This tiny little nagging voice that had started harassing her a few weeks ago. It sounded just like her sister, except this voice was deeper, raspy like she was dying of thirst.

Run, Fiona.

She put the fry back and grabbed a twenty from her wallet, strolling up to the counter to pay and get a to go container. Fiona kept her cool, but kept her defences up.

Don’t think about me.

Fiona looked around the diner. There were two teens taking pictures of their milkshakes and giggling. Then there was a couple. A girl and an Abercrombie model. Only one plate of food between them.

As if on cue, the boy picked up one of her fries and put it in his mouth. But Fiona didn’t miss the confused look on the girls’ face when he did it. He whispered something under his breath that made the girl look down, her hair making a waterfall to block out her face. But it didn’t matter, Fiona had his face painted in her memories.

I said, run!

The voice was annoying. But the scary thing to Fiona, was that she could hear dead people. Kind of like a medium, but she suppressed it. Pushed it down, down, down until it was suffocated. Bree, however, always knew how to get under Fiona’s skin.

Please, Fiona thought, just tell me what happened.

I told you, it’s not safe. Go home!

“Lady?” said the waitress, holding out the change to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said, putting her phoney smile back on. “Sorry, keep the change.” She took her to go box to the table and threw the fries in it, and everything else she owned back in her bag. She flipped it over one shoulder gracefully and grabbed her burger, taking a big bite of it. She looked back at the couple, but caught his narrowed eyes staring at her.

He was the one listening. She tried to immediately cover her thoughts by thinking the alphabet as loud as possible, but she could read from the look on his face that it was too late.

You’re going to get hurt. Bree had been fighting Fiona every step of the way. Putting fake clues in her mind, trying to push out clues that were helpful…

It was annoying.

C’mon Bree, Fiona thought. Gimme a clue.

How about a hint?

Yes, Bree! Please give me a hint.

Okay, go home. That’s your hint. Goodnight.

Goodnight, yourself. It’s not even dark out.

FIONA TANNER SEATTLE, DAY 2

Wake up!! Bree was shouting. It was frantic, unlike anything Fiona had ever heard before. Please, Fiona, please, wake up!! Someone is in the bathroom!

In a second, all of the grogginess was wiped away. Fiona sat up quickly, pulling the blankets to her chest. She had triple, quadruple checked that the door was locked before bed. And she could see that it was still locked now. How could someone have…

I think… they’re leaving.

How?? Fiona was starting to shake. There’s no window in there.

Then something in the air shifted. And the only reason she knew something was different was the tiny breeze she felt on her face, and the fact that the door wasn’t locked anymore.

Who was in here, Bree?

I’m not telling.

But you know?

No.

Liar.

Fiona rubbed her temples. Bree’s yelling had given her a headache. To make things worse, Bree was loudly singing, “go hoooooome” over and over. Fiona got up, changed out of her pyjamas into jeans and a white tee. And pulled her boots on. She has at the edge of the bed for a minute, her head in her hands as she took some deep breaths.

Fiona looked out the window, and noticed something bizarre. There was a girl, standing stiff as a board. And Bree went radio silent.

Know that girl?

When Bree didn’t answer, Fiona dropped down, hiding herself out of view. Holy shit! Do you actually know that girl?

Fiona was getting tired of this. If Bree wasn’t going to talk, someone else was going to. With reckless abandon, she threw open the door and stomped across the parking lot, not really caring that this girl was starring at her.

“Do you know Bree Tanner?” Fiona asked loudly, before she was even close to the girl.

Shut up! Shut up! You have no idea what you’re starting!

“Excuse me?” said the girl. She was impossibly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that wasn’t even fair for the rest of the world.

“My sister is Bree Tanner, and I think she knows you.”

“And how could you know that?”

“She told me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why? Because she’s dead?”

The girl shut up after that. Fiona was getting sick and tired of no one answering her questions. She knew she was playing with fire, but she didn’t care. If this girl was some drug dealer who got Bree killed, she was going to find out. And she wanted to find out today, right now.

“I don’t care what shit you’re in with the police, I just want to know what happened to her.”

Shut. Up! Or you’ll be dead like me.

The girl didn’t speak again. “Do you know the boy who listens?”

The next five seconds went faster than she could have possibly believed. She was suddenly in complete darkness. With all her belongings beside her. In a small, tight space. Where was she? What happened.

You’re in a TRUNK, dumbass, you just got kidnapped.

Well that, was bad news for Fiona. She wanted to scream but her mouth was covered. She wanted to fight but her hands were tied. How did that happen? How did she miss her own kidnapping?

The boy who could listen was here. Probably in the car. She could feel him in there.

“How could she know this much?” The beautiful girl asked. Fiona had no idea why, but she could hear them in her head. In her mind.

“Be quiet,” he said sharply.

Silence.

“She can hear us,” he said. “I can’t… I can’t look in her mind, I’m just hearing my words echoed back, louder than her thoughts. I think she’s burying them.”

Instead of burying them, she turned it around. Played it loud like shouting into a megaphone. Did you do this to Bree, too? And then she projected Bree’s image. She closed her eyes and tried to push every detail of her sister’s face into his mind. But, he edited it. Saw it the way he saw it, with bright red eyes. She felt the car swerve violently and she cracked her arm as she rolled onto it. It hurt so badly. She hoped it wasn’t broken but the way her fingers stopped responding to her made her worried.

“Knock it off!” he shouted.

“What?” His passenger asked. Don’t be rude, she thought.

Not you, Rosalie. Did the listening boy think that?

It was getting too confusing for her to keep all these voices straight. Rosalie was sitting with the boy who listens. She didn’t know his name. It made no sense, how could she hear them? She could only ever hear the dead, but this wasn’t the same. Bree sounded like she was in the middle of Fiona’s brain, but the other two… they sounded like Fiona was listening to them from a couple feet away. They were on the outside, and Bree was on the inside.

Please, Bree begged, I don’t know how to help you now.

It didn’t matter. Fiona passed out.

EMMETT CULLEN FORKS, DAY 1

Emmett hated when the family went into crisis mode. Jasper didn’t want to play chess because he was too busy fretting over Alice. Edward was having four panic attacks a day thinking that these “loose ends” were going to get Bella killed. And Carlisle and Esme were making Plan B arrangements in case they had to move, which is what everyone kept saying. No one was brave enough to say in case we have to kill her.

He heard Edward and Rosalie driving over the speed limit. Faster than ever, maybe. And he was excited to at least see some kind of action around here. Ever since he got to the house everyone has treated him like he’s stupid. Which he was not.

“Jasper!” Emmett called, beaming up the stairs. “They’re coming!”

“Yes, thank you Emmett. I hear them too.” Jasper spoke normally. Knowing Emmett could hear him through the walls.

Edward skidded his car to a quick stop in front of the house. Emmett happily joined Carlisle and Esme on the front lawn. They had all agreed to greet their guest and try to explain things as civilly as possible. Edward and Rosalie were supposed to go get her, invite her on a tour around town and then invite her for a dinner. Emmett was excited to make a friend, and also excited to watch his family force down a pizza. They all got so miserable after eating human food.

“Oh dear,” Esme said.

Emmett didn’t understand what the big deal was. Edward was out of the car, talking to Bella on the phone. The wedding was still a ways away, this was only supposed to be a minor inconvenience. Rosalie had run off into the woods before even greeting anyone. She hadn’t been coping well lately and hadn’t spent much time talking to anyone. Not that she was very friendly on a regular basis.

Only then did Emmett notice that the car door was open, but he could tell the heartbeat he heard and the blood he smelled was behind a wall of metal. She wasn’t in the backseat. They put her in the trunk?

Seemed a little rude.

The girl was bleeding back there too. Probably why Rosalie had to run. He couldn’t blame her, this girl smelled so good. She smelled like joy would taste.

“Pop the trunk!” Emmett said, laughing at Edward’s constipated expression.

“Emmett,” Carlisle whispered. His dad didn’t want to make a joke out of this. “Edward, please.”

Edward didn’t get off his phone call but clicked open the trunk with his keys. Emmett and Carlisle ran over to examine the damage.

As soon as Emmett saw her, he was smitten. Absolutely smitten. She was so pretty. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Short black hair, round little face with the pinkest lips in the world. And they looked like they would be so fun to kiss. Emmett was aware his brother wasn’t answering Bella, and instead was staring at Emmett, but he didn’t care though. He could see the relation to Bree in her features, but she was definitely older.

“Her arm is broken,” he said. “I’ll bring her to my office and set it, and cast it.”

Esme coughed for a moment, briefly distracted by the pooling of blood in the trunk of Edward’s Volvo. “Need anything from your office, dear?”

Emmett could see the appreciation on Carlisle’s face. Emmett wanted love like these two had. Or like Alice and Jasper. Or Edward and Bella. Or Rosalie and her reflection. Carlisle gave her a short list of things he would need to cast her arm, he was only missing a few things that he had used before they came back to town.

Carlisle reached to pick her up, but Emmett swatted his hands away quickly. Not harshly, as it wasn’t meant to hurt Carlisle. But Emmett had to do it himself. He had to be the one to carry this girl. It didn’t matter what Edward wanted. No one was going to hurt her. Edward doesn’t get to always have everything his way.

“What’s her name again?” Emmett asked, his voice more gentle than they’s ever heard it as he gingerly picked her up.

“Fiona.” Carlisle watched Emmett’s every move.

“Fiona,” Emmett repeated quietly.

He didn’t want her to wake up, so he walked slowly through the house. Setting her down on the space Carlisle made on the desk. The blood didn’t bother Emmett for even a moment. He never even hesitated. He just brushed the hair off her face, and waited while Carlisle worked.

“You seem to have taken to this girl.”

“I just think she’s pretty,” Emmett said. “It’s not her fault about her sister. If one of us went missing, would you not stop at nothing to get us back?”

“You’re right about that.” Carlisle looked pained. “May I ask you something, Emmett?”

“Yeah, of course.” Emmett didn’t look up from the girl’s face, and instead dragged his fingers softly around the edge of her face. Maybe she would be his Bella.

Was it creepy to be thinking this before she had a chance to wake up and meet him? He can’t just claim her, only hope that she was as fascinated by him.

Edward came through the door before Carlisle could ask about what Emmett was thinking. Edward was clearly mad. Esme slipped in, giving Carlisle the things he asked for, but opted to slip out and remove herself from the blood. Emmett understood, Fiona smelled as tempting as a fresh apple pie.

“Why is she untied?” he asked, grabbed the abandoned tie off the ground. It was all he’d had to tie her up with at the time.

“Do you think she needs to be?” Carlisle asks.

“Yes, I do.” Edward crossed his arms. Emmett was getting irritated by the vibe in the room. It was bad vibes in here.

“No, Edward.” Carlisle kept working. “We don’t hold hostages.”

“You’re right, we should just kill her now,” he said, cooly. As if it wasn’t a person they were talking about. Carlisle paused, but continued.

Emmett stood up tall, puffing his chest out and blocking Edward’s view of Fiona.

“You’re not touching her,” he said.

“Are you going to stop me, Emmett?” Edward asked. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know that I’m not a danger to her,” he said. “And you are. So get out while Carlisle works.”

“You’ve lost your…” Edward trailed off, and dropped to his knees clutching his head. Emmett stooped down on one knee, immediately changing from being worried about this girl to worried about his brother. “It’s her.”

Fiona was stirring awake, Carlisle finishing and clearing himself just in time for her to start squirming.

“Oh my god, her thoughts - there’s so many…” Edward tried to clear a path, try to sort between her thoughts and the thoughts of others’ that lived in her mind. “They’re not hers.”

“STOP!” she shouted, sitting perfectly up. “My sister doesn’t know the truth, she’s no danger to the secret.”

“Fiona?” Carlisle asked. Everyone was totally stunned. The girl looked lifeless behind her eyes, like this wasn’t her but a cheap replication of her. Other than sitting up, her limbs were still and lifeless, no sign of pain or distress.

“Bree.”

“Bree?” Esme said, slipping in the door. “Bree is it really you?” Esme fluttered over, putting her hands on the girls’ face. She was close to tears. “I’m so sorry.” Esme had been feeling guilty over Bree everyday since it had happened.

“Esme,” Carlisle said softly. He didn’t want to silence his wife, but he didn’t know how much time they had to talk to her.

“She doesn’t know what really happened. You still have time to lie. Don’t kill her.”

“Don’t worry little buddy,” Emmett said. “No one is going to hurt Fiona.”

“Remains to be seen,” Edward muttered.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Sounds like family meeting time,” Esme said. “I’ll go find the others.” She slipped outside the office.

“I don’t understand,” Fiona said, her eyes focused. Her voice settled. It was her now. There was life in her eyes, but also fear, and she touched the cast on her arm. Even her voice was beautiful. Is this how the dogs feel? Emmett had never felt stronger than right now. Emmett didn’t move towards her for fear of startling her, she was so small.

“She can’t stay up here alone,” Edward said.

“I trust Carlisle to speak for me,” Emmett said, looking at Fiona. She was frightened, but brave. Trying to establish her surroundings. “I’m not going to let you hurt her no matter what you say anyway.”

“You’re risking everything,” Edward said. “For someone you don’t even know.”

“Sound familiar?” Emmett asked, scoffing. “I always had your back, even when I didn’t get it.”

Edward flashed a look of guilt but shook it off. Emmett knew they couldn’t keep taking risks like this, but she wasn’t a risk, she was a person. As fast as he’s ever run, Emmett grabbed her things from the car, and dropped them right at her feet. She was shaking, clearly terrified.

“How did you do that?”

“Your phone is in there, I checked.” Emmett heard his family go silent. The conversation was a waste of time anyway, it was just Carlisle trying to convince Edward that there were more options than murder. “I won’t stop you from calling 911. We are the Cullens, you’re in Forks. I’ll even give you the number for Chief-”

“Emmett!” Rosalie yelled. But Emmett got to the door first. Holding it shut from Rosalie’s destructive fists. It cracked and splintered under her heavy hits. “If we have to start over you are so dead.”

FIONA TANNER FORKS, DAY 1

Fiona was crying now. Confused by all the thoughts in her head. She could hear the whole family. Pieces of the conversation downstairs. She could hear the listener getting mad. He didn’t like his own thoughts being repeated back to him but she couldn’t help that. There was also the typical voices that she usually had buried, but coming out of whatever happened to her allowed them to flood in. People screaming in pain, or begging for help, or just taunting her for the fun of it. What did the boy who listens make of her?

“I’m not calling the police,” she whispered. “I just want to know what happened to Bree.”

Rosalie stopped busting the door at Carlisle’s request. But each of her exaggerated stomps could be heard as she left the house. She turned on music in the garage and started fussing with her cars. Emmett just looked at her, welcoming her to make the first move.

“You’re Emmett?”

“Yes.” For his huge stature, he seemed so kind and timid to her. She could hear him thinking about her. And it was so, so flattering.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.”

“Then how are you alive?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that right now,” he said. “Let’s skip for now.”

“Was Bree dead?”

“I thought you already knew she was dead.” Emmett looked down. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“I meant… uhm… when you met her, for the first time, was she already dead?”

“Yes.”

“Explains why I can hear you twice.” She needed a minute to process all of this. How was she supposed to process all of this?

“Can you hear me think?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he said, lowering his head. “That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Fiona smiled, and chuckled. Which made Emmett smile and chuckle. It was quiet in the room for a minute. Fiona tried to sort out her thoughts and Emmett watched her.

“I really don’t want to cause any trouble for your family,” she said. “Can you just tell me what happened to my sister?”

“No one here hurt her,” Emmett said. “We were trying to save her but there are some people who just… get their way.”

“Why did they want to hurt her?”

“Can I skip?” he asked.

She nodded lightly. His vague answers were disappointing but he seemed genuine, and it was probably a “the less you know the better” kind of deal around here. Maybe she should’ve listened to Bree.

You think? Bree thought. She sounded weak after taking control of of Fiona.

“Am I going to die, Emmett?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“No, I’ve got you now. You’ll be safe with me.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

[rizlowwritessortof]

Meant To Be - Chapter 1

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start. (Tags will be on the fic masterlist post so y’all don’t get bombarded with each chapter.)

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 3583

Warnings: Abusive relationship and related violence, nothing graphic. 

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The sudden stop sent the car skidding a little in the gravel, the dust cloud swirling to dissipate in the breeze as Jordan jumped out, slamming the door hard behind her as she yelled into her phone. “Kiss my ass, Darrel! No, you did this, don’t lay it on me! What?! Like hell I’m coming home! Just go back to your new little drinking buddy-slash-fucktoy and leave me alone. You can’t have it both ways. No, fuck you. Fuck you sideways, buddy. I’m done. Have a nice life.”

She let out a frustrated scream, slamming a fist down on the hood of the car, so pissed off that she was shaking. She whirled around, startled, as a deep masculine voice called out. “Poor car. Sounds like Darrel’s the one you should be punching.”

“Excuse me? That was a private conversation!” she spluttered, glaring at the source. He was standing in front of a beautiful black beast of a car, the hood up, wiping his hands on a shop rag. She could feel the heat in her face, and his appearance slowly filtering through her rage into her brain didn’t help. He was gorgeous.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, but the way you were yelling, there wasn’t much private about it.” He dropped his chin a little, his eyes narrowing as he spoke again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in. Are you okay?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned to the car, jerking the back door open to grab her bag. “It’s okay, sorry I was such a bitch. And I’m not okay, but I will be. I’m gonna be fucking awesome.” She stuffed her phone in her back pocket and fished the key card out of her bag, fumbling with the door. “Thanks for asking, anyway.”

She glanced back at him before going in, watching his little nod of acknowledgment and rueful smile. She closed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, dropping her bag. “Well, that wasn’t embarrassing at all. Screaming like a crazy woman in the middle of a parking lot, in front of the most fucking attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. Awesome start to your new life, Jordan.” She  moved to the window, peeking out the side of the curtains at him as he continued working under the hood of his car. He was tall, solid, in beat-up blue jeans and a well-worn grey t-shirt that was smeared with grease and dark in spots from perspiration. She watched the muscles in his biceps strain as he worked with some kind of tool, stopping for a moment to grab the rag from his back pocket and wipe his face. He was ridiculously good-looking, even with smudges of grease on his arms and face. Actually, somehow that made him even more attractive, a man’s man, a man who wasn’t afraid of hard work and getting dirty. He glanced her direction, and she backed away quickly, swearing under her breath.

She sighed, letting her eyes roam around her room. It was almost like a little bungalow, with a kitchenette and a couch against one wall, and she wandered over to take a look out the back door. Now wasn’t that convenient! Right across the street behind the motel was a little liquor store, and she began to smile to herself. “No guts, no glory, girl. Get over there and buy that fine man a cold beer to apologize for being a hag.”

A few minutes later, she was stepping back out the front door with two icy-cold long necks in her hands. He watched her approach, wiping his hands, a slow smile lighting up his handsome face. “Here. To say I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Well, no apology necessary, but I’ll be damned if I say no to that! Fuckin’ hot out here,” he rumbled, taking the beer gratefully and taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Fuckin’ hot anywhere you are,” Jordan thought to herself, joining him after a little salute with the bottle in his direction. “Nothing better than an ice-cold beer on a hot day,” she said out loud. “So – what’s wrong with your car?”

“Oh, nothin’, really. Just tuning her up a little. Killing time, actually. I’ve been here one night already, looks like it’s gonna be another couple. Just waiting for my brother to get back.”

“Ahhh, so you just like to tinker.”

“Oh, I just like to make her purr.” Jordan almost choked on the swallow of beer she had just taken. “She’s just like a woman, you treat her right, she’ll treat you right.”

She smiled at him, getting one back in return. “Well, I’m glad there’s a man in this world who knows that. I’m Jordan, by the way.”

“Dean. Nice to meet you, Jordan.” His voice was on her frequency, apparently, because every time he spoke she felt her breath catch. His eyes were green with hints of gold, framed by thick lashes that any woman would die for, and she looked down at her beer, peeling at the label, unable to withstand his candid gaze any longer. They chatted a little longer about how good the beer tasted, how hot it was, how comfy the rooms were. He finished his beer, setting the bottle down and reaching up to lower the hood and close it. The muscles of his back under that damp, clingy t-shirt raised Jordan’s temperature another notch, and she had to mentally prompt herself to close her mouth. She cleared her throat, taking a long, cool drink, surprised it didn’t just come out of her ears in billows of steam.

“Well, Jordan, thanks for the beer. I’d better hit the shower. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She smiled back at him, and then watched him walk back to his room, two doors down from hers. Those jeans hugged his body just right, and her eyes followed his bow-legged amble all the way to his door, finally forcing herself to focus on the ground before he could turn and see her staring again. Holy. Shit. She headed back to the room and opened another beer, scolding herself. Not really the best time to be lusting after some stranger, not with all the shit she’d been through the last few weeks. She plopped down on the sofa with a sigh, roaming through the channels on the TV while she finished her beer, then headed for the shower.

Dean dropped the empty beer bottle into the trash and sat on the edge of the bed to untie his boots. He smiled to himself, Jordan’s dramatic entrance into the parking lot replaying in his head. “Little firecracker, that one,” he muttered. She was a little bit of nothing, but what was there was nicely arranged, he had to admit. Big brown eyes, hair short and sexy just like her, kissable lips…

He laughed quietly to himself as he imagined Donna’s teasing voice in his head saying, “Don’t even think about it, partner. Ain’t you had enough?” As soon as he was cleaned up, he needed to call and check on her, see how she was doing. He headed towards the bathroom as he stripped his t-shirt off, pushing the door with one foot to swing it closed.

The bar and grill down the block looked like a good enough place to find some food, and Jordan walked that way, running her fingers through her tousled, short hair. The screen door squealed as she opened it, pushing hard to shove the heavy inner door open and walking into the bar, the air conditioning sending a refreshing chill over her arms. A waitress walking by gave her a pleasant smile and hello, telling her to sit wherever she pleased and she’d be right with her.

There was no one in the place at the moment but a table full of elderly men at the far back corner, playing cards and drinking coffee. She settled herself in a comfy booth by the wall, grabbing a menu.

“Can I get you somethin’ to drink, hon?” the waitress asked, and she smiled up at her.

“Yeah, a glass of whatever you’ve got on tap, please.”

“You got it, be right back to take your order. I’m Molly, by the way, if you need something.” It was a lovely place, simple, homey and welcoming. Small town friendly, which was always pleasant - as long as you weren’t from that small town so they didn’t know all your business. Sometimes being an anonymous stranger was really nice.

Molly came back with a frosted mug brim-full of beer, and she smiled. You don’t get those everywhere. “Awesome, thanks!”

“You ready to order?” the woman asked, brushing a graying lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries,” she said, and her stomach grumbled as she spoke. Things had been in such an uproar lately, she had barely been eating.

“Now, there’s a woman with good taste!” Jordan felt her heartbeat stop for a second, and she looked up into Dean’s smiling face, those stunning green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Molly, can I get the same, and a beer?” he asked, giving the older woman his full attention.

“You got it, Dean,” the waitress answered with a smile, and headed back towards the kitchen. He nodded his head towards the seat opposite Jordan’s and grinned.

“Mind if I sit? I mean, if you’re not expecting somebody...”

“No, I’m not, please sit,” she smiled back at him. “It’ll be nice to have somebody to talk to besides myself.”

He took a seat, an amused smirk on his face. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

“It’s okay. Mostly waxing poetic about the frosted mug of beer,” she grinned back.

“Right? Gotta love that.” He looked up at the waitress as his beer appeared in front of him. “Molly, you’re a doll.”

“Oh, stop. Keep tellin’ you, I’m married,” she teased, turning to go. “And I’m too old for you.”

“Love a woman with experience,” he fired back, and she flapped a hand at him, blushing.

“You are a dangerous man. You watch out for that one, honey,” Molly aimed her parting remarks at Jordan and headed back to the kitchen.

“How long have you known her?” Jordan asked, raising her mug to her lips.

“Just met her yesterday. Why?”

Jordan stared back at him in surprise. “Really? Wow, you’ve got a way with people.”

“A friend of mine told me once that I just like to flirt. She might be right.”

Jordan laughed. “She might be.” His phone went off just then, and he grabbed it off the table.

“My brother. Be right back,” he smiled, swiping the screen as he rose to his feet and headed for the door. “Hey, Sammy,” she heard him say as he went outside.

She ordered them each another beer when Molly came over to check, and she had just taken a drink, focused on reading a message on her phone, when a rough hand landed on her shoulder. “Okay, Jordan. Time to come home.”

She froze, refusing to look up at him. “Darrel. How did you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard. I knew which way you were headed. Now, you’re gonna get up from that seat and come home with me, we have a lot to talk about.”

“We don’t have anything left to talk about, but I’m not making a scene in here. So let’s just go outside and get this over with,” she ground out quietly between clenched teeth. She stood up and winced a little at the brutal grip on her arm, biding her time until they left the bar.

“Miss? You okay?” Molly asked with a frown as they headed for the door, and Jordan nodded.

“I’m fine, Molly. Don’t worry.”

“Just keep movin’,”Darrel whispered behind her. They shoved their way through the door, and took several steps away from the building before Jordan began to struggle. She cried out as he shifted his hold, twisting her arm behind her back viciously. “None of your shit, now. Just move.”

“Hey, Darrel!” Dean’s voice rang out loud and clear behind them, and Jordan tensed at the sound.

Darrel gave her arm another tug as he turned them both around to face Dean. “Fucker!” she spat, her teeth clenched.

“You okay, Jordan?” Dean asked, and she looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure I will be shortly.” Dean nodded, a wicked little smirk curving his lips.  

“Who the hell are you?” Darrel demanded. “Who is this clown?” he growled into Jordan’s ear, and she jerked her head away.

“So, Darrel, tell me – is this usually the way you get women to go with you? Because I’m pretty sure she’s gonna cut off your balls first chance she gets.” He frowned a little, then continued. “Wait, that would assume you have balls, which is pretty unlikely, I’d guess.”

Darrel drew in a breath to respond, distracted for the moment, and Jordan jammed her free arm back, driving her elbow into his ribs, then stomped down hard on his instep. Darrel loosened his grip on her, groaning in pain, and she jerked herself free from his grasp, running towards Dean.

“Good girl,” he said, sweeping his arm out to place her behind him. “Well, Darrel. Looks like we have a situation here.”

Darrel pulled a knife from his back pocket, flipping it open. “Yeah. Bad one for you, asshole. You’re not armed.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “You’ve got a point there. So, whatcha waitin’ for, Darrel?” He said the man’s name with utter contempt, muttering, “Go inside” to Jordan as he headed towards the coward. “Bring it on.”

Jordan couldn’t force her feet to follow his command, staring in horror and shouting Dean’s name as he approached Darrel. There was a flurry of movement, punches thrown and Darrel’s swing with the blade blocked, his arm twisted violently until the weapon hit the ground with a thud, followed a few seconds later by Darrel, bruised and bleeding. Dean bent to pick up the knife, flipping it in his hand and standing over the fallen man with a snarl on his lips.  

“I suggest you get the fuck outta here before I finish kicking your ass. And you forget about her. Forget her name. Forget you ever knew her. You hear me?”

Darrel scooted away, scrambling to his feet at a safer distance. “Jordan, this ain’t over!” he yelled defiantly.

“What did I just say to you?!” Dean bellowed, moving quickly in his direction, and Darrel’s eyes widened as he turned to run. “That’s right, you fucking coward, get your ass away from here.” Dean watched the man run until he was out of sight, then turned quickly, striding back to Jordan’s side. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

She nodded, her face pale, weaving a little as her knees gave way. Dean put an arm around her waist, leading her to the bench beside the door and sitting her down. Molly stuck her head out the door, concern on her face. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, just a little shaky. Hey, Molly – can we get those burgers to go?”

“Of course, give me just a sec, hon. Just wait right there.”

Dean hunkered down in front of Jordan, taking hold of her cold hand. “Hey, Jordan? Look at me, sweetheart.” She finally raised her eyes, and he gave her a proud little smile. “You did great. Just exactly what I was hoping you’d do.” Molly came out the door just then, handing their food to Dean, and reaching over to put her hand on Jordan’s.

“Glad you’re okay. Both of you.” With a pat to her hand and a little squeeze to Dean’s shoulder, she turned and went back inside.

“Okay, think you can make it back to your room? Come on, I gotcha,” Dean encouraged, an arm around her waist, the food and Darrel’s knife in the other hand. “Man, can’t wait to dig in. Molly makes a mean bacon cheeseburger.” He kept talking, all the way back to the motel, taking Jordan’s key card and letting them both in before leading her to a chair. “I’m going to my room to grab something, I’ll be right back. Okay?” She nodded vacantly, staring down at her hands.

She looked up, eyes wide as she heard someone at the door a couple of moments later, but Dean called out. “It’s just me, Jordan, comin’ back in, okay?” He came in, closed and dead-bolted the door behind him, and set a bottle of whiskey on the table as he walked by. Soon he was back, two coffee mugs from the little kitchenette in his hand. He poured a generous splash of the amber liquid into the cup and scooted it over towards Jordan. “Drink that, it’ll help.” She nodded, taking the cup in hand and tipping it steadily back, letting the liquor burn its way down her throat. She shuddered a little, then held it out for more.

“One more, maybe,” she said, and he tipped the bottle again. She downed the second shot, then blew out a shaky breath.

“Better?”

She looked at him, the color beginning to come back into her cheeks. “Yeah. I think so. Dean, I don’t know what to say...”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just eat. You can talk later.” He grinned, shoving her food at her, and she dug in gratefully.

She moaned, her eyes closing. “This is amazing!” Dean smiled, watching her wolf that bite down and go after another. She stopped, suddenly looking alarmed. “Wait, I didn’t even pay!”

“Taken care of, don’t worry about it.”

“So it’s not enough that you chase off my asshole ex, now you’re buying me dinner? Where have you been all my life?” she teased, taking another bite, and then blushing at her own words. “Wow - maybe the whiskey’s kicking in.”

Dean laughed softly as he continued eating. “Good. Maybe you can relax a little.” He turned on the TV, surfing until he found an old sitcom, and they watched as they finished their meal. When the credits rolled, Dean stood up, gathering the trash and tossing it before turning back to smile at her. “So – I should get out of here, let you get some rest.”

“Do you have to leave?” She swallowed hard, blushing. He stared back at her, not sure how to respond, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, you’ve done too much for me already, I don’t blame you for wanting to get the hell away, like you need...”

“Hey.” He spoke softly to stop her rambling, and she looked up at him, biting nervously at her lip. “I just thought after what you’d been through you should get some rest.” She nodded silently, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, and he spoke again, concern in his eyes. “Are you afraid he’ll come back, Jordan?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” She swallowed hard, fighting not to cry in front of him.

“Listen, I’ve got two beds in my room, you’re welcome to come down there and stay if you want.”

“No, no… I’m just being crazy. I’m sure he’s gone. You probably scared him all the way back home.” She tried to sound like she was laughing it off, but her performance wasn’t convincing even her. “Really, Dean, thank you. I appreciate it. But I don’t want to be any more of a pain than I already have been.” She picked up her phone, avoiding eye contact, and looked up in surprise when he took hold of it, pulling it gently from her grasp.

He typed something into it, then handed it back. “There, I put my number in. If you get scared, or if you need anything, call me. No matter what time it is. Okay?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. How about I pick you up for breakfast in the morning?”

She nodded, looking steadily at the table top as he gave her shoulder a squeeze and headed out the door. As soon as the latch clicked shut, she buried her head in her arms and burst into tears.

She climbed into bed a little later, feeling somewhat better. Dean was right, she did need to sleep. The last few weeks had been harder than she’d realized, and then with Darrel showing up… yeah, the tough girl mask she tried to present to the world had slipped a little.

She fell asleep almost as soon as she settled in, the first deep sleep she’d had in days. A loud crash from the parking lot outside her door woke her, and she sat up, groggy and disoriented, trying to get her bearings before climbing out of bed to see what had caused the noise.

Her eyes widened as she peered out the window. Her car was engulfed in flames, and she stumbled back from the window in shock, running back to the bed to grab her phone from the night stand. Her hands shaking, she dialed Dean’s number, surprised when he answered immediately, not even letting her speak.

“Jordan, stay in your room. Don’t come out unless I come and get you, understand?”

Chapter 2

[thegreenmetblue]

STARKER FESTIVAL SUMMER BINGO : 2nd square

not a date

read on ao3

Peter was utterly anxious. To be honest, he’s not even sure anything in his life stressed him more than that. To be fair, he wasn’t expecting this. At all. Let’s go back to earlier in the day. This morning to be more precise.

Peter was lying in his bed, watching some weird videos on YouTube. But it was Saturday morning. It’s what teenagers do on a early Saturday morning (read : at 10 am). Not that the boy was gonna say it out loud but it was either that, either reading fanfictions about Spiderman and Iron Man. But shhh if you ask him, he’d say it’s only for checking how people are describing him.

Anyway, he was watching some hilarious videos Ned has sent him for the last six days when his phone stopped the video in exchange of Tony Stark’s face. Peter’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, like every time Tony’s calling him. “Yes ?”, he answers with a faint voice. Most of the times, he has no issues talking to Tony face to face but god knows why, Peter has still big issues with calls.

“If this isn’t my favorite young adult. Hi, Pete. Im sorry if woke up you. Or maybe not that sorry, it was time to anyway.”, Tony’s voice says in the speaker. Peter’s cheeks redden at that. He doesn’t know the reason of it, but it’s been almost two months Tony stopped calling him a kid. And now he just said young adult, it gives hope to Peter’s poor heart. Maybe Tony stopped seeing him as a kid. Maybe he sees him more as an equal now ? Lost in his thoughts, the boy doesn’t even realize he didn’t answer to the man on the other side of the phone.

“Alright, imma take that as a no. Gosh, I wondered what happened to the boy that was practically begging to have all my attention.”, Tony laughs softly. Again, he just said Peter wasn’t that boy anymore. The boy makes a little shame sound to the man’s comment about his behavior, feeling his cheeks burning even more.

“N-no, im sorry, im here mr. Stark. You didn’t wake me up. And please take that back, I was never asking for you attention, old man.”, Peter shoots back. He loves doing that. He loves talking back to Tony. “Imma pretend I didn’t hear what you just called me. And Im also gonna pretend like you’re not shamelessly lying to me at the moment. Anyway, you have plans tonight ?”, Tony asks, a bit of growling in his voice. This automatically warms Peter’s heart. He’s probably gonna go to Tony’s lab tonight.

Peter was trying not to smile too much when he remembered Tony wasn’t actually there. “No, I don’t have anything. You want me in the lab ?”, the boy asks and immediately regrets his choice of words. want me in the lab. Fuck. He was gonna say sorry to that, but thanks god Tony speaks before he can make it even more awkward. “No actually I was thinking of something a little more fun. What do you say about eating in a fancy restaurant tonight ?”. Peter’s heart doesn’t skip a beat this time, it skips severals. Tony wants- what ?

“What ?”, he lets out, without even realizing it. “Should I take that as a no again ?”. Tony’s voice echoes in Peter’s brain but never gets analyzed. The boy’s still frozen, his phone hanging in his hand, the sound of his beating heart ringing in his ears.

“Peter ? Fri just told me your heartbeats are unsually high, are you okay ?”. And this time, that wakes him up. “Wh-what ? Oh.. no that’s- im okay, it’s just- MJ!”, Peter stutters as an answer. He swears he can hear Tony’s frowning’s expression in the silence that follows.

“I mean, she- MJ, she sent me a funny, a text, it reminded me of something and I huh.. yeah. No, that’s yes.”. Another long silence. that’s a yes. Peter feels like he just answered a proposal. “Yes as in, im free for tonight, mr. Stark.”, Peter finishes, his cheeks burning with shame.

“Great. And Im not gonna question what just happened, alright ? Be ready for 7.”, Tony simply says before hanging up. Just like that. Just like he didn’t just made Peter’s brain completely fry.

“Did Tony just asked me on a date?”, Peter asks himself out loud, alone in his bedroom, his jaw hanging in shook. What the hell ?

That’s how Peter started the most stressful day of his entire life. Exams ? Spiderman ? Thanos ? Forget all of this, he has a freakin’ date with Tony freakin’ Stark, that is the real stressful shit. He spends half of the day walking in his apartment.

Around 3, he starts to panic hard because Tony said fancy. But Peter doesn’t have fancy clothes. He stayed in front of his phone, hesitating to send Tony something about that or no. He doesn’t want Tony to think he only has kid’s clothes. But then, better this than showing up in a fancy restaurant with a pun-sweat right ?

PP : How should I be dressed for tonight ?

Peter finally sends, not asking but hoping Tony’ll understand what he meant. His smile increases when, 6 minutes after, his phone rings.

TS : Happy is gonna drop you a suit at 5.

Peter’s inside catches fire at that. The words sugar daddy are ringing in his ears. Tony is gonna buy him a suit. Just for tonight. For their date. “Oh my god, imma be sick.”, Peter mumbles. His heart has been beating so fast since the call. And he feels like he’s gonna throw up. And he’s also happy. So happy. But- a date ? With Tony Stark ? Peter has been in love with the man for- he can’t even remember. Of course at first it was just a fan crush, then a real crush, then it bloomed into full love. And Peter never thought he could had a chance. But- Peter’s thoughts get cut by the entry door opening.

