#the background looks so cool and the jerseys are sick

[byunbqbes]

HQ BOYS MEETING A BEAUTIFUL FAN

⟶ ft. kuroo, suna, ushijima

♡ kuroo

"kuroo? kuroo testurou?"

kuroo whips around, ready to apologise to whoever that the nekoma volleyball team is currently rushing to catch their bus back to school, when he's suddenly hit with...

kuroo's jaw drops.

he doesn't even know how to describe what he's seeing. all he knows is that he's currently staring at the girl of his dreams.

"um, could i take a video with you?" you give him a tentative grin, before rocking back on your heels, adding, "and if it's okay, could you wish my friend to get well soon?"

kuroo immediately closes his mouth, aware that he looks completely stupid in front of the cutest girl he's ever laid eyes on. he gazes at you with his iconic half-lidded eyes, hoping he sounds more confident than the way his heart is clenching in his chest, "oh? a video? and what's your friend's name?"

"misaki! she's your biggest fan but she couldn't be here because she's sick today." kuroo nods empathetically at your explanation, internally swooning because you're going to such lengths for your sick friend? that is so cute.

"sure! a video's nothing! hang on - kenma, help us take a video!"

kenma turns around, about to protest how they have no more time to entertain fangirls when he sees kuroo slinging an arm around you. kuroo shoots kenma a pleading look and kenma finds himself sighing because, of course, kuroo is absolute putty for pretty girls.

when coach nekomata calls for kuroo and kenma, kuroo frowns as he removes his arm around your waist, before he gets an idea.

he leans in closer to you, pressing something into your hands, smirking, "return this to me in school."

before you can even open your mouth and protest, kuroo's gone.

you look down in your hands and see his nekoma jacket crumpling between your fingers as you giggle to yourself.

♡ suna

suna is normally cool as a cucumber, eyes glued to his phone nonchalantly whenever a group of fangirls approach his teammates and gush animatedly.

normally.

he thinks he's being slick when he sneaks a few glances your way, heart clenching in his chest as he sees you move closer - or rather sees your friends drag you towards...him?

suna quickly assesses his situation and scans the area around him - no, the miya twins were not around him. this could only mean one thing - you're headed straight in his direction.

before he has the time to really freak out about an angel of a girl approaching him, you're already getting pushed towards him, with your friends' soft snickers in the background. and you're beaming up at him softly.

he feels his heart in his throat when he hears you repeat, gesturing to your friend who's holding up a polaroid camera, "are you okay to take a photo with me?"

okay? fuck. he is more than okay.

suna blinks, regaining a little composure. straightening his jersey, suna nods at you silently and wraps an arm around your shoulder, hoping you don't hear the way his heart is hammering thunderously against his chest.

holy shit. how do you smell amazing too? what was that - vanilla or something floral?

as suna tries to figure out what exactly is the intoxicating scent wafting around him, the photo is over, a little too fast might he add. he feels you pulling away from him and his arm drops back to his sides.

he knows he sounds uncharacteristically simp-y and even cringes a little at himself, but he knows he will forever regret it if he didn't ask you.

"do you wanna have another photo? with the polaroid camera, i mean."

suna may or may not have left his number behind the second polaroid.

♡ ushijima

"hi!"

ushijima feels a gentle tap on his shoulder right after he hears you. he turns around slowly and -

there is no way you are real.

"hello." he greets, looking stoic in contrast to the way he's internally panicking.

ushijima feels his grip tighten on the volleyball he's holding, taking in the way your eyes shine under the harsh gym lights. he listens to you ramble something about being a fan of his and a reporter as his eyes continue to glaze over your angelic figure, only snapping out of it when he feels kageyama nudging his side.

"so ermmm, what do you do in your free time?" you repeat helpfully, prodding a pen against your notepad.

"uhm." ushijima feels his face heating up. "i take care of my plants."

you're immediately gasping, "no way! i'm a plant mom too!"

"oh, uhhh," ushijima swallows, growing impossibly redder at the revelation of your shared hobby, "what do you grow?"

"roses!"

of course. that suits you, he thinks, pretty flowers for a pretty girl.

before ushijima knows it, he's spluttering nervously, "there's...actually a nursery around here..."

you look up from your notepad, eyes crinkling excitedly as you listen to ushijima explain how to get there. but after a couple of failed descriptions, ushijima scratches his head, "i-if you're not too busy afterwards, i could take you there?"

your eyes widen at the insinuation, before you nod shyly and give ushijima a small smile, which he finds himself melting at.

did ushijima just score himself a date? maybe.

is he complaining? oh hell no.

🤍 reblogs are very appreciated!

[fruitcoops]

for the jules stay with coops, would you be able to do something where jules kinda just messes around on the ice with a stick n puck n the team just kinda watch in adoration? 🤧

This is the final installment of Adventures in Babysitting! Thank you to everyone who stayed interested in this idea, which is the longest series I’ve ever written for SW fanfic (about 15k words total! Wow!). This is my favorite part so far, I think. Hope you enjoy!

Intro 1 2 3 4

Credit for Sweater Weather/ Jules goes to @lumosinlove!

“Can I watch again today?” Jules begged, tugging on the strap of Remus’ duffel bag as they walked to the car. “Please? Please please please please—”

“Yes, you can watch,” Remus groaned, hefting their gear into the trunk. It seemed extra heavy today. “Though keep asking like that and I’m going to say no.”

“The plane doesn’t leave until six thirty, so we’ll be able to hang out with the guys after practice, right?”

“Well, yeah, but we should be at the airport by five just in case,” Remus said. “And it’s an open practice, so the media will want to ask some questions afterward. You can probably hang out with them between interviews, though.”

Jules bit his lip. “Oh. Okay.”

“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.” He watched Jules buckle in through the rearview mirror while Sirius turned the car on. Most of the snow had melted the previous day, leaving a clear and crisp morning that Remus could feel through the windows as they drove to the rink; he felt a little bad for everyone who wouldn’t be moving around to keep warm for the next few hours.

Moody wasn’t by the door when they arrived, nor was he in the PT room. Remus checked the clock quickly and frowned—they didn’t have a lot of time to spare before they needed to get ready to go. “Coach!” Sirius called, waving down the hallway.

Arthur looked up at them and smiled. “There you are! Got your skates, Lupin?”

Remus blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Not you. Little Loops, did you bring your skates?”

Jules and Remus turned to Sirius at the same time and he hid a smile behind his hand. “Got ‘em right here, Coach,” he said without looking at them, holding his bag up.

“What?” Jules whispered and turned to Remus, who shrugged. “What’s he talking about?”

“You’re number…24?” Arthur squinted at his clipboard and walked closer to them. Jules nodded silently. “Alright, I think we can figure something out. You play center, right?”

Jules squeaked out a ‘yes’; Remus could feel him trembling with excitement. “I get to play?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and bent slightly to his level. “Your brother never stops talking about how you’re the best center Wisconsin has ever seen. I wanna know if it’s true.”

“Sirius, what did you do?” Remus murmured as Jules struggled to take a deep breath.

“I may have possibly told Coach it was his last day here. Perhaps,” Sirius whispered back.

Remus shook his head. “You are the most incredible person on the planet and I’m going to kiss the daylights out of you as soon as humanly possible.”

“Love you, too.”

“Re.” Jules yanked on his arm as he jumped up and down, ramping up with every passing second. “Re, I get to skate with the team! I get to skate! With the team!”

“Looks like it,” Remus laughed. “Come on, practice starts in twenty.”

Not only had Sirius packed Jules’ skates, but somehow he had snuck all his gear into their duffels without either of them noticing; all the guys brightened when they walked into the locker room and Kasey waved to him from his stall. “Hey, Little L—”

“I get to skate!” Jules blurted as he gripped Remus’ hand hard enough to hurt.

James shared a look with Sirius—so you were in on it, too, Remus thought as he led Jules to his stall. “That’s pretty exciting,” he said with a low whistle. “How’d you swing that?”

“Coach Weasley wants to see me play.” If Jules made it through the next three hours without fainting from happiness, Remus would be shocked.