It’s May. And it’s been 5 hours now that Peter is combusting with impatience all alone in his apartment that he just can’t help himself. As soon as May starts taking to him, he blurts out : “I’ve got a date tonight!”

That’s how the hundreds of questions start. May knows he’s gay. However, May doesn’t know he loves Tony and she definitely doesn’t know the actual date is with Tony. So when she starts asking who he is, Peter realizes it maybe wasn’t the best idea. So after receiving the 5 hugs May felt like she needed to give him for that, the boy sends another text to Tony.

PP : Can we meet at the park next to my building please?

And then, he lets May giving him advices for tonight. “Alright, I get why you won’t tell me. Even if Im a little concerned, I get it. Where is he taking you ?”, she asks, a big smile on her face. “I don’t know actually, he just said it was somewhere fancy.”, Peter answers, trying not to let his smile gets to him too much.

“And how are you gonna get dressed ? You maybe can try some of Ben’s suit ?”. And Peter’s heart warms at that proposition. “It’s alright May, I already have something to wear actually.”

The two next hours aren’t better, they’re worst. May continues giving him advices. For his sakes, Peter swears himself to never use some. Then he takes a shower, the longest he never took. Just in case. He wants all of his skin to smell good for Tony. His cheeks brun at this thought. Are him and Tony gonna.. ? Now his whole body is warming up and Peter can’t help but jerking off at the thought of him and Tony going home tonight and having some fun.

When Happy leaves him a text saying the suit is in the mailbox, the boy sneaks to get it. Once the suit is on him, Peter can’t stop looking at his own reflection in the mirror. It’s a light blue suit and fuck, he does look good in those. His whole skin is shivering because Tony bought it to him. Tony’s money is touching his skin. The boy snorts at his own weird thoughts. But he can’t help it.

A small whine escapes his lips when he realizes there’s still 1h30 before Tony comes to get him. And that’s the absolute worst feeling ever. Peter tries to work, to watch a tv show, to talk with May, to phone MJ or Ned, to build lego, but nothing is able to make the time look less slow. And the more the time passes, the more Peter’s stomach gets stress crushed.

When 7 pm is finally approaching, Peter’s not even sure he can breath anymore. “Peter, hey- Peter, please can you stop ?”, May finally snaps and Peter turns to her, ready to burst at her that she doesn’t know how he feels right now, but she shushes him before he can even start.

“Everything’s gonna go well, angel. But please, you’re gonna faint before you’ll even get there, alright ? You’re handsome my baby, he’s gonna love you.”, May tries to calm him by hugging him. He was about to answer her when the clock beside them shows that 7 pm is in 5 minutes. Peter jumps saying he’s gonna be late and rushes out of the apartment.

He went down the stairs, crossed the street and went to the park in a 1 minute time. His heart is menacing to get out of his chest. And when he finally hears Tony’s voice behind him, his whole body jerks and he turns to the voice.

His heart stops again. Holy fuck, Tony is- he’s god-handsome. Peter’s jaw opens and doesn’t close.

“You’re doing alright Peter ?”, Tony asks, after a few seconds. Peter tries. He tries really hard. But Tony is in front of him, in a grey suit that looks absolutely heavenly hot on him, and they’re going on a date and-

“Peter ?”, this time, he forces himself to answer before Tony decides to leaves him there. “Hum… huh- yeah? Yeah you look good. I- I mean.. Im good! Im doing… good.”. He watches in horror as Tony tries to not laugh at him. “Blue suits you, by the way.”, Tony comments and Peter tries not to blush or smile at that.

Then the older one shows him the car behind them and Peter hurries inside.

“So. Why the park ?”, the man asks after a few seconds. Peter’s brows frown in confusion. “Forget it. Everything alright Pete ? You look… tense. Did something happened while you patrolled ?”. And this time, Peter’s sure he’s blushing. Why can’t he just relax ? Okay it’s a date but it shouldn’t be any different than the rest of the time they spend together.

“Yeah.. Yeah im sorry I was just a bit nervous, you know… I… Im happy you invited me tho! So.. where are we going ?”, the boy tries to show he’s grateful for this. The last thing he wants is Tony thinking he’s not happy about the date.

“It’s an Italian restaurant, my favorite one. You’ll see, everything that’ll get into your mouth tonight will make you fly.”, Tony answers and there’s a silence. Peter’s cheeks burn hot now. Did Tony really said- oh my god. “Im just realizing how it sounds. Maybe not my best choices of words.”, the man laughs. laughs, as if he didn’t created a whole fire in Peter’s body. The boy just prays not to pop up a boner just because of a single sentence.

The rest of the ride is just small talks and when they finally arrive, Peter stays close to Tony, it makes him feel protected. And he likes it. The smile on his face is uncontrollable. He can’t believe he’s on an actual date with Tony Stark. His heart is about to burst from happiness. And the place is stunning, and Tony’s stunning. And Peter sees people watching them and he feels proud. He knows how much people want Tony. But Tony’s there with him.

Once they’re seated, Peter can’t help but stare at Tony who’s in front of him. And the only thing he can think of is that he loves him. But the boy shuts up. Tony didn’t mentioned it being a date yet, and even when he does, Peter can’t just say he loves him already.

When the menu comes, Peter just stare at the Italian names blankly. “I… I don’t understand anything that’s written.” , he murmurs to Tony, a bit ashamed. But the man just fondly snorts in response and translates him the different propositions. But after the explanations, Peter’s still lost as fuck. what the fuck are all of those ?. Tony laughs again, louder this time, noticing Peter’s lost face.

“You know what, I’ll order for you. How does that sound ?”. The boy’s heart stops and he flushes different shades of red at once. Tony is gonna order for him. “That- That sounds good. Im sorry I don’t know what are those.”, Peter finally says. “Hey, none of that Pete. Plus, Im kinda excited for you to try what I’ll pick for you.”, the man says, like it wasn’t making Peter squirm in his chair. Oh my god, he’s gonna die.

To give himself a bit of capacity, he pretends to read the menu once again and pouts noticing the prices aren’t there. Meaning it must be like, super expensive. He knows Tony can pay, and there’s a side of him that likes it. Because it’s easier for him to call Tony Daddy in his head. But there’s also a part of him that hates it because it feels like he can’t complete. May and Peter are kinda broke and Peter would have liked to be able to pay a restaurant to Tony too.

“What’s up with the pout ?”. Shit. “N-Nothing, mr. Stark really. It’s just… you know, I can’t… it’s a fancy restaurant and May and I aren’t…”, he begins but Tony cuts him. “Im stopping you right there, Peter. Im sorry if me picking a fancy restaurant embarrassed you, I should have asked where you wanted to go first. But don’t worry about that, okay ? Im not asking you to pay for anything, I invited you there.”. Peter feels his heart beating hard in his chest. “No, Im really happy to be there, I swear! I just… I just don’t want- I don’t know, forget it.”.

Tony does what Peter asked him, he drops the subject and start talking about Peter’s project in the lab. And that, it allows Peter to relax a bit. Because it suddenly feels like a normal time with Tony. And not a date. Well, a date yes but not an awkward one. And if Peter chokes on his own saliva when Tony orders in fucking italian in front of him, then at least, the man acts like he didn’t see it. And Peter’s happy there’s a table because explaining to Tony why he’s hard right now would have been real awkward.

It becomes a bit more awkward again when the meals arrive. Because Peter gets aroused by how good the food Tony picked for him is. Because Tony looks genuinely satisfied with the fact Peter moans at every bite he takes. And because watching the gorgeous man eating in front of him is also a whole show.

Peter is too occupied staring at Tony to realize he’s missing his mouth with the next bite he takes. The man laughs gently at him and Peter wants to fucking hide under the table because now Tony’ll think he doesn’t know how to eat.

“That’s good huh ? Knew you would like it.”, Tony smiles, after a minute of silence. The smile on Peter’s lips grows automatically. He likes that. He really likes that Tony knew what he’d like. “That’s… the best thing I ever ate mr. Stark!”, Peter answers, beaming with happiness. Even the awkward moments can’t ruin this for him. He’s so happy.

The rest of the evening goes well. So well even. But the more the end approaches, the more Peter can’t help but asks himself if something’s gonna happen or not. Like… Is Tony gonna bring him home ? Is he gonna kiss him ? Even the thought of that is enough to make Peter’s head feel dizzy. He can’t even let himself imagine something more than a kiss would happen. And if he does, he’s gonna combust in front of Tony. And before his mind decides to picture them having sex, Peter shakes his head, his cheeks reddening with both shame and want. He had so many dream about Tony, so many wet dreams about Tony. He has been dreaming about the man since even before they actually meet. And Peter feels like he would cum the second Tony lays a hand on him. That’d be pretty awkward. And then, Peter can’t help but wonder what Tony sees in him. He’s nobody. Tony can have whoever he wants, and still, he chose him. Does Tony know he’s a virgin still ? Would he care ?

“Okay, have you even listened to a word I just told you ?”, Tony asks, a jaded look on his face. Peter realizes the man has been talking to him and blushes in shame. “Im so sorry! I was thinking… I got lost in my thoughts, sorry.”, he apologizes, hoping Tony won’t think he’s boring him.

“Wow, he’s getting invited to the fanciest restaurant ever and still act like it’s not enough. What more do you want Parker ?”, Tony jokes and one part of Peter is happy he didn’t get upset. Another part of him just wanna scream he wants Tony to kiss him once they’re out of the restaurant. But what if Tony wanna take his time ? He doesn’t wanna sound as desperate as he really is.

“I’d really love for a car.”, Peter jokes back, glad he made Tony smile. “Ask and you shall receive.”. And Peter doesn’t know how honest Tony is with this. He hopes the man is joking. But Tony’s intense look in his eyes when Peter said those words is enough to make him realize the man is serious about this. “I was joking, mr. Stark.”, the boy adds, just to be sure he won’t receive a car tomorrow. Tony doesn’t answer anything to that, which is kinda weird, but Peter doesn’t think too much about it.

When the server comes back and asks if they want a dessert, Tony answers for him again. No. This time Tony doesn’t wait for Peter to even asks him, he just orders him something in Italian again.

“I could have asked him for ice cream you know…”, Peter whines, faking a pout. “Oh so he understands Italian now.”. And the smile Tony had on his lips almost all night is making Peter heart feel so light.

“I don’t, but I don’t think I need a italian degree to understand ‘gelato’, old man.”, Peter teases, making himself feels hot all over his body. He sees Tony’s gaze changing a bit too. Is Tony loving this as much as him ? “Brat.”, the man accuses and Peter stops himself to make a punishment joke. They’re not there yet.

The boy is now eating his damn vanilla ice cream and can’t help the blush creeping on his face again. Tony is staring at him. Not watching. Staring. Peter’s senses can feel his intense gaze on him, on his face. And the boy feels like he doesn’t know how to eat anymore. He’s sure he’s putting ice cream everywhere on his lips and wants to die about it.

“Y-You didn’t want to take something ? Huh… dessert or- or coffee ?”, he stutters, to make things less intense, because Peter is seconds away to moan under Tony’s gaze. “Im all good, thanks Pete.”, Tony answers and the boy doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or not but Tony’s voice sounded more… low ? He goes back to eating his ice cream, hoping it’s the last ice cream he’ll ever eat in his life.

When they finally go out, Peter feels drunk. He’s so happy, so nervous and so horny at the same time. He’d say so in love but let’s not brings more awkward to this. They walk in silence to Tony’s car. And just before Tony can open his car, Peter blurts out : “Thank you so much for the dinner mr. Stark! It was really really good and really fun. I liked it… a lot.”, he says, knowing he’s blushing again but doesn’t care at this point. Maybe Tony is waiting for him to make the first move. Because he doesn’t wanna rush him.

“Pleasure was mine, Pete.”, the man answers, a soft smile on his lips. And then, Peter doesn’t even realize what his body his doing, but that should be the good time no ? His heart is pounding so fast and loud in his chest, ears and whole body as he leans and kiss Tony. A smack. Just a smack. Because Peter doesn’t even know how to kiss. It was fast, but enough to make Peter’s heart explodes in his chest.

But then he sees Tony’s face. Tony’s frozen and shocked face. Shit. Did it was too soon ? Did it sucked ? Did Tony expected someone who could actually kiss him ? Peter wants to throw up. ”Mr. Stark ?”, he asks faintly.

“Peter. What… What was that ?”, Tony questions, his tone dangerously flat. “I- I thought… Im so sorry I... You know with the date and all, I thought maybe… maybe it was a good time to kiss you, you know ? Im sorry if Im not a g-”, Peter painfully begins but gets cut by Tony. “Wait- A date ? It wasn’t a date.”, the man says, his voice suddenly high. Peter’s blood turns cold in his whole body.

What ?

“Wh- What ?”, he breathes, voice already trembling. Oh god no. No no no no, this can’t be happening.

“This. That’s- Christ, Peter. It wasn’t a date. I- I didn’t- We’re not- Fuck.”, Tony panics, his voice almost screaming the last bit, stepping back from Peter. Peter who’s still frozen, watching what’s happening in front of him without being able to move.

“Oh god, Im so sorry if I made you think it was a date, kid. Im- It wasn’t my intention.”, Tony tries to apologize, clearly still panicking. The only word echoing in Peter’s brain is kid. Tony hasn’t called him like that for months. And now he’s doing it again.

“Peter, kid. Shit, you can’t cry- I- Peter Im so sorry I shouldn’t-”. And it’s only when Tony says that that Peter realizes tears are rolling down his cheeks. His heart feels heavy in his chest. No. His heart feels completely crushed in his chest. And the humiliation. The boy still stands there, only capable of crying in front of Tony, who’s panicking on his own.

“Kid, you- Im sorry, Im not mad I swear, we can’t- We just can’t. We’re not… that.”. And Peter’s heart feels like breaking again. “D-Don’t call m-me k-kid.”, and it’s the only thing Peter can lets out before fully starting to cry. Small hiccups escaping his lips.

Tony watches in horror, unable to do much. “Peter, im begging you- stop crying, im not mad, you’re- kid I-”, the man starts and if he wasn’t so much in pain, Peter would have been genially shocked to see Tony struggling so much to speak. “Stop ca-calling me a kid!”, the boy almost screams, surprising both himself and Tony. The man steps back again. There’s a silence. A loud one. A painful one.

“Im sorry. It’s my fault if you thought- Jesus, it’s my fault if you mistook this, Peter. Im sorry I let you think this was a… a date. You can’t- it’s not on you, Im not mad.”, Tony speaks again. But it’s only words. Peter’s brain shut himself. He doesn’t understand what Tony is saying to him. He just wants to die.

“But- But I lo-”, he starts, desperately, only to get cut by the man in front of him again. “No. No you don’t. You- Jesus ki- Pete, it’s not-” and there’s a silence again. “It’s not wh-what ? True ? H-How would you know ? And wh-why… what was al-all of this for if-if it was- n’t a.. a da-date ?”, the boy desperately questions, in between cries. Tony’s pained expression intensifies. “Pete, stop crying.”.

“Answer me!”, the younger one screams. He can’t believe Tony. It’s not true. Tony is just being- delusional.

“Christ why are you doing this ? Peter, it was just- just… us.”. Peter never heard Tony’s voice sounding so desperate before today. But he can’t care. He feels like he’s been crushed by a fucking plane right now.

“Us ? Ye-yeah and Im- im saying that us, is me lo-lo-loving you and you- you looking at me with- with that look in your eyes.”. And Peter can sees Tony’s eyes watering. Again, it’d be the first time he sees Tony crying, but he still can’t care. The man just steps back and sighs, passing both of his hands on his face.

“You stopped calling me ki-kid. And- and you order for me- and- and sh-shit! I- I know you like it. I know i-it because I can se-see it, mr. Stark. I- I want- I want you… pl-please.”, Peter cries even harder now, his voice constantly cut by cries. “Please.”, he begs again. And it’s even more painful because Tony doesn’t answers anything. The man just stand in front if him, completely frozen, with a pained expression on his face. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t deny it. Why doesn’t he deny it ?

And suddenly, Tony’s warms hands are on his cheeks, trying to wipes the endless tears coming out of Peter’s eyes. But the sensation of the hand on his cheeks only makes Peter cry more. “Peter… Peter, baby.. please. You- fuck. You have to stop, alright ?”, Tony whispers, so close to him, but yet so far. baby.

Peter doesn’t realize he leans on the touch, he doesn’t realize Tony’s other hand is clenching hard on his light blue jacket. And despite everything that is happening right now, Peter only wants them to kiss. A real kiss.

But the next thing he feels is Tony’s strong body against him. The man is hugging him and Peter can’t help but hug him back, his cries still loudly getting out. “Peter, please. I can’t. You know I can’t. Im so sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you, I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have let myself- I can’t.”, Tony murmurs those things in Peter’s ear, tightening his arm around the boy’s body and it only hurts Peter more. Why is Tony saying all of this ? What does it mean ?

“Please…”. It’s all what Peter is capable to say. Please love me. He feels Tony’s body, Tony’s warmth getting away and hates it. And the boy can’t take it. It hurts so much. So before Tony can even answer with another apologize, Peter’s wrists move on their own, and the next second he’s not there anymore, he’s on the top of the building next to the restaurant. He has to get away from Tony. He can’t stay there.

And if Peter hasn’t jumped on another building right away, he would have been able to hear Tony whispering on his own. “Pete… I wished you’d understand why this can’t be a date, why I can’t let you love me back.”, finally letting himself cry now that Peter ran away.

second square for @starkerfestivals 🙈🙈

alright so first of all im so sorry for this fjndldl 😭😭😭 this bingo is challenging me so much tho bc i wrote my first tony fucking peter and now i wrote my first sad ending

its just the first thing that came to my mind seeing ‘not a date’ so i followed my idea

also i edited it three fucking times bc tumblr was being a bitch with me today 🔪

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake  you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

Stay (Part 1)

A/N: This is something that came to mind with a playlist I have of random Ed Sheeran songs, I hope you guys like it.

Thank you to @jazziwritesthings, @xteenwolfwritingsx, @mymonandsymon, @weeabooper and @msmischief101 for looking it over for me.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

(Nor do I own any of the songs in the playlist that inspired this story by Ed Sheeran. All credit where credit is due.)

Word Count: 2,200

Warnings: None that I know of. Mild swearing? It’s really just fluffy.

When Derek comes across a familiar scent at a diner late one night, it leads to the most unexpected revelation in his years in Beacon Hills: His mate. (Aka: Wherein I am a sucker for a good mates story and my brain decided to write one.)

Series Masterlist

Xxx

Sitting at the local diner, Derek focused on his hand as it clutched and unclutched his keys against the table top, occupying his time. To his right sat Scott, and his left, Stiles, and in the center, a large awkward silence between the three.

Smirking, Derek couldn’t help the grin when Stiles scrambled away from the table as their order number was called. He had only seen Stiles move that fast a few times, and it never failed to be amusing.

Clearing his throat, Derek shifted in his seat, sitting up taller, tugging his leather jacket collar for good measure. Scott mumbled something about drinks, and after a second of hesitation disappeared off to some unknown corner supposedly getting them all a glass of something.

Someone walked over to the ancient juke box on the opposite side of the restaurant, and Derek wanted to groan. He had been listening for footsteps going that way all night so that he could come up with some diversion to keep whoever it was from changing it off of his selection. He was sure Stiles and Scott probably thought he had some secret vendetta for all things music, and that was fine. So long as nobody messed with his choice of song.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t an awful choice, and when Derek turned to see who else in this God forsaken town seems to have a decent taste in music aside from himself, Stiles obstructed his view by sliding into his seat with three steaming hot plates, mumbling a “Hot, hot, hot! Very hot!” And Scott obscured him from getting a decent scent so he could at least maybe seek them out later when he plopped three milkshakes down on the table, the combo of food and drink masking any hope at a scent.

Pushing his chair back slightly, and leaning back away from the tsunami of smells, he felt everything go on high alert when one clear smell hit him like a tidal wave. “Vanilla….”

“Well, I was gonna take the vanilla, but fine, by all means, take it, just don’t go all sourwolf on me.”

Derek quickly shot Stiles a glare before turning back to the jukebox to see no one, but the overwhelming scent of fresh vanilla, like fresh cookies, took over all his senses. It made his burger taste like dirt.

Finally pushing away from the table, he followed the scent that definitely got stronger near the jukebox, and followed it in a loop, past an empty table, and finally back to his own table, noticing a new person standing and talking to Scott and Stiles.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest before he could catch it, but it didn’t seem to startle her a bit. Walking a little bit closer he asked a bit harshly, “Who are you?” Really, he just wanted to get close enough to see if she really was the source of the smell, but the scent was forgotten when he heard her speak.

“I’m Y/N, Scott and Stiles’ TA in English this year.”

No wonder the smell had seemed so familiar. He knew her. They grew up together.

She held out a hand for him to shake, and it took a minute for him to zone back in after her voice had caused him to go into some sort of trance.

Shaking his head gently to free the cobwebs, he offered his hand in return, and they both took a sharp inhale on the contact, sparks flying up and down their skin.

Realization dawned on him the same time she made wide eyes and seemed to put it together herself.

Eyes glowing red, Derek pulled her gently closer to him, faintly registering Stiles and Scott laughing nervously and flailing to stand up and block out people’s view of his very obviously not human eyes as they settled on her very obviously completely human eyes.

Until their yellow glow gave away her secret. Derek smirked. Years of time together played on warp speed in his mind.

Blinking the red away, he couldn’t help but smile as she stood there still doe eyed.

“Oh my God, I’m the mate of a freaking Alpha werewolf,” she let out quietly, almost under her breath.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled, hand coming over his mouth as he plopped unceremoniously back into his chair, the momentum making it scrap against the tiles a few inches with an ugly sound.

“Just one. Can you please not date just one of our teachers, Derek? Is that too much to ask?” Scott was unabashedly announcing for the whole restaurant to hear. Granted it was mostly empty by now, and the song was coming to an end, leaving them in silence.

“That’s up to Y/N,” Derek said, still holding her hand. “If she agrees to go on a date, that’s not my fault. And if she agrees to be my mate, well then I am off the market after that.”

“For the love of God, please just say yes,” Stiles implored her. “Maybe he will finally be more tolerable when it’s all said and done.”

Derek reached out and whacked the back of Stiles’ head gently, before raising an eyebrow in question as she gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey! You took my line!” She cried in protest with a small smile.

“What?” Stiles looked between the two of them before she lightly whacked the side of his arm. “Hey! Oh. I get it now. Ha ha. Actually, now, I hate this idea. I take it back. Release one another! It’s easy. See?” Stiles tried to pull their hands apart and it was quite comical to watch. After realizing nothing would change, he sat down with a huff, cradling his face in his hands and saying in a mock broken tone, “Why me?”

Xxx

Staring into the flashing jukebox in the corner of the dive restaurant that had haunted Beacon Hills longer than any monster, you smiled lightly at the selection to choose from.

It was probably your subconscious, remembering things long forgotten, hidden under song titles that concealed the memories, but you could have sworn you kept getting wafts of nutmeg and leather, something that was so intrinsically….. him.

You smiled a bit wider at memories that began to play for only you, seeming to change with the flashing of the lights on the machine, pulsing to your song selection.

Cut grass in the summer, and the smell it brought.

Soaking wet in the rain, darting into any alcove nearby and standing close together under his jacket he held high like an umbrella.

Tripping on the slick, freshly cut grass, and laughing till your sides hurt and grass stains painted your clothes and skin, like tattoos of proof from a summer day.

Him laughing at you as he stared down where you fell, and his wide eyes beside you when you took his hand outstretched to help and instead yanked him down to join you.

The bubble of laughter that soon left him despite himself, as your own giggle betrayed you, and soon you both were snickering on the grass, letting the rain paint your skin with tracks as it continued to fall lightly.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by a familiar voice, looking up from your seat back at your table to see Stiles at the counter balancing three trays loaded with food. You snickered at the little balancing act he pulled trying to keep the contents on the trays and not falling to the floor. Sitting up straight as the smell came your way again, it was so strong, it was as if he were just a few tables over.

Looking to the side, you didn’t see him, however you saw Stiles setting down the trays of food at a table across the restaurant, Scott coming from the opposite direction, arms laden with drinks, and whoever sat in the third seat at their table obscured from your view by Stiles’ body as he distributed the food, lightly bopping to the beat of the song, and making you smile.

Deciding to go over and say hi, you got up, walking around your table, walking past the counter and grabbing the bag of fries the waiter was trying to wave Stiles down for. You shook your head. How Stilinski forgot fries, you didn’t know. As you walked up to their table, it was just the two of them, their mysterious third party missing, but the smell you had noticed earlier strongest in the vacant seat. It couldn’t be who you thought, they hadn’t lived here in years, but you couldn’t ignore the scent as you stood talking to Scott and Stiles.

As Stiles thanked you for the fries, you felt a wave of the smell wash over you, causing you to turn and face the supposed source, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of an older face, but those same eyes you had been thinking about not minutes before.

He didn’t seem to recognize you, and for some reason that amused you. He had a suspicious glint in his eyes, but that was the extent of it.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest before he could catch it, but it didn’t startle you a bit. In fact it surprised you at the deep stirring it caused in your gut.

Walking a little bit closer he asked a bit harshly, “Who are you?”

Despite his puffed up chest and seemingly harsh words, you noticed him take a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent he used to always say smelled like cookies, vanilla and cinnamon, but the breath stopped abruptly when you answered him.

“I’m Y/N, Scott and Stiles’ TA in English this year.”

Realization seemed to hit him, the glint in his eyes sparking to life with memory, and he took an easy and free deep breath, finally recognizing the scent. If you blinked, you’d miss it, but the faintest of smiles was on his face.

You held out a hand for him to shake, and it took a minute for him to zone back in after seeming to go into some sort of trance.

Shaking his head gently to free the cobwebs, he offered his hand in return, and you both took a sharp inhale on the contact, sparks flying up and down your skin.

Realization dawned on him the same time you made wide eyes and seemed to put it together yourself.

Eyes glowing red, Derek pulled you gently closer to him, and you faintly registered Stiles and Scott laughing nervously and flailing to stand up and block out people’s view of his very obviously not human eyes as they settled on your supposedly very obviously completely human eyes.

Until their yellow glow gave away your secret. Derek smirked. Cut grass, rain, grass stains and mud, hiding out in secret places and sharing secrets over years and years, laughing until your sides hurt. All of it hit you at once, and it made something take flight in your stomach, beating its wings to get out.

Blinking the red away, he couldn’t help but smile as you stood there still doe eyed.

“Oh my God, I’m the mate of a freaking Alpha werewolf,” you let out quietly, almost under your breath.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled, hand coming over his mouth as he plopped unceremoniously back into his chair, the momentum making it scrape against the tiles a few inches with an ugly sound.

“Just one. Can you please not date just one of our teachers, Derek? Is that too much to ask?” Scott was unabashedly announcing for the whole restaurant to hear. Granted it was mostly empty by now, and the song was coming to an end, leaving them in silence.

“That’s up to Y/N,” Derek said, still holding your hand. “If she agrees to go on a date, that’s not my fault. And if she agrees to be my mate, well then I am off the market after that.” Something in what he said made you so indescribably happy, but also insanely mad at the thought of him ever being on the market. You swallowed the growl you felt building back down.

“For the love of God, please just say yes,” Stiles implored you. “Maybe he will finally be more tolerable when it’s all said and done.” Glancing at Stiles as he spoke, you looked back to Derek with a smirk.

Derek reached out and whacked the back of Stiles’ head gently, before raising an eyebrow in question as you gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey! You took my line!” You cried in protest with a small smile.

“What?” Stiles looked between the two of you before you lightly whacked the side of his arm. “Hey! Oh. I get it now. Ha ha. Actually, now, I hate this idea. I take it back. Release one another! It’s easy. See?” Stiles tried to pull your hands apart and it was quite comical to watch. After realizing nothing would change, he sat down with a huff, cradling his face in his hands and saying in a mock broken tone, “Why me?”

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @c-breanne1999 @l4life @ethereallysimple What’s this?

[ffsjeongyeon]

Loud And (Not So) Proud Pt.2 (SMUT)

WARNINGS: SEXUAL SITUATION (CHAEYOUNG/NAYEON), G!P, HANDJOB, CUTE PREMATURE EJACULATIONS

Why does G!P Chaeyoung with premature ejaculation problems make me uwu so hard lmao. Shout out to @bbygirldahyun, @sleephyuns and @cubchaengs for having top tier blogs that inspire me to get off my ass and write more. <3 This is a part 2 to this post. You don't have to read it beforehand but it might explain some shit. Enjoy~

The situation Chaeyoung had found herself in a few days prior echoed around her mind endlessly. Nayeon had walked straight into her room, watched her jerk off, then made a cheeky comment, laughing at Chaeyoung’s bewildered stuttering, then casually winked and walked right back out. She had left Chaeyoung is such a state; her sticky hands uselessly trying to cover her spent cock, bright red in the face, heart beating so loudly it was all she could hear. She tried not to think about how her cock sprang back to life after being walked in on… she didn’t know how she felt about that.

All she knew is that she hadn’t met Nayeon’s eyes for three whole days.

Nayeon had acted completely normal with her since the… incident, but something inside Chaeyoung burned whenever she came near, so much so that she could barely be in the same room as the older girl. When she happened to be, she could feel her cheeks glowing, her mind snapping back to Nayeon’s dark, mischievous eyes as she quipped about how loud she had been pleasuring herself.

The embarrassment.

Not only that, but Chaeyoung had now began to have the predicament of her cock suddenly trying to make itself apparent every time she was within touching distance of her. Even worse, it had even started affecting her relationship with the other girls. The other very hot girls that she lived with.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so jumpy?” Sana asked, confused as Chaeyoung had jumped back instinctively from her cuddling on the sofa.

“Oh, sorry. No, it’s nothing. Sorry.” Chaeyoung apologised, clearing her throat and commanding her body to relax. She watched from the corner of her eye as Sana watched her suspiciously. The younger girl cleared her throat again, nervously. “I’ll see you later, enjoy the movie.” She got up, trying not to act too strangely, and walked to her bedroom, closing the door. She let out a breath quietly, leaning her forehead against the wood of the door.

Looking down, she scowled at her dick. She could clearly outline in her sweatpants as it twitched, thumping against her thigh.

This hadn’t been a problem before. Before all this had gone down, she had barely touched herself. She had rarely felt the need for it. But now, things were different.

The image of Nayeon’s naughty eyes flittered through her head again, and she shuddered, catching a moan in her throat as her cock caught wind of the thought and pulsated in need again.

“God dammit.”

Sighing heavily, she plopped herself down in her computer chair, just about to shove her waistband below her balls and sort herself out, when her bedroom door opened.

“Chaeng? Sana says you’re acting weird. Are you okay?”

Nayeon’s head popped itself round the door frame. She seemed to be about to continue asking questions, but when she saw Chaeyoung’s position, she paused.

“Oh. This is familiar.” She voice took on a cheeky tone and her hand came into view, wrapping itself around the door slowly. Chaeyoung gulped and felt like she had run out of air suddenly.

“Are you really okay though?” Just as Chaeyoung was about to say that ‘yes, she was fine’, Nayeon continued. “Or are you just really horny?”

…

Okay, she had definitely now run out of air.

Nayeon continued.

“I mean, you look pretty horny to me. But what sort unnie would I be if I didn’t make sure?” Her dark eyes flicked down to Chaeyoung crotch, leading Chaeyoung to look down too. She was pretty much tenting her sweatpants now. Chaeyoung’s hands shot to cover herself and she stuttered for an explanation - anything to explain her weird behaviour. Nothing came out except a long drawn out ‘errrr’ as her brain fried.

Nayeon walked into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. Before Chaeyoung could attempt to salvage her image and actually say something of substance, the older girl had crossed the room and had sunk down to her knees in front of her, placing her hands gently on the younger girls thighs.

“I want to help you out.” Nayeon’s eyes looked earnest and excited as she whispered lowly. “If that’s okay. If you’ll let me.” Chaeyoung gulped, flicking between her eyes. “I don’t want you hurting.” Nayeon smiled kindly, which suddenly took Chaeyoung out of the slightly overwhelmed headspace she had been in. This was her unnie. She just wants to help her out. Of course.

“Um, yes please.” Chaeyoung winced at her automatic words. “I mean, yeah that would be nice.”

Nayeon’s smile widened as one of her hands came up to Chaeyoung’s face and gently caressed her jaw.

“You’re so cute, Chaengie.” Chaeyoung felt her cheeks flushing. The air suddenly felt so much less awkward and brain frying. “So cute.” Her voice trailed off as her hand dropped back down to her thigh.

“I, um…” Chaeyoung stuttered. “I’ve never… done anything with anyone.”

The older girl smiled again (had she actually stopped smiling since the first time…?) and nodded slightly.

“It’s okay. I know.”

“And I… kind of… um. I kind of struggle with not… y’know.” Chaeyoung blushed harder, not able to finish her sentence, her eyes looking to the side. “….Y’know. Really quickly.” Nayeon tilted her head ever so slightly and raised an eyebrow, trying to understand. “I… finish really quickly… usually. It’s a thing. I haven’t had, um, much… practice.”

“Oh…. Well, I’ll just have to help you with that, won’t I?”

Nayeon’s fingers rubbed gently on the other girl’s thighs as she said this. Chaeyoung watched her, holding her breath.

“Breathe, babe. I don’t want you passing out.” Nayeon teased. Her voice got quieter and lower as she wrapped her long fingers under her waistband. “Is this okay?”

Chaeyoung nodded quickly, and Nayeon smiled once again at how suddenly eager she looked. Chaeyoung’s sweatpants were slowly pulled down, revealing her dick.

“God, I forgot just how big it was. I mean, I saw it from afar, but… wow.”

Chaeyoung suddenly had the image of being walked in on, and her cock twitched heavily, touching her stomach. Just as Nayeon reached her hand out to slowly touch her, Chaeyoung blurted out again.

“It really is gonna be fast, Unnie. I can… feel it already.”

“It’s okay, Chaeng. Really, I don’t mind one bit.”

As she said this, Nayeon’s hand very gently around the shaft. Chaeyoung felt like her body turned to jelly as she naturally leaned back against the chair. God, her hand was so soft and warm.

“Your balls already look so tight.” Chaeyoung let out a loud groan at the words, and watched as Nayeon’s eyes quickly met hers. “It’s okay, you can be loud. I like it.” The younger girl pushed up into her hand with her hips and let out a long groan. She couldn’t decide whether she should fight against her eyes closing or not. In the end, they slipped closed automatically as Nayeon moved her hand up then down again very slowly. Up to the top of the head, becoming slick with the precome steadily leaking out the tip, then down down down so that her thumb caressed the balls that felt like they were tingling to Chaeyoung. “Let’s see how long you can last.”

“Unnie, I’m gonna… I’m gonna come.” Chaeyoung breathed out, fighting to open her eyes and meeting Nayeon’s. Nayeon hadn’t even been touching her for more than a minute or two. “I can’t help it, I’m gonna come, I can feel it.”

“What does it feel like?” Nayeon’s whisper commanded. For a second, she wasn’t sure how to answer, but as she got closer, the words spilled out of her lips without her even thinking.

“I can feel my balls tingling. Feels so good. Feels like I’m gonna explode. Feels… Unnie…”

“It’s okay, you can come. Just let go. You can do it. Go on.”

No sooner than those words had been said, did Chaeyoung go very still, tilting her head back and opening her mouth, letting out a rough loud groan. The cock in Nayeon’s hand thudded strongly as a heavy spurt of come escape the tip. It sprang into the air, landing thickly on her wrist. Then a second load came, shooting up and then landing on her thumb. The third shot out as Nayeon continued to move her hand on her shaft, landing on the back of her hand and dripping down onto Chaeyoung’s crotch. The fourth and subsequent spurts thickly dribbled down onto her hand and her fingers. After a few seconds, Chaeyoung thighs twitched sharply as Nayeon continued to gently massage her cock, and her hand instinctively shot up to cover the older girl’s to stop it moving.

“Sorry, that’s… so sensitive…” Chaeyoung sounded worn out. “But… holy shit.”

Nayeon grinned devilishly as she took her come covered hand away from her crotch and brought it to her lips, licking it clean.

“Tell me about it.”

[natural-namjoon]

𝐓𝐨𝐩 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧

Seonghwa fluff, very mild smut.

Very mild, just making out and heavy groping that's pretty much it.

“Blaze it up and we'll be cruisin'

With the top down

Rev up the engine we'll be cruisin'

Watch it go down

Get in my truck and I'll be ridin'

With my top down

With my top down

My top down”   

The sun shone brightly as you drove your old truck down the Hot Arizona highway, leaving Phoenix. Your new destination was Los Angeles. Having lived the nomad lifestyle ever since you got out of high school, you were always on the road jumping from city to city, working odd jobs to keep some money in your pocket and once you felt you spent enough time in one place you’d pack up your few belongings and head out to a new place. You had called phoenix your home for 6 months, staying longer than usual because the hotel job you had paid pretty well and you were able to save up a bit of money for yourself, but the dry heat finally got to you and you decided to leave, randomly picking LA for your next destination. 

In 3 hours you found yourself crossing state lines, passing a sign welcoming you to the golden state. It only took another 3 hours to find your way in between the sprawling buildings of the city of angels. You had found a random gas station and decided to refill your tank and grab a snack for yourself. After getting gas and doing a little search on your phone you found a decently clean 3-star hotel to stay in, after booking and confirming your stay you decided to check-in and freshen up. The vibes of the big city were buzzing in your veins and you felt like going out and seeing the sights. After a quick shower, you threw on a cute black slip dress that flattered your curves along with some strappy sandals. Looking out your hotel window you could see the shoreline in the distance, the sun would be setting pretty soon and you’d never seen the west coast before so off you went.

 It felt so freeing to you and it was one of the reasons for living the way you did. Going from place to place, the vibe of each place was different and unique and it energized your soul every time you were able to breathe in the air of a new place filled with new people and experiences. It took a bit of time to make your way to the beach because of the ungodly traffic but you made it just as the sun was setting. There were lots of people on the beach, children and families laughing and playing. Feeling self-conscious,you decided to wait and people-watch from one of the many restaurants that lined the beach and boardwalk. You ducked into this goofy themed crab restaurant and you found a seat at the window so you could watch the sunset over the water. 

You sat and just got lost in your thoughts, thinking of home and how long it's been since you spent any quality time with your friends and family let alone someone of the opposite gender. Your lifestyle was lonely and you knew that before you even had left, spending 2- 4 months in each city didn’t really allow for serious relationships, and yeah, you had a couple of hook-ups but those were few and far in between. Overall you were about as unserviced as your truck which was bad in both aspects but you loved the adventure your lifestyle brought and it was easier that way. 

During your inner monologue, you didn’t hear someone come up and start talking nor did you hear the second or third time he tried to get your attention so it was after the light touch to your shoulder that had you jumping out of your skin. That you realized a waiter had come to your lone table. 

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you, were you wanting to order something?” you looked up to the waiter. The first thing you noticed was the goofy looking bright red cartoon crab that was plastered on his snapback hat. Your eyes traveled down and then you really saw him, 

‘Holy shit he’s hot.’ you thought to yourself, he had a jawline that could cut diamond and plump lips and gorgeous soft brown eyes, you could also see dark brown hair peeking out under his cap. To cover up your awkward silence and blatant staring you coughed and nodded like a dummy,

“I- um yeah i'll take water for now and-” you quickly glanced at the front of the menu and pointed at a picture of something that looked like fried chicken pieces with fries. “ and that…” you prayed he was just some random worker who didn’t care or notice your awkwardness. 

The most gorgeous smile slowly formed on his face followed by a deep chuckle, you couldn’t help the deep embarrassment you felt as he laughed at you. He cleared his throat,

“Alright sounds good, so that will be one order of the fried shrimp and chips and water, got it.” He started to scribble in his little notepad and he reached down to grab your menu but you kept your hand on it 

“No- um…..actually not that-” again your embarrassment had your face inflamed. “I’m allergic to seafood,” you said in a quiet voice, there was a moment of complete silence between the two of you until he busted out laughing, it was a hearty, real laugh, a part of your brain noticed how beautiful his laugh was but the bigger part of your brain was in error mode. All you could do was put your head down as he laughed at your obvious incompetence. Suddenly he reached down and gently touched your hand with his as his laughter died down. He shook his head,

“I’m sorry I’m not laughing AT you, it's just funny, you're allergic to seafood yet the first restaurant you picked has a giant crab on the front.” another round of giggles left him as he leaned on the table. You couldn’t help but laugh too at the stupid situation you put yourself in.

“ I know, I wasn’t really thinking, I just wanted to find a place to watch the sunset.” you gestured to the large window that framed your table, he looked from the shoreline to you, he felt something fluttering in his chest, he obviously noticed how pretty you were and the dress you had on hugged you in all the right places. He smirked then cleared his throat, getting your attention from the seaside view.

“I’m Seonghwa by the way.” he reached his hand out and you took it shyly, his hand was big but soft and his fingers were long and elegant looking adorned with silver rings.

“I’m (Y/N)” you said with a smile. He smiled back.

“Let me make you a deal, You hang here, and I'll go find you something you can actually eat without dying. Deal?” He winked and you could feel your arms losing circulation. All you could do was nod and he flashed a brilliant smile.

“Ok, hang tight (Y/N)” he turned and made his way to the back of the restaurant. You took a deep breath to steady your heart, you decided then and there that night you might act up and see where the night leads you and Seonghwa. Hopefully, it was your hotel room. After about 4 minutes an older waitress came over and put a fancy looking orange and pink cocktail in front of you, 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I ordered water” in the same moment the sentence left your mouth she also put a crisp glass of water down in front of you, then she leaned down closer to you

“It’s from pretty boy back there” You both turned to the restaurant bar where Seonghwa stood behind it, waving in your direction. The waitress waggled her eyebrows at you then sauntered off with a cheeky grin.

You looked down to the bright drink and after a small sniff, you noticed it smelled really sweet and fruity, so it must not be that bad. You took a small sip and the tropical citrus flavor danced on your tongue, it didn’t even taste like alcohol. It was dangerous. Alone again you let your mind wander as you watched each family pack up and start leaving the beach, as it got darker the beach became more and more sparse. 30 minutes had passed and after people-watching you hadn’t realized you’d finished your cocktail and it was the smell of food that brought you out of your trance. You turned to find Seonghwa setting a large plate of Chicken strips and fries down in front of you. You were warm from the alcohol and starving.

“Whoa” was all you said as you looked up at him. You noticed he was dressed differently, his goofy hat and apron were gone and now covering his black work polo was a jean jacket and his hair had been slicked back. Hot damn he looked delicious. He smiled down at you then took a seat opposite of you.

“ Yeah ‘whoa’ is right, for a seafood restaurant their chicken strips are amazing, but I did have to fight the chef to make enough for two adults because these usually come in kids meals.” he rambled as he took a chicken strip off the plate and started eating. You just stared blankly at him, confused as to what was happening, He just looked back at you expecting an answer.

“Um… what’s happening here?” you asked and he chuckled again

“ My shift just ended and you told me you’d stay here while I find food for you, this was the deal” he explained taking another bite.

“But I only had to wait UNTIL you got me food, by law I can leave and take these to go” you pulled the plate closer to you, teasing him. He scoffed then quickly reached over and grabbed another tender before you could pull the plate farther away from him.

“Hey!” you laughed shielding your food. He laughed with you. 

“ Actually I wanted you to stay so I could hear your story” he explained sincerely.

“What makes you think I have a story?” you asked, taking a bite of chicken, holy shit the chicken was heavenly. He shrugged,

“Tourists always come to the beach first and usually they wander in here cause we’re right by the entrance to the beach.”

“What makes you think that’s what I did?” he piqued your curiosity

“Because, that’s what I did when I first got here, and that’s how I got this job.” He grabbed a couple of fries, popping them in his mouth. “although I walked in here because I actually like seafood” he teased you laughing as he got another tender from your shared plate. You laughed with him shaking your head.

“Shut up, it was an honest mistake, what restaurant has ONLY seafood except for on the kid’s menu, I’m going to complain to the manager” You joked and he snorted.

“Wouldn't be the first time. Anyways so, where are you from and what brings you to this godforsaken city” he said the last part a little bitterly. You were taken aback by his words, 

“What do you mean so far this city has been beautiful. Lots of people, but beautiful.” He chewed silently pondering your words. After he swallowed his bite he sighed

“I thought the same thing before I got jumped one night on my way home from work. Took my wallet and cell but not before I got a blade in my ribs.” He explained darkly, not meeting your eyes. You sat speechlessly, what do you say to that?

“No I-I get it...before I came here I was in Phoenix Arizona, some co-workers and I went out one night, I got separated from them and a man snuck up on me, held a gun to my head and made me hand over my bag. Thank god my car keys had been in my pocket, but I remember feeling so helpless and scared.” You told him, taking a sip of water, feeling the buzz of the alcohol leaving you. Both of you were silent, Seonghwa was mentally kicking himself for bringing the mood down, he hadn’t meant too but he had hoped his story could be one of caution to you but all he did was make you relive a bad memory. He sighed and signaled for one of the waitresses to come over. He ordered another cocktail and she was back with it in a couple minutes. He took the glass and slid it over to you,

“Sorry, I killed the mood I wasn’t trying to get you down.” you smiled at him, grateful for the offer but you had to decline, you still had to drive yourself back to your hotel room.

“I’ll drive you,” he offered immediately. You raised an eyebrow and he laughed

“I won’t try anything. I have to work an early shift anyways so I can’t have too much fun, I'll just catch a bus from your place once you're safe inside.”

You felt your heart warm, he was really sweet. You somehow had the luck to run into him on your first day there, you decided if he couldn’t have too much fun, then a little bit of fun would go a long way. You leaned down and took a big sip of the cocktail, but made a face as the burning taste of vodka overpowered the sugar and fruity taste,

“Oooh this one is strong” you voice came out hoarse as you choked and he laughed

“Yeah I’m the only one who can make this drink the right way, it’s kind of my specialty” he examined the glass absently

“What’s the drink called? I’ve never had it before,” you asked taking another small sip,

He looked up and met your eyes, there was something dark in his soft brown eyes, a kind of mischief that made your stomach flip

“Sex on the beach,” he said softly in his deep voice, keeping direct eye contact with you. You breathed out slowly and without breaking the eye contact you responded 

“your specialty is sex on the beach?” you asked, your voice small. He smirked, finally breaking eye contact as he reached down his fingers tracing the lines on the top of your hands. 

“Something like that.” 

Suddenly you didn't care about seeing the beach, You took another big drink of your liquid courage, managing to not make a gross face this time and you looked at him,

“How about instead of escorting me home, maybe you can take me into the city? Cruise around, show me the city lights and nightlife, you don’t have to go home right this instant?” you asked leaning forward giving him puppy dog eyes hoping he’d accept. 

He laughed at your eagerness, after a quick check of his phone he accepted and you smiled feeling victorious.

Quickly getting up and packaging your food to go you went to pay for the food but he just grabbed your arm and led you out the door. 

“Wait, this is stealing,” you said bluntly feeling buzzed.

“I’m an assistant manager, it’s on me.” He responded cooly 

“Oh excuse me I didn’t know I was hanging with a High Roller” you teased. He laughed as you guys came to the parking lot of the beach, there weren’t many cars and your old red Dodge Dakota truck stood out lonely in a far corner. You beckoned for him to follow as you stumbled over to your trusty vehicle. Once you got to the truck you tossed him the keys,

“This is not the car I expected you to have” he laughed unlocking the door.

“Yup i've had this old girl for years, i  saw her in a used car lot and had to have her.” you climbed in the passenger seat and tossed the bag of food in the back seat. 

One you both were in and buckled up he laughed

“So you're just a young pretty girl that drives an old beat up truck that's probably older than you?” he  laughed again turning to you

“I know it's weird right…” you turned to him trying to look intimidating

“You know this could all be a ruse, I could be luring you to the back alleys of the city to kill you and keep your head in my fridge.

After a beat you realized how weird that really sounded and you silently cursed the alcohol for making you so loose lipped. 

Luckily Seonghwa wasn't fazed as he burst out laughing then turned to you and cocked his eyebrow

“Is that a threat or a promise??” he giggled and started the truck, you thanked the heavens he was so easygoing. 

“Wanna know the main reason I wanted this truck?” you asked him, reaching across him to a switch near the drivers door, noting how good he smelled while you did it, and flipped a small switch. There was a groaning and whining noise then the whole top of your truck moved and folded back on itself and after a moment you were both sitting with the salty sea air around you. 

“ WHAT? This is so COOL!” he exclaimed looking like a kid with a new toy “I didn't know that convertible trucks existed!!” he was laughing in excitement and you laughed with him. 

“Lets fuckin go then!” he yelled and revved the engine and soon you guys were on the road headed for downtown L.A.

In no time you both were cruising with the top down, enjoying the nightlife, the city was so big and there were so many people out shopping, and eating and there were a lot of people performing and busking on the sides of the roads. It was all so magical and you felt so exhilarated, In all honesty there wasn't anything about L.A that you had not seen in other big cities, but this city had one thing the others didn't, and that was Seonghwa. Having someone with you to experience things with, made a world of a difference. Every so often when you'd get excited and would point and laugh and sit with amazement he would always look at you with the softest eyes and he looked upon you with this kind of adoration that you had never seen someone look at you with. He would tell you stories of his first experiences with the various locations you guys passed by and he had you laughing and every so often he would rest his hand on your thigh absentmindedly, not in a creepy way, but in a way that felt familiar, like he'd done it a thousand times. His hand was a comfortable warmth on your cool skin and it felt right being there with him, everything about him was perfect.

After a bit of driving he started to head to where he lived, you had offered to drop him off as the night had grown long and he had gotten a few phone calls from his roommates asking when he'd be home so unfortunately he had to head home and you were sobered up enough to drive finally. He pulled into the driveway and parked, not before putting the top back up. There was a silence in the car, neither of you wanted to end the night, but Seonghwa had responsibilities and he had to sleep because he had to open up at work the next day. 

After a bit of silence he reached over again and gently put his hand on your knee, you placed your smaller hand on his,

“Well, (Y/N) i'm glad you stumbled into my restaurant today, this is the most fun i've had with another person in a long time.” he smiled at you, eyes running over your body as his thumb drew circles on your knee. You had heard what he said, and you wanted to respond with something sweet and wholesome but all you could focus on was his lips and his hand on your skin. With the hand that was placed on his you grabbed his wrist and slowly pulled his hand up higher on your thigh pushing back the fabric of your dress until he was a inch away from your center. You felt him tense up and your breathing got heavy as you watched him and waited for him to do something,

“(Y/N)...” he breathed out, voice deep and filled with lust as he stared at the spot his hand was in and were it was going, he gave your thigh a test squeeze, 

“Seonghwa..” you didn't mean for your voice to come out as a small moan but the anticipation and sexual tension was becoming too much for you. Suddenly Seonghwa leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, you immediately opened your mouth to deepen the kiss further, frantically unbuckling your seat belt so you could climb over onto his lap. Without breaking the kiss you settled onto his lap and his hands were all over you. Your brain was a deep fog, there was nothing you could think other than the feeling of his soft lips on yours and the feeling of his big hands as he squeezed your ass. You slipped your hands under his shirt wanting to feel more of him, he broke the kiss only to swiftly remove his jacket and polo shirt. You took a moment to marvel at his body, he was leaned and chiseled, not too much muscle but there were abs and broad shoulders, this man was like a drug, everything he did and everything about him was so intoxicating. You ran your hands up and down his chest and down his back as he pulled you closer, you  noticed a hardnessed pressed against your lower parts and you smiled in the kiss, feeling how hard he got and all you guys were doing was kissing. Ever so slowly you pressed your hips down harder onto his crotch and started grinding, he broke the kiss as his head fell back and a groan escaped his lips,

“Oh my god (Y/N) fuck..” you took that as a sigh to grind your hips harder onto his erection, causing more intense friction on your clit, both of you held each other, a moaning and whining mess. You absently thought about how hot and bothered you were getting with your clothes on, you couldn't wait to get them off. You went to kiss him again, tongue exploring as he grasped your hips harshly, trying to slow your movements because your makeout session was getting really intense really fast.

You were about to pull back and ask if they should go back to your hotel room for more privacy when there was a loud rapping at the driver side window, you let out a surprised squeak as you moved to cover any exposed parts. Both you and Seonghwa turned and standing on the other side of the window was a tall man, he looked young like you guys and he had peach colored messy hair and various stains on his oversized sweater. 

“Yuhno What the Fuck???” Seonghwa said incredulously, The man named Yuhno gestured for him to roll the window down, after the glass was no longer between them Seonghwa snapped at the taller man

“ Yuhno I said I'd be home soon, I was kind of in the middle of something.” he lectured, angrily pulling his shirt back on.

“Yeah I can see that, and as much as hate to cockblock you and this lovely lady-” he looked over at you and waved cutely, all you could do was laugh and wave back embarrassed. “But Wooyoung and Mingi duct taped Hongjoong to the wall and they won't let me get him down, San wont stop crying because he was trying to do a trick off the counter and dropped half our plates. I tried to get Jongho and Yeosang to help but they went into their rooms and refused to come out.” Yuhno explained in the most calm way possible. Seonghwa just silently sat for a moment and sighed,

“The one day you all have a day off while I have to work late and of course there is pure chaos, just- go get Hongjoong down and I'll be inside in a second.” Yuhno just nodded and after waving at you again he hurried back to the shared house. Seonghwa just sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly,

“ Are these your roommates or do you have kids I don't know about?” Seonghwa let out a genuine laugh then he looked tiredly at you,

“Im sorry, my roommates are a bit…. Eccentric.” he said the last word slowly. You giggled, then leaned over and gave him a small peck on his lips. He pressed his forehead to yours and sat for a moment, basking in your scent. Then with another defeated sigh he climbed out and you slid into the driver seat behind him. He closed your door and leaned in the open window pressing another quick kiss to your lips, the longing in his eyes almost made you want to cry as it mirrored your own longing. He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to you and you realized it was your phone, 

“Don't be mad but I put my number in your phone” he chuckled

“When did you get my phone?!” you asked genuinely surprised he just chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I have my ways, I just want to make sure I’ll get to see you again.” he said the last part as a question

“Of course” you said softly cupping his cheek to emphasize your adoration. He didn't make any move to leave your side until there was a loud crashing and incoherent yelling from the inside of the house. 

“I gotta go,” he shot you an apologetic smile and turned and jogged up to the front door. As he pulled open the door you could hear high pitched laughter and other sounds of ruckus happening in the house.

“Wooyoung!” he barked as he slammed the door behind him followed by a high pitched scream you could hear from inside your truck.

 You looked down at the new contact in your phone under the name Seonghwa and smiled. The whole drive home you had butterflies as you thought about your day and the amazing man you spent part of it with. You'd never experienced anything like this before all the other times you were with a guy it was a hookup and you never really saw the men again, but you knew without a doubt you wanted to see Seonghwa over and over again. 

“Coming to L.A. was a good choice after all” you said to yourself as you made your way back to your hotel “ I think that I might stay”

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part v

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: one restaurant date, two confessions, and three grades that will make or break natasha’s degree

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,881

trigger warnings: overstimulation, use of a safe word, teeth rotting fluff, strap on sex, ball gags, explicit conversations about whorephobia, orgasm control, angst if you squint

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part one, part two, part three, part four

The warmth of the sun filtered through blinds is what woke you, wrapped tight in Natasha’s arms. The sex-stained blankets were as messy as can be, some of them hugged your intertwined bodies like a tightly wrapped burrito while others were nearly falling off the bed.

It was messy, beautifully and wonderfully so. If you felt the need to move (which, of course you didn’t because who in their right mind would try to disentangle themselves from such a lovely human person) you doubt you could’ve; Natasha held you with arms too strong and heart beat too soft. You wouldn’t dare disturb her if the house was on fire; then again, if the world was burning down around you – you’d rather die in her arms than reach for uncertain safety. It’s there that you fell back into sleep, tucked under her chin and running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually the growling of your stomachs woke the both of you up, each respective organ desperate for nourishment – and the two hard-boiled eggs, sour gummy worms, gluten-free bread, and half a container of mustard wasn’t gonna cut it. The waning sun was an ominous sign of how long you’d truly gone without food, and you soon didn’t feel all that bad about poking your poor g-

Poking poor Natasha awake.

You didn’t feel all that bad poking Natasha awake as your insides beg for sustenance and your head feels light and holy shit, if you didn’t eat right then you were going to start taking bites out of her – and, for the first time, not in a fun and/or sexy way.

“Hey,” you pressed your forefinger to her nose. “Nat.” You poked the end of each eyebrow, then at various locations of her forehead. “Natasha!” Still, she remained asleep, and buried herself further into the blankets as some unconscious act of survival. “Nat.” You poked her right cheek. “Naat.” You poked her left cheek. “Naaat.” You poked each cheek with each hand at its softest part, pushing until you felt her teeth.  “Nat wake uuup.”

She just grunted and pushed you away before she nuzzled back into the covers. “Go away. I want to die here. Let me become a body without organs.”

She paused.

“Or is it organs without bodies?”

You sighed but make no move to displace her. “One, Natasha, we have the midterm coming out soon. If you do not know the original work done by two far left authors from the sarcastic critique by another far left author, I’m breaking up with you. Two, that’s not what that means and you making a vague reference to some postmodern concept does not mean I am going to stop being annoying. Three, would you like to come get dinner with me?”

Natasha shot up, flame-red hair messy and shirt disheveled – it made her look like the top of of a thicket of trees during a forest fire. Along the side of her face, you could see indentations from where her skin was pressed to the pillowcase. “Food?”

You nodded, pushing the strands from her eyes. “Yes, darling, food.”

She wiped at her face and pushed the covers from her legs, eyes half-closed. “Food.”

You picked some of the crust from the corner of her eyes. She blinked indignantly at you but made no move to stop you. “Do you care where we go?”

Natasha shook her head left-to-right silently, then moved to wipe her face once more.

“Okay. There is a very good Chinese place that I want to show you. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha nodded and made a mmhmm noise.

“Cool.”

You kissed the tip of her nose before you got up and scrounged together a passable outfit that would cover the bruises that still littered your body and shield you from the cold. After a few moments, Natasha opened her eyes wide enough to see a few feet in front of her and did the same.

There was s a wonderful silence that filled the air, the comfortable kind. Like the day of that quiz, it’s a wonderful kind of cozy – soothing and sweet.

You could get used to this…

It was a short walk to the restaurant, one you were all-too familiar with due to your many, many nights there. It was the first place you ate at on campus (that wasn’t one of the mind-numbingly mediocre cafeterias) the day you moved in and it had become some pseudo-home, the place always warm and waitstaff always nice (and always willing to let you eat as much as you pay for and abuse their free WiFi).

The menu hadn’t changed much (by “much,” you mean they’ve fixed two of the five typos) since you first started going there, so you should have already known what you want. Still, you opened the folded, laminated paper and read each item with genuine interest, just as Natasha did.

You looked up at her once and awhile just to see her again. Every time you tried to keep her out of your line or sight for more than a few seconds you’d almost burst at the seams, like a sunburst than could only be quelled by looking at her.

“What year are you?” Natasha asked, which broke your unbelievably tender train of thought.

Your brain, which was still very fried, did not compute. “What?”

She reached over to point to the Chinese zodiac calendar on your menu with one of many of her fingers that was inside you last night. “What year are you?”

You mumbled something and shrugged, fake-intense-reading as your neurons attempted to rebuild your capacity for speech. Luckily, Natasha seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“I’m the year of the dog,” she said, nonchalant, as if you were not losing your goddamn mind on the other side of the table. Your brain was fried, your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, and were your hands shaking? What the fuck were you supposed to say? How should you respond?

Think, you fool! Think!

“There’s a feminist critical theorist who fucks her dog,” you blurted.

Natasha just smiled – god her smile was so big and wide and beautiful - and laughed. “Part of me thinks you’re lying, but part of me worries you’re telling the truth.”

You laughed then, too, smiling big as she did. It set the tone for the rest of the night, mood light and happy as the tired, probably-high waitress took your order and then brought you the food a suspiciously-short amount of time later. It was good, very good.

“And my mom turns to me and she goes,” you wrinkled your noise in an effort to properly invoke your mother’s nasally tone. “This family does not get Fs or Ds or Cs. You better fix this or else.”

Natasha almost choked on her soft drink at your impression. “You were supposed to make an omelet for a foods and nutrition class, what did she want you to do!?”

You took another bite of orange chicken before you rolled your eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea what that woman wants from me now, let alone when I was fuckin’ fourteen.”

You were both laughing as you took food from each other’s plates and swapped small stories. Natasha told you about her own coding mishaps (apparently it was easy to hack into news websites and create fake stories involving certain celebrities and a certain large bird and many, if not too many, phallic objects), you told her about the time you stress-cried in the bathroom so much the janitor kept tissues in a secret compartment for you.

One hand from each of you remained occupied as you held hands on the side of the table farthest from the prying eyes of fellow college students (as if any of them were sober enough to notice, though. Along with being great to you, the restaurant’s very greasy menu meant it was a good spot to quench munchies or quell the pain of an especially bad hangover).

A phone – your phone, you realized – vibrated obnoxiously on the other side of the table. Previously forgotten, you broke from the moment to reengage with the (seemingly) hundreds of people who were attempting reach you via text. At first you thought it’s an email from a client – but then you realized it was a text from a classmate. Specifically, the girl who sat front and center in the lecture hall you and Natasha shared.

“Who’s that?” Natasha asked.

You furrowed your brows as you texted, swallowing the last bit of food. “Oh, Lindsay from our class. She wants to know what I got on the quiz.”

Natasha then realized she never bothered to figure out her grade, and it brought all her anxiety about graduating on time and also making sure you’d never leave her and oh my god what if she failed this fucking quiz?

A few moments of soul-crushing silence passed before you put your phone back down. Natasha watched you like a cat stalking a fake mouse on a string, or a drunk mom at a Christmas party eyeing a dessert table; the drive was genuine, but the goal? Ridiculous. Absolutely, totally ridiculous.

You didn’t press her like she expected, though, didn’t even stare at her with that evil eye Natasha’s sure you got from your mother on more than one occasion. You just went back to eating your food, and put your phone back out of reach.

You noticed her staring at you when you went to borrow (steal) another piece of food from her plate.

“What?”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “Don’t you…Don’t you want to know what I got on the quiz?”

You shook your head as you stole another few bites worth of food. “Not unless you want to tell me.” You shrugged as you swallowed. “I’m not gonna, like, push you if you don’t want to tell me. I’m not my mother.”

Natasha smiled at that and left the conversation there. She was unnaturally quiet for the new few minutes as she listened intently while you told more stories and commented on the food and thought out loud about school and the rest of your life and should you go shopping soon?

Throughout all of it, Natasha remained incommunicative – to the point you started to worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked and reached across the table to put your hand over hers. She smiled, softly, before she replied.

“I really care about you, you know,” she said, low and almost inaudible. You said nothing in return. “And I’m very bad at this. I’m so bad at this. I spent a lot of my childhood in rooms with therapists who said less than I did. I’m not good at,” she waved her hands as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not great at emotions. And expressing them and telling people about them and all that shit. Okay?”

You swallowed the last tastes of duck sauce that coated your back teeth. Despite the sweet substance being a liquid, it felt like a waterfall of boulders cascading inside your throat. “Nat, I-“

“This isn’t me saying I love you, but I want…” Natasha was on the verge of crying, just as you were. She averted your gaze as she continues, staring at the booth cushion directly behind you. “I want to commit to you in some way. I like you, I like the person I am when I’m around you. And I don’t want to lose you because I was too much of a pussy to make a move.”

You said nothing, did nothing. Despite her not looking at you, you stared at her very serious facial expression and watched every muscle twitch for some signs of lying. You saw none.

“I…,” Natasha met your eyes as you spoke. Your mouth was so dry you nearly coughed – but the idea of making any sound terrified you. “I…I need some air.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you pushed yourself out of the booth and ran out the front entrance.

Natasha didn’t wait for the door to close behind you before she chased after you. She left both of your phones and wallet at the booth, not wanting you to get out of eyeshot but also terrified of the waitstaff thinking the both of you were dine-and-dashers (and terrible ones, at that).

She followed you outside, ache in her heart an excellent distraction from the nighttime chill that dug tiny knives into her pale skin. Still, as her breath was visible in a faint fog in front her, no pain was as unimaginable as the one as losing you.

“Babe, plea-“  began, voice small and nonthreatening as possible.

You interrupted her and avoided looking into her eyes and picked at a loose thread in the sweater you were wearing – Natasha’s sweater you were wearing.

You worried it was the last time you’d ever see her again, and yet you refused to look at her. You refuse dto look at her large eyes and the bags under them, at her nimble hands – thin and agile from years of typing; at her plush lips or beautiful hair or-

Wasn’t that the cruelest irony of all? Of the cognitive dissonant fear of missing something while desperately avoiding looking at it. Still, you chose to jump off the proverbial cliff with your eyes clenched shut and nails digging into the pads of your soft palms and blood rushing in your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m a sex worker.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she breathed heavily, like when your mom got mad at you for bringing home that C your freshman year. “There’s-“

“I’m a sex worker. I make my own porn. I sell my nudes. It’s my main,” you sighed. “It’s my only source of income. It’s how I make money. It is how I will continue to make money. It’s how I stay mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother. It’s how I plan on staying mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother and my very judgmental family and the very judgmental world. And if you think that’s morally wrong of whatever, or that I’m some sort of sub-human, or that I’m evil, or that I should stop…”

For the first time that night, you looked her straight in the eyes. No smiling, no laughing, no wishing to see her beautiful face. Power. Authority. Truth. You tried to channel the red you saw on all those feminist theory books you’d had to read for the class that brought you and Natasha together.

“If you don’t believe in the validity of my labor I cannot and will not date you,” you were snarling as you stomped toward her until your toes nearly touched. “I’m not going to let someone who can’t love what I do love me.”

As you stood there, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, stories of rage flashed like lightning in your brain. Narratives of horror from your media studies class, of actresses whose only chance to scream was in front of a camera. If you had sharper nails, sharper teeth, glowing eyes that would be some award-winning monologue where people clap and call it “mind-blowing” and give it “five out of five stars.” You’d be a prime example of how satisfying rage can be as a subversive practice.

But no. You were no antihero(ine), no supernatural being caught on tape. You were not on the silver screen, you were not being streamed on some overpriced platform, you were not the subject of dissertations on media studies or really good articles on feminism or whatever else academics were doing with their time in tenure. You had filed-down nails and wide eyes and soft skin and an uneasy stomach and shaking hands and breath that faintly showed in the air when you exhaled. You had tears that threatened to fall. You had fear.

Natasha’s eyes flitted nervously, her lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Natasha was the one to speak first. Her voice sounded as terrified as you felt – with words that were spat through a set jaw and teeth bared.

“Who hurt you?”

You took a half-step back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Natasha, what the fuck are y-“

“Who hurt you?” she whispered, words like knives and eyes just as dangerous. You stepped back, almost scared of her and what she could do to you.

You were pressed against the side of the building then – you could feel the brick and mortar itching at the skin of your back through your top. “Natasha what the hell are you talking about? I don’t kn-“

“Yes,” she stepped back, but grasped at your left hand as she did so. She was a ship tethering to a dock, floating out on the water but always willing to come back to port. “Yes, you do. You know exactly who, what, I’m talking about. What they did. Just tell me who they are, and I’ll ruin their lives.”

You looked for the joke, the punchline. You looked for a glint in her eye that said she was fucking with you and was waiting for you to laugh it off. When you were in seventh grade you got asked out as a joke and the football player made the exact same facial expression you now hunt for.

But you found nothing, no teasing or set up in a larger scheme to mock you. She was serious as you’d ever seen anyone be. “What in the fuck-“

“Tell me who they are. Tell me the name of every person who ever made you feel like shit and I’ll ruin their lives. I’ll steal their identity. I’ll make it so they can never get a job, or a car, or a house again. I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Natasha let go of your hand and held your face in her food-warm palms. “I will destroy the very existence of every person who ever made you feel like this, because you deserve someone who will protect you from all that bullshit. And I want to be that person.”

The silence was painful, almost. But also comforting. Still, you broke it so speak. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Natasha smiled, and pecked your lips. “Good. Now come finish my food with me, it’s getting cold and our waitress is definitely judging us.”

You broke into a fit of laughter, nearly wheezing as she guided you back inside. The food was good, even though it had cooled considerably while you were both outside – greasy and thick with flavor and hot in your mouth along with your soul and Natasha held your hand on the table and fed you with her fork and you stole bits of her food while she was distracted. At one point, Lizzo played on the restaurant soundtrack and Natasha sung low with you, and you ordered more food to take home and it was hot, too hot in your hands as you carried the large brown paper bag soaked with grease to her apartment. Maybe you were going eat the food in the morning, maybe you were going eat it later tonight. It, truly, did not really matter.

There wasn’t much time between when you put the leftovers in the fridge and when Natasha pushed you onto your knees in her (and your) (it was now shared) bedroom. There also wasn’t much time between when your knees hit the ground and when Natasha grabbed the ball gag from its place in her toy drawer.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Natasha cooed as she adjusted the matte black straps. She kissed at your temples when it was secured, murmuring sweet words into the top of your hairline. If there was anyone else watching you, if there were some voyeur witnessing this profession of ownership, you doubt they could hear her. The entire world could be gazing at the two of you under a microscope and they would know nothing. Wasn’t it something wonderful, to share such, dare you say it, love that cannot, will not be observed by a single being outside your pairing? “Such a pretty little thing, a beautiful little toy for me.”

You didn’t dare move, worried even a flinch would disappoint her. Even as spit began to fall down your chin and between your breasts, as it pools in the gap between your legs, you successfully resist the urge to wipe it away. Natasha walks to the end of the bed, perching herself on the covers. The silence isn’t thick or uncomfortable, rather something closer to electric, something you can feel on the insides of your nose as you sniffled.  

Slowly, she raised her right hand and crooked her first finger. You understood immediately and you got on your hands and knees to crawl across the room to her. When you reached the end of the bed you waited, obediently, for her.

Like at the restaurant – you were nearly bursting out of your skin with excitement as you awaited instruction.  

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she cooed. “Now come up on the bed and let me wreck that pussy.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation, scrambling to get on the bed and onto your back. Natasha grabbed a bottle of lube out of seemingly nowhere and poured it over the same strap from the first time she fucked you.

You moaned deeply and reached for something, anything; you whined high in your throat as she pounded into you, the bed smacking against the stained wall with each thrust.

“You’re too pretty for your own good, you know,” her voice was breathless as she spoke. “Normally I would try to keep my toys intact, try to keep them in good condition, but I just can’t seem to help myself around you.”

With each word your back arched farther, your fingers tightened around the sheets.

“F-fuck,” you moaned around the thick plastic sphere in your mouth as you tried to push your back closer to Natasha’s chest.

She grabbed your hair and bit at the curve of your ear before she spoke in a low voice that sent another wave a slick down your inner thighs. “What do you belong to?” she hisses. “Who does this pussy,” she slapped your cunt and you cried out at the stinging pain. “belong to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “You Mommy, I belong to you!”

In that moment, you wondered whether Natasha’s neighbors could hear your screams. But in the one right after, you realized you really, truly, di not give a single flying fuck what they could hear.

“Fuck yes, you’re mine,” she growled as she pressed your face into the sheets, as she loomed over you like a god would punish some human exercising an unholy level of hubris. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You couldn’t speak because of the ball gag – didn’t even try to – yet Natasha seemed to know exactly what you wanted to say.

“You wanna cum, love?” she cooed, still fucking into you. “You wanna cum over Mommy’s cock?”

You nodded, the whines high in your throat resembed something close to a please yes please Mommy please I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum.

Just like the lube, Natasha grabbed the hitachi out of thin air before she turned it on low and pressed it to your neglected clit. It was something, it was enough, but only just so. Your muscle tensed and you wailed out as you bucked your hips, as you tried to fuck yourself harder onto the toy. Natasha notices and slows her thrusts, laughing as you become more and more desperate.

“You’re so pathetic,” she hissed. “Such a pathetic little toy. You’ll do anything to cum, won’t you?”

You nodded; words garbled.

Natasha laughed again. “Of course you would, slut. You’d do anything for me, right? You’d do anything I told you to? You’re just a mindless little toy for me, just a dumb little thing with no thoughts besides how you can please me…”

You were drooling around your gag so much it covered your cheeks and pooled on each side.

You’re blissed out, eyes glazed over and body wonderfully lax. Natasha’s isn’t done with you yet, though, because of course she isn’t. You’re now officially her girlfriend, officially hers, and maybe it’s that satisfaction or excitement or whatever in her blood but it it’s letting her stop, not now, not when you look so ethereal with a halo of sweaty hair and the sheets looking like wings and your skin practically glowing.

Not just any angel, her angel – her perfect little blessed creature, sanctified even as she degrades you in such a sacrilegious way.

“I want you to cum when I count to ten,” Natasha murmured as she pushed the sweaty hairs that had escaped their confines from your eyes. “Alright, baby?”

You nodded and tried to chase the fleeting feeling of her fingers as they dusted over your feverish skin.

She turned the Hitachi up a setting, smiling as it met your clit and you cried out.

“One,” she mumbled, rubbing the head against you in small circles. It was something, but certainly not enough.

“Two.”

Natasha knew this. She knew you didn’t orgasm all that easily.

“Three.”

Regardless, she agonizingly slowly turned the toy up a setting. Just as you feared, it remained insufficient.

“Four.”

God, nearly halfway there and you were terrified what would happen if you couldn’t cum. Part of it was exhilarating, but part of it gnawed a small hole in your stomach that left you…empty, somehow.

“Five.”

She ticked it up one, two more settings. You sighed in relief and moved your hips with what little mobility she’d allowed you.

“Six.”

She increased the vibrations again and reveled in your squeals.

“Seven.”

You cried out and wanted to beg for mercy.