“You must be pretty good, then.” Leo grinned as he buckled into his pads. “Think you can score a goal on me?”

Jules hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“That’s the spirit,” Finn laughed, ruffling Jules’ hair. “You got a jersey yet?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. What’s your number?”

“24.”

“Yo, Ringer, you got an extra?” Evander Bell dug around for a moment before tossing him a clean jersey. Finn grabbed some stick tape out of his bag and tore two pieces off; when he shook it back out, a decent ‘24’ had replaced the previous ‘21’. “There you go. You might have to tuck it in a bit.”

Jules threw his arms around Finn’s waist and squeezed him tight, mumbling ‘thank you’ over and over again. Finn rubbed his back and looked up at Remus with pleading eyes—can I keep him? he mouthed, pouting when Remus shook his head. Logan and Leo ‘aww’ed in the background.

“Okay, bud, let’s get your pads on so you can enjoy your last day here.” He put a slight emphasis on the final three words and the rest of the team perked up, trading glances between their stalls as Jules hurried to change into his gear.

Thankfully, he already knew what to do, and within ten minutes all three of them were on the ice. Several fans pointed to Jules and waved; he seemed surprised by the attention and shyly smiled back. Coach’s whistle snapped them all to attention and Remus laid a hand on Jules’ helmet to keep him close, just in case. “Cap, you know our drills for today. We start our scrimmage at 12:30 and you get twenty minutes for a lunch break.”

“Yes, Coach,” they chorused. Jules’ answer was a little delayed and Remus caught several half-hidden smiles beneath visors.

“Over here, 24,” Logan said, guiding Jules to the starting line with his stick on his back. “You wanna be on my team?”

“I want dibs!” Talker called as he skated past. “Jules, who’s your favorite? Me, or Shortie Pants over there?”

“Uhhhh…” Jules looked quickly to Remus. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“Sucks to be you guys, but he’s on my team.” Sirius held his hand out for a fist bump that Jules happily obliged. “Right, buddy?”

“Totally.”

“Hell yeah.”

The drills were far easier than usual, even for an open practice, which gave everyone a chance to show off. They went through the motions, adding little flourishes here and there that the slowly-gathering crowd ate up; even Jules started having fun with it, tapping pucks back and forth with Pots between rounds and shooting goal after goal toward Kasey and Leo. He shone with joy.

When the lunch whistle blew, Remus tapped the back of his helmet lightly. “Remember that trick I did to knock Harzy over?” he asked under his breath. Jules grinned. “Want me to show you how to do it?”

“Duh.”

“Alright, c’mere.” Remus skated over to the far end of the rink, keeping an eye out until Finn was safely out of sight. “Plant your leg like this, yeah?”

Jules frowned, but did as he was told. “I thought you went right.”

“I did. You have to fake him out with the left. He falls for it every time.”

“Really?”

“Dollars to donuts. Give it a shot.” Jules wobbled a little. “Keep your balance steady…there you go!”

“Cool!” he whispered, looking up with a bright smile. Remus leaned down so they could knock their helmets together. “Cool.”

“Okay, time for lunch. You can try it out in the scrimmage.”

Jules practiced the motions all the way back to the bench, muttering instructions under his breath as Remus kept him from knocking anyone over on accident. He scarfed down a sandwich and downed a few gulps of Gatorade, which Sirius confiscated in case he drank it too fast and made himself sick.

“We’ve got a game to win, buddy,” he said. “Take it slow.”

“Scrimmage list is up!” Coach called from the doorway, tacking a sheet of paper to the wall. Everyone immediately crowded it; Remus shouldered his way through Kasey and Logan to get a good look.

He laughed out loud when he saw it. “Jules, you better square up!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Am I playing against you?”

“Yep. You’re up against Sirius for the face-off.”

Jules’ eyes got huge in his head. “No.”

“See for yourself, buddy.”

“Does that mean we’re on the same team for once?” Sirius murmured as he leaned against the side of Remus’ stall.

“Looks like it.” He tilted his chin up for a quick kiss and Sirius tugged the edge of his shoulder pad lightly.

“Love seeing you in these.” He tapped the wooden shelf above them and grinned before straightening. “Alright, boys, let’s go!”

It almost felt like family skate again, except for the overarching vibe of genuine competitive spirit that spread through the team. Jules and Sirius skated to the center and braced for the drop; Jules dug his blades in, and not for the first time Remus was struck by how much they looked alike.

Sirius tapped the front of his skate, but Jules didn’t flinch from his laser-focus on Dumo. “He’s got his head in the game, Cap,” Dumo said with a grin. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

The puck dropped. In a flash of movement, both lunged for it; Sirius won, but Jules was hot on his heels as he skated toward the opposite goal, his face lined with pure determination. “Twelve!” Remus called, tapping his stick against the ice.

Sirius passed it, but Jules didn’t falter from his tail, moving to shadow his every moment. Remus passed James easily, but Talker stole the puck and turned it around for a quick move toward Leo, who dropped into a lunge and blocked his shot. The pace picked up after that and Remus heard the telltale click of press cameras going off along with the whoops of fans who had come to watch.

And then Jules started tailing him, the little shit. Remus did a lazy loop around the outside, then darted in to shake him—Jules reappeared moments later, a bit out of breath but otherwise fine. Remus took the puck out from underneath Logan and raced for the goal as a beautiful line opened up for him, but he heard the familiar shush-hush of Jules’ skates and braked hard.

He should have known it wouldn’t work. Jules dodged sideways at the last second, just barely missing the puck with his stick, then spun back around and chased Remus in a sharp curve through the defense. He heard several people start laughing as he lowered his center of gravity and took a hard turn; the chill of the ice burned his cheeks, but Jules didn’t leave him alone.

“Come on, Little Loops,” he taunted, grinning over his shoulder. “Come and get it!”

Jules grumbled something under his breath and pushed off harder, skating right at Remus with single-minded intensity. He saw his left foot lift and internally shook his head.

With a couple quick taps, he was behind him again. “You can’t use my own tricks against me!”

“I can try!” Jules shouted back as they flew up the ice once more. Kasey caught his shot. “Nice one, Loops.”

“Better luck next time, eh?” Remus knocked on his helmet as he skated past, still panting. Arthur was laughing so hard he had to lean against the glass while Moody patted him on the back and winked at Remus.

“Eight more years,” Moody called with a grin. “Then we’ll have two Lupins out here.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Remus laughed.

They stayed on the ice for a while after the scrimmage ended, losing 2-1 to Sirius’ team. Jules shadowed anyone he came within five feet of and was harder to shake off than a piece of duct tape—Remus had never been prouder.

“Harzy! Harzy, I gotta show you something!” Jules waved to Finn, who looked over in amusement from Leo’s goal. “Skate toward me like we’re in a game.”

“Sure thing, bud.”

Jules kept his eyes on Finn’s feet as they grew closer, mouthing something under his breath. No, Remus thought. Is he going to…?

He did. In one perfect motion, he picked up his left skate and pushed hard in the other direction, zipping beneath Finn’s arm and sending him in the other direction. “No!” Finn shouted immediately as Jules burst into maniacal giggles. “Absolutely not! Remus Lupin, get your ass over here!”

“That was perfect!” Remus held his hands out for a double high-five and Jules jumped to reach his palms. “Excellent form.”

Shaved ice coated them both as Finn snowed them, still scowling. “I can’t believe you!”

“Have you tried saying ‘no’ to the puppy eyes?” Remus asked, turning Jules by the shoulders and sticking his own lower lip out.

Finn scoffed, but he could hardly hide his smile. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Indeed.” He squeezed Jules’ arms briefly. “It’s about time to head out, J. Do you want to say goodbye to everyone while I check in with Marlene?”

The unbridled excitement on Jules’ face dimmed a bit. “Do I have to go?”

“You’ve got school in a couple days.”

“I could stay until it starts again.”

“Mom and Dad miss you a lot.”

“Remus!” Marlene flagged him down from the boards and he skated over with Jules in tow, pulling his helmet off and swiping sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“What’s up?”

Before she could speak, a skinny man with large glasses pushed to the front of the group; Remus disliked him instantly. “Mr. Lupin, can you tell us—”

“Excuse you, I think she was trying to talk,” he interrupted, giving the man a stony look. “Hey, Marley, how’re you doing?”

“I’m doing fine. This is Craig Stearns, from the Hockey Daily…magazine.” Her smile was slightly forced. Tabloid. “He has a couple questions for you.”

“Hi, Craig.”

“When were you going to tell the media about your secret child?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “My what?”

Craig’s eyes flickered down to Jules, whose grip tightened on the hem of Remus’ jersey. “Your son.”

“You mean my little brother?”

“You’ve been seen with him an awful lot this week—”

“Because he’s my little brother.”

“—and he appears to be living in your house—”

“Because he’s my little brother.”

“—and several photos show you walking hand-in-hand—”

“Do you have siblings?” Remus cut in. “I’m going to assume you don’t. My parents visited for the holidays, during which time there was a death in the family and Jules stayed with Sirius and I for the week. He was living in our house because I’m not about to put my ten-year-old brother in a hotel, and I was holding his hand so that he didn’t run into the street. Are we done here?”

Craig paused. “Can we get a picture—”

“No.”

Jules tapped his elbow and Remus bent down. “Can we go home?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, buddy, we can go home.” Remus gave him a gentle nudge toward the boards. “Go find Sirius, okay?”

“Okay.”

Remus watched him skate across the ice until Leo caught him and swung him into the air before turning back to Craig with the coldest glare he could muster. “You can say whatever the hell you want about me, but keep my little brother out of your fucking gossip column. He’s ten. I better not see his face on some tabloid, got it?”

“Crystal clear,” Craig said with a harsh gulp.

“Good.” Remus looked over to Marlene and smiled, giving her a fist bump. “See you tomorrow, Marley. Say hi to D for me.”

“Will do.”

--------------------------------------

After endless hugs and a standing offer to play from Coach, they finally made it to the car just before four pm. They practically had to crowbar Jules and Moody apart—Remus was half-expecting the grouchy old man to run out after their car waving adoption papers, and letting Kuny figure out Jules was ticklish may have been the worst mistake of Remus’ life.

It was cute, though, seeing the puppylike love on his teammates’ faces whenever Jules entered the room. Jules clearly had a good time; he passed out cold in the backseat within two minutes of leaving the parking lot, still damp from his shower.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to give him back yet?” Remus asked.

“I was just about to say that,” Sirius laughed, glancing into the rearview mirror. “We could tell your parents the flight was cancelled.”

“They miss him.”

Sirius sighed. “I’m sure they do.”

“I still don’t want to put him on a plane alone.”

“He’ll be safe.”

“One of us could fly with him…?” Remus shook his head. “Never mind, he’d think we were treating him like a kid. Ugh. I already miss him.”

“We’ve still got an hour or so to pack.” They turned into the driveway and Sirius parked, but neither of them moved to get out. “This was really, really fun. I’m glad we did it.”

“Me, too.” Remus sighed and twisted around to shake Jules’ knee. “Jules, we’re home. You can sleep on the plane, okay?”

Jules took a deep breath and blinked awake, scrunching his nose up. “I don’t wanna pack.”

“I’m not doing it for you, so you better get a wiggle on unless you want to go home in just your underwear.” Jules was out of the car in a flash and both of them dissolved into laughter. “Oh, fuck, I didn’t think that would work.”

“Come on, he’s about to break the door down.” Sirius snorted and got their bags out of the trunk, then tossed Jules his keys. “It’s the one in the middle, buddy.”

“The blue one?”

“No.”

“The yellow one?”

“Are either of those in the middle?”

“…is it the silver one?”

“There you go.”

Jules got it open after a moment of maneuvering and they tumbled inside in a heap of hockey gear, locking the door against the cold wind that was starting to blow. Packing wasn’t difficult—Remus had put Jules’ laundry into the dryer the previous night and threw it into his backpack as Jules collected his books and leftover socks.

They were in the car by five; Remus was a little nervous about getting to the airport on time, but traffic was light and they arrived with more than an hour to spare. Check-in was easy, they made it through security without any issues, and before he knew it, they were standing in front of the gate.

“You have everything, right?” he asked for the thousandth time as Jules rocked on the balls of his feet. “Books, clothes, everything you brought?”

“I’m fine, Re,” he said.

“You’re not hungry?”

“I had a sandwich before we left, remember?”

“It’s a four-hour flight.”

“I’ll be okay.” Jules looked up at him and smiled. “I’m ten, remember?”

I know, that’s why I’m worried. “Boarding for first-class passengers and unaccompanied minors,” a smooth voice called over the intercom. Remus’ heart leapt and he saw Sirius stiffen slightly.

“That’s you, bud,” he said around the lump in his throat, crouching to give him a proper hug. He buried his face in the side of Jules’ neck and gave him a tight squeeze. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Jules mumbled. Remus let go after a moment and Jules moved to Sirius. “I’ll miss you.”

“Oh, buddy.” Sirius kissed the top of his head. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“Say hi to mom and dad for me, yeah?” Remus added as Jules walked over to a stewardess in a blue dress.

“I love you!” he called again. Just before they reached the gate, he stopped in his tracks. “Wait!”

“What?” Remus’ stomach dropped to his feet as Jules shrugged his backpack off and ran back to them, flinging himself into Sirius’ arms.

“I didn’t think of a nickname for you!”

“That’s okay,” Sirius assured him. “I don’t need one.”

“Nicknames are for people we care about, and I care about you,” Jules insisted. He narrowed his eyes in thought before breaking into a wide grin. “Siri.”

“Like the phone app?”

“Exactly. Might need some workshopping, though.”

“Go catch your plane,” Sirius laughed, setting him down after a final hug. Jules ran back to the stewardess, who gave them a quick smile while she helped him get his backpack on again. They stayed in their spot, hand-in-hand, until the plane was nothing but a speck among the clouds and their feet started to ache.

“They’ll come visit soon, right?” Remus leaned his head against Sirius’ shoulder as they headed for the exit.

“They will.”

“How much do you want to bet Jules left at least three things behind?”

“He probably left half his clothes under the bed, but there are so many other things we’re going to be doing tonight that don’t include tracking down a kid’s lost sock.”

“Oh, really?” Remus raised an eyebrow at him and kissed his knuckles. “I like the way you think.”

“We already earned our Oreos, mon loup. I think we deserve a reward for surviving three weeks of constant family time.”

[anotheronechicagobog]

Rangers, Lead the Way

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Swearing, canon compliant violence, I had to use a lot of material from the actual episode, mention of domestic abuse

tagging: @detectiveinchicago​

A/N: So, this is a new series. Basically, OA Zidan (FBI), Jay Halstead (Chicago PD), and Kenny Crosby (FBI: Most Wanted) all went to Ranger training together and kept in touch, something that was useful when they couldn’t be the one to keep their ‘partner’ safe and need to call one of the others for assistance when their ‘paartners’ are temporarily working with another member of the trio.

OA wasn't a name that he'd heard in a long time. They weren't in the same unit but they were in Rangers training together. Jay was one of the only two people there who didn't have it out for him solely because of his religion, while he was shocked to find a Muslim among the ranks at first, he quickly got over it. Not only did he trust that his superiors wouldn't let a terrorist into the army at all, let alone Ranger training, but OA was a U.S. citizen, and had a very personal hatred for everyone who sullied the name of Islam and used it for violence and their own personal gain. So he and Kenny Crosby befriended OA despite the shock and ignorance from their brothers and sisters in arms. They studied together, trained together, ate together, and bunked together. When they'd all been given different assignments they made sure to stay in touch. And they continued to call, email, and text each other after they'd all been discharged.

When Hailey got temporarily assigned to New York Jay was... Well, it's hard to describe how he felt. It was such a nightmarish combination of devastated, terrified, and heartbroken. It was like an icy hand had enclosed around his throat and was slowly squeezing, painfully closing his throat, all while his heart was being dissected out of his chest by another. Not only was he reliving one of the most traumatic moments of his life all over again, but Hailey was going to be in the field without him. She was going to be in danger without him there to watch her back.