“Eight.”

You didn’t.

“Nine.”

You felt like you’d forgotten how to breathe, lungs shriveled up into nothingness. It was as if you could feel each of your cells as they begged for oxygen, as your blood desperately tried to each your heart and brain.

“Ten.”

You came with a deafening scream, your whole body shaking for what feels like forever.

When you came down, your girlfriend was next to the bed, holding what you could only is another section of rope. What she planned to do with it, you had zero idea.

“How ya doin’, baby?” She asks. Natasha could sense something was off, but worried about misreading the signs.

It’s obvious she was not incorrect, though, when you tapped at your thigh three times.

Immediately, Natasha drops the toys in her hands and rushes over – untying the gag and freeing your limbs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She scanned your body – terrified of finding blood or something worse. “What do you need?”

You swallowed what little spit you could find, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “Red,” a pause as you attempted to swallow once more. “Water.”

It was  all Natasha needed before she was rushing off to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of the stuff and one of those reusable straws she stole from your apartment.

When she returned to the room she pulled you into her lap, keeping you upright as she leaned against the wall.

Natasha watched every muscle, every twitch as you drank from the straw. Your body seemed unwilling to move itself, relying on Natasha to hold you upright enough so that you didn’t choke. The room was silent except for the sound of your noisy swallowing (and, soon, the slurping of last droplets of water). You were about to ask for more, but Natasha found an unopened plastic water bottle within reach and held that for you, too. It reminded you of the first time the two of you fucked, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so cold anymore.

“I’m done, Mommy,” you told her when half the water was gone. “I’m good.”

“You sure, babygirl?” her voice laced with deep, genuine concern. Her eyes reflected the same emotion.

You nodded, leaning into her and rubbing your knuckles where they laid against her thigh. “I’m sure, Mommy. Thank you.”

Natasha closed the bottle and tossed it into the half-open bedside table drawer before she wrapped you in her arms. “Of course, honeybee. I’m proud of you for using your safe word, thank you for trusting me.”

You mmmed and laid there for a moment, your breathing in rhythm with Natasha. You two sat there, comfortable in the silence. If there was anything else to say, you’d say it – but for the while you enjoyed the wordless space you and her existed in.

It took a long while, after your heart had slowed and your breathing had evened out, but you eventually fell asleep in Natasha’s arms. It was peaceful, deep – somehow impossibly more satisfying than any of the other times you’d fallen asleep, even the times you’d fallen asleep with her. There, secured from harm in her arms and wrapped in blankets, you felt secure. It was indescribable, it was wonderful, it was safe. And to you, in that moment, it was heaven.

[meepmoopfanfics]

you don’t get a win unless you’re playing the game: Daveed Diggs x Reader. Chapter 2.

Reminder: this is gonna be a long fic! please be patient :)

You are finally ending an excruciating first week of dance rehearsals.

You’re gearing up finishing Act I finally, your brain feeling completely fried from all of the material given, especially the vocal parts. You were so used to singing the melody line of all the songs and being given the alto part was a challenge in itself, let alone applying singing while doing the choreography. The dancing was second nature but you didn’t realize how much stamina you’d actually need to getting the notes out without sounding breathy, pitchy or exhausted. You did NOT want to embarrass yourself in front of the OBC when it came time to integrate.

You had only worked with the ensemble closely so far and were getting close with Stephanie, the universal dance captain of the show. She had mentioned to you that the principals and ensemble members would be having a little hang out session at her brother’s penthouse apartment downtown after rehearsals ended tonight.

“Brilliant work today everyone. I know it’s been tough. But take the weekend to really review the material and let everything sink in.” Stephanie’s eyes were lit up. The way she was so attentive to detail and every backstory of every movement was so inspiring and eye opening.

You wiped the sweat off of your face as you partner, aka M3, aka George Eaker, aka Cedric, gave you a wink and a thumbs up. You were way too lucky to be matched with Cedric. If you jumped across the stage, somehow you’d trust him to catch you with seconds to spare before landing.

The ensemble cheered together and began to pan out to the house to grab their things and head up to their dressing rooms to get ready for the party.

“Is everyone coming tonight?” Stephanie yelled excitedly.

You heard a cannon of yeses and hell yeahs around the group.

“The wolfpack’s coming too!” That was her nickname for the OBC crew. “It’s gonna be a raaaaaager!” She started gyrating her hips. Everyone erupted with laughter.

“A safe one at that, of course. Be on your best behavior around Lin… just kidding he’s an absolute child.

Alright now go, get out. Go get hot.”

You followed the ensemble up the stairs backstage to end up at your dressing room which you shared with W4, Michelle.

“Girl... what’re ya wearing tonight? I can’t decide.” Michelle asked while anxiously rummaging through her back full of scribbled on legal pads, muscle rollers, and random items of clothing.

You had packed your favorite black jeans that made your legs look flawless, your signature suede boots, and a Kith hoodie. You wanted to look put together but also casual and cool. Most importantly, you wanted to impress all of your idols. This was your only chance to give them the best first impression of you.

You thought about grabbing your Oakland sweatshirt that your parents got you as a gag gift for Christmas, in honor of your celebrity crush’s hometown. You immediately regretted even thinking of wearing it, as Daveed would definitely find it way too weird. You were from Massachusetts... not California. The Bay Area would be embarrassed for you.

“I just brought these little guys. All black, of course. Feel like it does the job. Also, the sweatshirt will let me eat alllllll of the pizza guilt free.”

Michelle stared longingly at your suede boots. “These are fuckin fancy!”

“They’re only Steve Madden!!” You were proud of your ability to find luxury looking goods for a cheap price. You don’t think that will ever change, even when you saw your first broadway check hit your checking account.

You were happy you could share a safe and fun dressing room space with Michelle and knew the two of you would become close friends.

You both ran into the shower room across the hallway, and quickly washed off. You decided you were going to straighten your long light brown hair. You loved your hair, but it got so curly and tangled when you sweat. Thankfully they were going to put you in a wig for the show instead of using your natural locks. Being a head sweat-er was the worst. Your makeup was minimal, as you looked best with a nice dewy makeup glow, with highlighted cheekbones. You wore a nude matte lipstick, which matched the natural color of your lips, and lightly liquid lined a cat eye over your big (insert eye color) eyes.

You saw your reflection. You didn’t know if it was the confidence of finally reaching your goal or if you just were having a good hair/makeup day... but you were stunning.

“Damn mama!” Michelle gasped as she saw your finished look. “Whose mans are you about to steal at this gig? Better not be Cedric, he’s mine.”

You laughed. You couldn’t help to think about who you already had your heart set on.

“Definitely not Cedric.”

Michelle opened her iPhone 11 plus and immediately opted for a mirror selfie. She quickly opened Instagram and posted it to her story.

You opened the app yourself to go check if it looked good.

Posted 32 secs ago

#MamaHam and #TheBullet hit the town 🎉

“Ready?” Michelle asked, putting the final touches of her gold Fenty highlight on her cheeks. “We should grab a quick bite before hitting the place. I plan on drinking my weight in Truly seltzers tonight.”

“Let’s get it.” You smiled. “I’ll call the uber.”

——

You called the uber, hopped in, and began driving downtown. You felt your anxiety creeping up on you.

“Trulys? Really? I’m gonna need to be doing shots of Jager in order to be able to speak a single word to any of these principals.”

“What are you... nervous? You already got the role. You’re equals with these guys.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Guess I’ll just have to act as chill as possible. That’s the plan anyways... also Michelle, wanna know something ridiculous?”

“What?”

“I’ve had a middle school full fledged crush on Daveed since I can remember.”

She blurted out with laughter.

“Well girl he is on the market now. Shoot ya shot.”

You already knew this. Daveed was recently single and focusing on rebuilding himself up. His breakup with his last girlfriend wasn’t bad. It was mature and mutual. You knew he was taking time to himself, so you didn’t want to be overbearingly flirtatious when you first met him.

You also couldn’t stop thinking about your ex, whom you left last year around this time. His goals just weren’t lining up with your future. He hated musicals, he hated almost everything you liked... but you couldn’t stand the fact you shattered his heart.

“I’ll see what happens... after 5 shots.” You responded, winking at Michelle.

__

You arrived at the cutest little Italian place downtown in TriBeCa. You knew carbs and wine were the perfect pregame for this shindig.

After loads of pasta and splitting a bottle of wine, you began to feel the confidence needed to shake the nerves from you. You hit the bathroom to give yourself a double check before walking to your final destination.

—

As you walked up to the massive high rise residence, you couldn’t believe this was your lifestyle now. As you approached, you noticed an extremely familiar face exit the revolving door.

Holy shit, that’s Rafa.

Rafael Casal. Daveed Diggs’ best friend.

You stopped in your tracks stunned.

He turned his head immediately in your and Michelle’s direction.

“Y/N?! What’s going on?!”

“Shut up shut up shut up...” you whispered through your teeth. “Just keep walking.”

As he passed you both, he smiled, and turned into the Duane Reade on the corner. Probably picking up something he forgot.

You realized you would be on edge all night not being able to keep your cool. Rafa wasn’t even in the damn OBC and here you were, freaking out entirely on the freaking sidewalk.

Through the doors you went, passing the crystal clear marble floors, giant chandeliers, and up to the doorman.

“Can I help you beautiful ladies?”

Michelle blushed. The doorman was actually attractive.

“We’re here for Klemons? Penthouse 2?”

“Oh yeah! Hamilton!!! Love that show. Have fun!”

You hit the elevator as you looked down at your phone.

9:18pm

Perfect timing. Almost 20 mins late. Fashionably late, of course.

“Oh shit shit shit.”

You realized you haven’t changed your wallpaper from Daveed grabbing his crotch.

Michelle laughed as you fumbled to change your wallpaper to a pic of you and your family from when you were younger. Perfect. A conversation starter. Your overthinking was killing you softly.

Your teeth were legit chattering. You felt anxiety waves rush through your nervous system. The pit in your stomach grew. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. This was it. Your chance at something greater than you ever thought was possible to achieve.

The elevator doors opened to the open concept apartment. Voices were clashing over the blaring hip hop music in the dimly lit room. A full bar in the corner, Joe’s pizza scattered over the island in the kitchen. Beer pong set up on the dining room table.

There they were. Every single one of em. Scattered across the flat. Starstruck wasn’t even the beginning of what you felt.

Your eyes scanned quickly around.

There he was. Curly headed locks and all. Leaning up against the floor to ceiling windows that circled the place, holding a cocktail in his strong, large right hand accessorized with a few rings. Simply staring at the sights of the city. He looked like a million bucks and he was in a simple casual outfit. Light washed jeans, black boots, with his left hand in his black hoodie pocket.

Wait. You guys were wearing the same hoodie.

The same fucking hoodie.

Of course this would happen.

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@alexander-hamilhoe

[aliendes]

One More Day

shy!yoongi, brother!namjoon, depressed!reader

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING! heavy angst, mentions of death/suicide, dark themes, mentions of alcohol and drug use, Joon is a straight up asshole I am so sorry (it gets better in the end), reader smokes cigarettes (if that bothers you?), depression/anxiety. This story is in no way meant to romanticize suicide, if you or someone you know is suffering, please call or text 1-800-273-8255.

Word count:  27837 (yikes I am actually sorry) Genre: Angst, fluff NSFW because of suicide mentions?

A/N: Did I write a Christmas story in the middle of July? Yes. Am I sorry? Also, yes. This is entirely unedited and was only meant to be like a 1k drabble. As you can see, it got away from me a little (a lot). I will eventually go back and edit, but I cannot be bothered right now. I’m so sorry for my shitty character development here, I was just trying to get this out of my brain and it just snowballed (hehe) into this monster.  If anyone is interested, I wouldn’t mind doing drabbles about this couple in the future! Send me an ask! This is a work of fiction. Any character names/likenesses are coincidence are are not meant to represent actual people.  **PLEASE READ!: Hi all! This is my first fic that I am posting to this blog. THANK YOU for reading this! If you like this story, I would REALLY appreciate it if you could reblog/comment on the fic. Also! Follow me if you’re interested in my writing. I am currently writing a multi chaptered dystopian AU and will be doing polls on my blog where readers can vote on a couple of aspects of the story. I hope you stick around!

Listened to: Be Kind (Marshmello & Halsey) & Waste It On Me (Steve Aoki & BTS) while writing this. 

You stood on the deck of your parents cabin, staring out at the frozen over lake, shrouded in darkness. You couldn’t remember what time it was, or really even what day it was, just that you needed to get away for awhile. Your breath was turning into white clouds around your face, and then drifting up into the atmosphere. It was calming in a way. Freezing, but calming. 

It was the middle of December, nearly Christmas, what used to be your favorite time of year. You and your mom, dad, and older brother Namjoon would come up to this cabin and spend two weeks at the end of every year. Your dad and brother would always find the tallest tree for the living room of the cabin, with it’s high vaulted ceilings. You and your mom would spend hours decorating the tree, always turning out like a Better Homes & Garden magazine cover. Your mom loved to decorate, and she was damn good at it. You and Namjoon would bake cookies together, despite your mom’s protests over Namjoon being in the kitchen. He was always a disaster waiting to happen. You can still taste the gingerbread like it was yesterday. You smiled slightly, remembering what Christmas used to be like. Now, Christmas was a shitty reminder of what used to be.

It’s been 7 years since the last time you were all together at this cabin. Nearly 6 years since your parents death, and 3 years since you last saw or spoke to your brother. You knew he was doing well, living it up in the big city of Seoul. He was a music producer, and you would hear about him and his accomplishments through friends of friends. You were proud of him. Not that he would ever believe that, and it’s not like you would ever have the chance to tell him.

For the last few years, you had been coming up to the cabin alone. You always took two weeks off work and spent that time trying to keep your parents spirits alive in the form of Christmas cookies and movies. It was your own way of coping with their absence. Namjoon found his ways of coping by blocking the memories out, you found yours in a glass of wine and a couple cigarettes out on this deck. Speaking of which, you should probably light one up now, you’ve been standing here for a while.

Just as you were reaching in your pocket for your lighter, you heard a snapping sound from the left of the desk, startling you in your place, cigarette still hanging from your chapped lips. You turned your head towards the noise, almost giving yourself whiplash. No one should be out here at this time, you thought to yourself. You pocketed your lighter and took the cigarette between your fingers, slowly walking towards the edge of the deck. Sue you, you had a curious mind. Namjoon always used to tell you it would get you killed one day. Not like you cared much anymore. 

“Holy shit!” you gasped, nearly throwing your cigarette, when you saw a figure walk out from between the trees lining your property and the one next to it. It was a man you didn’t recognize. You squint your eyes slightly to try and see better in the dark. He stepped closer to your with both hands raised in front of him as a way to placate you.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I -” he started, but trailed off almost like he forgot what he was going to say. You raised a brow at him, still unsure of the stranger. “I’m Min Yoongi, I live next door. I promise I’m not a creep or anything, I just noticed you standing out here for a while and wanted to make sure you weren’t locked out or something, I - I, yeah that sounded creepy. I’m sorry.” He rushed out the last words, looking almost sheepish. 

Cute.

You stood there for a second too long, and Yoongi, as you now knew him, looked almost like he was about to bolt back in the direction he came. “I - I’m sorry, I’ll g-”

“No, it’s ok.” You let out a deep sigh and chuckled darkly, no humor to be found. “You just startled me, is all.” You said with what you hoped was a small smile. It wasn’t, Yoongi noted, but he didn’t care, just glad you were responding at all.

Another beat passes, “... so are you alright - did you need help?” He drawled, unsure of where the conversation was headed. 

“No, no. This is my par- mine- my house. Well, not my permanent house, but you probably already knew that.” You stuttered. He must’ve realized the house next door to him was vacant 11 months out of the year, right?

 “Ah yeah, I kind of figured that out.” he took a hesitant step forward. When he saw you weren’t running for the hills, he slowly made his way into the illumination provided by the floodlights on the back porch. You took in his features now that you could see them better. He had bleach blonde hair that looked a little fried, but that suited him nicely, small, feline like brown eyes, and he currently wore a gummy smile that was quite endearing. Had you not been in a spiraling depression, you may have thought he was pretty handsome. He ran his hand through his golden locks, “This house is usually empty, I only notice it occupied around this time of year. I’m assuming it’s your vacation house? You said it was your parents place, right?” He took hesitant steps up to the deck.

So he caught that. Damn. “Was.” You stated simply. “It was my parents place. It’s mine now, I come here alone.” Yoongi knew that. He’s lived next door for 8 years now, on and off. Every Christmas for the last few years, you’d been alone. He wasn’t a creeper, but he did notice you smoking those nasty cigarettes out on this very deck, alone, every year. He remembers you used to come here with someone. A boyfriend maybe? It wasn’t his place to ask. 

He’s at the bottom of the steps that lead up to your deck, looking up at you with an unreadable expression. Pity? No, there’s no way he knows what’s going on in your mind. He hesitates a moment before - “Are you ok?” 

The question catches you off guard. Were you ok? You knew the answer was a big, fat no. But was that something you should share with him? A near stranger? Aside from the obvious questions you had, when was the last time someone asked you that? You couldn’t remember anyone caring enough about you in the last few years to even utter those words to you. The only people you interacted with were your coworkers, who didn’t give a shit about your personal life. All your boss cared about was that you got the job done. You almost wanted to trust this man, share with him how you’re feeling, God knows you need it. You’ve been staring at him for too long, he must think you’re crazy now. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good.” You mutter, looking anywhere but his eyes. 

“Look, it’s not really my place to pry, but you’ve been standing out here in the freezing cold for over an hour.” Had it really been that long? “Do you want to maybe go inside?”

“With you?” you asked, slightly startled at his proposition. 

His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and you had a distant thought that he looked oddly adorable like that. “No! No, no. I mean unless you want to come to my house?” He half asked, slightly confused, shaking his head. “I just meant, you aren’t really dressed for the 3 degree weather, don’t you think you should head back inside?” 

Oh. He was just being nice. You weren’t used to this. Leave it to you to jump to weird conclusions. You cocked your head to the side, looking at him with a dumb look. “Yeah…” you trailed off. “I was actually just about to smoke a cigarette, then I’ll head inside.” He gave you another unreadable look, and slowly started to nod.

“O- ok then.” He seemed like he wanted to say more, but stopped himself.

“Do you smoke?”

“Oh no, I don’t. Thank you though.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you, like he didn’t want to offend you.

“I’m not offended, I know most people think it’s a nasty habit.” You took the lighter back out of your front pocket and put the cigarette to your now very cold, very dry lips. “Want to sit with me?” You asked after you took your first drag of the cigarette.

Yoongi looked back towards his house, and then back at you. “Yeah, let me go grab a coat and I’ll be right back.” he stuttered out. You hadn’t even noticed he was only wearing jeans and a flannel. Poor guy, you’ve been staring stupidly at him for at least 15 minutes, he must be freezing by now. 

“Take your time.” You waved him off as he jogged briskly past the trees and shrubs. You watched him enter his back porch and saw a few lights flicker on, then off again. Taking another drag from your cigarette, you looked back out over the lake. Leaning your elbows on the deck railing, you realized you were, in fact, freezing in nothing but a long sleeve t-shirt and pajama pants. You didn’t intend to be out here this long, only meaning to smoke one cigarette and head back inside, only to lose track of time.

“Want to sit down?” Yoongi’s voice snapped you out of your reverie, slightly startling you. “Sorry - didn’t mean to scare you again” he laughed dryly. He pulled a couple of the deck chairs closer to the railing and sat down. It was then that you noticed he was now wearing a thick winter coat, and in his hands he held another coat, and what looked suspiciously like a blanket. You raised an eyebrow at him, but slowly walked towards the chair, holding your cigarette away from Yoongi, respectful of others' distaste for the smell.

As you sat down in the chair to Yoongi’s right, he dully shook the coat he was holding in your direction with a raised brow. A silent offering. “Thanks.” You muttered lamely, taking the coat from him. It was thick, and smelled citrus-y. Oranges? With maybe a hint of cloves. It smelled manly, wrapping you in his scent when you threw it over your shoulders. 

“No problem” he gruffed out. His deep voice was soothing your cold soul at the moment, a feeling you haven’t had in a long time. “I- I brought a blanket” he hesitates, slowly unfolding the blanket, watching your face to make sure what he was about to do was alright, “is this ok?” he asks as he set the unfolded blanket over yours and his legs. You nod at him, taking another drag from your cigarette. Once the blanket is situated, he grabs one of the legs of your chair and pulls it closer to his, so the blanket drapes all the way over you. You offer him a small smile, and then turn your head to blow the smoke in the other direction. “I don’t mind the smoke, you know. My older brother smokes like a train, I’m used to it.” 

You smirk at him. “Are you implying I smoke like a train?”

“N-no! No, of course not - that’s not, that isn’t” he starts to stutter, shaking his head.

“Relax, Yoongi. I was kidding.” You let out as you exhale your last bit of smoke, putting your cigarette out on the deck floor. You should probably bring an ashtray up here with you next time you visit, which was becoming more and more infrequent as time went on. You used to come up here in the summer with Namjoon, but those days were long gone. 

He ducked his head slightly, the flood light illuminating the side of his face from behind him. He really was beautiful, you noticed. A small, slanted nose, with cute puffy cheeks. They were a little red from being out in the cold, but cute nonetheless.  

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that..” he starts to trail off, realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“YN. Sorry - my name is YN.” 

“YN.” He tries it out on his tongue. He likes the way it sounds. “Pretty.” He noted, face heating after he realized what he said. You smiled at him, the first genuine smile he’s seen all night and he realizes he likes it, and wants to see more of it, preferably in the near future. He gives you a gummy smile in return. “What brings you out here, at -” he quickly pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at the time, “- nearly midnight?”

“Oh you know, just dealing with life.” You glance out into the distance, back at that damned lake. Yoongi must have sensed your distress, because he is quickly switching the subject.

“It’s really pretty out here this time of year.” He states, lamely, looking out at the lake with you. “The lake freezes over in November, makes for some really beautiful scenery.” 

“Yeah… I know. I’ve been coming here with my family since I was 8.” You didn’t take your focus away from the lake as you spoke. 

“What… happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” Yoongi quickly read the expression on your face and added, “You totally don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok actually. I haven’t really talked about it in a while.” You chanced a glance at Yoongi, his expression serious, focused completely on you. You were taken aback for a brief moment, wondering what was making you trust this man, before you went on, “My parents died almost 6 years ago. We used to come out here as a family every Christmas for the last two weeks of the year. I still make the trip every year to keep their memory, alive? I guess. That sounds kind of stupid saying it out loud.”

“No it doesn’t,” Yoongi stated simply, “That makes perfect sense. You feel closer to them when you’re here, right?” You slowly nodded, still staring into his deep brown orbs. “Look, at the risk of making myself seem like a peeping Tom, I noticed you used to come here with a man, but I haven’t seen him in a while. Is everything ok with…?” His question trailed off. So he has noticed you before.

“Namjoon,” you said, turning your head away, “my brother.” 

Your brother. He didn’t expect that. From what little glimpses he saw of the two of you, you always seemed like a bickering couple. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.” 

“No it’s fine, you’re very observant, you know. How long have you lived there, exactly?” You asked, turning back to look at the sweet man beside you, gesturing towards his home.

“Almost 8 years. Inherited the place from my grandmother. The first few years I was only here on and off, still living mostly in Daegu. Fully moved in about 5 years ago.” His expression changed, looking like he was reminiscing on the past.

“So you must’ve seen me and Namjoon coming together before. He hasn’t come up here with me in three years. We don’t - we’re not really on good terms. He lives a couple hours away.” You left it at that, not really wanting to indulge in the reason why you weren’t on good terms. That was a conversation for another day. Your stomach fluttered at the thought of talking to Yoongi again. You were confused at the feeling for a moment before Yoongi was speaking.

“I get that. Me and my brother barely speak either. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him to be honest.” He gives you a sad smile, which you return. You’re unsure why you feel like you’ve known Yoongi longer than an hour, but he makes you feel warm in the middle of the harsh winter. You noticed his cheeks were becoming increasingly red and cursed yourself for being so inconsiderate.

“Do you, uh, do you want to go inside? I can make hot chocolate, or something…” you trail off dumbly. 

“Uh, y-yeah that sounds nice”, he faltered, grabbing the blanket draped over you, folding it neatly before ascending from his chair. You follow after him, moving towards the back door of your cabin. You didn’t realize just how cold you were until you opened the sliding glass door and a wall of heat hit you in the face. 

“Wow, I must have been out there a while. I’m freezing.” You chirped as you slid the door closed after Yoongi stepped inside the threshold. 

Yoongi pegged you with a questioning look, and at first you thought he must think you’re insane, before he said, “If you want, you can show me where you keep the hot chocolate and you can go take a shower, or something?” he faltered before adding, “I mean, if that’s ok with you, I know you barely know me-”

You cut him off before he could start babbling again, giving him a soft smile. “That would be really nice actually,” you said, leading him to the kitchen. “I’m not sure what all I have stocked up here, but you should find everything you need in the tea cabinet, above the stove,” you pointed to the stove, “and the mugs are in the cabinet next to the fridge. Feel free to make whatever you’d like. I’ll be down the hall, second door on the right if you need me.” You smiled at him again, causing him to internally melt at the sight, “Thank you, Yoongi.” The sincerity in your tone hurt him. He could tell that you haven’t been thankful for anyone or anything in a while and he didn’t like that. 

“Of course,” he croaked, I’d do anything to make you smile, he wanted to add, but didn’t. He just watched you trudge off to what he presumed was the restroom. He mentally slapped himself. Why was he acting like an idiot in front of this girl he hardly knew? He knew it was because he has seen your sad eyes staring out at the lake for the past three days now, and years before that. Watched you stand, emotionless, wondering what was going through your mind. Now that he’s seen what a smile looks like on your face, he never wants it to disappear again. He’s too empathetic, a trait he inherited from his mother, sometimes to a fault. But he didn’t care right now. Right now, he just wanted to make you happy, even if it was just for tonight. 

You let the hot water fall over your face, reveling in the way the steam was making your muscles feel. Even though your body was relaxing, your mind was starting to real. You think it’s December 21st, just a few days before Christmas. You’d arrived at the cabin three days prior, and would remain here for another week and a half. Usually, when you came to the cabin alone, you spent those two weeks wallowing in self pity, drinking yourself to near death. This was the first time you’ve had any interaction at the cabin in three years. Thinking back to three years ago, you recall your lowest moment at the cabin. The reason for the downfall of yours and Namjoon’s relationship.

It was Christmas Eve, and you had just finished off a bottle of your favorite wine. The fireplace was going, and some sappy Lifetime movie was playing in the background. Not that you were paying attention in the least. You and Joon had just fought over staying an extra day. You wanted to stay, spend some time together since you didn’t get to see him often, but he wanted to go back to Seoul to his girlfriend, Yuna. You never really liked her, but that’s beside the point. He was in his room, probably on the phone with her if the soft whispers were anything to go by, while you were on the couch in the living room. You had just poured yourself another glass of wine and were staring out the large bay windows that had a beautiful view of the lake. You used to love that lake when you were a kid. You and Joon would swing on the tire swing attached to the tree that was partially submerged in the lake when your parents would take you up here in the summers. In the winter, you and Joon would walk along the edge of the frozen water, admiring the beauty of it, listening to nature. Namjoon always did love all the little animals he would find down there. But now, as you looked out at the dark abyss of a lake, it only haunted you with memories of your parents.

You had contemplated it before, but was never brave enough to act. At that moment, though, you really didn’t think there was anything left to live for. Everything had fallen apart. Your parents were gone, your brother hated you, and you isolated yourself from all your friends so long ago, you really didn’t have anyone left. All you could think about, as tears streamed down your face, was how Joon wouldn’t care if you were gone. Your parents weren’t there anymore to care. You would be doing him a favor, right? He didn’t want to be around you, so if you weren’t here, he wouldn’t have to worry about your nagging anymore.

Shaking your head, you’re brought back into the present. Were there tears streaming down your face, or was it the water from the shower? The choked up feeling in your throat pointed towards the former. Great. Could Yoongi hear you? You hoped not. God, you hoped not. He seemed like such a sweet guy, kind and soft. You didn’t want to bring him down in your spiral and potentially scare away the only human interaction you’ve had in a while. 

Little did you know, Yoongi did you hear you. He had finished making hot chocolates a few minutes before he heard soft whimpers coming from the hallway. He immediately made his way towards the noise, realising that once he reached the bathroom door, he could hear you quietly sniffling in the shower. His heart sank at the sound. He didn’t knock, knew he shouldn't. But God, did he want to. Wanted to pull you into his arms, tell you that everything was going to be ok, and see that gorgeous smile again. But it wasn’t his place, and he knew that. So he walked back to the kitchen, solemn expression on his face, and waited patiently for you to calm yourself. 

Yoongi was unsure why he felt the need to comfort you. He hardly knew you, apart from what he’s seen of you over the years. Still, those glimpses weren’t really telling of what kind of person you were. You seemed kind, warm-hearted. You let him into your home, or your parent’s home, he guessed, when you saw that he was cold. You trusted him enough to dawdle about in your kitchen while you showered. That had to take some real trust, what if he was some psycho stalker? He wasn’t, of course. But you didn’t know that. 

The trust you put in him told him one of two things - you we’re either a very trusting person, or you had no fear. The latter made him feel sick. He knew you were going through a lot, but it’s been years since your parents death, you should be feeling somewhat better, right? No, he knew that wasn’t true. The pain of losing someone you love never goes away, he knew that better than anyone, and he didn’t even know the circumstances surrounding their death, or the fallout between you and your brother. Either way, when he looked in your eyes, he saw a sad, broken girl. He’s been that sad, broken person before, and he wanted to help you.

So he waited at your kitchen island, rewarming your mug of hot chocolate every five or so minutes, until you finally felt ready to come out of the bathroom. 

As you slowly towel dried your hair, you stared at your reddened eyes in the bathroom mirror. You knew Yoongi was probably waiting in the kitchen for you, with long cold drinks, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of this handsome stranger with your tears. You splashed some cool water on your face and applied some moisturizer to attempt to even out the redness of your face.

After you were satisfied with the puffiness, you threw on your pajama shorts and t-shirt you had brought with you from your room, and left your hair wrapped up in a towel. Who were you trying to impress, really? You barely knew Yoongi, despite the fact that you felt safe around him. You knew at the end of these two weeks you would go your separate ways and probably not speak again until next Christmas, if you even made it to next Christmas. Damn, why couldn’t you keep the morbid thoughts away for one night? 

Hesitantly, you made your way out of the bathroom and down the hallway, where you could hear the clinking of glasses coming from the kitchen. Curious, you sped up a little, until you reached the open floor plan kitchen of your cabin, shooting Yoongi a questioning look.

“Oh! Sorry - I just saw that you have some dishes in the sink, I just wanted to help. Sorry.” He looked sheepish, and you thought it was rather cute. 

“Thanks,” you offered shyly, feeling slightly embarrassed he saw your mess, and sat at one of the barstools in front of the kitchen island, “Did you find the drinks ok?” 

“Oh yeah - they cooled down a bit, so I warmed it up in the microwave.”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness, taking the warm mug from him. Yoongi knew that you had been crying, could see the puffiness in your eyes, but seeing you smile, even slightly, made his eyes light up.He watched as you rose from your seat, mug in hand, and made your way around the kitchen island. For a second, he thought you were going to approach him, but you walked right past him towards the fridge. You reached your short arms up and grabbed at a bottle sitting on top of the refrigerator, pulling it down and setting it on the counter. He watched on curiously as you opened the, almost empty, bottle of rum and poured some into your mug. You turned around, raising an eyebrow at his questioning look, “want some?” 

“Oh, uh, no thank you. It’s really late”, he advised hesitantly. He didn’t want to upset you, didn’t want to overstep bounds as you were an adult after all, but he was also questioning your current state of mind.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, if any of this makes you feel uncomfortable, you can leave. I’m trying my best to keep my head above water right now, both figuratively and literally.” You don’t know why you just said that to your neighbor, but you did and there was no taking it back. You removed your gaze from Yoongi’s, slowly walking towards your living room to have a seat on the plush couch. You never got around to redecorating the place after your parents death. It was almost like taking a step back into the past when you came up here. 

Yoongi’s eyes widened a fraction before he schooled his expression, following behind you, almost forgetting his drink but grabbing it at the last second. “YN, do you want to talk about it? I know we just met, but I want you to know I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Someone to listen, make you hot chocolate, whatever you need.” He gave you a sad smile and sat across from you on the loveseat, setting his mug down on the coffee table. 

You took another sip of your spiked hot chocolate, reveling in the burn at the back of your throat, before following Yoongi and setting it on the coffee table. “Why are you so nice to me? You barely know me,” you questioned him, pinning him with a serious look. 

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping my bounds right now, but I know what it’s like to be depressed,” he looked up from his feet, resting his hands on his knees as he spoke, “I lost my mother when I was 15. I’m not saying by any means that I know what you’re going through, but when I lost my mom I felt like I had no one to talk to. I don’t know you, at least, not yet. But if you give me the chance, I would like to try? We are neighbors after all.” His momentary burst of confidence falters as he plays with his fingers and looks down at the carpet. 

Your gaze softened at the absolute sincerity in his tone. Was this real life? You almost wanted to pinch yourself to make sure you didn’t pass out drunk on the deck and dreamt up some hot stranger to ease your worries. You let out a breathy laugh, absent of any humor. You thought for a second, did you really want to unload this baggage on Yoongi? No, not right now. It’s better to keep things vague, that way there is no one to hurt if you’re gone. “Yoongi,” you started, causing his head to snap up to meet your gaze, teeth worrying his bottom lip, “You seem like a really nice guy,” Yoongi could sense a ‘but’ coming, preparing himself for rejection. It’s not like he isn’t used to it, being the shy guy in a small town he never really had the chance to talk to many people. “But I can’t promise you that I’ll even be around in a week. I don’t want to get attached to someone, it’ll just be harder in the end.”

That was not what Yoongi was expecting. His heart dropped down to his toes. He felt his stomach flip. Did you really just imply what he thinks you did? It didn’t matter if he barely knew you, you needed to know that someone cared for you. But he knew he needed to tread lightly here. He slowly got up from his spot on the loveseat and made his way over to you, crouching down so he could meet your downcast eyes. His hands were clasped together, but the moment you lifted your gaze to meet his, he unclasped both hands and held them out to you, wanting you to make the first move, conscious you might still feel uncomfortable with him. Hesitantly, you reached out one hand, which he grasped in both of his much larger ones. His warmth instantly soothing your cold bones.

“YN,” he whispered, barely audible, but you heard him, “I don’t know what your life is like back, wherever you’re from, but you’re here now. I’m here for you, and I would really, really, like to get to know you better. If you can’t promise me a week, can you at least promise me tomorrow?” He didn’t want to scare you away, dreading what might happen if he does. He saw unshed tears glistening in your doe eyes before continuing, “I’ll come over, every day, and we can spend Christmas together. You don’t have to be alone YN.”

The thought of not having to spend Christmas alone was enticing. The last time you spent Christmas with someone and was coherent enough to remember it, was four years ago, when you and Joon came up here. The last time you were up here, before that dreaded Christmas Eve three years ago. You wanted, really wanted, to take Yoongi up on his offer. But you felt like you owed it to him to explain why you were like this. Why you weren’t able to get close to anyone, why you felt like this was a bad idea. You thought, if you tell him what happened, about your demons, maybe it would scare him away and save him any future pain. With that in mind, you spoke, ““That fucking lake. It’s caused me so much pain, and now it’s like a sick metaphor of my life,” it was barely a whisper that left your lips. Yoongi could tell whatever you were about to say was heavy. He waited patiently, holding your sad gaze, silently letting you know he was listening. “They died in that lake. It was raining, my dad didn’t see the deer in front of them on the bridge leading into town. They had come up here for a weekend getaway without me and my brother, which they rarely even did. We found out two days later when they didn’t show up for work.” 

Yoongi instantly remembered exactly what you were talking about. How could he not have put two and two together? About six years ago, he was commuting back and forth from the cabin to Daegu for work. He was on his way up here for the weekend when the roads were blocked off at the bridge, he saw the overturned car in the embankment of the lake. Everyone in this small town talked about the couple who drowned in the lake for years after the accident. He even heard about how their child had tried to drown themselves in the same lake a few years ago…. Oh no. 

“YN.”

“It’s ok Yoongi. I don’t want sympathies, I don’t want anymore ‘I’m sorry”’s. You offered to listen, so I’m getting it all out.” You looked down, becoming hyper focused on your hand clasped in Yoongi’s. “After they died, me and Namjoon would come up here for Christmas, attempting to feel more like a family. It never did, we would just fight when we were up here, nonsensical arguments that drove a wedge between us. We kept trying though, until three years ago.”He remembers that, too. He would always see you and that guy, Namjoon, arguing on the deck, or you crying out by the tree swing. You stopped, unsure if you should continue. You chanced a glance at Yoongi, his dark eyes watching you with - it wasn’t pity - compassion? His gaze made you want to continue, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. “I tried to drown myself three Christmas’ ago. In that damn lake.” 