And since Hailey was amazing, she could tell just by looking at him that his mind was dropping down into a dark place faster than Alice tumbled into Wonderland. "It's just temporary. And I'll be okay, Jay."

"Hailey..."

"I'm going to put in my time and come back as quickly as possible. It's okay. It's all going to be okay." Hailey's words didn't reassure him in the slightest. How could they, when they didn't even reassure Hailey?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Special Agent Zidan."

"Hey OA, it's Jay."

"Hey man, how are you?"

"Honestly, not great."

"What's wrong?"

"My- uh my partner..."

"Hailey Upton."

"Yeah. She's getting detailed out to the FBI for a bit. I found out that she's getting assigned to your unit."

"That makes sense, my partner's doing a UC detail right now, we'll probably be partnered together."

"OA... Watch out for her. Please. She is strong and more than capable of defending herself, and you quite frankly, but- she's my- I..."

"Don't worry, Jay. I'll have her back. She'll make it back to you."

"Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much this means to me."

OA looked at the now-empty desk that had been causing his heart to ache at the sight of it. His shoulder sagged at the pain that was pulling in his chest, the dark fog that filled his mind whenever he started to think, started to wonder, caused his head to throb. "Actually, I know exactly how you feel."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You will be partnered with Agent Zidan."

"Hi, I'm OA."

"Hi. Hailey."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Listen up, everyone. This is Detective Hailey Upton from Chicago PD. She will be with us for the next few weeks as part of our interagency training program."

"All right, so let's, uh, direct our attention to the screens here. Found the body of a young John Doe in St. Nicholas Park. A hundred yards from Alexander Hamilton's house. Federal land, federal case- and no, it is not where Aaron Burr shot him. The famed duel took place in-- anyone, anyone? Weehawken, New Jersey. Kristen knew. Unfortunately, there's far less clarity in the present homicide case. Evidence of torture and abuse, the victim was brown-skinned, but there was no other evidence of a hate crime. So let's dig in, get to work, start filling in the blanks. Yeah? Go."

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, Chicago PD? Should I be nervous?"

"Nervous?"

"You guys have been in the news a lot and not for good reasons."

"Uh, yeah, we've had some issues, but they're being addressed. It's a great place. I'm proud to be a part of it. The next time you want to insult me, just come out and say it, you don't need to disguise it as a compliment. This car right here?"

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just my way of saying we do things differently here."

"Mhmm."

"Just trying to keep it real." And keep you from getting hurt so that Halstead doesn't develop a full head of grey hair. "So, you spend much time in New York?"

"Nah, first time here."

"Any early observations?"

"Pizza's too thin. It's like a cracker with sauce on it. Just trying to keep it real."... Okay, so maybe it would've been nice if Jay had warned him that she had an axe to grind, but he could make do.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"If I hear you're harassing any more immigrants, I'm gonna come back here, and I'm gonna break your arm. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"I forwarded Kristen the pictures of Aman. She'll get us a street block number based on the license plates in the background."

"Just like that, huh?"

"The FBI, Upton. Our tech resources are pretty sick. Look, it's not a big deal, but now that you're working with us, just try and be a little bit more careful. If that guy Prichard calls the Bureau complaining that you threatened to use force..."

"Look, man, I don't need a lesson on how to talk to people, all right?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with someone breaking that idiot's arm, it's just... It's just that the Bureau is hardcore, and they take that stuff really seriously."

"You're right. I'm sorry. If he files a beef, I'll eat it and make sure you're clear. All right?"

"Appreciate that. But what the hell's a beef?"

"It's an expression."

"I'm kidding. Kristen said Aman's house is around this area."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, Hailey is a badass. That was pretty damn cool to witness. Sidenote; Jay is going to murder him.

Hailey was fine, more than fine, she actually saved his ass. But that didn't matter, Jay had trusted him to protect Hailey and hadn't failed, but he hadn't done the best job either.

They'd been searching a house, and after coming down the stairs he completely missed an assailant in the kitchen. But Hailey hadn't. No, she saw him and got him out of the line of fire. He provided cover fire while she jumped back over to the wall at the end of the stairs. OA tensed, more than usual when he was in a firefight unless Maggie was- nope, not going there, the point is, he didn't miss the way a bullet penetrated the wall a few centimetres from Hailey's head.

"Halstead."

"Don't be mad-"

"Oh god-"

"Hailey's fine. One-hundred percent fine, not even a scratch. We just, uh, we got into a shootout with an assailant. He got a shot off close to her head. She's fine- more than fine! I swear! She actually saved my ass in that altercation! And I was covering her the whole time!"

"... That's it? That's a pretty normal day for us, OA. She's okay, you're okay... So, everything, is... Okay. And seriously, thanks again, man. I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me. I know that she can take care of herself and the others around her, but it's hard when I'm not the one there to have her six. So I really appreciate that I know and trust the person who is."

"Well, I'm glad that you're not gonna come at me like you did when I stole one of the cookies your mom made from your care package."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want a repeat of that."

"Plus, I know how it feels to... Not know. My partner is under right now and..."

"You're going out of your mind?"

"More than you can believe. I can't eat or sleep, and every time my phone buzzes I think it's a death notification instead of an emergency call from work."

"Sounds like you've got your own Hailey. You'll have to introduce me to Maggie one day."

"Yeah, I will. And Ken's definitely gonna have to introduce Hana. We have heard far too much about her to not even be able to put a face to the name."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I regret our 'no search' rule, but then I remember how much we embarrass each other."

"By the way, thank you."

"Huh? For what?"

"For saving my ass back there. In the house."

"Oh. Okay. Cool. You're welcome."

"Halstead, how much do get shot at, exactly?"

"Why are you asking?"

"She pushed me out of the path of a bullet and when I thanked her afterwards she treated it like it was nothing."

"... I mean, there's not exactly a whole lot I can do about people trying to kill us..."

"Jay. Dude."

"I can try to stop being 'idiotically reckless' as Hailey calls it, but I'm not trying to be a hero or a dumbass or anything, it's just that... If it's not me getting hurt..."

"...It's her."

"Yeah."

"We're both whipped, aren't we?"

"Oh, ridiculously whipped. The desk Sergeant at my precinct is constantly making fun of me for it."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Just got ballistics back on the slugs fired at OA and Upton. They match the bullets that killed Aman, but get this; they also match the bullets pulled from a drive-by murder victim two months ago."

"Could they ID a suspect yet?"

"Yeah, arrested him too. Name is Santiago Gonzalez, known associate of the Latin Players. He's being held at MDC pending trial."

"Latin Players. That's a Chicago gang."

"Hmm, looks like they're expanding."

"So the Latin Players killed someone, they get arrested, go to jail, and the gun

stays on the street."

"And the new owner uses said gun to kill Aman, a studious Indian engineering student?"

"Right. What are we missing? How are these two murders connected?"

"Have OA and Upton pay a visit to Inmate Gonzalez. Maybe he can help us answer that question."

"Right."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So this guy, Gonzalez, is originally from Chicago. Runs with the Latin Players, so maybe you should take the lead on this one. But go hard on him." Hailey and Gonzales were from the same city, same blood, this was her turf, and OA wanted to make sure that he abided by that.

"You want a reaction?" Hailey seemed to get exactly what he meant, what he wanted, but she also seemed hesitant, like she needed more than clarification. It was like she needed permission.

"A big one. Big enough to force him to call his people."

"I think I can do that." And just like that, she had a smirk in her voice and was walking ahead of him. OA could see the wheels turning in her head and a coolness to her features let him know that she'd come up with a game plan. He didn't know if he should be afraid or not.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where's the gun you used in the drive-by?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." They were less than a minute into the interrogation and he was already annoyed. Why did these guys always have to be so smug? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and just let Hailey do her thing, only popping in to keep the flow going. "One of your friends used it to kill a civilian last night."

"Used it again this afternoon on us. Fired off ten rounds."

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about." OA had to hold in a sigh.

"You're staring 20 to life on the case you're riding. Give us the name of the person you gave the gun to, and maybe I'll be able to get you a reduced sentence."