Yoongi’s made an inaudible gasp, and he hoped beyond hope you didn’t notice. He wasn’t even sure why he was shocked, he connected the dots a few moments ago. He knew it was you. “YN. I - I,” he faltered. 

Not quite meeting his gaze yet, you muttered, “It’s fine Yoongi. Now that lake it like this stupid fucking metaphor for my life. I ebb and flow, just like the waters in that lake throughout the year. I have my ups and downs. Then, every Christmas, the lake freezes over. It’s always hard for me to get through this time of year, especially without Joon.” You felt a single tear roll down your already puffy cheeks. You sniffled slightly, rubbing your nose on the sleeve of your shirt with your free arm.

Yoongi stood up from his crouching position slowly, his grip on your hand still tight. He hesitantly took a seat next to you, holding your hand in his lap.  He could tell you were trying to scare him away, make him realise you were too broken to be fixed. He was determined to keep you talking, get all your baggage laid out on the table so he could assure you none of it mattered to him. “YN, what happened with Joon?” He whispered, close to your face. He didn’t want to risk you building that wall back up, even if he didn’t exactly want to hear the answer.

“He found me in the lake. Freezing, nearly dead.” Tears were rolling down your face now, and you felt Yoongi’s soft fingers rubbing soothing circles on your wrist. You looked up, gaze focused on the wall behind Yoongi. “Brought me to the hospital, checked me in, and left. I didn’t hear from him for a few months after that. When I finally did he texted me and told me that he didn’t think he could handle my ‘destructive behavior’, and offered to pay for my treatment”, you murmured that last part, voice faltering as you sucked in a shaky breath. “I haven’t seen him since that night, Yoongi.” At this, you finally looked into Yoongi’s eyes, your own crinkled in pain, tears freely falling down your face, and Yoongi’s heart broke. No. It shattered into a million tiny pieces. He barely knew you, but he wanted to do everything in his power to make you feel loved, wanted to show you that someone cared about you. You weren’t going to scare him away with your demons. 

Yoongi scooted a little closer to you on the couch, releasing your hand in the process, and gathered your shrunken form into his arms and hugged you close. A beat passed before you hugged back, uncertain if you should. But his warmth had you melting into him, you chest heaving with pitiful sobs. The hug was a little awkward, with you both sitting on the couch, so Yoongi brought his leg up and slotted it behind you, moving even closer to you. Yoongi’s ambiguous nature long gone as he rubbed a large hand up and down your back, pushing his face into your hair, shushing you. You sat there, in his embrace, for what felt like hours, but was realistically probably only 5 minutes. When your sobs started to slow down, Yoongi pulled back slightly, arms still wrapped firmly around you, looking you in the eye, “YN-” he started, but you cut him off before he could finish. 

With a small sniffle and watery eyes, you whispered, “I’m broken Yoongi. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t want to be here. I only cause others pain.”

He seemed confused by your statement at first. His dark eyes searching your own for a second before he whispered, “I see you here, year after year. I can tell YN, I can see it. You’re broken by what happened, but you are not a broken person. You’re so beautiful honey, and from what I’ve seen of you tonight, you’re kind and worthy. Worthy of love, worthy of life, and worthy of happiness.” Your eyes started to well up with tears again and Yoongi gave you a sad smile, thumb reaching up and caressing your cheek to wipe them away. “I didn’t come up to your deck tonight because I thought you locked yourself out of your house. I came over because I’ve seen the torment in your eyes, and I’ve been there before. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone. I wanted to be here for you, regardless of how well I know you. Maybe I can get to know you in the process, b-but I want you to be ok, YN.” He softly whispered the last part softly, dark eyes starting to well with his own unshed tears.

“You barely know me Yoongi. Your words are sweet, but I’m not worthy. I’ve been drowning myself in liquor, killing myself with cigarettes, and pushing everyone in my life away for the last seven years. I’m a shit human.” You look down, hand reaching up to gently grasp Yoongi’s wrist, slowly pulling his hand from your face. The hurt in his eyes was hard to miss. 

“I barely know you, but yet I want to know more. Doesn’t that say something? You think you’re not worthy, but I’m right here, telling you I think you’re interesting, lovable, and funny. I want to get to know you.” He pulled his hand, ever so gently, away from your grasp, placing it on your lower back to pull you against his chest. “You matter YN.”

You let out another quiet sob into Yoongi’s flannel shirt, inhaling his soft citrus-y scent that has been a calming presence to you all night. “Promise me tomorrow, YN. Promise me you’ll stay tomorrow, talk to me, get to know me a little more,” he mumbled into your hair, “all I’m asking for is tomorrow.”

You thought to yourself for a moment. You could do that. You could promise one more day. Even if you had to suffer through it, at least Yoongi would be there with you. Inhaling a shaky breath, you gasped out an, “ok.”

Yoongi smiled to himself, a sad, small smile. He was happy you were going to give yourself a chance, even if it was under the guise of giving him a chance. He was determined to make you see life was worth living.

You woke up with a splitting headache. Was it from the copious amounts of alcohol you consumed yesterday, or from all the crying you did? You didn’t know. All you knew was the sunlight streaming in from your bedroom window was going to be the death of you. You let out a weak groan as you rolled over, pulling the soft duvet cover over your head. You didn’t want to get out of bed, but you knew you needed to get some water, or your headache was only going to get worse.

Throwing the covers off yourself, you slowly sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You grabbed your phone from your bedside table, noting that it was December 22. Three more days until Christmas. As you looked at your phone, you noticed your arms were covered by a thick, wool like fabric. This wasn’t your pajamas, what were you wearing? You stood up and walked over to the floor length mirror on the back of your bedroom door, still littered with stickers from that time you and your friend Mina visited the cabin when you were 14. 

As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, the events of last night came rushing back to you. Yoongi. You were wearing his coat that he so kindly brought over to you last night while you were out on your deck. Yoongi sat with you while you cried into his shirt for an hour after you had spilled your life story to him, letting all your monsters out to play. You could see the remnants of your sobbing on your face, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. After you calmed down a bit, Yoongi wrapped you in his jacket and carried you to your bed, shaky and cold. He laid you down gently, pulling the covers over your sleepy form and whispered, “Tomorrow. I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’re going to get to know each other better” before he left. Too tired to speak, you rolled over and fell asleep. 

Your face heated with embarrassment. A man you hardly knew took care of you last night, carried you to your bed. This wasn’t like you. He hugged you last night! You haven’t had any human contact in nearly three years. The last person you hugged was your therapist at the rehab facility, and even that was awkward and a little forced. At the thought of him hugging you, you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, remembering how you melted into his warm chest last night. You didn’t realize just how touch starved you’d become in the last few years, but the evidence was right there. Shaking off your humiliation, you shrugged off Yoongi’s jacket and rummaged through your suitcase for some clothes. Surely, you’d feel better after a shower and some breakfast. Right?

After rinsing the previous night from your skin, you dressed in some sweats and a t-shirt, not really bothering to do your hair. You didn’t plan on leaving the cabin today, at most you would sit out on the deck again. Heading back into your room, you hear a soft knock coming from your living room. At first you thought you were hearing things, until another knock, slightly louder, sounded through the cabin. 

As you made your way down the hallway and into the living room, you saw a smiling Yoongi through the sliding glass door standing on your back deck. His arms were full, with… what did he have? Bags? You rushed forward past the couches and unlocked and slid the door open.

“Good morning - er, I guess afternoon now?” Yoongi stuttered a little awkwardly, albeit friendly. He stumbled through your back door and made his way over to the kitchen island. You watched his back as he set down a couple of bags and a blanket on the marble countertop. You tilted your head at him as he turned around to face you. “I, um, I thought we could spend the day together if - if that’s ok with you?” he lilted his words at the end. 

You remember the promise you made to Yoongi last night as you stared at him, mouth agape. One more day. You promised him today. You were slightly surprised that Yoongi made good on his promise, half expecting him to bolt last night and never speak to you again after everything you unloaded on him, yet here he was, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“What’s in the bags?” You questioned as you moved towards the kitchen, blinking dumbly at Yoongi. 

“Well, I noticed last night that you didn’t have much food in your fridge, mostly just liquor and soda,” your cheeks heated as he called you on your bad habits, “so I brought over some groceries. I thought we could make lunch and since it’s a little too cold outside, we could set up a picnic in the living room.” he offered, gesturing to the blanket sitting on your countertop. “If that’s ok with you, of course.” He sounded a little abashed, having not gotten your number last night, he wasn’t able to see if you were ok with all of this beforehand. He was taking a leap of faith here, hoping that you would take him up on his offer.

You smiled shyly at him, “that sounds really nice, Yoongi, thank you.” Not having a drop of alcohol in your system was making your normal, shy self emerge from the mask you usually wear, shrouded behind a layer of liquor. 

Yoongi offered you a gummy smile, showing off his perfect teeth. His smile was warm, inviting, much like his scent. You were slowly realizing that you quite enjoyed his company. Maybe a little more than you should have.

You and Yoongi had spent the afternoon cooking and chatting in your kitchen, making a stew from a recipe Yoongi had in one of his grandmother’s old cookbooks. You discovered that he was a natural in the kitchen, moving through the recipes with ease. He told you stories about how he used to come out here to visit his grandma and she would always cook with him in the very cabin he lived in now. He told you how he inherited it from her 8 years ago when she passed away, and how he quit his office job in Daegu to move out here and become a freelance writer. You admired his bravery, being able to leave his life behind and take a risk moving out here. Part of you wished you were able to take that jump, you truly loved this cabin, and most of the memories that came with it. 

Now, you and Yoongi were sitting on his blanket, in front of your fireplace, eating the stew the two of you made together. “So where are you from, YN?” Yoongi asked as he finished off his bowl, setting it down on the hardwood floor. 

“Busan,” you stated simply. “I still live there. I usually only make the trip out here for Christmas now. I used to come up during the summers, too, but haven’t in a while.”

“And what do you do, in Busan?” he asked, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his elbows, full focus on you.

“I work at an animal shelter. Nothing fancy. I tend to prefer the company of animals, rather than humans,” you offered somewhat abashedly. You were telling the truth. You had always wanted to become a veterinarian, ever since you could talk, really. But you just didn’t have the time, or the money to go to school, so you found the next best option.

“I definitely get that,” Yoongi agreed, “I have a calico cat at home. It gets lonely up here sometimes, and he helps keep me sane.” He smiled thinking about the furball he adopted a couple years ago, probably resting peacefully in his favorite sunbathing spot back at home. 

Your eyes lit up at the mention of a cat and Yoongi filed that away for later. “Really? What’s his name?”

Yoongi was more than happy to indulge in your sudden curiosity, happy he found something you’re actually interested in. “Mochi. He’s a male calico, I hear they’re pretty rare. I found him at the local shelter in town a couple years back. He’s a sweet little thing.”

Your conversation continued throughout the afternoon much the same. You told Yoongi about your dreams to become a vet that would probably never come to fruition, and in turn he told you about his previous job in Daegu as a marketing analyst. You shared with each other your big (and small) dreams and aspirations, discussed TV shows you both liked, and talked about different recipes you enjoy. 

You were actually enjoying yourself and spending time with Yoongi, something you really didn’t expect to happen when you were on the drive up here a few days ago. You haven’t really had a friend to talk to for a long time, your only close friend Mina having moved to the United States five years ago, you never really made the effort to make any new ones. Yoongi was nice, you thought to yourself as he talked more about his cat, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. 

By dinner time you were both starting to get hungry again, so you suggested ordering take out while you both cleaned up the mess in the kitchen from earlier.  You called the chicken place you knew of in town, while Yoongi started loading the dishwasher. “Hey YN?” you heard from the kitchen.

“Yes?” You half shouted back, walking down the hallway towards Yoongi. 

“Where are your dish- oh nevermind, found them!” He shouted back as you walked into the kitchen. He stood up straight after shutting the dishwasher, sighing and wiping his hands down the front of his jeans. “Dishes are done, food is ordered. What do you say we watch some Christmas movies?” 

For the rest of the night, you and Yoongi sat in front of the TV, watching sappy Lifetime movies, eating chicken and drinking beer. It was probably the most fun you’ve had in quite a few years, and you were really thankful for his company. At the end of the night, you and Yoongi exchanged phone numbers with a promise that you would give Yoongi one more day, at least, to get to know you better. You agreed, and Yoongi left with one final gummy smile and wave of his hand. 

You sighed, rubbing your hand down the front of your face. Having Yoongi here was a great distraction, but now that he’s gone and you can hear the faint sound of Christmas music playing on the credits of some crappy movie, reality was starting to sink in. After these two weeks were over, you’d return to Busan, Yoongi-less, and have to resume your normal life again. A life you weren’t satisfied with. A life you knew you didn’t want to continue living. Being here made you feel like that life didn’t exist anymore, like you were almost, happy? But you knew that it would all be over soon and everything would hurt again. You didn’t want to let yourself get wrapped up in Yoongi because only bad things could come of it, but he was making it really, really hard. You could see yourself falling for Yoongi, allowing him to make you happy, but you couldn’t. You had way too much baggage, you would never be the happy go-lucky girl you were in your teens again. You would always live with this depression, with these demons. 

As you changed into your pajamas, you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Your eyes were sunken in, your skin was pale, and your hair had seen better days. You knew you hadn’t been taking great care of yourself, but you didn’t think it had gotten this bad. What did Yoongi see in you anyways? Your life was a wreck and you looked like it, too. You sighed to yourself, running a brush through your hair. You promised Yoongi one more day, so you were going to make it through tomorrow, at least.

December 23. Two more days until Christmas. You woke up feeling a little lighter this morning after having spent yesterday with Yoongi, but you also had a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never really been one to believe in superstitions, but for some reason, you had a strong feeling something bad was going to happen soon. You tried to shake off the feeling. You had woken up early this morning, just before sunrise and decided to take a steaming shower.

After your shower, you got dressed in comfy clothes and decided to sit out on the deck and smoke for a bit. It was still early in the morning, the sun still on the horizon. It really was beautiful out here. You had the perfect view of the lake from your deck. It faced towards the east, giving you a gorgeous view of the sunset just above the frozen lake. The colors of the sky were so pretty this time of day, oranges mixing with pretty pinks, you felt like you were on set for a romance movie. 

There was a low fog rolling onto the embankment from the frozen lake. It almost looked like dry ice, white billows of smoke swirling in the slight morning breeze. Admiring the landscape, you took a cigarette out of your pack, and slid your lighter out of your pocket. The sun was just barely starting to pass over the mountains in the east. You shivered a little as you lit up your cigarette, taking a deep inhale of smoke. You instantly felt at ease, the weird feeling from earlier dissipating with the sharp exhale of smoke. 

Yoongi hadn’t gone to sleep yet, and was typing on his laptop, Mochi in his lap, on his sofa. He spent a majority of the day over at your cabin yesterday and spent all night trying to get caught up with work. As a freelance writer, he made his own hours, but he wanted to make sure he was going to meet his next deadline, coming up in a few weeks. 

He gently closed his laptop and stretched his arms up into the air, cracking a few joints in the process. The noise startled Mochi and he shot up out of Yoongi’s lap, across the kitchen floor. “Sorry, buddy,” Yoongi mumbled, sleep thick in his voice. He watched as Mochi slid across the linoleum and jumped up onto the window sill above the sink. Yoongi looked out of the window curiously, eyes catching on a figure. He stood up from his spot on the sofa slowly, making his way towards the window, mindful of Mochi this time.

From his kitchen window, Yoongi had a perfect view of you standing on your deck smoking a cigarette. He watched as you took a deep inhale every couple of minutes and exhaled white swirls of smoke through your nose. The sun was just beginning to rise and the light was catching beautifully on the planes of your face. Yoongi took a moment to admire you, since he hasn’t really had the chance before. You were always intently watching him, waiting for his next move, almost like you were afraid he would leave, never quite giving in to his friendship.

The light shone over your features beautifully, highlighting your sharp cheekbones and sunken in eyes. Yoongi noticed you looked a little thin, he wasn’t sure if that had to do with heredity or something more sinister, but he tried not to dwell on it. Long eyelashes flutter over your cheeks everytime you close your eyes, basking in the sunlight. Your fingers, long and slender, held the cigarette so delicately. You seemed so gentle, so ethereal, he wonders why the world had to be so cruel to you. What did you do to deserve the foul things that have happened to you? Nothing, you didn’t do anything. You were just delt a bad hand at life. 

He watched as your long hair fluttered around your face in the breeze. It looks like you just washed it, he thought, you must be cold in the crisp morning air. With one last exhale of smoke, you put your cigarette out on the railing of your deck. Yoongi smirked to himself when he saw the small pout form on your lips. How could someone be so beautiful, yet so broken? Yoongi wasn’t sure why he felt this strong urge to protect you, to prevent any further harm coming to you, but he knew that he would do everything in his power to make sure you felt cared for. He was drawn to you, in a way he has never been drawn to another person. It both scared and excited him and sent butterflies through his stomach. He took one last glance at you through the window and decided it would be best if he got some rest before trekking back over to your cabin later. 

The rest of your morning went by relatively smoothly, having made breakfast after coming inside from your morning smoke. You cooked yourself some eggs and toast and then decided to check some emails on your laptop you brought with you. You saw a couple of emails from your boss, asking about adoption paperwork that he couldn’t find on your desk. You emailed him back quickly with the forms you had stored in your files, before powering off your computer, done with work for now. You moved the laptop from the top of your thighs to the nightstand next to your bed and leaned back against the headboard. You folded your arms behind your head and glanced around the room, taking in your childhood surroundings. 

The walls of your bedroom were still a pastel pink color with sponged on white clouds reaching up to the ceiling. You had a vivid memory of helping your mom paint the clouds when you were 8 years old. She would laugh at you everytime you would pout because the cloud didn’t come out exactly how you wanted it to. 

Across from your full size bed, was a white dresser with claw feet that still contained some old summer clothes from when you would visit during your breaks from school, probably a few sizes too small now. Along the side of the dresser and the white full length mirror on the back of your door, were stickers from your favorite bands when you were a teenager. You and Mina had collected them throughout the school year and would stick them on when you arrived for the summer. You smiled at the memories this room brought back. This was the reason you kept returning here every year, you tell yourself. To remember the times when you were happy and loved life. 

You let out a deep sigh and sunk back onto your mattress further, eyes feeling droopy. When your head hit the soft pillow, you stared up at the ceiling, still white because your mom said painting the ceiling pink would have made the room feel claustrophobic. There were still little pieces of sticky tape stuck to the stucco from when you had plastered glow in the dark stars and planets all over the ceiling, long since gone now. You never updated anything in the house, bought new furniture, or moved anything around. It would feel wrong, you thought. It wouldn’t feel like home anymore if you made changes. 

You hadn’t even entered the master bedroom, where your parents slept, since they passed. You know that Namjoon has, having gone through some of their belongings in the years since their death, but you never could bring yourself to do it. Joon had also gone through his childhood things in his room, just across the hall from you, taking what he cared for back to Seoul with him. You wondered what was left in there, too tired to actually get up and check. As you reminisced on your cabin, sleep began to take over, and eventually you fell asleep to the slow hum of the heater.

You sat up straight in bed, clutching your shirt, breathing heavy. What was that noise? Ding ding. You let out a breath of relief. It’s just the doorbell. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, briefly glancing at the clock on your side table. 4:03 pm. How long did you sleep?

As you got up to answer the door you caught your reflection in the mirror, straightening your bed head out a little. As you made your way to the front of the house, you heard soft knocking on the door. “Coming, coming!” you yelled out to whoever was on the other side. When you arrived at the front door, you looked out the glass pane next the door, finding Yoongi standing there on your front porch. He was holding a - duffle bag? You squint your eyes in confusion, but open the door anyways. 

“Hi YN!” Yoongi starts, before taking in your appearance. You were wearing what looked to be pajama shorts and an oversized white t-shirt. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” He looked a little sheepish, running his hair through his blonde locks.

“A-ah, yeah, but it’s ok! I really shouldn’t have slept this long anyway,” you trailed off, opening the door a little wider and motioning for Yoongi to come in. “What’s that?” You asked, pointing at the black bag clutched in his hand.

“Oh, well…” he starts, coming all the way through the entryway and toeing his shoes off next to yours, he assumed. “Since the forecast says it’s supposed to snow, I brought some board games and some movies,” he seemed a little unsure, wary that you were going to tell him you didn’t want to hang out, or something. You smiled at him to ease his worries.

“I love board games,” you began, walking off towards your kitchen, Yoongi trailing behind you. “I haven’t really played any in years though,” you falter, “I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

Yoongi gave you the gentlest smile you’ve seen from a man, making you melt a little more. What was this guy doing to you? “Don’t worry, I’m not the competitive type anyways.” He gave you a little wink, making you giggle. Yoongi’s eyes shot up to yours, a gummy smile spreading across his handsome face. The tinkling sound of your laugh made his inside heat up. He absolutely adored the sound. 

The two of you ended up ordering take out again, Yoongi insisting on paying this time, and sat on your couches with games and snacks spread out on the coffee table. You guys had already played a couple rounds of Scrabble, and one round of Scattergories and now you were leaning back enjoying the pizza Yoongi had ordered. Just like Yoongi had predicted, it started snowing around 6 o’clock and has been for the last hour or so. 

“You’re telling me you lived your whole life never having a pet?!” You laughed, hand covering your mouth still full of pizza.

“Nope. My parents never let me have a pet growing up and when I was old enough to move out I was just too busy to take care of one. A few years ago when I was feeling lonely, I decided to give it a go.”

You couldn’t imagine a life without pets. Growing up your family always had dogs or cats around, one time even adopting a pet hamster. You haven’t had pets in a few years, but you’re around them all the time due to work. 

“I love Mochi, though. I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it now.” He smiled fondly, talking about his beloved cat. “What about you, any pets back home?”

“Ah, no. I don’t have the time anymore. But it’s ok because I spend most of my time with them at work.” As much as you hated the people you worked with, you absolutely adored the animals. You didn’t think you could ever work in a profession that didn’t allow you to work with animals, it just wouldn’t make sense to you. 

Yoongi smiled at you, damn that smile was making you seriously weak. “I’d love to introduce you to Mochi while you’re here, if you’d like.” 

“I would love that.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow? It’ll be Christmas Eve, I can cook something for us, and you can hangout with Mochi. I’m sure he’d love the company, I’m usually pretty boring.” He laughed. 

“I -” you hesitated. Why were you hesitating? You really liked Yoongi. You liked him so much that you even forgot about your promise to him about ‘one more day’. You were enjoying the time you spent with him so much that thoughts about your parents, Namjoon, and your demons we’re at the back of your mind when you were with him. You mean, you’ve literally only smoked two cigarettes today, that has to be some sort of record for you. So why were you hesitating?You knew why, you didn’t want Yoongi to get too attached. Who were you kidding, you didn’t want to get too attached. You’d be leaving soon and it would only hurt you more in the long run. Yoongi was staring at you, a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea, Yoongi.”

The crestfallen look on Yoongi’s face made you want to immediately take back your words, but he beat you to it. “Can I ask you why you think that?” He was much bolder than when you met a couple of days ago, you noted. 

You wrung your hands together in your lap, having finished your slice of pizza a few minutes ago. “I just don’t want to make this harder than it already is,” you trailed off, eyes fixated on a loose thread on the rug beneath the coffee table, “I have to go back home in a week, and like I told you a couple of days ago, I’m not sure if I even want to live that life anymore.” You whispered the last part, biting on the inside of your cheek. 

Yoongi’s eyes softened. He realized it wasn’t about him, but about you and how you didn’t want to hurt him. He knew you were too kind for your own good. “YN. It’s just dinner. And who says we can’t still be friends when you do go back home?” he added extra emphasis to the word do, making sure to not leave an ‘if’ in that sentence. He’s going to make sure you make it back home in one piece if it’s the last thing he does. 

You knew what Yoongi was trying to do, and you really did appreciate it. You also really enjoyed his company, so you thought, fuck it. “Ok” you whispered out softly, finally meeting Yoongi’s eyes. 

“Ok? Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Yes. I’ll have dinner with you. On one condition” you acquiesced, a soft smirk on your face.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his blonde fringe. “Anything” he breathed out, a little too quickly for his liking.

“I get to cuddle with your cat all night. I really miss the animals.”

Yoongi tried, and failed, to hide a huge grin. “Deal.”

Last night, after you agreed to have dinner with Yoongi, you played a few more board games, kicking his ass in Monopoly a couple of times, before you said your goodbyes. Yoongi left the board games at your house, reasoning that he would definitely be back over to avenge himself in Monopoly. You giggled at him as you waved goodbye with the promise of dinner.

It was now 1 o’clock in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, and you were starting to panic. Christmas Eve was a hard day for you to get through, considering the memories you have of this day. Not only that, but you still couldn’t shake that odd feeling that you had when you woke up yesterday. However, today is even more panic-inducing because you are about to have dinner with your cute neighbor, who you may or may not have a slight (read: huge) crush on. 

You spent a majority of your morning sulking around your cabin, taking more than a few smoke breaks on the deck, and cleaning the kitchen and living room up in your anxiety driven state. Now, with nothing left to tidy up, you decide to start getting ready for dinner. 

After taking a long, hot shower, you dried and styled your hair, put just enough makeup on to cover your dark bags and sallow skin, and ventured to your room to rummage through your suitcase in order to find something appropriate to wear. You didn’t bring much with you on this trip besides sweatpants and pajamas. It’s not like you would’ve gone anywhere other than the corner store for more cigarettes had you not met Yoongi. You eventually decide on a dark pair of jeans that you luckily decided to throw in your suitcase last minute, and an old band t-shirt. You honestly didn’t have much else, and you were hoping Yoongi understood (he did) you didn’t really plan on seeing anyone these couple of weeks. 

A little after four in the afternoon, your anxiety started to build up even more. You were anxiously awaiting Yoongi’s text to head over to his place, and decided that it was a great time for a smoke. You grabbed Yoongi’s coat that was draped over your vanity chair, your pack of cigarettes, and your lighter, and headed out towards the deck. You had been so wrapped up in making yourself look presentable, that you had mostly forgotten what day it was, and the dread you usually felt about it. It was nice in a way, but now, sitting out here on your deck, staring out at that damned lake, you couldn’t help but remember why it was you started smoking these stupid cigarettes in the first place. 

“YN?” you heard someone call, distant, yet still close? You were confused, you couldn’t open your eyes. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? “YN, can you hear me?” Namjoon? Namjoon! You thought to yourself. Why couldn’t he hear you!?

For a moment, your eyes fluttered open. You saw Namjoon, hovering above you. But there was someone else next to him. They were wearing a uniform. A cop? No. They were wearing latex gloves and holding what looked like an IV bag.  “YN!” You heard Namjoon yell again. You desperately wanted to answer him, but your voice wouldn’t come through. You blinked a few times, before everything faded to black again. That was the last memory you had of your brother. 

Your cell phone dinged in your pocket, startling you back into the present. You looked at the cigarette in your hand, nearly burned to the butt and you haven’t taken a single drag. Quickly, you brought it up to your lips and inhaled before pulling your phone out of Yoongi’s coat. 

From Yoongi [4:33 pm]: dinner will be ready in 20, want to head over?

You glanced over to Yoongi’s house, briefly looking through the only window that had the curtains drawn. You didn’t see any movement. Had he seen you out here smoking again? You looked back at your phone, taking another drag from the cigarette, before typing out your reply. 

From You [4:35 pm]: ya, be right over

You pocketed your phone and put your cigarette out, tossing the butt into the trash can on your way back inside. You locked the sliding glass door before heading to your room to spray some perfume. You didn’t want to go over to Yoongi’s smelling like smoke. Before you left, you grabbed your keys, double checked the doors were locked, and walked the short distance between the two houses. 

Before you knocked, you took in the state of Yoongi’s home. It was quant, smaller than your parent’s cabin, painted white with forest green window sills and roof tiles. You noticed there were planter boxes under his front windows, but no plants to be found. Hung on his front door was a cute Christmas wreath, plain with pretty burgundy poinsettias on it. You smiled to yourself, happy to see some form of Christmas decorations, not having put any of your own out. You’ve really forgotten how much you used to love Christmas. You loved the decorations, the food, the movies, but you’ve really forgotten what it was like to feel that holiday cheer. Having Yoongi in your life, even for these few days, has really helped you see what you’ve been missing out on.

Before you could even lift your hand to knock on the dark green door, it was opening to reveal a giddy looking Yoongi. You took a moment to drink him in, in all his glory. He was wearing some dark jeans, much like you, and a plain black t-shirt. You idly wondered if he didn’t dress up on purpose to spare you the embarrassment of not having nice clothes. His blonde hair, usually a disheveled mess, was combed out and surprisingly shiny, despite what looked like excessive bleaching. The moment he saw that you were wearing his coat, a huge gummy grin took over his face, causing his cat-like eyes to scrunch in happiness. The look on his face made butterflies erupt in your stomach, as you mirrored his grin.

“Hi,” he said shyly, still smiling.

“Hi yourself,” you breathed, “thank you for having me over.”

He waved away your thanks, moving aside and gesturing for you to come in. “Don’t mention it, really. The pleasure is all mine.” You don’t know the weight those words hold, but he means it, you can tell. 

As you walked through the entryway of his home, you pulled off your shoes, setting them on the neatly organized shoe rack next to his front door. Moving through to his living room, you noticed how well organized his entire house was. There was a pristine looking cover over his sofa which also housed a couple of blankets and throw pillows. On his coffee table were a few books and what looked like photo albums. As you took in your surroundings, Yoongi watched you curiously, one eyebrow cocked. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you weren’t expecting him to be so… clean?

“I like to keep things organized, sometimes it can be a bad habit of mine,” he trailed off, looking around his neat space, “dinner is almost done. Do you want something to drink?”

“Yes, please.” You sighed in relief. You were pacified at the thought of having a glass of something to help lessen your nerves. You only knew Yoongi for the past three days, but for some reason, this almost felt like a first date. God, when was the last time you went on a date? It had to have been at least 5 years ago. The thought alone made your anxiety flare up tenfold. 

“I have both white and red wine, soda and different types of tea…” you were still standing awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you looking almost like you were afraid to move further into his house. Yoongi walked up to you, gently taking your hand in his, causing your eyes to snap up, meeting his own. “Hey, it’s ok,” he smiled gently at you, “come on, I’ll get us those drinks.” 

He led you into his kitchen which had his dining room attached, a small four person wooden table sitting near a bay window. It was cozy, you thought, somewhere you would like to retire too. Now, that wasn’t a thought you’d had in a long time. You never wondered about growing old, surprise you even made it this far. 

Yoongi let go of your hand to reach into a cabinet by his sink. “Wine ok?” he asked, sensing the tension in your body. 

“Y-yes. Red, please.” You weren’t sure why you were being so shy and awkward, you’ve spent the last couple of days getting to know Yoongi, pretty well you might add. You think it’s partly to do with what day it is, as Christmas Eve always puts you a little more on edge, and a little more flighty. Yoongi quietly pours two glasses of red wine, passing one to you politely. You murmur a thank you before taking a sip.

Yoongi watched you as you sipped your wine, looking around his kitchen curiously. He could sense your anxiety, it was rolling off of you in waves. He didn’t want this to be awkward, he wanted to make sure you had a good night, and wanted to take your mind off of things for a while. “Want to meet Mochi?” he asked, hopeful it would shift your mood a little. 

Your eyes lit up at the mention of the cat, and were quickly nodding your head. Yoongi walked away down the hallway, returning moments later with a petite framed calico cat in his arms. You internally chuckled at the resemblance they shared in their small statures. “He’s a little shy, but if you give him some time, he’ll warm up to you” Yoongi smiled at you, leading you over to his couch, sitting down with Mochi in his lap. Slowly, you sat down, not wanting to scare the creature, and sat your wine glass on a wooden coaster on the coffee table. 

Immediately upon sitting, Mochi hopped off Yoongi’s lap and right into yours. You let out a small, shocked gasp as the cat started kneading into your thighs, making himself comfortable. Yoongi’s eyes widened as they met you. “H-he never does that. It usually takes him a while to warm up to people. In fact, the first time my friend Jungkook came over, he nearly lost an eye to him.” He chuckled lowly at the memory. 

“Animals usually like me,” you said softly, bringing your hand up to run through Mochi’s fur. It was long, and extremely fluffy, “I think they know how much I adore them.” Yoongi watched on as you smiled down at his now purring cat in your lap. For a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like to adopt another cat with you, or maybe even a dog, before lightly shaking his head and rising from the couch. 

“I’m gonna check on dinner, it should be done soon. You’ll probably be… occupied, until then.” Yoongi gave you a soft smile, which you returned, before walking off into the kitchen. You leaned back into the soft fabric of the couch, absentmindedly running your hand over Mochi. 

You could hear the clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen as you loved on Mochi. Whatever Yoongi was cooking smelled absolutely delicious and was making your mouth water. You had only eaten breakfast today, and were on the verge of starving. On top of that, you haven’t had a Christmas meal in ages. You were actually starting to get excited about having dinner with Yoongi, and you had this purring love bug in your lap, and your glass of wine, to thank. 

“It’s ready!” Yoongi called from the kitchen, scaring the sleeping cat, causing him to jump up and run off towards the kitchen. “Oh you scaredy cat” Yoongi grumbled as Mochi slid past him on the floor. You chuckled as you got up from the couch and headed towards the dining table. Upon seeing what Yoongi had laid out on the table, your eyes widened and you let out a breathy gasp. 

“You made all this?!” You questioned incredulously. 

“U-uh, yeah? I told you, I used to cook with my grandma. We always made Christmas dinners together,” he ran his hand through his, now messy, locks, “I still try and cook as much as I can, I actually enjoy it.” He looked away, blush rising to his cheeks.

You looked at all the different assortments of food Yoongi had prepared. There was a large skillet that contained beef bulgogi, and smaller dishes that housed kimchi, steamed eggs, japchae, and steamed rice. “It looks amazing, Yoongi!” You exclaimed, a genuine smile on your face. 

“Well let’s not stare at it all night. Let’s eat!”

You and Yoongi ate your meal, laughing at each other’s odd Christmas stories. You both had another glass of wine, feeling looser as the night went on. Mochi sat close to his owner, tail flicking idly, waiting for scraps of food to be accidentally flung from chopsticks during conversation. According to Yoongi, the cat loved eggs, a trait he found both odd and endearing. You were so enthralled in conversation with Yoongi, you barely registered that the food was nearly gone, two glasses of wine downed, and it was nearing midnight. Sparing a glance at the oven clock, you realized just how late it was getting.  “Do you mind,” you started, before hesitating, unsure if you wanted to ask. 

“What is it, YN?” Yoongi encouraged you. He was so kind, always observant, sensing when you needed a little push.

“Would you mind if I went out back to smoke?” You looked away, rubbing your hand up and down your arm, embarrassed that you were about to bring your conversation to and end just because you needed to smoke. Nasty habit, you knew you should quit, but it was hard.

“Oh, of course! Sorry, I didn’t realize it was getting so late,” he started, getting up from his seat and grabbing dishes, “want me to join you? I can deal with the mess later.”

You grabbed your own plate, following him to the sink and setting it down gently. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.” You smile at Yoongi, happy for the company.

Yoongi didn’t have a deck like you, but he had a nice yard with tall, green grass. Right off his dining room was a sliding glass door that led to a small concrete patio that was furnished with a couple patio chairs and a fire pit. His land went straight back, down to the lake, just like yours. The only thing separating your properties was a line of shrubs and trees. Yoongi was busying himself with the fire pit as you sat in one of the chairs. You opened your pack of cigarettes, noticing you only had one left, mentally nothing you’d had to run down to the store to grab more. 

As you lit your cigarette, Yoongi was lighting a small fire with the firewood he kept by the backdoor. It was a small one, but it was enough to keep you warm in the freezing weather. Instead of sitting down in the chair across from you, like you expected him to, Yoongi stood in front of you and held his hand out. For a moment, you were confused, until you realized he wanted you to take his outstretched hand. You complied, placing your free hand in his, turning your head to blow out your previous inhale of smoke. 

Yoongi gave you a gentle tug, indicating he wanted you to stand up. As you stood, Yoongi maneuvered himself behind you, so you were standing directly in front of the fire, as he shakily wrapped his arms around your middle. The feeling of his hands on your waist was doing things to you in your alcohol hazed state. 

“Is this ok?” he asked quietly, lips close to your ear and he set his chin on your shoulder. You nodded slightly, feeling almost dizzy from whatever this feeling was that Yoongi was causing. You could feel his warm breath on your neck as you took another drag from your cigarette. 

“Does the smoke not bother you?” you asked, a little forced, holding the smoke in your lungs. 

“I just want to be close to you,” he whispers, “YN, I like you.” 

You giggled at his comment, releasing the smoke from your chest. “I like you too, Yoongi.”

“No, YN, I mean I really, really like you.”

To say you were surprised by his sudden confession would be an understatement. You took a sharp inhale of breath, nearly choking on the cold air, and not because of your cigarette, before Yoongi began again, “I’m sorry if it’s sudden, or if it’s not what you want to hear right now, but I really need you to know that I enjoy spending time with you, and would love the opportunity to get to know you better, if you’ll allow me.” You tossed the butt of your cigarette into the fire pit and hesitantly turned around in Yoongi’s arms. 

Your arms snaked around his shoulder, criss-crossing behind his neck. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the things that go on in my head.” The wine was making you bold, making you want to tell Yoongi exactly how you felt. “I’m afraid if you get to know me, you wont like what you find.”

Yoongi sighed, looking deep into your eyes that have long since lost their sparkle. “I can’t promise you much, YN. I’m a freelance writer who lives in the middle of nowhere. But what I can promise you, is that whatever I find in you, wont send me running. I know what I’ve already found in you - you’re a sweet, compassionate girl, who in just three days has me falling head over heels,” he breathed, inches away from your face, “I’ve never met anyone like you, YN.” Yoongi brought his hand from your waist up to your face, ever so gently gracing the back of his fingers against your sharp cheekbone. 

You leaned into his touch, not remembering what it was like to be cared for in such a gentle manner. “Yoongi, I-” you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. You wanted so badly to give in to his sweet words, to let him in and break down your walls for him. You were scared, terrified even, of what that meant. He would learn all about your dark past, your demons, the monsters that threatened to take you down. A silent tear trailed down your cheek because of your internal battle. 

Yoongi was quick to swipe it away with his thumb. “You don’t have to say anything back, YN,” his voice barely a whisper, like if he spoke too loud you’d blow away in the cold breeze, “Just promise me one thing?” You made a sound of confirmation, “One more day.”

At that, you broke down in Yoongi’s strong arms. Your face pushed into his firm chest, tears flowing freely. Sobs wracked your chest and Yoongi held you, rubbing a hand up and down your back. You weren’t sure, but you think you feel Yoongi’s chest rising and falling in a rhythm that made it seem like he was crying with you. You didn’t want to chance a look at him, worried it would break you further. You stood there for what felt like an eternity before you calmed enough to pull back from Yoongi, hands unclasping from behind his back and coming around to fist in his shirt. “Thank you, Yoongi. Thank you.” You let out a couple more weak sobs, before hugging him as tightly as you could. You didn’t need to explain, Yoongi understood.

You and Yoongi stayed wrapped up in each other's arms for the better part of the night, having moved inside to the couch, before you were getting too tired to keep your eyes open. Yoongi was laying against the back of the couch, you slotted in front of him with his arms around your chest, holding you tightly to him. You let out a small yawn, making Yoongi smile to himself. “Tired, love?” 

You let out another yawn, bringing your hand up to rub your eyes. “Yeah,” you sighed, “I should probably get going.” You really didn’t want to leave, but you knew you should. You would feel a lot better in the morning if you slept in your own bed, not on this too small couch. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Yoongi offered, standing up from the couch, pulling you with him. You moved to take off his coat before he stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.” He smiled down at you, running his hand from your shoulder, down your arm, taking your hand in his. 

You smiled up at the slightly taller man, blushing profusely. You followed Yoongi through his home, toeing on your shoes at the front door, hands still intertwined. As promised, Yoongi walked you to your front porch, waiting until you had entered your house and locked the door before walking back to his own home. Once inside, you leaned your back against the door, head tilting until it hit the glass window pane in the middle of it. You sighed to yourself, feeling lighter than you have in probably years. You weren’t used to this feeling, and on Christmas Eve of all days. Well… You guessed it was probably Christmas now, with how long you spent laying on Yoongi’s couch. With that thought in mind, you pulled your phone out from Yoongi’s coat pocket to check the time. Before you could even register the time, you were stopping in your tracks as what greeted you on your phone screen. When was the last time you checked your phone? You’d been so wrapped up in Yoongi you don’t recall looking at it all night.

On your lock screen, you saw a missed call. Several, actually. From Namjoon. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Why was he calling you? You haven’t spoken to him in nearly three years. There was no reason for him to be calling you, unless there was some kind of emergency, right? Panicking, you walked further into the cabin, not bothering to take off the coat or your shoes. You sped walked right into your bedroom, eyes glued to your phone the entire time. Should you call him back? You weren’t sure if you wanted to speak to him right now, especially after the wonderful night you had with Yoongi. But - what if he was calling to apologize, to make things right? You had to find out.

As you unlocked your phone, you saw the notification for a new voicemail. Hesitantly, you opened your calls app, and clicked on the message from Namjoon. You saw it was only about a minute long. Curiosity getting the best of you, you played the message:

“Y-YN? YN! W-what are you doing baby sister?” you could tell he was drunk from the way he was slurring his words, panic immediately rising in your chest. “Are you at mom and dad’s cabin? Yo-you always did love it there, didn’t you? Loved it so much you even tried ending your own life there!” A sharp laugh came from the phone, causing you to pull it away from your ear for a second. “You know YN, I wish you- you did. I wish I never pulled you out of th-that fucking lake. Then m-maybe I wouldn’t have to relive that God damn nigh-nightmare every fucking n-night YN,” you didn’t want to listen anymore to this anymore, you shut your eyes tight,hot tears welling up behind your eyelids, “G-go be with mom and dad, it’s what you want right?! I just-” the line cut off, ending the voicemail. You stumbled backwards, back hitting your bedroom door. You couldn’t see, lights still off, not having bothered with them when you burst in the room. Stunned, you still had the phone to your ear, other hand coming up to push at your eyes, willing the tears to stop forming. You slid down the back of your bedroom door, finally letting go of your phone, causing it to clatter down to the wood floor. Your breathing was ragged, eyes still glued shut in pain. Panic. You were panicking. You haven’t had a panic attack in a couple of years, but you knew the signs. You hugged your knees to your chest and fell over on your side, sobbing into your forearms. 

Is that how Namjoon, your own brother, really felt all these years? He wished he never saved your life? It shouldn’t be surprising to you, the last memory you have of him is in the back of an ambulance, grief written all over his face. That was the last time you saw him, until he texted you months later after countless missed calls, texts, and emails from you. He told you that you needed help, and that he needed to distance himself from you. Did your actions take such a huge toll on his life, that he wished you were no longer on this planet? 

You aren’t sure how long you laid on your bedroom floor, sobbing, but it must have been hours. By the time you finally pulled yourself up, you could see the beginnings of morning shining through your window. 

You needed to smoke, or drink heavily, or do something to ease this pain. You remembered briefly that you were out of cigarettes, not willing to drive yourself to the store to buy more. Drinking seemed like it would only worsen your pain right now, so you pulled yourself over to your suitcase, tossing it open on your bed. After a few moments of rifling through your things, you found what you were looking for, before heading off into your bathroom.

It was Christmas day. Yoongi hasn’t been excited for Christmas since he was a teenager, and his mother was still around to make the holidays special. He hasn’t done much for Christmas since he moved out here. Every once in a while, Jungkook would invite him over for Christmas dinner with his wife a couple towns over, but she was pregnant this year and Yoongi didn’t want to intrude. 

Yoongi was actually excited for Christmas today. Sure, he didn’t have a tree, or presents to give, but he had someone to spend it with. Someone special, which was saying a lot for a recluse like him. 

It was early, an ungodly hour according to Yoongi on a normal day, but today was different. As he got out of bed, he startled Mochi who shot across the floor, out his bedroom door. He smiled to himself and shook his head lightly. Such a scaredy cat, he thought to himself. Yoongi planned on making some Christmas cookies, or maybe a rice cake for today, before heading over to your house to spend the day with you. After his late night confession yesterday, Yoongi was feeling bolder than ever when it came to you, and decided to shoot you a quick text to let you know he was thinking about you.

To YN [7:37 am]: good morning, love

To YN [7:37 am]: I hope it’s ok if I come over in a bit

To YN [7:38 am]: I want to let you sleep in a little longer, but I can’t wait to see you

He pocketed his phone, satisfied with his texts, for now. He assumed you were still sleeping since you were at his last night until well after midnight. 

As the morning went on, Yoongi whipped up a traditional rice cake with fruits, another recipe from his grandmother’s cookbook, something she always made for his family at Christmas. By the time he was done with the cake, it was nearing nine in the morning, and he was starting to worry slightly that you haven't texted him back. He usually saw you out on your deck having a morning smoke by now, and he had definitely been sneaking glances out his kitchen window to try and catch a glimpse of you. He didn’t see you all morning, which was causing a slight panic to arise in his chest. 

By 9:15, Yoongi couldn’t contain his panic anymore. Something was wrong. He could feel it. You should be awake by now. You always came out for a cigarette by now. Pulling on a coat, Yoongi put on his slippers, rice cake long forgotten, as he trudged over to your front door.

He knocked gently at first, not wanting to startle you if you indeed were just sleeping in. No response. This time, Yoongi wrapped on the door a little harder, making enough noise to wake you up without a doubt. He waited a couple of minutes before the feeling in his chest dropped to his stomach. He felt sick. This isn’t right. 

Yoongi walked around the front of your house to peer into your bedroom window. He vaguely remembered the location of it from when he carried you in there the first night you met. He put his hands up to the glass and attached his face to his fingers, looking into your room. He didn’t see you, but what he did see worried him even more. Your bedroom door was wide open and your suitcase was open on your bed. He glanced at the driveway to confirm your car was indeed still there before he ran around to your back deck. Yoongi was in full panic mode now, seconds away from breaking a window. When he got to your sliding glass door, he attempted to open it, and to his surprise it slid right open. He would have to give you a lecture about locking your doors after he made sure you were ok.

“YN?” he called out, slightly louder than he meant, “YN? Love? Are you in here?” Yoongi walked through your living room hesitantly, almost scared of what he might find. He didn’t see any sign of you, so he trudged down the hallway leading to your bedroom. “YN!?” His voice was starting to become panicked the longer he couldn’t find you. “YN please,” he sighed out, realizing wherever you were you probably weren’t hearing him. He peeked into your room one more time to make sure you really weren’t in there. He didn’t find you, but what he did find was your cellphone, laying on the floor with a cracked screen. Yoongi tilted his head as he knelt down to pick the phone up. It lit up with the movement, showing him the missed texts from himself, and missed calls from… Namjoon? Oh no. “No. No, no, no” Yoongi whispered to himself. This couldn't be good. He pocketed your phone, making his way further down the hallway. He saw light coming from underneath one of the closed doors and immediately started banging on it. “YN!? YN are you in there? Please love, open the door!” Yoongi tried turning the door handle, unsurprised when he found it locked. “YN I will break this door down!” He threatened, terrified beyond belief at what he would find when he did.

With one sharp inhale of air, Yoongi grabbed onto the door handle and shoved his shoulder into the door. Once, twice, and on the third hit it popped open, breaking the doorframe in the process. Yoongi ignored the stinging pain in his shoulder as soon as he saw your prone form on the bathroom floor, empty pill bottle in the sink. The air left Yoongi’s lungs as he knelt down next to your head, gently cradling your head in his hands, setting it in his lap. “YN?! No, no! YN!” He was frantically trying to get his phone out of his pocket and unlocked. “YN, honey, please. Please wake up, please. YN you promised. You promised me YN!” his cries were frantic, tears streaming down his face, “You promised me! Please YN!” he begged you to wake up, to be alive, terrified he would never see your eyes light up or your beautiful smile again. Hot tears streamed onto his phone as he dialed for emergency services.

Yoongi sat in the waiting area of the emergency room, speaking quietly into the phone, fingers playing with a frayed edge of this t-shirt. “I don’t know, Jungkook, they won't tell me anything.” He hadn’t stopped crying since he found you on your bathroom floor, now just letting silent tears roll down his cheeks.

“You’re telling me, you met some girl four days ago, have been spending all your time with her, and you find her, half alive on her bathroom floor? What kind of mess are you getting yourself into Yoongi? You’ve never been the type to take an interest in girls, much less ones you barely know!” Jungkook half-yelled through the phone. Yoongi understood why Jungkook was worried, he really did, but he was just looking for some kind of anchor right now to keep him grounded.

“JK, please,” Yoongi barely whimpered into the phone, lip trembling, “I l- I don’t want to lose her.” He wasn’t ready to say the words yet, not when he wasn’t sure if you were even going to make it. 

Jungkook heaved a heavy sigh, obviously frustrated with the situation. “I’m really sorry man. I wish I could tell you she was going to be alright, she’s - what was her name again?”

“YN.” 

“Right, YN. From what you’ve told me, it seems like you got to her before it was too late, right? I’m sure everything will be fine. You said they’re pumping her stomach now, I’m sure it won't be much longer before you have more answers,” Jungkook sounded like he wanted to add on to that, but thought better of it, “Do you need me to come by? Eunha is at her parents house right now, I hung back to talk to you, I don’t mind-”

“Jungkook, no. It’s fucking Christmas. I’m sorry for taking you away-” he sniffled harder, “away from your family.” The dam is broken now, Yoongi was unable to stop the tears from flowing, sobs wracking his small frame. 

Jungkook’s heart broke at the sound of his oldest friend’s tears. He didn’t mind leaving his wife for a few hours, he knew she was safe with her parents, probably about to start working on dinner for tonight. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, man. Hang in there.”

Yoongi let out a shaky sigh, looking down at his now black phone screen. He felt like he was underwater, like his heart was beating in his ears. He could vaguely hear the chatter of the nurses and people in the waiting room, but his sole focus was on the pounding in his chest and the sinking feeling in his gut. All he could think about was you; what drove you to this? What could he have done differently last night to ensure your safety? Why was your brother calling you insistently throughout the morning? Most importantly, were you going to be ok? He didn’t want to think about that right now, couldn’t think about that right now, unless he wanted the hospital to have to admit him, too. 

Before Yoongi could spiral any further, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his youngest friend, dressed in gray sweats and a loose black pullover. Jungkook had a sad look in his eyes, not pity, but heartache at the pain his friend was feeling. Jungkook squatted down in front of Yoongi, hand still on his shoulder, so he could be at eye level with him. “Hey man. Any news?” He asked, solemnly. 

Yoongi shook his head slightly, trying to collect himself enough to utter a few words. “No. Nothing.” Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, just for a moment. His effort was all in vain, as Jungkook took hold of Yoongi’s hand, pulling him up into the taller man’s chest, embracing him. Yoongi’s small frame seemed even smaller in this moment, shoulders shrunk in on themselves, as Jungkook hugged the broken man.

“Why don’t you tell me about her?” Jungkook whispered to Yoongi, rubbing a hand up and down his back comfortingly. “We can grab some coffee and you can tell me all about her.” Jungkook wanted to get Yoongi away from this waiting room full of curious eyes, and wanted him to relax a little. He knew he was going to want to see you as soon as you were in the clear, and he wanted to make sure he was in a good enough state to do so. He could feel Yoongi nod against his chest, pulling away but still keeping one arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. 

Yoongi and Jungkook sat at a quiet table in the corner of the hospital cafeteria, nursing two black coffees. Yoongi was staring out of the window to his right, not really paying attention to what Jungkook was saying.

“Yoongi, do you want to talk about it? How did you guys even meet?”

Yoongi gave a small shrug, “she’s been visiting every year since I moved into my grandma’s house. I just now finally built up the courage to say hi. She seemed sad.” had a permanent frown in his brow. 

“So you wanted to say hello because she seemed sad?”

“Yes, JK, what more do you want from me?” Yoongi shot the younger man a glare from where he sat across from him.

Jungkook leaned back slightly, holding his hands up in a pacifying manner. “Hey, hey, man. I just want to hear about her, want you to tell me about her. That’s all” He said in a hushed tone.

Yoongi looked down at his coffee, focusing on the small billows of steam rising from it. “I’m sorry - I just -” he looked up at Jungkook, unshed tears threatening to fall again, “She’s perfect, you know? She doesn’t deserve any of this pain. She lost her parents, her brother, basically everyone who cared about her. I just wanted to- to be someone she could lean on,” he blinked rapidly, trying to rid the tears before adding on, “I think I love her, JK.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened a fraction before he schooled his expression, nodding his head. “I support you Yoongi, you know that. I always will.” Yoongi nodded at this. He knew it, would never forget it. Him and Jungkook had been through so much together, that’s why he was the first person Yoongi called when he got to the hospital this morning. “What do you think happened that caused her to do it?”

Yoongi bit his lip, remembering he had your phone tucked away in his pocket still. He slid it out, setting it on the tabletop between him and Jungkook. “I’m not sure… but I think it has something to do with her brother calling her.” As if he was summoned, Namjoon’s name appeared on the small screen, phone vibrating so violently it moved a little across the table. He’d been calling all morning, and from what Yoongi could gather from your lock screen, all night, too. It wasn’t his place to go through your phone, or to answer the calls from your brother, especially if him calling had anything to do with your current condition.

“Are you going to answer him?” Jungkook hesitantly asked, looking from the phone, to Yoongi, and back again as the vibrating faded out. 

Yoongi shook his head quickly, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his temple. He really needed to stop crying, he thought. “No. What if he’s the reason she’s here in the first place?”

“He’s her brother right? Her family?” Jungkook started, seeing Yoongi nod in confirmation he continued, “don’t you think he should know his sister is in the hospital for attempted suicide?”

Yoongi scoffed. He was bitter, but part of him knew Jungkook was right. He’s still her family, after all. Would it be the right thing to do, to tell him you’re here? Would he even want to see you? From what you’ve told Yoongi about your brother, he doesn’t think so. “He left her the last time it happened, hasn’t spoken to her since,” Yoongi mumbled, almost too quietly for Jungkook to hear, “I’m not sure he would even care.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. He doesn’t know you, nor is he going to pretend to know what it’s like to be in your shoes. Yoongi knew you better than he did, so he was going to take Yoongi’s word for it. “Want to head back up? See if there’s any news?” Yoongi nodded, looking down at the floor. The both grabbed their to-go cups and headed towards the elevators. 

Pain. Seething hot pain in your throat, that’s all you mind was focusing on right now. Your vision was black, and no matter how hard you tried to make a sound, nothing would come out. It felt like a thousand hot knives were forcing themselves down your esophagus, blocking any air flow. You were suffocating, this must be what it feels like to die, right? Because the last thing you remember was laying down on the cool tile floor of your bathroom after you swallowed your entire bottle of antidepressants. The pain in your throat must be from the excessive amount of pills you downed, right? Nothing else could explain this excruciating pain. You were obviously being punished for taking fate into your own hands. That was the only reasonable explanation you could come up with in your current state of mind.

“She’s waking up!” 

Wait. Why can you hear people? If there were people around, were you alive? 

“Administer more Propofol, she needs to be unconscious.”

No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be gone. You wanted to be gone, but right now all you could think about now was making this pain stop. You silently prayed that whoever was helping you would make this pain go away. 

Yoongi was leaning on Jungkook’s firm shoulder, both sitting on ugly plastic green chairs in the hospital waiting room. A nurse had informed Yoongi that you were out of the operating room, and were moved to a more private ward of the hospital to recover. He wasn’t allowed in yet, as they wanted to monitor you a little while longer to make sure you were out of the woods. They explained to him that the first few hours after an overdose were the most crucial if there was any hope of the brain recovering. 

Yoongi was distraught, to say the least. Torn between calling Namjoon and waiting. He knew you didn’t have your parents anymore, knew that you and your brother didn’t speak, despite the 100 plus missed calls on your phone that said otherwise. He wasn’t sure if you had any friends back home in Busan, but from what you’ve told him, he guessed you didn’t. He was worried that you wouldn’t remember him when you woke up, and you would be confused and scared, alone in the hospital. He thought about calling your brother, just so you’d have a familiar face to wake up to, but the devil on his shoulder wouldn’t let him make the call. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that if you did, in fact, remember what happened, the last person you’d want to see is Namjoon. 

Jungkook was deathly silent, texting his wife and family updates about you and Yoongi. Despite not knowing Yoongi well, or you at all, Jungkook and his entire extended family took an interest in your well-being. Jungkook told them how you had no family, and they completely understood why he was missing Christmas dinner. Yoongi felt bad for keeping him, but Jungkook reassured him over and over again, this is where he wants to be. 

“Mr. Min?” a mouse-like voice called from the circular desk at the center of the waiting area. 

Yoongi shot ramrod straight in his seat, eyes searching for the voice. A short, dark-haired woman who looked to be around Yoongi’s age, was making her way towards him. She had a sweet smile on her face, which only minutely lessened Yoongi’s worries.

“Mr. Min?” She asked again, hesitantly. She waited for Yoongi’s grunt in confirmation before continuing, “I don’t have anyone listed as Miss Y/LN’s next of kin, so since you were the one who brought her here, would you like an update on her status?” He voice was kind and soft, respectful of the environment they were currently in.

Yoongi cleared his throat lightly, “Ye-yes, of course. Yes.” He stuttered out, standing up and moving towards the kind nurse. He glanced over his shoulder at Jungkook, who gave him a small smile, encouraging him to go with the lady.

“I’ll be fine, do what you need to do,” Jungkook waved him off.

The young nurse nodded and turned around, walking back towards the desk. Yoongi trailed after her like a lost puppy, waiting for answers. “Mr. Min, we’re going to be keeping Miss Y/LN here at the hospital for a few days. She’s being put under suicide watch for 72 hours, as is protocol with cases like these,” Yoongi nodded solemnly, understanding the severity of the situation, “I see you listed on her intake paperwork that this wasn’t her first attempt. Is that right?”

Yoongi nodded his head. He didn’t like sharing your personal stories with this stranger, but he understood it was going to help them better care for you, which is all he wanted. “Yes. She had attempted… yeah. Three years ago.” 

The woman nodded her head, writing something on the clipboard she now held in her hands. “Thank you, Mr. Min. We’re going to continue to monitor her, but her vitals are looking good, and there are no outward signs of brain damage right now. This could change however, as once she’s awake and alert, her doctor will want to do another brain scan.”

Yoongi nodded, just glad you were alive and breathing. 

“She’s not awake yet, the sedatives are still wearing off, but they’ve removed intubation and she is resting,” Yoongi winced at this fact, “would you like to see her?”

Yoongi’s eyes finally met the small nurses after staring daggers into the hospital linoleum. “I can see her?”

The woman gave a short nod and a gentle smile. “Of course! I can tell you care a lot about her. She’s very lucky to have you, sir.”

Yoongi nodded, looking down again. He didn’t feel very lucky, and didn’t think you would either right about now. 

“Follow me.” 

Yoongi followed the lady back through two industrial looking double doors, past sterile smelling hospital rooms and nurses and doctors moving rapidly up and down the corridors. Yoongi always hated hospitals, they reminded him of when his Grandmother passed away. He was so hyper focused on walking, he barely heard her when the nurse spoke again. “Before you go in, it’s best to take a moment to prepare yourself for what you’re going to see. It can be really hard to see a loved one in this state, so I’m here to answer any questions you may have,” she advised kindly as she came to a stop outside your room. Yoongi’s stomach fluttered at the mention of you being his ‘loved one’ and he mentally scolded himself. This nurse had no idea about the strange dynamic that is your relationship, if you could even call it that. 

Yoongi shook his head lightly, indicating he didn’t have any questions, at least, not for her. She gave one nod of her head, before clutching her clipboard to her chest. “I wish you the best, Mr. Min.” She said as she walked away. 

Yoongi took a deep breath through his mouth, exhaling slowly through his nose. He wasn’t prepared to see you in a hospital bed, but his excitement at seeing you alive was overtaking his senses right now. He slowly pushed the door to your room open, taking two hesitant steps through the threshold. His eyes immediately scanned the room, falling over your fragile, but breathing, body. As Yoongi quietly shut the door behind him, tears automatically started falling down his cheeks, silent sobs hitting his chest. He swiftly closed the gap between him and your bed, lip trembling, and took your cold, limp hand in his. He didn’t even bother pulling one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs with him, he just knelt on the floors, kneecaps be damned. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react when he saw you, he knew he would feel relief at knowing you were alive, but he didn’t expect to be quite so overcome with emotion. He definitely didn’t expect to feel intense happiness at the fact that he could hold you again. You had no idea the effect you had on him, and in only four short days. 

You laid on the hospital bed, dressed in one of those white, scratchy hospital gowns. Your eyes were even more sunken in than Yoongi remembers, skin sallow and taking on an almost sickly green color. Your hair was a mess, and Yoongi inwardly cursed the nurses for not at least brushing through it for you. Your arm was bruised purple and green at the crease of your elbow where your IV now sat. Your bottom half was covered by a thick blue blanket that looked a little itchy. Yoongi grabbed the top of the blanket with his free hand, moving it up farther on your body, tucking it lightly at your far side. Even in this state, you looked beautiful to him. Despite what has taken place over the last 12 or so hours, he was still enraptured by you and your beauty. 

Yoongi brought your bony hand up to his face, placing a soft, lingering kiss on the back of your knuckles. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, and his heart hurt. He didn’t have any more tears to cry, just silent sobs as he laid his forehead on your cold hand. 

Eventually Jungkook made his way up to your room, after being informed by the same brunette nurse that Yoongi was up there with you. He knocked softly on the door twice before opening it and entering. Yoongi was still knelt on the floor by your bed. Jungkook sighed and knelt down next to him

“She’s gonna be ok man,” Jungkook started, placing his hand on Yoongi’s back, “you should rest before she wakes up.”

Yoongi nodded, allowing Jungkook to pull a chair over for him before sitting down in it, never letting go of your hand. Jungkook sat in a chair a little bit behind Yoongi, making sure the older man knew he was there for support. They sat in silence like that for a while before Yoongi started to feel drowsy, eyes falling shut and drifting into a fitful sleep, forehead pressed to your bed. 

You slowly blinked your eyes open, squinting from the bright lights above you. An intense smell of bleach hit your nose causing your throat to constrict and burn. The burn. It was still there, but dulled from last time you remember. You closed your eyes again, squeezing them shut in pain as you tried to swallow, causing a small, yet hoarse, whimper to emit from your throat. 

Immediately, Yoongi’s head shot up at the sound of you. He started rubbing soothing circles onto the back of your hand, still clutched in his. “YN,” he whispered, standing from his seated position, moving even closer to your body.

You blinked your eyes a few times before looking up at Yoongi. He could see the pain in your eyes with the way they were scrunched up cutely at the sides. You brought your hand to your throat subconsciously and Yoongi knew what you meant. He grabbed the pitcher of water from your bedside table and poured you a cup, passing it to you. You silently thanked him with a nod of your head and started gulping down the water. Yoongi sat back down and watched you carefully. He heard Jungkook stand from behind him, dimmed the lights, having watched how you were squinting your eyes, and quietly left the room to give you both some privacy. Yoongi reminded himself to thank him profusely later, but right now his focus was on you.

You finished the cup of water and Yoongi took the cup from your hand and set it back on the side table. “YN,” he whispered again, bringing his hand up to brush against your cheek, “you’re ok.” He smiled at you, genuinely smiled for the first time since last night. He was so beyond happy to see you, alive and well in front of him. 

You had a million thoughts running through your mind right now, and Yoongi could tell by the panic stricken look flashing in your eyes. He soothingly rubbed his hand up and down your arm that was free of any tubes. “It’s ok, love,” he comforted, “I’m here to listen if you want to talk, or if you don’t I’ll sit here with you in silence. You don’t need to explain yourself. I’m just happy you’re ok.” He smiled at you, and even though you could feel the love radiating off of him, you felt sick to your stomach.

How could Yoongi still want to be by your side after what you had just done? How could he still want to comfort you when you were like this? You had a lot of questions, but there was one at the forefront of your mind. “Did you find me?” Your voice was rough from the intubation tube, which you guessed was the reason for your throat burning before. You looked away from Yoongi when you asked, not being brave enough to meet his eye, in fear of what you might find. 

He sighed lightly, almost inaudibly. “Yes.” You could tell without even looking at him that he was choking up, on the verge of tears. At the sound of his voice, you let your own hot tears roll down your cheeks, not bothering to wipe them away. A large hand immediately came up to wipe them away. “Hey, don’t cry, love,” he whispered, “I’m not mad, I’m not upset. These are happy tears, I promise.”

“I’m not happy,” you sniffled, “I’m sorry, Yoongi, that you had to see me like that.” You brought your own hand up to your face to wipe at your nose. 

“YN, I don’t care about that. I swear to you, all that matters to me now is you. I want to keep you safe, want to help you fight this battle so you don’t have to do it alone. You have me, all of me.” His words were so sincere, so loving, you spared a glance at him, and the moment your eyes met, you knew he meant everything that he said. Even in your current state, he sent butterflies erupting throughout your stomach. You took in his face for a moment, red and puffy, tear stained cheeks, but his eyes were happy. You felt safe with him. You knew you’d have to talk about what all this means later, explain to him why you did what you did, but for now, you just wanted to be in his presence. 

Yoongi sat with you for the next few hours, texting Jungkook to head home to his family, apologizing profusely for keeping him away on Christmas. You didn’t talk much, just offering sweet smiles when Yoongi would check to make sure you were doing ok. Like the nurse told Yoongi earlier, your doctor came in to take you for a brain scan and to run some other tests. Yoongi waited patiently in your room while you were being tested. 

When you returned, the doctor checked your vitals again, before letting you both know that he would be back in the morning to run some more tests, and give you the results of the brain scan. You both thanked him quietly before he wished you a merry Christmas, and took his leave.

Alone again with Yoongi, you felt a calm aura wash over you. “Thank you,” you whispered quietly into the dim room, “I’m sorry I ruined your Christmas,” you said with a slight frown.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Yoongi assured, walking over to your bed and sitting next to you, “There is no place I’d rather be than by your side.”

Just as Yoongi finished his sentence, a violent buzzing resounded through the room. Yoongi’s eyes went wide as dinner plates as he realized your phone was still in his pocket. Hesitantly, he brought it out of the back of his jeans and showed you what was on the screen.

You flinched when you saw your cell phone. You knew you’d have to confront Namjoon and Yoongi about what happened sooner or later, but you were really hoping it would be the latter. You reached out for your phone, pushing the red decline button. Yoongi looked at you with an unreadable expression as you let the phone fall to your side onto the bed.

You sighed, looking at Yoongi, lips pursed. “Go ahead, you can ask me,” you offered, rubbing a hand down the front of your face.

Yoongi looked sheepishly at you. Of course he wanted to know what happened, but he didn’t want to push you to tell him or to relive whatever it was that pushed you that far in the first place. His curiosity got the better of him as he chewed his lip raw. “What happened?” His voice was barely a whisper, the beeping of the equipment in the hospital room almost enough to mask it. 

“Namjoon was calling me, I guess, while we were having dinner last night,” you wrung your hands together, trying to warm them up in the frigid temperature in your room, “I didn’t think to check my phone until you walked me home.” Yoongi reached over to stop your ministrations, cupping both your hands in his and blowing warm breath between them. You smiled at his thoughtful actions before continuing, “He was drunk. I don’t think he even realized what he said, but - but he left me a voicemail,” your voice was getting quieter the further into your story you got, “he said he wished I had succeeded three years ago, that he wished he never saved me.”

Yoongi was seething. He had his suspicions that this was your brother’s doing, but he didn’t expect those words to fall from your mouth. He gripped your hands just a little bit together as he brought the back of them to his lips, forcing his emotions down. Yoongi bit down hard on his tongue to stop him from saying exactly what he wanted to say about your idiot brother, but he knew that you were still hurting, still recovering, and didn’t want to upset you or hurt you even further.

“YN - I’m sure he was just drunk,” he starts, before he realizes that the man who calls himself your brother has no excuse for what he said to you, “that does not, and I mean does not, give him an excuse to treat you like that, but you literally haven’t heard from him in what? Three years?” You nodded your head, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Yoongi gently reached up and thumbed at your bottom lip, pulling it away from the assault of your teeth before continuing, “He’s called you over a hundred times since last night. I haven’t answered, he doesn’t know you’re here, as far as I know. If you don’t want to tell him, don’t want to talk to him, I will support you, but I also think it would be good for you to get closure from him. Even if that means cutting him out of your life.” 

You nodded slowly, taking in Yoongi’s words. You knew he was right. You didn’t want to go through life wondering if Namjoon really meant what he said, if he was sorry, if he still thinks about you. You decided to table the conversation for now. It’s not doing anyone any good stressing yourself out about it. First, you needed to have a serious conversation with Yoongi about what exactly was happening between the two of you. You didn’t want there to be any questions when you went home from the hospital, wanted to feel secure in the choices you were about to make.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, darling.” Yoongi said cooly, still holding onto your hands. He was doing that a lot today and you definitely weren’t complaining. 

“What is this?” You pulled one of your hands gently from Yoongi’s grasp and gestured half-assedly between you both. 

Yoongi’s brow furrowed momentarily before smoothing out and giving you a soft look. “YN - I - I don’t know what you’re expecting,” here it goes, you thought, he’s going to reject you. He’s going to say that this was all too much and he’s only here because he feels guilty. “I really didn’t want to do this here, while you’re lying in a hospital bed,” he scoffs lightly, shaking his head. Your heart drops. Is he really going to leave like this? You bite both your lips between your teeth, looking away to brace yourself for what he’s about to say. “YN I think I’m in love with you.”

Your head shoots up so quickly you think you might have whiplash. Yoongi giggles quietly at your reaction, gummy smile on display for a moment. “W-what?” Is the dignified answer you sputter out. 

This time, Yoongi is looking you directly in the eyes when he says, “I love you, YN. I know it’s only been a few days, but I already can’t imagine my life without you in it. I don’t care what hurdles we have to get past, I don’t care about all your baggage that you seem to think will scare me away, and I definitely don’t care that you seem to think you aren’t worth it. I know you’re worth it, you’re worth all of it.” Before you could form a response, Yoongi is standing up from his chair, wrapping both arms around your small frame and bending a little awkwardly to pull you up slightly to a sitting position. A beat passes before you realize he’s trying to hug you, and you quickly wrap your arms around his neck the best you can while  attached to all these wires and tubes. Yoongi nuzzled into your hair, which you think is probably a horrid mess right now, and whispered close to your ear, “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? I thought I lost you forever, that’s the biggest absence I could’ve felt from you. It made me realize I never want to let you go again.” He pulls back slightly, placing the softest kiss to your cheek before placing his forehead against yours.

You looked up at him through your now wet lashes, “I love you too, Yoongi. You make me feel safe. Something I haven’t felt in a really long time.” You choked out the last couple of words, tears making their way down your cheeks now. “I’m so sorry I put you through this, I’m so sorry I broke my promise.” You were sobbing again. 

“Shh,” he murmured against your hair, “It’s okay, love. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Whatever we need to work through, we will, together.”

“Thank you Yoongi, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, YN. I just want to see you continue living your life.”

You sniffled, pulling back from Yoongi to give him a smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

You were stuck in the hospital for the mandatory three days after Christmas. During that time they ran multiple tests to make sure you didn’t have any lasting damage and you met with two different therapists. Sadly, you knew these procedures, as this wasn’t the first time you went through them. The second therapist you met with suggested putting you on a different antidepressant from the ones you had before, along with an anti-anxiety medication for at least the next few weeks. 

Yoongi stayed with you almost the entire time (aside from going home to check on Mochi and to shower), sleeping on two chairs pushed together, despite you inviting him up on your bed multiple times. He refused on the grounds of ‘I don’t want my first time in bed with you to be at the hospital’, to which you rolled your eyes at. Yoongi had really lightened your mood over the last few days, mixed with the new medications, you were almost feeling back to your ‘normal’ self, or at least as normal as you could be. 

You and Yoongi had decided that it would be best if you took at least one more week off work to recover, and Yoongi was quick to offer to stay with you at your cabin, or have you come stay with him at his, enticing you with Mochi cuddles. Eventually you decided on alternating between the two houses to give you a little reprieve from the memories your cabin will inevitably bring back. Neither of you were dim, you both knew being at the hospital was like a vacation away from your demons. When you stepped foot back in that house, you would likely struggle, at least a little bit more than you are here. 

Being on bed rest for a few days, on top of having your stomach pumped, really did a number on your muscles. You were consistently sore, and were almost too weak to walk on your own. Yoongi was quite the gentleman, massaging your calves when they hurt and walking you to the bathroom when you needed it. You felt lucky to be loved by him. You wanted to be able to show him just how much you loved him in return, and made a mental note to do just that once you recovered. 

On your second night in the hospital, a man by the name of Jungkook came by to check on you and Yoongi. He introduced himself as Yoongi’s best friend and you learned he was married with a baby due in just a few weeks. He was kind and handsome, just like Yoongi. You also found out that he had stayed with Yoongi at the hospital, on Christmas, while you were unconscious. You profusely apologized to the man, getting into a bowing battle while you were sitting on the edge of your bed, while he profusely refused your apologies. You decided you really liked Jungkook and his aloof personality and were glad Yoongi had such a great friend to be there for him. 

You were finally being released on December 28th in Yoongi’s care, something he wasn’t going to take lightly. The hospital made him sign paperwork saying he would keep an eye on you. While it made you feel slightly like a teenager again, you couldn’t deny that you probably needed it, and were just thankful it was Yoongi who would be the one watching over you. 

It was nearing 7 in the evening, well past dark, when Yoongi wheeled your wheelchair, another accommodation you tried to fight, out to his car. He helped you into the front seat, making sure you were comfortable before strapping you in with the seatbelt, closing the door, and jogging to the driver’s side. 

Yoongi clapped his hands together and rubbed them furiously together for a moment. “It’s freezing! Let’s get you home, baby!” He flashed you a gummy smile before starting the engine. 