"Get my ass, blondie." OA quickly debated the pros and cons of stepping in. Honestly, this guy would probably just make him angrier with his smug attitude and sexist remarks, plus Hailey wasn't even phased. She was still in control, and she actually seemed a little... Bored.

"I'm not a fed like him. I'm Chicago police."

"So what?"

"Means I play by different rules. Also means I know the names of all the shot callers in the Latin Players. Tomorrow morning, we're gonna do a warrant sweep. Means a lot of people you know are gonna get arrested."

"That's not my problem."

"But it is. Because I'm gonna make sure that they know you are the snitch who gave them up."

"Now, you know nobody's gonna believe that."

"Really? Because in my experience, pissed-off bangers don't do their homework, and if they think you're a snitch, you're a snitch. In the street, rumours become facts like that."

"I'm done talking."

"Alright."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So you think he believed us?"

"I don't know. What?"

"Nothing, you just reminded me of my partner, Maggie, in there."

"Oh."

"In a good way."

"Then thank you."

"Can you cue up the audio feed?" The prison guard nodded back at OA and did as he asked.

"So where is your partner?"

"Uh, she is on an undercover assignment. That I know absolutely nothing about besides the fact that she is gone and unreachable."

"That's gotta be pretty tough."

"Yeah, but she's really good, so she'll be fine."

"We're up." The guard unmuted the computer and moved out of the way so that he and Hailey could see it clearly.

"Yo, just say the word, man. Chicago about to throw that heat."

"What are you talking about?"

Gonzalez sighed. "Police and FBI here sweating me, man."

"About what?"

"That piece that I left behind. I'm guess it's all connected to what happened on the night at Highbridge Park."

"All right, thanks for looking out."

"No doubt."

"Can you trace the number that he called?" OA was ansty, ready to get moving fast before their lead disappeared and from the honed in look in Hailey's eyes he could see she felt the same.

"Payphone up in Washington Heights." The prison guard was curt and efficient, exactly what they needed and OA was silently grateful.

"Okay. Thank you."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm guessing that's his girlfriend."

"Hold on. I talked to her at the park, right before we found Ernesto's body." From the way her body tensed OA could tell Hailey wasn't happy she'd let this girl slip through her fingers. He could tell her that it wasn't her fault, no one was even remotely aware of this connection, but he knew that was pointless. Any passionate law enforcement officer would beat themselves over something like this, himself included.

"Ah, and we have a hit off of social rec. Her name is Harper Quinlan, 23 years old, last known address is 84 Groton Street, Queens, New York."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why were you at the park?" OA sat across from the young woman, dead set on getting all the information she knew. Arman's murder was quickly dissolving into a larger more horrifying crime and he was worried that the poor man who this had all started with would be forgotten and he didn't want to think about why that enraged him so much.

"I told you before. I was walking."

"Or was it to recover the glove that Lucas dropped after he killed his drug supplier?"

"I don't know anything about that."

"We have video of you in the driver's seat of Lucas' Range Rover at Highbridge Park the night that Lucas killed Ernesto Garcia, so you are now an official suspect in a murder investigation. That means no more lying, no more protecting your boyfriend. You either cooperate with us here and now, or you go to prison."

"I'm not gonna help you ruin Lucas' life. I just won't. He's a good person."

"Harper, good people don't sell drugs or kill people."

"Yeah, you don't know him like I do. He's so nice, and... he's sweet... He really loves me."

"Lucas isn't who you think he is, Harper. Protecting him will only get you and more innocent people hurt. Tell me why you think he was in the park that night."

"I'm not gonna help you."

"Are you listening to what I'm saying to you? You're a suspect in a murder investigation here. Lying to protect him makes this worse. You're putting more lives at risk. Be smart. Tell me why you were there that night. Harper, you don't need to go to prison for him." OA knew he wasn't getting anywhere and was trying to think of some other- any other method- to try and get Harper to talk, when Hailey burst into the room. She looked calculated, like she had a plan or idea that needed to be executed exactly or else the worst might befall those she was trying to protect. Which, if he read her character right, was everyone.

"Unlock it."

"What's going on?" Harper was just as confused as he was, but he knew better than to show it.

"Do it. Pull up your texts."

"Oh, my God."

"What does it say?" Hailey already knew, that much was obvious, but whatever was going on needed to be as brutally real as possible to Harper, and voicing it out loud would drive whatever was going on home for Harper.

"'Return the product, or he's dead. You have four hours. Tell your man to meet us at the place we did our first deal.' Oh, my- oh, my God." Harper's sobs quickly took up the space of the interrogation room, it didn't matter that she hadn't seen her father in so long, losing him would devastate her, and the Latin Players knew that well.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Let me take a run at her. I might have an angle to play." OA watched Hailey carefully, trying to make out was she was thinking, what angle she could possibly have, but he hadn't known her nearly long enough for any of that. There was this... Knowing glint in her eyes, and a sort of dark confidence had taken over her aura. She was confident in whatever plan she had, obviously, he just had no way of predicting what it was. In that moment, OA could really see what made Jay all twisted over her. She didn't look excited to break the accomplice of a drug dealer, or eager to impress the FBI. She looked like she was ready to get elbow deep in someone else's mess just for the sake of protecting as many people as possible with her quick wit and razor-sharp intelligence. So he just inclined his head and got ready to watch her work from the other side of the glass.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're in a tough place right now, Harper. We have video of you at the scene of a murder, which makes you an accessory. You're looking at 15 to 20 years in prison. But if you cooperate, we can help you. We'll talk to the prosecutor, explain why you were there, help him understand the nature of your relationship with Lucas."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what's going on. He hurts you, doesn't he?"

"No. That's not true. He's a good guy-"

"No, he's not. What are those bruises on your neck? You tried to cover them up, but I can see them. When you first met, I bet he was great. You guys hit it off, you had fun. He was everything you wanted. But then he started chipping away at your friends and your family. So you pop a pill to numb the pain and tell yourself everything's okay, just hoping that the abuse is gonna stop. Harper. It won't. I talked to your dad. He loves you very much. And he needs you right now. He's in a lot of danger. If these guys don't get their drugs back, they will kill him. The only thing that matters now is you helping us to find Lucas, so we can recover the drugs and find your dad." Watching Hailey in the interrogation room really was something else. From the slight waver of her tone, the palpable understanding in her voice that seemed to wrap a crying Harper in the first hug she's had in a long time, he could tell that she was exposing a pain-filled part of herself to this- this girl, this accomplice in drug dealing and murder. And still, she was able to remain professional and in control, and OA could honestly say that her incredible ability to do her job both made his heart ache for her and impressed him far more than he thought she would.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were in the surveillance van, waiting for Harper and the SWAT team to get in to place. What OA was itching to ask her was highly personal. He did not expect her to feel comfortable talking to him about it, but she'd given Harper some of her strength and after revealing something so heart-wrenching, the protective Egyptian older brother in him needed to make sure that she'd left enough for herself. "So, how do you know so much about abuse? I am sorry, I did not mean anything by that."

"No, it's fine. It's all good. Everyone becomes a cop for a reason. I guess that's mine."

"Uh, yeah."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Don't forget, Harper. He wants the cash to get out of town, but we need the location where he first met his dealer. That's where your dad is." OA nodded along to Hailey's instruction, keeping a critical eye on the emotionally distraught Harper.

"Babe. They took my father."

"What are you talking about?"

"That guy that you deal with, they grabbed my father and texted me that they're gonna kill him unless we return the drugs that you took."

"Oh, no, no. I can't- I can't do that."

"They took my father!"

"Look, I feel bad, but they will kill me. Oh, Jesus, don't-"

"Lucas."

"Don't give me the sad eyes look."

"Lucas."

"I'm screwed. Look, I gotta look out for me- for us, you understand?"

"Look, I need to know where you and Ernesto did your first deal 'cause that's where they wanna meet."

"I just told you, I'm not going-"

"I will go! I'll call my uncle. He has a lot of money. Maybe I can negotiate a deal or something."

"I gotta get moving, all right, so give me the money."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Stay strong." Hailey could see her waver, could see her lose her ground and need someone to keep her steady. "Location first, then give him the money."

"Lucas. Lucas. Lucas!"

"I'll call you later on, all right?" Lucas, being the selfish douchebag that he is, grabs the bag of money and moves to book it, leaving his girlfriend who needs him behind.

"Damn it. Move in now!" OA sounded the call and immediately all agents left their posts and honed in on Lucas.

"Lucas!"

"You lying sack of..." Lucas, in an effort to prove that he really is a stellar guy, pulls out a gun and starts shooting at the agents, causing panic and fear in the civilians around them. Really, Harper? This guy?

"Get down! Get down!" Hailey pulled Harper out of the line of fire and pushed her to the ground before covering her with her own body, amazing OA with her selflessness yet again. You really picked a good one, Jay.

"Move, move!"

"Drop it!" Scola had joined them when Lucas went for the kill, forcing OA to do the same. Only OA was a good shot, though.

"Lucas! Lucas! Lucas! Lucas..." Harper couldn't stop calling for him, and OA was certain that the only reason she hadn't crawled over to his body was that Hailey was holding her in place. "It's okay." Hailey seemed to be stuck on repeat, comforting Harper. OA personally couldn't see how someone who had been abused would mourn their abuser... But then again, he thankfully had never had to suffer through that. Unlike Hailey.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Sounded like he was ready to hit the road, so I'm guessing his dope is close by. Nothing back here." OA went to the Range Rover with Scola to look for anything- finding the drugs would've been preferable, but as long as it was a tangible clue, they could call it a win.

"Yeah. There's nothing here either."

"Any luck?" Hailey approached them, her I-know-something-that-you-don't-but-don't-worry-I'll-tell-you plastered on her face.

"Nope. Nothing."

"You have the keys on you?"

"Yeah."

"Here, let me try something. Hop in. Shut the trunk." Hailey closed the driver's door, started the engine, pushed a button on the stereo and on the car door. A drawer illuminated by blue light opens, containing the missing drugs.

"I already pushed it. Nothing happened." Scola sounded mildly insulted, but OA just chuckled internally.

"Okay, Chicago." He was impressed, and he wasn't going to hide that. He was also going to give Jay a call later to tell him to ask her out already. There's no way a woman this amazing stays single for long.

"I have a CI who installs these things. Engine has to be on and doors closed in order for it to open."

"Okay, we got the dope. Now we just gotta figure out where to deliver it to."- OA

"Yep."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We have Lucas' texts from the phone he was carrying since Harper said he started doing business with the Latin Players about a month ago-" Kristen was leading their group of field agents and Jubal towards the front desks, explaining what she found, and while normally they would have totally enjoyed her explaining just how smart she is, things were a little time-sensitive.

"Yeah."

"We need to scrub that time period."

"There, on the 28th. There's a text that says, 'Meetings at 2. Let's do 9 instead of 8.'" One of the analysts pulled the info onto the computer screen in front of them, showing them the text records.

"'Let's do 9 instead of 8'? But the meeting's at 2:00. Is that some sort of code?" Jubal's mind was whirring away with Kristen's, figuring out exactly what it meant.

"Well, here's Lucas' GPS data from that day around that time." Kristen worked her magic so that Jubal could work his.

"All right, so from 1:37 to 3:12, he was in Brooklyn down by the river. Kris, can you zoom in? Get a more specific look at this. Yeah, over here. Can you drill down right there?"

"Okay."

"They met at 2:00 at a dock. Pier nine instead of pier eight. That's the meeting place." Scola voiced it out loud, like he was still in thought and hadn't had time to put all of the pieces in place internally first.

"There it is." Jubal's prideful voice made OA smirk.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We've got 67 minutes to get the drugs down to pier nine. Unfortunately, the guy we need to deliver the drugs is at the city morgue." Isobel voiced the dreadful obvious from her office, forcing them all to sigh and start their plan to catch Arman's killer from scratch.

"I'll go under as Lucas' friend. I'll give him the coke in exchange for Harper's dad." Hailey volunteered herself, but not with the same gusto she'd been working the entire case. Something was off and OA's 'spidey senses' were giving him no peace.

"No. These guys have done their homework. They're not gonna buy that." OA knew he made a good point, but he hoped that no one saw the way his shoulders went rigid.

"I get it, but I think I can pull it off."

"No, I agree with OA. It's too risky." Isobel agreed with him and OA felt like he could breathe again, he promised Jay that he'd watch her back, something he couldn't really do if he was watching her not with her. And if he were honest with himself, he'd become a little attached to her in the time they'd been partnered together, hoping that they would become friends.

"So we need a plan C."

"Let me do it. He's my father. I'm the one who got him into this awful situation. So let me do it. Let me do something meaningful. Something that will make me feel good about myself... Please. Gotta let me do it." Harper looked at Hailey, not even acknowledging the rest of the room.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're gonna do great. Just follow the plan we laid out."

"He doesn't get the second bag until you see your father."

"Right. Got it."

"And if your dad's not at the meeting place, you tell the man to bring him there. He'll say no. You stand your ground." Hailey seemed to be offering more comforting advice.

"You have more leverage than you think. This dope is worth a lot of money, and that's all they really care about." While he seemed to be offering more calculated advice.

"It's okay to be nervous. They'd be suspicious if you weren't. You good?"

"I'm good."

"Okay."

"Okay. Here we go."

"Alpha team in position."

"Where's Lucas?" The gang leader, covered in tattoos was menacing as he approached.

"He sent me instead."

"And my product? There's only one kilo here."

"The other four are close by."

"Close by doesn't do me no good."

"Show me where my father is, and I'll get you the other four."

"Don't get cute with me, mama. I'll cut your throat. Go get my dope."

"Let's get ready to move in."

"No, no. Give her a chance."- Hailey was confident, but OA couldn't help but side-eye her. Wondering just what made her so sure.

"You trying to get your dad killed? 'Cause, that's what's happen if you keep playing."

"I need to see him."

"He's alive. I promise."

"I need proof."

"[whistles] Right over there, chica."

"Okay, we got eyes on the dad. We're good to go."

"Wait, wait, wait. Let's see if we can get him talking about Aman's murder. As soon as we see a weapon, we roll."

"Okay." OA knew that Hailey was smart, and she had been making great calls throughout this case, but he was still hesitant. An innocent man's life was in the balance, but he wanted justice for Arman too.

"Be a good girl, go get my dope. Do that, Big Papa walks. I'll go with you."

"So... So... How do I know you're not gonna kill me and my father once I give you the dope?"

"I don't kill civilians. Bad for business."

"You kill that Indian guy? He was a civilian."

"I try my best, but I'm not perfect, mama." Harper meekly retrieved the second bag from behind construction equipment.

"You did good, Harper." But 'good' wasn't enough for him. Suddenly a large silver gun was pointing at the middle of her forehead.

"FBI! Don't move!" OA lead the charge, coming out of hiding and announcing himself the second that they got confirmation that he murdered Arman they'd burst out of the van and beat SWAT to Harper, the Latin Players, and Harper's father.

"Drop your weapon now! Let me see your hands now! Put the gun on the ground! Step away! Put it down now!"

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground, now!"

"Dad!"

"Let me go! Dad! Dad! Dad!" Honestly, he didn't give the tearful father-daughter reunion much attention or thought, but he noticed that Hailey did, if only for a couple of seconds longer than necessary. He didn't know what to make of that, though.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I just filed my 302. Do you need help with yours?"

"Nah, I just finished."

"So, I have to admit, I wasn't so sure about you."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't sure about you either. But you're all right. For a fed."

"You wanna grab a beer?"

"I'm okay. You don't have to look after the new kid."

"I am pretty sure you don't need looking after. Come on, you saved my life. The least you can do is let me buy you a drink."

"For the tenth time, I didn't save your life. All right, let's grab a beer, but only if you tell me why you became a fed. I told you my reason. It's only fair you tell me yours."