You giggled at his antics and felt your cheeks heat at the pet name, covering your mouth with your hand. You were feeling pretty good on the drive home, Yoongi looking over at you every couple of minutes to make sure you were alright. You were curled up in the passenger seat watching the trees zoom past the window. Sometime during the drive, Yoongi reached over across the center console and placed his large hand over your knee. You glanced over at him, softly smiling at eachother, and placed your much smaller hand over his, intertwining your fingers together. 

The drive wasn’t long, maybe twenty minutes, but in those twenty minutes, you grew excited. Excited to spend time with Yoongi tonight, to lay with each other in your bed, excited for the future for what felt like the first time since your parents passed. You pictured your parents for a moment, a fleeting thought, what would they think of Yoongi? You wish they could’ve met him. You’re sure your mom would have loved his kind nature and his ability to cook. Your dad would have liked that he had good manners and was always a gentleman. You turned your head to look out the window, smiling sadly to yourself. You were sad they were gone, of course, but you were also happy in this moment and you didn’t want your memories to subtract from that. 

“Almost home, love.” Yoongi said, squeezing your knee. You didn’t realize you had just about dozed off, head leaning on the window. You pulled your hand away from Yoongi’s to rub at your eyes briefly. “Uh, YN?” You looked up at Yoongi in confusion, his tone almost panicked. “Whose car is that?”

Your eyes immediately found the car in question, a sleek, black sports car, parked behind your crappy silver sedan in the cabin’s driveway. It only took you a moment to realize by the license plate ‘RKIVE’ that it was your brother’s. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as Yoongi turned into his own driveway. He could tell by your reaction, you didn’t want to see the owner of that car. 

“My brother.”

It took you a good thirty minutes of pacing Yoongi’s kitchen and countless encouragements from the man himself to build up the courage to go over to your cabin. You had so many questions; why was Namjoon here? How long had he been there? How did he get in? You know you had the locks changed in the last three years since the incident. What confused you the most though, is the fact that his calls completely stopped after Christmas day. You had assumed that he had given up trying to contact you and went on with his life, but apparently he had different plans.

“Are you ready baby?” Yoongi asked you from the kitchen, standing up from pouring food into Mochi’s bowl.

“I really don’t know, Yoongi,” you twisted your wrist in your other hand, a nervous habit, “What if he’s here to yell at me again?”

“YN, I really don’t think he blew your phone up for a day and then drove all the way out here to yell at you,” Yoongi started, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “and besides, if he is here to yell at you, I’ll be right by your side the entire time. You know I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, right?”

You nodded, letting out a deep sigh. Yoongi smiled at you and pinched your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, brought your face up to meet his gently, and placed a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fell shut and you felt all the tension in your body flow out of your body at once. This man really did have an effect on you, and you were thankful for that in this moment. “It’s now or never, I guess.”

You and Yoongi walked hand in hand over to your cabin, standing at your front door, you hesitated before unlocking it. Yoongi squeezed your hand as a silent gesture to let you know he was with you. You took a few cautious steps into the house, silently looking around the open living room. No sign of Joon yet.

As you stepped around the corner, you could hear faint rustling coming from one of the rooms. “Joon?” You called gently, probably not quite loud enough for anyone to hear. “Namjoon?” You called a little louder. The rustling stopped. Now you heard quick footsteps, loud clumsy footsteps that you could never mistake, heading in your direction. You stood half in front of Yoongi, hands still intertwined behind your back waiting for your brother to appear. 

Namjoon stumbled out of his old bedroom, looking not at all what you expected him to look like. He was wearing an old pair of black sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that you think once had your father’s college alumni printed on it. His light purple hair, that’s new, was disheveled and sticking out in every direction, looking like he had run his hand through it at least a thousand times. But what shocked you the most, was the pure panic in his eyes. As soon as his eyes met yours, the panic seemed to dissipate, though it didn’t completely disappear. He rushed over to you, placing both his large hands on the tops of your shoulders, startling you and causing you to bump into Yoongi behind you.

“YN - Oh my god, YN,” Namjoon started to sob, head dropping down onto your shoulder. You felt Yoongi let go of your hand and placed both of his hands on your waist, holding you steady against his chest. “Thank God you’re ok! Where the hell have you been!?” Namjoon was full on crying into your shoulder now, tears staining Yoongi’s sweatshirt he had let you wear home from the hospital. You were still pretty weak on your legs from the bedrest, so you started to wobble a bit from the pressure Namjoon was putting on you.

You started to bring your hand up to lightly push back from Namjoon to maintain your balance, bracing yourself against Yoongi. Namjoon looked at you with confusion in his eyes, before he glanced up seemingly noticing the blonde man behind you for the first time.

“Who the hell are you?” Namjoon demanded, though he didn’t sound very threatening with tears flowing down his face. 

“I-” Yoongi started, but you cut him off, feeling suddenly defensive of the man you love. 

“My boyfriend,” you started, causing Yoongi’s eyes to widen slightly. It’s not that he didn’t like the new title, he was just shocked, hearing it come from you. “Why are you here, Joon?”

“Boy- boyfriend? YN what is going on? Is that where you’ve been? Sleeping around with him?” You furrowed your brow, mouth dropping open. Was he drunk? 

“Are you fucking drunk again Namjoon?!” You started to raise your voice, attempting to pull away from Yoongi, but he wasn’t letting you move any further, worried for both you and your brother at this point. He’s never heard you raise your voice, and if he’s being honest, it’s rather intimidating.

“Yeah YN, I am! I drove 3 hours down to this God forsaken cabin last night to find my baby sister missing, nowhere to be found and a bottle of empty pills in the bathroom. How the fuck do you think I was supposed to deal with this?!” He was near screaming at this point. 

You raised your finger up and pointed it right at Namjoon’s chest, “Oh, I don’t know Joon, maybe you could have actually gone out and looked for me instead of sitting on your ass and drinking yourself to death!” Yoongi had a tight grip on your upper arms at this point, making sure you didn’t get physical. He was pretty sure your brother wouldn’t hurt you, but he couldn’t say the same for you. 

Namjoon scoffed at you, taking a small step forward so your finger pushed into his firm chest. “I thought you were dead YN! I was fucking terrified I was going to find you out in that God damned lake, frozen to death. I- I-” he stuttered out, fresh tears building up at his lashes and anger dissipating, “I was scared. I didn’t want to find you out there again.”

Though Namjoon’s anger seemed to be lessening, yours was only building. “Scared? You were scared!? Why!? Because if you found me out there, you knew it would have been your fault?” You spit the last words at your brother, you knew it was low, but he literally cut you out of his life, what did you owe him?

You watched as Namjoon let the tears fall down his cheeks, biting at his trembling lower lip. “I’m so - so sorry YN,” he whimpered, actually whimpered. You don’t think you’ve ever heard your beast of an older brother whimper. “You have to under- understand that I didn’t mean what I said the other night. I listened to the voicemail a few hours after I left it and I- I was so worried when you weren’t answering your phone. I wanted to apologize, take it back, but I was scared it was too late. I even called the police the day after to ask if they- th-” he didn’t need to finish that sentence, you knew what he meant. If they found your body. You heard Yoongi inhale a sharp breath behind you, obviously affected by what Namjoon was trying to say. You nearly forgot he has been a witness to this whole scene. “They said they didn’t find… anyone. I tried to let it go, tried to let you ignore me, but I couldn’t. I had to come down here and see for myself.”

“Well, here I am. You can leave. Now,” you spat, turning around and walking towards your kitchen. “C’mon Yoongi,” you mumbled, taking Yoongi’s hand in yours. 

“YN - wait,” it wasn’t your brother’s voice that you expected to hear, but Yoongi’s. You stopped and turned around, staring at him like he grew two heads. He took a step closer to you, “You need closure, YN,” he whispered softly down at you. Your eyes softened at his ability to stay so calm and level headed throughout this entire ordeal. You blinked up at him a few times before nodding your head. 

Yoongi didn’t want to put you in a position you were uncomfortable with and he knew you didn’t want to look at your brother. Hell, he wanted to beat the shit out of Namjoon himself, but he knew you needed this. 

You took a few steps past Yoongi, stopping a few feet in front of your brother. Namjoon, who had previously been staring a hole through the carpet, met your eyes with his glistening ones. Yes, he said horrible things to you. Yes, he has treated you as if you don’t exist for the past three years. But, he’s still your brother, right? He’s quite literally the only family you have left in this world. With both your parents gone, grandparents long dead, and no other siblings, Joon was really all you had. Even though he may not deserve your forgiveness, don’t you owe it to yourself to try and patch up your relationship?

“Joon…” you trailed off, looking up at the ceiling attempting to stop the rush of tears stinging the backs of your eyes. You weren’t sure if you should tell him what happened over the last few days, since you last heard his voice. He was the reason you were in the hospital in the first place, but did you really want to make him feel the guilt for putting you there? You weren’t so sure. Your caring nature yelling at you internally to lie, to sugar coat things to spare your brother the pain. Before you could fight your internal battle, it was Namjoon who spoke first. 

“Can we talk about this, a little more privately maybe?” He questioned, his sour tone catching Yoongi’s attention. Yoongi has tried to stay quiet through all of this, hoping to let you hash it out on your own. It wasn’t his place, after all. He didn’t know your brother, and he believed you could handle yourself. But he wasn’t about to leave you alone with Namjoon, and he needed to make sure the other man knew that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Yoongi started, folding his arms across his chest defensively, “She is in my care, after all.” He really didn’t want to play that card, unsure of how you would feel about it, but he really, really, needed Namjoon to know that he wasn’t going to budge. 

“What the hell do you mean she’s in ‘your care’?” Namjoon narrowed his eyes, shooting a questioning glare your way.

You let out a heavy sigh, briefly turning your body to give Yoongi an apologetic look. “I’ve been in the hospital, Joon. They only released me on the condition he stays with me, or vice versa.”

“Wh-what do you mean you were in the hospital?” His previous distraught look coming back, “Why didn’t you call me? I’m your family I should be the one-”

You cut him off before he could finish that statement, “Taking care of me? Namjoon, you left me at a hospital three years ago and haven��t so much as said ‘hello’ to me since then. What makes you think you have any right to even assume I would want you to care for me?” Namjoon at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself for the first time tonight.

“YN, I- I called that night, on Christmas Eve, to apologize,” he looked behind you at a glaring Yoongi before looking back at your equally enraged face, “I know, I know! I definitely didn’t do that in the voicemail that I left, ok I know,” he put his hand up as if to pacify you, “I had been drinking and I was thinking about you - in fact I - I think about you all the time. I’ve just been a terrified asshole who was too afraid you’d reject my apology. I had the courage that night and tried calling you a few times. When you didn’t answer I figured you hated me, and it set me off. I- I’m s-so sorry YN I never, ever meant to hurt you like this. I was so scared of losing you, I tried to distance myself from you, so if I did l-lose you, it wouldn’t hurt as bad as when we lost mom and dad.”

Your eyes softened minutely at his words, the fire in your eyes fleeting, but still there. “You’re fucking right you’ve been an asshole Joon,” you scoffed, “did you ever think about what I needed? How I felt? You distancing yourself from me was like having my entire family ripped away from me. You were all I had left.” Your last words were whispered, but your brother heard them loud and clear. 

Namjoon's long legs only needed two steps in your direction before you were chest to chest with him, his strong arms wrapping around your shoulders. To say you were shocked was an understatement. Regardless of how much you wanted to hate your brother right now, you couldn’t deny that it felt nice to be in his familiar arms again. He hasn’t hugged you in years, and you’re feeling lightheaded from all the physical contact you’ve had in the last week. It took you a moment to respond to his hug, slowly wrapping your weak arms around his middle. He could feel the way your small frame was beginning to shake, presuming you were weak from being in the hospital. It took him a second to realize you were sobbing in his arms.

Namjoon nuzzled his face into the side of your head, having to bend a significant amount to account for the height difference, and croaked, “I’m sorry YN. I’m so, so sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please, please let me be here for you. Let me be your shoulder to cry on, be the one you confide in again.” He sniffled, rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. “I’ll stay by your side, I won't leave you, I promise.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” you blubbered out, soaking Namjoon’s shirt with your tears. He ran a hand soothingly up and down your back as he let his own silent tears fall. 

“I’ve missed you too baby sister.”

Yoongi had been a silent observer, staying back, allowing you both to have the space you needed to sort this out. At this point, he wore a small smile, arms still crossed over one another. He decided it was time for him to leave you both alone for a moment to catch up and talk things through a little further. He quietly slipped out of the living room with a plan to make some hot tea for you, briefly meeting Namjoon’s eyes which were silently thanking the older man.Yoongi gave a quick nod and turned to walk away. 

You and your brother spent the next few hours talking about everything on your living room couches. He stayed close, but not too close, to give you your own space, which you appreciated. Yoongi came back after a little while, hot tea and mugs in tow. He sat by your side, offering you silent support with a hand on your knee or shoulder. You were thankful for his presence. Even though you and Namjoon had talked some things out, you still felt a little awkward with him here. 

You told Namjoon about your job and how you haven’t left it yet, despite hating your boss for so long. You talked about your life in Busan and how you moved into a new apartment a couple years back. He told you about his studio, Rkive, in Seoul and how he’s been working with some pretty big names recently. He was hopeful that one of his songs was up for Song of the Year for some award show next month. You expressed how proud you were of him, finally having the chance to tell him. Most importantly, you talked about your brief stay at the rehab facility three years ago and your most recent stay in the hospital here. You both cried when you talked about your second attempt at your life. You hugged each other and Namjoon apologized profusely to you, which you graciously accepted.

After you had spilled all your collective tears and put everything out on the table, Namjoon turned his attention to the other man in the room, who up until this point, had been completely quiet. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi was taken by surprise at the sound of his name coming from Namjoon’s mouth. Eyebrows raised, he looked at the purple haired man sitting across from him, “Hmm?” 

“I wanted to thank you,” Namjoon said apologetically, “I don’t know you, but you saved my sister. She also seems to trust you,” he gave you a quick smile, showing off one of his dimples, “so I guess I should, too. But really, man, thank you. I don’t know what I would do if I lost her.” His gaze fell to his hands that were clasped in his lap.

Yoongi sat up a little straighter on the couch before answering, “You don’t have to thank me. I share the sentiment, I don’t know what I would do without her.” He smiled down at your, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, making you give him a small smile in return. “I really love her,” he said lovingly. He was talking to Namjoon, but he was staring into your eyes, getting lost in them for a moment. Namjoon noticed this, and couldn’t hide the smile that was spreading across his own face. That’s when he knew you were in good hands. He trusted Yoongi.

The next hour passed by quickly, sharing more stories amongst the three of you. Eventually Namjoon told you he had to get going, needing to be back in Seoul for a meeting tomorrow morning. He offered to cancel and stay the night, but you and Yoongi both told him he should go, and not to worry about you. If Yoongi wasn’t here, Namjoon would have definitely canceled, but he felt good about leaving you with him 

You wrapped your arms around your brother's neck, reaching up on your tiptoes. Namjoons arms wrapped around your middle, lifting you up slightly as he whispered in your ear, “I love you baby sister, please don’t forget that. I never stopped loving you.”

“I love you too Joon, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won't, trust me,” he let out a short laugh, devoid of any humor before setting you back down on your feet. He turned to look at Yoongi, before reaching out to shake his hand. Yoongi walked the short distance to grab his hand, only to be pulled into Namjoon’s frame for a hug. “Thank you again, Yoongi. I wish I could stay longer to get to know you a little better, but it was really nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure there will be more opportunities for us to meet,” Yoongi said, with an almost demanding tone. Namjoon took the warning for what it was, leaving you a little oblivious next to them. “Drive safe.”

Namjoon pulled away, giving you one final smile, before turning around to take his leave. You stood in the doorway, watching your brother start his car and pull out of the driveway. You knew you had plenty more unresolved issues and a lot more to discuss, but for now, your chest felt lighter at the aspect of having your brother back in your life. You were a little sad that he had to leave so quickly, when you felt like you just got him back, but were hopeful you would see him soon. 

Yoongi could feel your mood shift slightly, moving to wrap his arms around you from behind in a comforting back hug. You closed and locked the front door before turning around in his grasp. “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest. You didn’t see it, but Yoongi looked down at you in confusion.

“Why are you sorry, love?” He inquired, rubbing a hand up and down your spine.

“I’m sorry you had to sit here all night and listen to me cry,” you began, “I’m also sorry you had to meet my brother under such circumstances.”

“Don’t be sorry, YN. I’m so happy you were able to see Namjoon again and talk about things. I know it can be hard to talk about these things, and I know it must be hard to let him back into your life suddenly, but I know it will be helpful to you in the long run. I only want you to be happy, love.”

You look up at Yoongi in complete awe. How was this man in love with you? A broken shell of a person, with her weights worth of baggage. What did you do to deserve him? The literal epitome of perfection.

“Don’t thank me,” Yoongi lightly scolded, a smile on his face. “I can practically hear your thoughts right now.”

You scoffed, mock offended, putting your hands on his chest to playfully pull away. He wasn’t having it though, and pulled you back into him, rocking you both back and forth gently. “Oh no you don’t, you’re mine tonight,” you know he meant it in a playful way, but it did things to you that you didn’t want to admit to yourself right now, “I told you I wanted to lay with you properly and I’ve been waiting way too long to finally do that.”

“Let’s go to bed,” you began, taking Yoongi’s hand in your, walking down the hallway towards your bedroom. 

“Sounds like a great plan,” Yoongi said, following after you obediently. 

After you and Yoongi both got changed (Yoongi having to run home to grab some things, and also grab a very unamused cat), you kneeled in the corner of your room playing with Mochi, who lay in his cat bed that Yoongi also brought over. 

Yoongi was laying back on your pink sheets, arms crossed behind his head, watching you in amusement. “He really likes you, you know.”

You looked over your shoulder with a toothy smile on your face. Yoongi very nearly melted into your mattress at the sight. “You think so?” Yoongi nodded as you turned back around to face the Calico in front of you. “Well, I really like him too,” you cooed at the cat in question as he arched his back into your pets. After you had your fill of cuddles, you slowly stood up from your crouching position, causing Mochi to mewl.

Yoongi let out a loud laugh from his spot on your bed. “Yeah, I would say he definitely likes you.”

You laughed along with Yoongi while turning the lamp on your side table off. Yoongi scooted over on the bed to make room for you, pulling the pink and white comforter back. You gladly took your spot on the bed, rolling on your side to face Yoongi. To say you were nervous was a big understatement. “I’m gonna miss him when I go back to Busan,” you whispered sadly. 

“I’m glad my cat made such a big impact on you,” Yoongi said dryly, deadpanning in your direction.

You giggled quietly and shushed him. “Of course I’m gonna miss you too, Yoongi. I thought that was a given.”

“I mean, it’s still nice to hear,” he gently smiled down at you before draping one arm over your side, placing his warm hand on your lower back. He nudged your back a little, signaling you to move closer, to which you obliged. “You know, you don’t have to go back,” Yoongi whispered, hopefully. 

“Yoongs, I have to,” Yoongi smiled his signature gummy smile at the nickname making you stifle a laugh, “my job is there, I have an apartment there. I can’t just leave.”

“Is this cabin paid off?” Yoongi asked abruptly, before you could continue making excuses.

“Yes…” you trailed off hesitantly. 

“Then you could leave your lease in Busan, and move to the cabin. I know you love your job, but there is an animal shelter here. It’s where I got Mochi from,” the cat meowed softly in the corner, making you smile again, “I could put in a good word for you.”

Yoongi was so thoughtful. I definitely don’t deserve this man, you thought to yourself. Yoongi chuckled and raised his hand to brush a strand of hair over your shoulder. “Did I just say that outloud?” You asked, mortified for Yoongi’s answer.

He just nodded, still giggling. “YN you deserve the world, and I will work every day to make sure you believe that.” 

Your cheeks were hot, but your heart was full at his words. This beautiful man in front of you wanted to give you the world, wanted to make sure you never wanted for more in your life. Who were you to turn down such an offer? What did you have to lose anyways? A shitty paycheck and an even shitter apartment. That’s what.

“Okay.” You state simply.

“Okay?” Yoongi perked up, lifting his head a bit to stare at you. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight shining through your window that you could see the way his eyes lit up at your words. You smiled a bright smile at him, nodding your head aggressively. “Do you mean that?” Now he was sporting a smile to match your own.

“Yes, Yoongi. I’ll do it. I want to do it. I’m ready.” You smiled, because you were. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken truer words. You were ready. Ready to put Busan behind you, ready to start a new life with Yoongi. 

“I love you YN,” Yoongi said seriously, searching your eyes for any bit of hesitance, to which he found none, “I mean it, love.” He looked down to your pink lips, and back up at your eyes. 

Your breath caught in your throat, the feeling of butterflies suffocating your lungs was a good one for once. You nibbled on your bottom lip and exhaled shakily. Yoongi grunted, a sound you realized you found incredibly sexy and wanted to commit to memory for a rainy day. He was staring at you intensely, silently asking for permission, which you granted with a quick nod of your head.

Yoongi’s lips crashed onto yours with an intensity you’ve never felt before. The flutter in your chest only increased as his soft lips moved against yours. All you could feel, taste, smell, was Yoongi. You inhaled his citrus-y scent, letting it surround you and he brought his free hand up to your burning cheek while his other caressed your side gently. He tasted better than you could have ever imagined, a little minty, and you were immediately hooked. His kiss was like the nicotine you craved from your cigarettes, your new addiction. Your lips moved together synchronously for a few minutes before both of your lungs burned for oxygen and you reluctantly pulled away. 

Yoongi held your face in his hands like fragile China, reveling in this moment here with you, your face illuminated by the moon shining through your window. He saw galaxies in your lust filled eyes, the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“Thank you, YN,” Yoongi whispered breathlessly, mere centimeters from your lips.

“For what?” You asked, just as breathless, chest heaving.

“For giving me one more day.”

© aliendes | copyright 2020

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 20

You do as he says and you think. You think about it a lot.

Kirin watches your eyebrows furrow out of nowhere and the ink spot on your worksheet darkens. You jerk with a start when she reaches over to nudge your hand and you leave a long winding pen mark on your homework.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Huh? It’s nothing” You glance down at your now defiled worksheet, a pout forming on your lip at the pen marks, “Ah, sensei is going to kill me”

Kirin slides you a clean one and when you look up at her in surprise, she merely tells you to keep it quiet, can’t let you know all my secrets, now can I?

Before you can put your name down on it, she snatches it away from you again and you stare at her, mouth agape.

“You can have this if you tell me what’s on your mind”

You should have known better than to blindly trust Kirin like that, her amber eyes glittering with mischievousness as she waited for a response, green hair falling over her shoulder. She held the paper just out of your reach with her eyebrows raised.

“Fine” You comply with a groan, snatching the paper out of her fingertips, “But buy me soy milk from the vending machine after this”

She nods her head vigorously and you turn your head around to make sure the area around you in the library is clear of unsolicited people.

“So, you know how Ryuoko and Iwaizumi broke up?”

“I do now, but continue” Kirin grinned at the disbelief on your face while she gestured for you to go on

“So, after they broke up, we kinda sorta maybe kissed?”

You looked down at the worksheet, suddenly finding the passage about Japan’s involvement about World War 2 fascinating. Kirin’s jaw drops open at your confession and you hastily slap your hand over her mouth before she has a chance to scream your secret out into the world.

She lets out muffled shrieks of surprise against your hand and you watch with amusement when she starts to bounce excitedly in her chair, gathering the attention of a few people walking by.

When she had finally calmed down enough, you hesitantly removed your hand from her mouth and jumped in surprise when she gripped your shoulders with such intensity, you were sure there were finger shaped bruises forming.

“Holy shit, oh my god, are you deadass”

You nod tentatively and she shakes you back and forth by the shoulders so quickly, your senses are beginning to blur together and all you can hear is the rush of the wind in your ears and Kirin’s squeals of delight.

“So?”

You blink away the purple spots that flutter in and out of your vision when she finally stops, your brain still shaking against your skull.

“So what?”

“Are you guys together now?”

Ah yes, the question you’ve been dreading to answer. Kirin watches your every movement, from the wringing in your hand to the way you cross and uncross your legs.

“No” You mumbled meekly, immediately ducking to cover your head in case she decided to hit you again

She stares at you incredulously, unable to understand how you had rejected someone you had been pining after for years, and if you were her, you definitely would have been in the same position.

“He said he really likes me but he kissed me right after he found out she was cheating. I mean like how do I know if he really likes me or not? What if I was just someone he saw and wanted comfort? How would I- ow!”

Your forehead sports a nice sized welt and you glare at Kirin in shock as she shakes her fingers

“Look, i don’t really know him all that well but I can tell you right now, this guy has been pining after you just as long as you have for him. I don’t know if I told you this but he stares at you like literally all the time” She rolls her eyes and then pokes her finger into your forehead, right where your mark is “i noticed this before we were ever seated together too, that’s how you know this boy has it bad”

Your face burns bright red and she grins at your reaction. “I get it and all about thinking you’re the second option or whatever but I really doubt he’s lying to you”

x.

You’re not sure why you’ve agreed to this outing with your friends. Your mind goes blank and your tongue feels big and heavy whenever Iwaizumi is around, reducing your coherent thoughts into fragments of words.

You need more time, you haven’t figured things out yet!

Kirin finds it hilarious when Iwaizumi walks by in the hallway and you immediately grab onto her arm and begin to talk much faster than normal, spewing words of nonsense in your haste to seem “normal”.

“It’s because we miss you,” Hanamaki tells you when he corners you after school. Matsukawa nods and Oikawa chimes in, are you trying to ignore me? You’re not allowed to do that, it’s against the law!

You shake your head at Oikawa’s accusation, taking him into your arms so he doesn’t throw a tantrum. They tell you they’re taking you to a nearby festival and you’re fine with that, until Matsukawa shows up at your house with a pretty dark blue yukata that adorns a pattern of cherry blossom branches in his arms.

“Pervert! Get your hands off me!”

“Just put it on- ow! Don’t kick my nose!”

Inevitably, you lose the battle when your mother peers into the room and sees you wrestling on the floor with Matsukawa and the yukata hung up on the hook in your wall meant for your jacket and gushes over the pattern before deciding you have to wear it, it’s going to look so good on you! I haven’t seen you wear this for a festival in so long, so just this once!

You grit your teeth and suck in your pride when you put it on, but not before you smack the back of Matsukawa's head with a textbook and a satisfied smile makes its way on your face at the sound of his cries.

When you finally leave your room after complaining to your mother over how unfair this was as she fussed over your hair, Matsukawa is waiting patiently in the living room. Within the time you had taken to change, Matsukawa had somehow changed into his own green yukata.

He nods with approval over how it looks on you and you hate to admit that he’s right so you hide your blushing face from his delighted gaze and push him out the doors.

“Why am I wearing this?” you grumble, pulling at the collar so you can air yourself out. “Nobody has done this since like the third grade”

“That’s the whole point. We’re here to recreate some last memories before we all go away for college”

Your heart drops at his words and you can only utter a quiet “oh” before reaching out to gently hold his hand in yours, as though to remind yourself he’s still here and hasn’t gone away. He only hums and squeezes your hand in his, relieving you of the uncomfortable feeling that has begun to accumulate within the pits of your stomach when he had mentioned the parting of ways that was to eventually happen.

“Cheer up dummy”

His voice breaks you out of your reverie and you stare up at him, doe eyed.

“It hasn’t happened yet. Let’s just focus on making the most of the time we have now, okay?”

You nod mutely, still unable to shake off the weird feeling that has spread out to your limbs and he sighs. He stops for a brief moment, just long enough to face you and gently flick your forehead.

“Stop it. You haven’t lost me. I’m here and you’re here and everyone is waiting for us at the festival, dressed in their own yukata. Things always have a way of working out and I’m positive the five of us will find our way back to each other no matter what. You're actually stuck with all of us for the rest of your life, you literally have no choice”

Like you mentioned before, you hate when he’s right.

His dark brown eyes gaze upon your own, unwavering in their stare as he waits patiently for you to respond, despite fully knowing that you were both getting later and later with each passing minute. When you finally nod and bounce on the balls of your feet, he knows you’ve returned from the mini spiral you just went on and once again begins leading you to the festival.

By the time you arrive, the festival is in full swing. The festival lanterns hang up on strings that surround the area, swaying in time with the beat of the drums, children run past the two of you with sparklers in hand, nervous girls and boys shyly looking at each other on their first dates and the loud booming voices of street vendors trying to sell their snacks call out to you.

You almost trip over someone’s foot when Matsukawa rapidly picks up his pace and drags you behind him to where your three other friends awaited.

“Finally!”

“I’m hungry, can we get food now?”

Oikawa throws his arm over you, his red yukata swaying to and fro around his ankles. You let out an indignant cry when he pinches your nose in between his fingers.

“Why are you guys so late?” He demands and you wonder if he expects you to answer while you’re in pain and struggling to pull him away

“It’s all [name]'s fault” Matsukawa says, pointing an accusing finger at you and if you weren’t so busy trying to wrench Oikawa's hand off your nose, you would have kicked him into the next dimension at his accusation. “She didn’t want to wear the yukata so her mom had to come in and intervene”

Oikawa gives you one last hard pinch before letting go. Your nose is now bright red and throbs uncomfortably after the abuse. You kick him in the shin as revenge. Before you can tell them that he’s lying, Hanamaki has decided he’s tired of waiting and runs off to the nearest fried chicken stand with Iwaizumi in tow, leaving the rest of you scrambling to catch up.

You’re pulled in all different directions, from food stands to game booths. Your legs hurt, your feet are tired but your heart is full and the smile on your face has not faded once.

Matsukawa leads you to the ring toss booth that you despise because you always miss the target and hands you a ring, urging you to throw it.

“C’mon! Try your luck!”

The vendor nods with a wide grin on his face, agreeing with Matsukawa. Your mouth curves into a frown before you peer over to look at where the bottles have been placed. Matsukawa has already thrown a ring and it swings around one of the glass bottle necks before it falls off and he pouts.

“Awh man, I was so close! Your turn!”

He pushes you forward with his free hand but you don’t budge. At least, you try not to. You’re lacking a bit in terms of strength when it comes down to the two of you, Matsukawa’s years of conditioning, volleyball training and workouts at the gym with Iwaizumi, the school’s number one winner for biggest arms sends him soaring past your strength.

“Matsukawa! These games are a scam, are you really going to make me do this?” You whine and pout but you face the front and throw it anyways. The ring bounces off bottles after bottles and just when you think luck is on your side, the ring suddenly turns and falls off the edge. You let out the sigh you’re holding when it does so.

You hear someone behind you sigh and you assume it’s Matsukawa, disappointed in your skills. Before you can turn around to tell him to stop making fun of you, someone pushes past you.

“You guys suck at this”

Matsukawa looks at Iwaizumi with an uninterested look on his face before batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands in front of his chest. “Wow, sparks fly. It’s like electricity, I might die”

“I’ll drink my own spinal fluid instead, thank you very much”

Your blood runs cold at his voice but your body somehow feels too warm due to the close proximity. Iwaizumi hovers over the booth, eyes narrowed at the box of bottles before gesturing to Matsukawa for the last ring. Matsukawa hands it over gratefully and you watch as Iwaizumi throws it.

The ring sails over the bottles before catching onto the neck of one and you let out a small cheer when it swirls around the bottle neck before it lands.

Matsukawa whoops when the vendor gives him a miniature toy sword, immediately using it to thrust at Oikawa. Hanamaki whines something about wanting to try and Iwaizumi is busy trying to battle Matsukawa with a stick he found on the ground so you take the time to stare at a small porcupine plushie that catches your eye.

You frown when you realize you need to get all three rings over a bottle in order to get it. Damn your shitty depth perception.

Iwaizumi watches you, his gaze flitting from the porcupine plushie to the dejected look on your face before handing the street vendor 100yen.

Hanamaki is proudly showing you the pikachu keychain he won from the vendor while Oikawa and Matsukawa battle each other with toy swords when Iwaizumi thrusts something in your face.

You blink once and then twice as your vision adjusts to the object held so closely in front of you, hands reaching out to gently grasp it.

It’s the porcupine plushie. It smiles up at you and you squeal in delight, burying your face into the soft polyester that tickles your nose.  

“You were eyeing it like a kid in a candy store” Iwaizumi tells you, but his gaze is far away, staring at something in the distance that you cannot find. The tips of his ears are a soft pink and if you look hard enough, his cheeks were dusted with red.

You smile, holding it tight against your chest. “Thanks” you whisper and he finally looks down at you, returning your smile

“It kinda looks like you though, don’t you think?” you hold up the plushie next to his face and giggle when his expression turns from neutral to shocked and duck when he reaches to flick your forehead.

Hanamaki’s laughing as the two of you run around him like a cat chasing a mouse but he agrees wholeheartedly over the comparison.

You decide you’ll name the porcupine ‘Hajime’.

Iwaizumi decides he’ll do anything for you as long as it keeps the smile on your face.

The sun has fallen completely now, fireflies beginning to light the way and yet the festival is still just as packed.

Your tummy is full of delicious treats, from dangos to taiyaki (no red bean because Oikawa hates it) to fresh watermelon juice and you are content. Porcupine Hajime is held proudly on your arm while the real Hajime sits to your left, feeding everyone the gyoza dumplings he had bought earlier.

You haven’t once thought about what to say to him, almost as though you had completely forgotten. If Iwaizumi remembers, he doesn’t bring it up.

Hanamaki holds out a piece of cotton candy and you lean over the table to take it from him. When you teasingly bite the edges of his fingers, he lets out a shout and pulls away hastily. The cotton candy melts in your mouth and when Hanamaki is busy telling you to repent, how could you bite me? What are you, an animal?, you give him a sticky grin in response.

You’re getting sleepy, full to your heart’s content and memories of this night to last you for as long as you can remember. It helps that Matsukawa had been taking pictures of everyone all night and you had been busy recording your boys and their stupid antics.

You loll your head around and Iwaizumi watches you before taking a large hand to gently press your head onto his shoulder.

“We’ll leave after the fireworks, okay?”

You nod mutely and then the world fades out as you’re lulled into a miniature nap with the conversation your four boys are animatedly having.

Why are you guys wondering how long it takes for a rock to melt?

Iwaizumi wakes you up with a soft shake of your shoulder and you whine, burying yourself deeper into his shoulder and Matsukawa teases him when the apples of his cheeks bear a resemblance to the candied apple Hanamaki was currently munching away on.

You blearily open your eyes and blindly follow your friends out into the open. Iwaizumi guides you with a hand interlaced with yours behind his back.

You admire the way your hands fit into his perfectly, the heat from his warming your cold ones up easily and gently rubbing your fingertips. You miss the way Hanamaki elbows Matsukawa and gestures with his head at the small interaction between the two of you.

They whisper something to each other that only they can hear and grab Oikawa before he can pounce on the two of you.

“Hey guys”

The both of you turn around to see where Oikawa, Hanamaki and Matsukawa stand far away from you. “Matsukawa wants onigiri and Oikawa wants some fruit-”

“What the- no I don’t, what are you talk- ow!”

Hanamaki holds the back of his shirt as Oikawa struggles to escape his grip. Matsukawa waves the both of you away, telling you to go on ahead, we'll catch up with you guys later.

Before you can say anything at the rather weird and obvious hint they were giving you, a loud bang in the sky catches your attention.

You're jostled around as crowds of people stumble around craning their necks to get a better view of the gorgeous fireworks that light up the sky. A few children run into you, sending you backwards and Iwaizumi tightens his grip around you so you don’t break apart from him.

“It’s a little crowded here” Iwaizumi almost has to shout so you can hear him and when you’re getting pulled apart further, he jerks you into his chest. “Let’s go somewhere else”

He tugs you along the path, holding you close when people bump into you as he leads you to the playground on the hill that overlooks the city skyline.

You let out a little breath of air, finally able to fully breathe after the smell of sweat had bombarded you. The clean crisp air does wonders for your nose and you are more than delighted to finally be able to smell the trees and the grass.

The fireworks burst before your eyes, lighting the sky with specks of green and gold. “It’s pretty” you whisper, half to yourself but Iwaizumi hears you anyways and nods in agreement. He’s let go of your hand now, making his way to the jungle set to climb all the way to the top. You flex and unflex your fingers. You miss the warmth he provided.

“Hey, wanna come up? It’s really nice up here” He looks down at you with a hand outstretched. “Give me your porcupine first so you don’t drop him” and you do as he asks, handing over Porcupine Hajime. He settles Porcupine Hajime onto the bars securely before hopping down and you stumble back in surprise.

“What? Why’d you get down? Did you just abandon Porcupine Hajime?”

He rolls his eyes at your accusation before he settles his hands on your waist. This time, it’s your turn for your face to turn a bright red.

“You can’t make it up the top with your yukata on, right? I’ll give you a lift”

Before you can even register his words, he’s already lifting you into the air. Your mouth drops open in shock and the wind flutters around you, causing your hair to sway back and forth and your heartbeat reaches a new speed when the ground is no longer supporting you before you’re dropped gently onto the jungle gym bars.

Iwaizumi climbs up after you, his white yukata spreading out around his legs as he sits down. Porcupine Hajime sits between the two of you as a small buffer. Whether or not Iwaizumi planned it this way, you’ll never know.

You’re not given a moment to say anything because the fireworks are bursting after one another consecutively. The sky is colored with streaks of every shade imaginable, from blue like the color of your yukata to pink like the color of Hanamaki’s hair. They glitter in the reflection of your eyes and the curve of your cheeks are beginning to hurt from your smile.

Iwaizumi turns to watch you instead, the colors in the night sky light up your face but you’re too enamored by the sparkling colors to notice him staring at you. His eyes soften as they gaze upon your plush cheeks, the sharp curve of your jawline and the way your eyelashes sweep against your skin when you blink.

You haven’t changed much from the first time he met you, still as playful and easily embarrassed as ever and yet you have, growing from the awkward girl that once stuttered her whole way through a class presentation to a much more confident person, making friends left and right with just a smile and never leaving anyone behind in the dust.

You were still the same girl he fell for during his first year at Aoba Johsai

“Oh my gosh” You gasp in delight when a firework goes off and the sparks leave behind an image of a heart “Did you see that? They made a heart! Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“Yeah, you are pretty”

You don’t seem to hear him, excitedly telling him about all the shapes and colors that contrast the deep shade of violet in the night sky. His green eyes land on the soft curve of your lips as you speak and he only has to nod his head and hum in time with your rambling.

When the fireworks stop, you twist your head to ask if maybe you guys can stop and get some sparklers on the way home, but it dies on your tongue when you notice he’s already looking at you.

"Hajime?"

“How was your exam?” He asks awkwardly and his fingers flex at his sides. You hum, tilting your head left and right as you contemplate your answer.

How was your exam?

Honestly, you can’t really remember. All you remember is the pounding headache you had when you walked in and the shining sun’s rays on your face when you finished, worn out from all the reading and numbers.

“Tiring,” you say with such exhaustion that Iwaizumi laughs at your answer because it’s so like you to not remember what you had been tested on, “I genuinely cannot remember anything that exam was asking me. I think I might have died while taking it because I cannot remember a single thing”

You turn to face him with a smile that makes his chest feel tight, “but I think i did pretty well. I didn’t come out feeling like my soul had just been taken from me, so that’s good. I was just tired”

“That’s good”

You watch the way he continuously flexes and unflexes his fingers and how he holds his breath so you wait patiently, wondering what he has to say to you.

“Sorry” he finally tells you, a hand reaching out as though to stroke your cheek but it falls away and lands on top of Porcupine Hajime

“Sorry for making you cry when we fought. Sorry for saying such shitty things to you. Sorry for kissing you out of nowhere. Sorry for barging into your house when you weren’t expecting it and suddenly confess”

He tilts his head up to look at the sky and laughs a little. “I think I’ve been apologizing to you a lot lately”,  the corners of his lips quirk upwards at the thought.

“But I meant it when I said I liked you"

The firework goes off again but this time it matches his white yukata. The white and gold light up his face, leaving you to gaze upon him

"I really, really like you"

He talks to the stars, too scared to see the expression on your face and lets the sound of the fireworks drown out his voice.

"It's always been you"

You know he’s not lying to you, he never has.

You like that about him

Scratch that- you like everything about him

He blinks when you link your pinky with his, refusing to look at him when he turns his attention from your interlocked fingers to your burning face.

“Let’s just- let’s just take this slow. I wanna do this right, you know?” You speak to the sky and pretend to be watching the firework leave behind the Japan flag before the wind blows the sparks away.

The soft smile that graces his face is extremely uncharacteristic and he doesn’t say anything but look over the city skyline and the festival down below

When you move Porcupine Hajime out of the way to sit closer to him, the warmth in his chest explodes just like the fireworks in the sky at the shy smile you wear

Like he said before, he’ll do anything to make sure you always smile

x.

“Alright pay up bitches” The grin on Matsukawa’s face stretches wide on his cheeks as he waits for Oikawa and Hanamaki to hand him his 2000yen.

Your jaw drops in shock when Hanamaki and Oikawa pout and angrily shove bills into Matsukawa’s awaiting hands. “You guys were betting on us?”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa shrugs, “I swear we told you about this before” He thumbs the bills in his hand before shoving them into his wallet and your face flushes hot at his words.

“Oh, by the way” you look up again when Matsukawa nudges you with his foot, “Can you tell your friend Kirin that I’ll split the money with her?”

“SHE WAS IN ON THIS WITH YOU?”

You throw your plushie at Iwaizumi who barely catches it in time before rolling up the sleeves of your yukata and throwing your wooden sandals onto the sandy floor of the playground.

The three boys eye you nervously, Oikawa beginning to shuffle backwards at the sight of your narrowed eyes.

“Hey, what are you-”

You hold up three fingers and Hanamaki’s face blanches at the sight, “You have three seconds to run”

3

“Woah, wait- c’mon [name], it’s just a joke!” Hanamaki pleads but he shuffles backwards nonetheless. Your eyes narrow even further.

2

“Cutie-chan! I was forced to partake in this! I swear this isn’t-”

“DON’T LIE” Matsukawa roars furiously at Oikawa before holding his wallet up frantically, “I’ll split the money with you! We can go get boba or something, anything you want!”

1

Your finger drops and then you’re taking off after them. The night air is filled with their yelps of pain and Iwaizumi is unable to contain the grin on his face at the sight of his friends running around each other and you pursuing them, dirtying the bottom of your white socks in your haste.

His arms curl around Porcupine Hajime tighter when you come back with them in tow, each one sporting a nice sized bruise on their head.

“That’s my girl”

[edie-k]

Legally Ginger (Chapter 2)

Title: Legally Ginger

Chapter 2/9

Rating: PG-13 (I use fuck more than the MPAA allows for PG-13 but that's a stupid rule - there's no explicit content)

Pairing: Romione endgame

Summary: When Ron Weasley's college girlfriend declines his proposal because he doesn't meet her standard for future husband, he decides comes up with a plan to let her see him in a new light.

Notes: This is an AU Muggle reimagination of Legally Blonde. It's very different than anything I have ever written - and my first chapter story. I intend to update each Monday - although I'm slightly early due to commitments tomorrow.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has a character making a joke about an incident of sexual harassment they were the victim of. This is a line directly from the movie and is bolded to indicate it's not my original dialogue. Unlike the movie, the conduct is identified as harassment.

Shout out to TheKillerTigerBunny’s recent fic for inspiring a scene in the admissions video.

Thanks to adnei again for her feedback!

Read at AO3 or click below for more

Ron mindlessly shoved his hand back into the bag of chips next to him on the bed as he stared at the TV in the corner.

He had spent all day Sunday trying to compose the perfect text. The magic words that would bring her back. He composed dozens of drafts. Some were apologetic - clearly he shouldn’t have sprung an engagement on her but that didn’t mean they had to break up! Some were logical - there was almost a full semester of school left that they could spend together and see where they stood at graduation. Some were just pathetic - begging and pleading her for a second chance.

Finally, he decided to keep it simple.

can we please talk?

She responded.

it’s too hard to talk. I love you but that doesn’t mean this can work I’m sorry

He didn’t respond further. In the end, he couldn’t figure out how to fix what was wrong with him. There was no clear way to make himself worthy of Astoria.

So when the alarm went off Monday morning, he hit snooze. Then he hit it again. And again. And then he just turned it off for the next four days, only emerging from his room in the middle of the night to raid the pantry for more supplies. Apart from a few supportive texts from his siblings and friends, he’d been mostly left to wallow. Which could only mean that news of his humiliation had spread across campus and people were keeping their distance. He appreciated it but had a hunch his brothers’ patience would soon wear thin.

As if on cue, the door flung open.

“All right, Ron,” said Fred, barging in the room. “It’s been a week. Time to emerge.”

“Uh,” grunted Ron. Pig trotted in happily and jumped up on the bed next to Ron.

Fred paused and looked at the TV. “My God, are you watching NBC Sports Network? You need to snap out of it.”

Ron shrugged. “Lost the remote two days ago.”

George poked his head in the room before entering. “God, it reeks in here. And it better be beer in that bottle by your nightstand. Thankfully, we brought reinforcements.”

“Hey bro,” said Ginny, popping into the room. “It’s time to seize the day!”

“No,” he said flatly to his sister.

“Come on, you don’t want to blow off your classes. You’ve worked too hard to have to graduate in the summer semester. You want the celebrity commencement speaker, not whatever ancient associate dean they con into putting on a robe in August,” Ginny appealed.

“I’ve been emailing my assignments. It’s fine.”

“Well, this isn’t fine. Come on! I know what always cheers you up,” Ginny wheedled.

“Ehm,” Ron grunted, turning over.

“Please!” begged Ginny. “I need to blow off steam too.”

“I’ll buy you cheese fries,” George suggested.

“My own order,” Ron said.

“Yes,” agreed George.

“And beer,” Ron added.

“Goes without saying!” said Fred, yanking the covers off of him. “Shower and we’re off!”

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

Forty minutes later, he was moping under the umbrella shaded patio table outside of the batting cages, Pig at his feet, picking at his fries while his beer warmed in the sunshine. Fred and George were taking cracks off the pitching machine with a couple of his frat brothers and members of Ginny’s sorority that had tagged along.

“Come on,” said Ginny. “You need to hit something.”

“I’ll take the next one,” Ron replied listlessly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Girls, make him see reason,” she appealed to her sisters, who were seated next to him flipping through magazines. Ginny jogged off to join the others.

“Ron, Astoria is trash,” said Lavender.

“She is not!”

“She’s trash,” agreed Parvati. “Bougie trash.”

“I’m the one that’s clearly trash.”

“No, you’re a fucking straight up 9 and if I wasn’t in love with the moron taking 40 mile per hour softballs to the head - ” Lavender gestured at Seamus who was doing just that - “I would already be in your pants,” Lavender assured him.

“You’re a little too earnest for me, if I’m being honest,” said Parvati. “And you’re a dude, so no. But if you dated one of my friends, I wouldn’t tell her she could do better than you.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Astoria, you should take me back. I’m not as good of a catch as a guy that tries to achieve CTE for fun but at least Parvati won’t shit talk me behind my back.”

The girls giggled. “Ron, I know it hurts that she didn’t feel the same about you but truly, you are better off. She was just flat out wrong. You’re smart, you’re accomplished, everyone likes you. She’s a snob looking for a certain name to hyphenate behind hers. Just like her sister,” Parvati insisted, pointing at the People magazine in front of her.

Ron peered over her shoulder. There was a color shot of Astoria’s sister Daphne, her hand ensconced in the hand of a dark haired man, walking the sidewalks of New York.

“Is that the Kennedy Taylor Swift dated?” asked Lavender. The two girls' voices faded in the background as he read and reread the caption.

Third year Princeton Law.

This is what Astoria was talking about. Her sister was dating some east coast prep school guy who went to a fancy university. In some ways, he got it. That need to live up to your siblings’ accomplishments or better yet, surpass them. He certainly felt it himself.

Bill, with his gorgeous French wife, was on the executive track at a financial firm. Charlie, with his easygoing personality, had somewhat accidentally launched a successful YouTube channel about his wildlife adventures in Asia. Percy, who had somehow managed to weather the civil servant storm and was on his third presidential administration at the IRS. Fred and George had their plans and Ginny knew she’d go early in the next National Women’s Soccer League draft if she didn’t opt to play soccer professionally overseas.

And Ron had had Astoria. The thought of a good life with a good job supporting an amazing and ambitious woman was exactly what he wanted. But she needed a little more. She needed someone that could prove they played at her level and bring a little flash and substance, like Daphne’s fiancé did.

He stared at the picture. Ron couldn’t get the Kennedy name. But he could wear a fucking rugby shirt and throw gel in his hair and...

“That’s it!” Ron shouted.

“What?” both girls asked, startled.

“I’m going to Harvard Law,” he announced.

Both girls stared. “Seamus, sweetie?” called Lavender. “Bring your batting helmet. He’s got some brain damage and we need to protect his skull from further harm.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. So Astoria’s a little… materialistic and thinks about optics. Everyone Is flawed. And Lav, you said yourself that I’m a nine. How does law school, hell, Harvard Law School, not get me to a ten?”

“What’s going on?” asked Ginny. They’d abandoned the cages at Lavender’s call.

“I’m going to law school,” Ron announced proudly.

“Why?” asked George.

“Ron, no. You loved your internship. You have three job offers doing what you enjoy. This is fucking insane,” Fred insisted.

“You can’t give up free beer,” Seamus added.

“Maybe I’ll love law school,” Ron reasoned. “And if I don’t, I don’t have to finish. It’ll be enough to prove to Astoria I can get into Harvard - ”

“Harvard?” George asked.

“—And not embarrass her. The jobs I enjoyed have regulatory aspects to them so hey, a semester of law school can only help, right?”

“This is asinine,” Parvati said.

“Free beer,” whined Seamus.

“Holy shit,” cried Ginny, flashing her phone towards them. “Have you seen the cost of tuition?” She flashed it to George before Ron snatched the phone out of her hand.

“How the fuck are you going to pay for that?”

Ron cringed. “It’s not going to be my proudest moment. but I’ve got an idea.”

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

“Hi, Auntie,” Ron said, as he followed the maid into the giant sitting room.

“Ronald,” Muriel greeted. They stood looking at each other awkwardly a moment. “Well, sit down. You,” she barked at the maid. “Bring us some drinks.”

“Right away, ma’am,” the maid scurried off.

Ron and his siblings came from fairly blue collar roots on both sides of the family. In fact, they were the first to attend college. The cost had made it out of reach for his mother and father to attend themselves. Mom’s brothers had planned to take advantage of the GI Bill but unfortunately were casualties of the first Gulf War. After that, Muriel had set up education trusts for her great niece and nephews with the $20,000 incentive. While his mom and dad had always refused any other financial help from Muriel, education was just too important to pass up.

Muriel had money to burn. Unbelievably, she’d been the trophy wife of an oil billionaire 35 years older than her back in her heyday and other than maintaining her estate, caring for at least 6 dogs at any given time and keeping a steady supply of brandy, she mostly just spent her money on controlling whatever family and non-profits she could sink her claws into.

“So,” said Muriel as the maid returned with a snifter of brandy for each of them. “I assume you’ve come for an advance on your graduation gift. When I saw your mother last month, she said things were quite serious between you and that Greengrass girl.”

“Uh, not exactly. See Aunt Muriel, I’ve had a change to my course of studies.”

“You’re almost done and NOW you realize that culinary arts will earn you pennies?”

“No,” he gritted his teeth. “Not culinary arts. It’s food science. It has to do with the biochemistry of food systems and preservation.”

Muriel snorted. “And you’ve decided that since pioneer women had canning figured out, there was nothing further for you to do.”

“Actually, I’ve decided to attend law school.”

“Law school?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Harvard Law.”

“You think you’re going to Harvard Law?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why?”

“Why-why do I want to go?” Ron responded. He wasn’t sure if his reason would impress Muriel much.

“No, why do you think you’ll get in?”

It was a fair question. Before college, he had never been an over achiever. That had started with the CULA soccer coach coming to see Ginny play during the spring of her junior year. He’d joined the coach, his parents and Ginny at the house after the meet and delivered the disappointing news that the only event he’d qualified for in the district meet was the 3200 meter. While his family looked sympathetic, the coach smiled and said, “Yes, I’d expect that you’d be a great distance runner. My husband coaches cross country at CULA. Could I give him your name?”

No one had ever expected him to be great at anything.

He won the state title in his division for 3200 meter that year and went on to win the conference title twice at college.

And once he proved himself there, people expected he’d be good at chemistry and they expected he’d be a good president of the house and good at fundraising. And he was. Doing what he was expected to do worked.

But now, they all expected him to give up on the love of his life.

“Just… want to do the unexpected.”

“You know I’m on the board of the local humane society?”

“Uh, I guess,” said Ron. He was actually clueless to her old biddy affairs.

“I understand you raised $12,000 for us at the end of last year.”

“Me and the rest of the guys,” he answered.

“Violet Pullen led me to believe it was mostly your doing.”

Ron shrugged. “I was the one who knew how to brew the beer. And it wasn’t that hard to get the permissions to bottle it and sell it and stuff. The other guys got it promoted for the most part.”

Muriel looked at him appraisingly before she chuckled dryly. “Bring me an acceptance letter and I’ll cut a check.”

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

“What the hell is all this?”

Ron glanced up from the stack of study guides he was perusing to answer the twins. “LSAT study guides.”

Fred groaned. “Are you still on this?”

“Of course,” Ron said. “My advisor said I need like, a 173 on the LSAT to be seriously considered.”

“Why would they consider a food science major?”

Ron shrugged. “I have a 3.89 GPA. And Stori’s a philosophy major.”

“But that makes sense,” George said.

“How?” challenged Ron.

“Dunno. I guess because philosophy is a snob subject that’s totally useless without at least a graduate degree.”

Ron ignored them.

“And how are you paying for this?”

“Muriel will cover tuition if I get in. I’ll live at home this summer and I’ve got a couple technician jobs I can take that my degree makes me more than qualified for, plus some catering gigs. I figure that’ll be enough to get through the school year.”

“Ron,” Fred said. “Bro, you like your life. Why change it for some girl?”

“I’m getting fucking tired of this. She’s not some girl. I’m in love with her. She’s the one and I just need to show her I’m worthy of her.”

“You ARE worthy of her,” George insisted.

“Then it’ll be easy to prove, right?” said Ron.

The twins looked at each other and sighed.

“Here, take my lucky pencil for the exam. It helped me pass Spanish.” Fred held out the writing instrument to Ron.

“You passed Spanish because you gave Professor Trewlaney a lap dance,” George reminded him.

“Yeah. Luckily.”

“That’s sexual harassment,” said Ron.

“It is?” asked Fred.

“Yeah, it’s called quid pro quo. She should be fired for that.”

“Well hot damn, Ronnie,” said George. “Maybe you’re set for this law school stuff after all.”

“The exam is the least of my worries. I need a two page essay, professor recommendations, and a ‘personal statement’ of some sort. I’ve never been great at selling myself,” he admitted.

“Well Georgie,” said Fred with a grin. “Looks like you just found the subject of your senior marketing project.”

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

“Well,” said Horace Michaels, rubbing his face and looking at his fellow panel members. “That was certainly something.”

“The video was a lot but… I like him,” said Veda Kasyor. “He’s a college athlete and president of his fraternity while carrying a high GPA.”

“Oh, is he an athlete Veda? Did the shirtless jogging footage tip you off?”

“He was also brewing beer in his frat basement.”

“He’s a food science major.”

“And he sold that beer on campus as a Humane Society fundraiser.”

“Who produced this video? Pretty heavy handed with the studying in the library footage,” Richard scoffed.

“He’s got a 3.89 GPA and he got a 177 on the LSAT. He probably studies.”

“Was he playing chess naked in the video?”

“It was his opponent who wasn’t wearing clothes - I believe it was strip chess.”

“If we’re looking for diversity - ”

“A white man’s not it.”

“Typically, no but he’s got, what, 6 siblings? Dad’s a mailman, Mom’s a parapro. He’s not some trust fund legacy case.”

“He had internships with two major corporations. And his resume shows part-time jobs since he was 16.”

“I’m concerned about his course of study. Food science is the hard sciences. Is he going to be equipped to handle position statements?”

“His personal essay was well-written and compelling, plus he minored in business. His Business Strategy prof had a glowing recommendation.”

“Ron Weasley… welcome to Harvard.”

[imagining-supernatural]

What Happens in Vegas...

Part 1 of Seventy Percent 

Series Summary:  When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You wake up in Vegas with a brand new wedding ring on your finger next to Sebastian Stan

Word Count: 1641

A/N: I am super excited about this series! And it’s completely written (except maybe an epilogue), so I won’t leave you hanging when writer’s block hits. 

What was a Vegas weekend without waking with a major hangover and a random naked guy next to you?

Ideal. That’s what that would be.

Yet, here you were. Hungover as hell. With a naked guy next to you. In your hotel room. So you couldn’t even sneak out.

Not Ideal.

Aw well. This was your last Vegas weekend ever, so you might as well go out with a bang.

The form beside you groaned and shifted until you could see his face.

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed, prompting him to squint at you, slowly waking up. It didn’t take long for his blue eyes to open. Eyes you’d only seen on the big screen. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“Who are you?” He shot back, voice still scratchy with slumber.

“This is my hotel room so I think my question should get answered first.” Sitting up, you pulled the sheet up to your chin. It was pretty obvious what had happened last night, but if he was even half as drunk as you had been, he wouldn’t remember. So… there was no need to flash your assets.

Sebastian Stan – yes, the Sebastian Stan – looked around for a moment before his thoughts were gathered enough. “I… don’t remember. I mean, I think I remember you from a club? But the rest of the night is blurry.”

“Yeah. I’m dealing with a lot of different kinds of headaches right now.” As soon as he left, you were going to dig out your medication and down a pill or two. You must have forgotten to take your pills last night.

His eyes widened when he looked at your hands holding the sheet up to cover your body. “You’re married? Fuck, how did I not notice that last night. I—shit.”

“Married? I’m sure as shit not—” Now it was your turn to ogle the giant ring on your left hand. “Wait a goddamn minute.”

The look of disbelief he was giving you sent your mind into hyper drive. “You’re saying that we…”

“Not necessarily. I mean, maybe it’s just a ring, you know? Maybe, shit I don’t know. Maybe it’s fake and we won it from one of those machines where you put a quarter in and twist the knob and you get a toy, you know?” By this point, you weren’t talking to Sebastian anymore. You were muttering to yourself, trying to calm the fuck down. And, for the record, when you tapped the diamond you knew it definitely wasn’t plastic. There was still the hope it was fake. Glass or something…

“And even if we did have a ceremony, that doesn’t mean it’s legal, right? Like, there have to be documents filed with the state and shit. I feel like I would have remembered that. But if we did file those, we’re in Vegas! The town that probably processes more annulments than any other city. It can’t be that hard. We’ll sign some papers at the courthouse and bam! No more marriage, no legal financial obligations when I die. I mean, this isn’t how I expected to end my weekend, but whatever, it’s an adventure. Something to tell my fri—”

“What do you mean, when you die?” he interrupted, latching onto the one part of your blabbing that you definitely hadn’t meant to say aloud. “You got plans to get in an accident or something?”

You could see the worry in his eyes and it took you a second to process what was beneath his question. “Oh, no. No, I’m not gonna kill myself. Don’t worry about that.”

“So what did you mean?”

How much to tell him? As a stranger, you didn’t owe him anything. But he was your husband, maybe. At the very least, you were both naked in the same bed. And anyway, what could it hurt? Telling him the truth wouldn’t change your prognosis and it might light a fire under his ass to figure out how to cut all ties with you.

“I’m not planning on killing myself, or anything. But my body seems to be doing a great job on its own. I have cancer, can’t afford treatment, and this weekend was my last weekend to cut loose before getting my affairs in order, you know?” Hopefully he would let that all slide. Not question further. “But that’s not your problem. We need to focus on figuring out if we really did get married, and if so how to—”

“Won’t your health insurance cover treatment?”

His well-intentioned question startled a bitter laugh from you. You relaxed back into the pillows, starting to say more than you needed to. “Yeah, sure. It already covered the chemo and radiation I went through. Those didn’t help enough. And I can’t afford to cut my hours back again at work. If I do, corporate will shunt me down to part time and take away my benefits. Ain’t that the American Dream?”

Shaking your head, you determined that it was time to get away from your sob story.

“Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I can, uh, get dressed and poke around a bit to figure out how to see if we really are married. It can’t be that hard. I mean, how many accidental, drunken, Vegas weddings do you think happen here? There’s probably a website somewhere called, like, help-i-woke-up-married-to-a-stranger.com or something.”

That stupid joke rewarded you with a half-smile on Sebastian’s face. “By the way, wife, what’s your name?”

“Y/N. And,” you shrugged, “I already know yours.”

“Yeah?”

“How could I not? You’re in the fucking Marvel Cult.”

“Cult?”

You grinned. “What else would you call it?”

After a soft chuckle, he leaned back against the headboard, sheets pooling around his waist and you tried extra hard to keep your eyes on his face. “Cult’s a good word actually. All the secrecy.”

“Y’all got so many devotees, man. Like, if all of you sent out a tweet that said something about taking over the world, it would be yours.”

“You one?” At your eyebrow raise, he clarified. “A devotee?”

“Ha, no. A fan, sure. I’m far too lazy to get in a cult. While y’all storm the capital, or something, I’d be at home watching YouTube videos of Kelly Clarkson singing while I’m eating chips and salsa.”

“Kelly Clarkson?”

At his question, you got defensive. “She’s a goddess.”

“Kelly Clarkson devotee?”

“I—” you stopped to consider that before tilting your head. “I suppose so. But only because she wouldn’t want to take over the world. She’d tweet something like Everyone come over to drink wine and chat and I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

He grinned and you found yourself wishing this was real. That this really was the morning after your wedding to a handsome man.

But that wasn’t your life.

“Never thought I’d marry a Kelly Clarkson Devotee.”

“Not to, uh, cut this marriage short, but I have to be on a flight tomorrow morning. So we should probably get on with figuring shit out today. Get that annulment if we’re actually married.”

A playful frown toyed with his lips. “You’re divorcing me because I made fun of you for being in the Clarkson Cult?”

“Yes,” you played along. “I’m sorry, Sebastian, but I just can’t stay with someone who doesn’t share my absolute love and adoration of KC. If I’d have known this last night, I would have definitely left you at the altar.”

Briefly, you caught sight of a shy smile before he turned his head away. “So, uh, you mind if I grab a shower?”

“Not at all. I’ll start researching,” you motioned to your laptop that was laying over on the desk.

After he nodded, he started looking around the room. It took you a minute to remember that you were both naked. Though it shocked you that he would be as shy about his nudity as you were, you didn’t point it out. Instead, you pointed to your travel blanket that was draped over a chair within his reach. With a grateful nod, he grabbed it and secured it around his waist as he stood.

As he walked over to the bathroom, you found yourself staring at a wrinkle in the sheets, letting your brain start shutting down just enough to process the whirlwind of the last few minutes.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You glanced up.

“I, uh, I just… Look. With my job I just wanted to ask that you not share anything on, you know... Twitter or anything.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t. No one would believe me even if I did.” You offered him a reassuring smile. “I don’t really know what it’s like to be in the public eye, not like you are, anyway, but I’m sure it’s not all glitz and glam.”

With a nod of thanks, he disappeared into the bathroom.

That brought up a whole new side of worry. If you were married and did need to get the annulment, how would you keep it from getting out? You needed to make sure all of this stayed out of the press. You couldn’t let your reputation tarnish his. Not when you were going to die and leave him to deal with your bullshit.

As soon as the shower started, you darted across the room to quickly pull on some clothes. Once you were no longer naked, you dug out your medication and popped a pill, knowing you’d definitely need it to keep up your strength. Hopefully it would also work some sort of wonder on your hangover headache as well.

Once you swallowed your medicine, you grabbed your laptop, only to have a paper fall to the ground. You bent down to see what it was and stopped cold at the calligraphy written across the top:

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE

PART 2: THE FIRST DATE

[tysondabs]

wednesday

3.3.21

Good things come to those who wait, they said. But he always believed that to be bullshit. Especially tonight, when they’d been made to wait what felt like an interminable amount of time to get into the club. They’d attempted the VIP entrance at first, cut past the long snaking line of patrons right up to the bouncers, the girl with the clipboard and list in her hand. They were on the list, Joe said. Had to be. If not, there was some mistake. Joe had promised Tyson that he’d sorted it all out with Jordan and the label and that he’d put them all down on the list. But no, they were not on any list.

Great. To the end of the endless line and wait it would have to be, even though it was between eleven and midnight, the party well under way, music leaking from inside, the people outside antsy and anxious. It wasn’t the most ideal start to the night. In fact, it was a pretty shitty one, and frustrated, he burned cigarette after cigarette as they waited in this bullshit line. Sasha said something, to the effect of it being alright, to the effect of not minding the wait, but it pissed him off even more. He shouldn’t have left that shit up to Joe. Of course he would fuck it up. More frustration when a car with tinted windows pulled up, and security opened the door for some couple, the bouncers immediately parting ways to let them pass. Fucking celebrities. Of course they got that treatment anywhere and everywhere, and it was just horseshit. Just like standing in this line was. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stood in that line, but the better part of an hour, it certainly was. Then finally — to the front. Tickets bought, hands stamped, and they were in, still in the hall in between the coat rack room and the long passageway into the interior of the place when the blaring music made the floor shift underfoot already. Then the nightclub proper, which probably put scenes in science fiction movies to shame. Drinks were bought in quick succession, and Joe pulled out a small baggie he’d brought with him. Tiny, pale blue heart shape pills were passed around, one each, and that was the beginning of it. At first, nothing, or rather, gradual bits of something as they got used to the noise, the pounding beat, the crowd, the assault on all senses that Sound brought to them. And then gradually, bit by bit, he felt himself mould and become a part of it. 

Now this was more like it. All the way around. The shitty night at Dungeon left miles and miles behind, both the way it had unfolded and carried on, full of disappointments. There were no disappointments here, in any sense of the word. Sound felt at once endless and cavernous, and yet tight and claustrophobic in the best sense of the words possible. People dancing shoulder to shoulder, sweating, each on some different combination of drugs but the main drug of all here, the music affecting them all to bounce in unison. He liked that. He sure liked that, indeed. 

Most of all though, he liked who he was with. 

There was no illusion here, no pretense, just him, her, the crowd, Joe, his girl, and a girl named Molly gracing them all with visions that made everything ten, twenty, a hundred times better than they were. The beat wormed its way right into his heart, and when he closed his eyes even for a second, that second lasted off into an eternity and carried him on chrome wings into another kingdom not accessible to humans here on earth. Holy shit. He’d missed these kinds of nights, they’d become far and few in between and the last one he really remembers could have been years ago. But here it was again, that feeling. And with it, his feelings. 

Time and memory warped into a tunnel that travelled at lightspeed, and he wasn’t sure what happened when, or in which succession. But he does remember a blur of hands, lips meeting, bodies colliding, his and hers, dipping into corners dark and unknown, then making their way back out of them. Laughing, too loud, the laughter lost among the spirits, the lights, the vortex of spinning figures, the ceiling shifting and throbbing and thrumming right above them, flipping and reversing. It was the nicest and best trip he’d had in a long time, and what could he chalk it up to? The right company? The right drug? The right night and the right music? The right state of mind? 

For once, he didn’t think of any of the shit he shouldn’t think about. All those things he shoved into the closet in the back of his mind that had the tendency to spill out every now and then. Fuck all those things, he’d set a torch to that closet as soon as he was sober again come next morning, evening, whenever he slept off this molly and high and good feeling. He’d make a fresh start, become a new person. Focus on nothing but himself, and his skill, and the things he wanted to get out of his life. 

Which — he wasn’t entirely sure what those were. But he’d be damned if it didn’t include this girl right here in that vision because fuck it, whether he could deny it or not, he sure felt some type of way. Maybe the molly would flush out this feeling tomorrow, but here it was, right now, staring him in the face, or somewhere between brain and heart because his eyes were closed, screwed shut tight and his lips too busy kissing her again, hands on her face, some question mark in the back of his head concerning Joe, but whatever. Joe could know, anyone could know, and he wouldn’t care. 

He wasn’t sure how one night could stretch into an eternity, but this one does. There’s drinks, because of course there are, far be it for them to satisfy themselves with a single pill, so there’s drinks on drinks on top of more drinks which at some point are abandoned for the chaos of the dancefloor. And he’s not sure what’s making his heart spike up this fast, if it’s the molly or the liquor or this music that’s relentless at 400 beats per minute, or his heart going 400 beats per minute. Feel my heart, he says and puts her hand to his chest, to let her feel it pounding like some sick unnatural thing, the kid he was taking delight in this anomaly the drugs are causing. A scary good feeling Then there’s a point where he’s not dancing anymore, too wet, sweat dripping from forehead face and every pore and he needs a minute. Wandering off. 

There’s a long stretch of black leather couch he finds and falls onto, stretches the whole length of. That’s a bad idea because vertically, things were going whack, but in this state? It’s all spinning. He might as well be George Clooney strapped in a spaceship hurtling towards the sun like in that one movie. There’s a pair of legs he spots upside down, long blonde hair and a huge pair of tits shoved in his face, some girl looking at him funny and saying words. He realizes it could be concern she’s voicing. In retrospect he doesn’t remember what he told her, but it’s some version of I’m okay, and off she goes again. A part of him wonders if he’s made a mistake because what if he’d just sent Pamela Anderson packing? But it’s 2029 and not 1999, so surely it cannot be that. Eventually someone else drifts into his line of sight from the crowd on the dancefloor several steps below, and it’s the face he wants to see. Hey, he says, and it’s like seeing Sasha sets the world right side up again and he sits up, completely fine, better than fine, on the right side of coasting his high again.

He’s not sure how long they sit on that leather couch but it leaves a deep imprint long after they’ve gotten up. There was a conversation left behind there that he doesn’t remember now, not sure what kind it could’ve been when half of it was probably shouted. But he remembers it making him happy. Maybe he made plans with her again. Plans to go to the moon together sometime. To Mars. Now that’d be something. They’d probably fit there, on Mars, more than they do here on Earth. 

Eventually 5 in the morning rolls around, and they’ve stayed until the house lights are thrown up, bright and jarring, lightbulbs to fry bug specimens under. The patrons file out into the night, into cabs, into Ubers, and disappear. The gang reunites, him and Joe and Joe’s girl Leanne and Sasha. A couple of steps from the club is an alleyway. They stand there and Leanne pulls out a lighter to light herself and Tyson a cigarette. They talk about the night. Unbeknownst to either, they’re standing next to a ‘This Alley Is Private Property. No Trespassing’ sign. Joe points it out. Finds it amusing. They take a picture next to it, mill about, and move on. Four shadows walking a street where their shadows keep shortening, the sun coming up. 

Sun’s rising now and they’ve walked a block. The pavement turns black and full of glitter and stars, and they’re on Hollywood Boulevard. Too far out from Grauman’s to actually work out who anybody on the stars is, just names that mean nothing, names he’s seen before and hasn’t ever been impressed with. They spot a Joe Garcia, and Joe squats for a photo next to it, his foot covering the last name — just the Joe part, throwing up peace signs. More idiot photo opportunities, sure, why not. There’s a 24/7, hole in the wall fast food spot open with no line by it so he lets people who are hungry get whatever they want. Leanne orders fries. Tyson wants nothing, leans up against a wall and smokes another cigarette while this all happens, talks to a homeless man sitting not several feet away, some words exchanged about baseball. He’s from up north so he’s a Giants fan. Tyson says fuck you, the Dodgers are superior, but still slips him a five dollar bill as their Uber is pulling up. 

And then they’re in an Uber headed home — home being Dom’s and Silverwood Terrace. Coming out of the high with every passing moment, but the remnants of the drug still littering his system. There’s minimal traffic in these between-hours of the morning, so in less than fifteen minutes, they’re all pulling up to Dom’s. And here it finally is, the grand tour he’d promised her so long ago, though Tyson not entirely in the state to give it to her currently. Not that it matters. 

Uncharacteristically quiet, the house is. Asleep, that’s where Dom is probably and Marlon’s away, so Joe and his girl and Tyson and Sasha almost have the entire house to themselves. They’re not exactly quiet coming in, but they’re not the loudest, either. Jackets are tossed onto couches, the kitchen is beelined for, water poured into glasses and passed around, the fridge raided. He gives Sasha options, gives himself options, where they can go, what they could do. There’s the pool — he points it out, the very same one he’d jumped off of the ramp into (the ramp long destroyed and turned into firewood for an impromptu bonfire that nearly turned into an actual fire). 

Plans are made for the house tour to happen tomorrow — or later today, seeing as it’s somewhere around or past 6 in the morning. He hopes she’ll stay, that she won’t have to run off to work, that dreaded work, hopes that she could stay all day and the following night too, but she only said she had tonight off, didn’t she? Not two nights. The less he thinks about that the better, like acknowledging a very real hourglass counting down their hours and minutes together until time’s up, until the hourglass can reset again because living on borrowed time, someone else’s time, really is tiring. 

But he doesn’t mention that, instead it’s upstairs in a manner both quiet and unlike him coming home from a party usually, but hey, Dom’s asleep in the master bedroom and if that crackhead wakes up to barrage them with questions about the party, he wasn’t sure he was in the right state for that. Instead, he beelines to his room, a smaller one but cozy. He’s not sure what happens in this interval either, looking back on it when he wakes up late, late in the afternoon, that part too, hazy. But as usual all clothes are discarded, and limbs find themselves tangled in one another’s like some kind of default state. And nothing happens happens, not that he’s entirely sure, logic dictating there being nothing left, having danced every ounce of energy he’d had onto that dancefloor and left his heart and lungs there too, but he finds himself where he’s happiest again, in that corner street between her shoulder and neck, half suffocated by wispy pale hair, breathing it in with not a care in this world. The fadeout to the track of the night is now a slow hiss, a record scratch of the needle now that the song is over, and warmth, such warmth enveloping him before it all fades to black.