"Deal."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They didn't quite 'go out for a beer'. When OA heard Hailey's stomach throw a temper tantrum in the elevator he suggested going out for food that was accompanied by a beer. She'd agreed as long as they didn't go out for "crackers with sauce on them". OA had laughed, not even remotely or phased by Hailey's obsession with Chicago pizza. It's just another thing she shares with Jay. Besides, he wanted to take her somewhere else.

When they sat down Hailey looked around, taking it all in. Omar has been coming to this restaurant all his life. It had been open longer than he'd been alive, he'd even had his tenth birthday here. He hadn't brought Maggie here yet, not because he didn't think they were close enough, he just didn't know how she'd react to realizing that they are that close. "I hope you like Egyptian food."

"I've never had it, but I'm Greek and I know that there are a few shared foods and ingredients."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed Greek from 'Upton'."

"My parents changed it when they moved here, their name was too difficult for Americans to pronounce, and there was some... Other stuff."

"I'm familiar with 'other stuff'. Do you want any recommendations or need me to explain anything on the menu?"

"You know what? You can choose what I eat tonight. If I like what you pick, I won't tease you for it the rest of the time I'm here."

"Well, for the record-"

"What record?" Hailey laughed.

"For the record, I am completely confident in my knowledge of food so I know I'll find something you'll like. After all, it can't really be bad so long as it's not non-Chicago pizza. Right?"

OA ended up choosing a dish called 'kushari', it wasn't like the Chicago or Mediterranean food Hailey was used to but she'd loved it. OA was smiling at her, proud of his victory, Hailey rolled her eyes, smirking at his impishness. "Tell me about your partner." The question caught him off guard and for a moment he'd felt a significant crack in his walls, leaving him exposed. Suddenly all the feelings he'd been pushing back since Maggie went UC enveloped and starting drowning him. Fear gripped his heart, haunting curiousity stabbed his mind, and loneliness hooked onto his soul. "OA? We don't have to talk about her, I'm sorry I asked, I didn't mean to upset you."

"She's one of the most amazing people I know. She's smart, strong, generous, empathetic, courageous... She's honestly one of the most amazing people in my life and I love having her as my partner." Hailey looked at him the same way his sisters and mother did whenever he spoke about one of the most important people in his life. Like they were able to listen between his words and decipher another meaning to what he'd said. But like his mother, his sisters always gave him hell for it, she said nothing. I couldn't even dispute it if she did say anything.

"She sounds badass."

"She is. What about your partner? Tell me about them?" He'd narrowly averted saying 'him', unsure how she'd react if she knew just how close she and Jay really were, and just how much Jay had told him about her. She got this smitten grin on her face, and OA knew that the roles were reversed from a few moments ago when he had that same smirk and far off look in his eyes. "His name is Jay Halstead, and he's an amazing person, except for when he's getting himself shot, the reckless idiot. He would rather get shot at than get a needle which rattles me to no end, especially because he's so much more kind and intelligent than he gives himself credit for and we need him you know, alive, but still, I admire him so much. He makes me laugh and he just knows how to get to me, you know? I would... I would follow him anywhere. Wow... What is in this food? Truth serum? I'm not usually that open..." It was like he could literally see a forcefield shaping around her. Shrinking in on herself, her face hardening, hastily putting a forkful of food in her mouth. She looked at the wall behind him, pretending to be interested in the decorations, trying to pass off the slight panic in her eyes.

"Maybe it's just my charming demeanour, or that I got personal first, really personal. Or maybe it's because you needed to tell that to someone you don't see every day."

"Yeah. Maybe." She still wouldn't look at him and a tense silence enveloped them until she took a deep breath and shook herself. Light seemingly went off in her head before she gave him an absolutely devilish smirk. "I believe I was promised your origin story."

"Is that what we're calling it? An 'origin story'?"

"It is now."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Halstead."

"Get your head out of your dumb ass and ask Hailey out."

"I- OA-"

"You won't regret it, Jay. I actually think that you will regret it if you don't."

"I just don't know if I'm ready to admit anything to myself, forget Hailey."

"When does life ever wait until you're ready, man? Neither of you work in a stable occupation, and even then the universe isn't exactly known for working on anyone else's timeline. I can literally feel you aching for her from here."

"But what if I'm not good enough."

"Oh, I've only known her for a few days and I already know that no one's good enough for her-"

"Damn have you adopted her as another honourary sibling? How many do you have now? And Hailey actually knows you've adopted her, right?"

"Not important, and don't try and change the subject."

"But if no one's good enough for her, then..."

"You're too hard on yourself Jay. No one's good enough for you either. Why shouldn't two people who are far too good for the world be together? You deserve happiness, Jay. You both do, and I think telling her that you're far gone with her would be a great start."

"Thanks, man. Really."

"No problem."

"... So you think that I'm 'far too good for the world'?"

"And now I'm regretting every word we've spoken." No I don't, but your head really doesn't to get bigger.

"Nope, no take-backs. You think that I'm badass and amazing."

"I never said 'badass' or 'amazing'."

"Jay Halstead- described as 'far too good for the world' by the humble and decorated OA Zidan-"

"I also called you a 'dumbass' but whatever, goodnight Jay. And seriously, ask Hailey out."

[sparklesparklekoushi]

Choose Your Glucose Guardian! (Ushijima Wakatoshi Ver.)

This is part one of a seven part series based on some of the Haikyuu! Captains.

This was originally posted on my Ao3 here: link

Minor spoiler-ish? Mentions a timeskip! team.

That’s all, enjoy!!

You don’t even know how you got here. You were in bed, in a really really oversized shirt with nothing under it. But no, nothing had happened prior to that. You were snuggled up to none other than Japan's volleyball ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi. A movie was playing in the background, probably The Princess Diaries for the nth time during the week. It was a normal occurrence, at night you would find yourself in one of his jerseys or snuggly shirts that were at least 2 times bigger than you, snuggled up to him watching the same damn movie or some other teen flick until who knows what hour.

He would fall asleep faster than you would, but you wouldn't have it any other way this way, you could stare at him lovingly without having to hide it. This way you could admire his peaceful features in contrast to how cold and stoic he looks when he is awake. He doesn't snore, but sometimes you'd catch him sleep talking about volleyball if you're lucky enough. When that would happen you would giggle and smile at what you would hear. But then again, you shouldn't be feeling this way at all…

After all, these were against unspoken rules…

The unspoken rules of being a sugar baby

Yes, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Ace of the Schwieden Adlers, was your sugar daddy.

Yet why did you feel this way?

Maybe it was the way he held you close, like you were something to protect. Or it was in the way he actually smiled when he was with you. Was it the fact that he wasn’t much older than you either? He was only 27 and you were 21, not much of an age difference there and that made you bond, you could say, even closer.

Another thing is that Ushijima would never do anything you wouldn’t consent to. He knew his boundaries and knew how to respect your space. In fact, he was more of a friend at this point than someone who was supposed to be spoiling you nonstop. He just appreciated your company while you loved his company. You didn’t need fancy gifts or anything lavish, you honestly just wanted him. You, if you were to consider him as a friend, really wanted to take things to the next level.

But then, who were you to be anything but a plaything to get bored of? You were just a university student, an art student at that. You were just an expressive mess who was in love with someone who truly isn’t yours. You weren’t poor, in fact, you had a stable internship at an art gallery and your boss says you would make it big someday. You sell cute art and it's fun and fulfilling, so why were you in this situation.

It was another day at an art fair, but this art fair was somewhat different. You weren’t at some anime convention or anything like that, you were selling your original art at a local art fair. You were all dressed up as this took place at a fancy gallery. It was fun, but then this was sort of a test of how much you would sell. You were honestly scared, since this could be a stepping stone to becoming a recognized artist.

Some people had bought your art pieces and it made you happy, you didn’t really know how to price things at first, but your art teacher at your uni had helped you throughout the whole process, in fact, they were the reason you were here now. You were seated at your table, taking a break from talking to all these people when you were approached by a red haired man who seemed to be in the same age group as you.

Woah, that's cool, wish I was this big at that age… you thought to yourself.

He smiled at you when you met each other's eyes, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know the artist of these paintings?”

He was pointing in the direction of your most prized painting, the most expensive one at that. It was your definition of love at that time, a whimsical, beautiful thing.

You nodded, “Yes, that would be me.”

He smiles a little shocked, “Woah that's cool, how old are you? Aren’t you too young to be here?”

You knew he was joking as you both laughed, “For the record, I’m 20. So no, I don’t think I'm that young to be here.”

He nods in respect, “I’m Tendou, Tendou Satori. I’m actually asking about the painting for a friend.”

“(l/n) (y/n). If I may ask, who is willing to buy my painting?”

“I am.” A deep voice says sending shivers down your spine.

You looked behind you to see a tall man who seemed to be the same age as Tendou. And as much as you hate to admit it, he was really good looking.

You learned when talking to him that he was Ushijima Wakatoshi, and the Ace of Japan’s men's volleyball team. Soon enough he asked you to make him another painting… but that didn’t go that well at first.

Some things had happened and your family disowned you completely as you shifted to a full time art major. You argued with them constantly recently as they never supported you… And I guess going to local art fairs proved that you would not listen to them… so a few days later you were disowned. You didn’t know what to do, but you did have enough money for now, to last through the semester.

Eventually however, you had to call Ushijima to tell him about how you would not be able to produce his painting anytime soon. He had been talking to you for a while now, about mundane things like your lives. He thought you were a breath of fresh air and that was when he suggested it.

You were hesitant at first, but he reassured you that he would never do anything that you didn’t like. So you agreed to his somewhat proposal.

So just like that, it's been a year since that has happened. In all honesty, you could walk away from all of this now as you can stand on your own feet and all that. But Ushijima wouldn't let you go. He would always say that he wanted you to stay with him until you finished college at least or he would make other excuses.

You just wish he would do that out of the fact that he wanted to love you for you, and not because you were some fragile girl.

That night, you couldn’t take it any longer. Your thoughts piling up and eating at you were causing you to think of crazy things, so in the middle of the night, you left his house. You wandered out in his old shirt and some leggings as it was a cold night. You brought your phone but put it on airplane mode so you could listen to music. It was going to be a rough night for sure…

Ushijima stirred awake to find you missing from his arms. He was extremely worried. He tried calling you and giving you some time, but as 30 minutes passed and you didn’t answer, he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to find you. He heard you crying a few nights ago, and he wondered why. He thought that he might not be giving you enough art supplies or something, but he wanted you to tell him. So he hinted these things at you through the way Tendou had taught him.

He was honestly sick of this no feelings and strings attached relationship. He truly wanted to love you, but he was scared that you didn’t see him as anything more than a person to talk to, or dare he say it, a friend. He called up Tendou to help him and his friend sighed over the phone saying; “You better make her your girlfriend after this or I’m going to make her my sugar baby.”

That was enough of a push for him to find you and do what's right.

It was getting late, and both males had no hint of where you had gone. They had checked almost everywhere. That’s until Ushijima had realized that there would be a place you would 100% be in, the art gallery where you first met. It would be open until this time as it was open 24/7… plus, you interned there. He sent a text to Tendou to meet him there as he ran over to the place. And there you were, headphones in, about to enter the building. He came up to you and enveloped you into a hug, a hug that made you feel loved.

“Be mine.” He says as your eyes widen.

You’ve never felt so happy in your entire life, and with that, you shared a kiss under the moonlight.

[bubmyg]

orchid - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: fluff, angst, childhood best friends to lovers, fake engagement au? kind of?, emotional constipation to the max, rapper/singer!yoongi, wedding planner!reader; set in a beach side town because i can’t help myself, loosely based off like three different hallmark movies, told entirely in yoongi’s pov, random svt members appear too

word count: 19,079

summary: everyone has a theory as to why renowned singer songwriter min suga hasn’t released an album in over two years but none of those theories point to a crippling inspiration block. or to a wedding. or the one where yoongi doesn’t know his fiancé's favorite flower but he knows yours.

a/n: the longest fic and the hardest fic i’ve ever written is done. i’ve never written something that was this invested completely from a member’s point of view so this was certainly something new and challenging and fun! i hope u enjoy (pls let me know if u do) and thank u for reading this monster jfkjsld

Petals of bleeding purple, a hard line in the center of white where blending hadn’t been buffed out with a brush, almost pink meeting in a jagged line as if dipped onto nature by the curved tip of a damp paintbrush. They came in uneven waves, plucked from their stem to rest on the edges of Yoongi’s yellow notepad. His smile grew with the volume of words he scrawled across the page, patient in gently brushing them aside with the curve of his tiniest finger the longer you fiddled with the flowers in your grasp. 

“Sorry,” You hushed after the third time he’d nudged the offending petals aside, burying them in grains of sand that moved each time you shifted closer to him. He dropped his pen just to glance at you, something bleeding into his own vital organ at the way your eyes were comically, genuinely, dilated in apology. 

“S’okay,” Yoongi’s hand fist in the sand behind him, lounging backward. “I suppose I should be, you know, talking to you.”

“Why?” You gently shoved at his shoulder, “Special occasion?”

His cheek lulled against his arm, eyes falling shot as the corners of his mouth turned up. One deep inhale and he hummed, “—going to miss you, you know?”

Your grasp didn’t move from his arm, instead sliding downward to curve your fingers around his elbow. When he didn’t budge, you shifted closer, squashing any remaining petals below your thighs as you settled your cheek against his sleeve. “Are you really, though?”

Yoongi’s eyes shot open, chin pointing down towards you, “Are you serious?”

A sliver of your irises appeared under your eyelashes, turning away into his grasp after a second to shrug. 

“Well…” He let out a grunt as he shifted, dropping his notepad and pen on top of his nearby bag, “I probably won’t miss you catching crabs just to drop them down the back of my shirt. I won’t fondly remember that time you shoved me into the tide with my work uniform on. I definitely will be forgetting your haircut in seventh grade—” You smacked his thigh, earning a gentle grin as he jostled his arm, coaxing you to look at him. 

“But you?” Yoongi reached past his bag, gathering one of the flowers you’d plucked into diligent fingers. The crooked end of his index finger pleated it behind your ear, hand hovering there. He leaned closer instead, heart swelling in the same way your pupils dilated to collect all the celestial bodies glittering on the push and pull of the tide beyond your tiny campsite. 

He shook his head, barely a twitch in his neck, “I could never forget you, angel.”

“Good!” 

Yoongi startled forward instead of back, bashing your foreheads together with an audible, hollow sounding thump. He groaned in time with your scrambling, your touch leaving him to instead stretch over his lap, rustling around in your own bag. It didn’t come without you digging your palm into his inner thigh, forcing another tiny grunt from Yoongi’s mouth before you settled again, a safe distance away. 

He eyed you again, welt quickly swelling onto the crown of his hairline, sand digging into the dip in his eyelids. You held something in cupped palms and he had half the mind to assume it was a crab to dump down his shirt like some sort of sick joke. 

But Yoongi supposed the sick joke was on him because in a blur of momentary pain and a two percent chance that you’d snatched a ghost crab out of the darkness, you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“—because I bought you something to remember me by.”

Yoongi’s studio collected trinkets. A baseball jersey with his stage name plastered across the back draped to his chair. A tiny Kumamon plush squished between his monitor and a sea turtle shaped coaster that held his favorite coffee tervis. An oxymoron of a welcome mat with a brutish cat advertising go away. 

A framed platinum record for his debut single encased on either side by a song of the year and a record of the year trophy. Just trinkets. 

Something meticulous to his nature never moved his items. Their arrangement created some sense of security and warmth, feet stepping out of rubber sole slippers in the hallway to the thick grey rug over the tile floor like brushing away a curtain of gathered mist in the haze of an already uneasy conscious. The programs on his massive computer monitors didn’t help, nor did his untouched keyboard or the various other pieces of equipment scattered with less than neat wires over his work space. 

But the trinkets didn’t move. That he could count on. 

The press, he could count on them too. Their newest angle, an attempt to prod their way into his growing collection of items, was plastering a grainy image of himself onto their glossy covered magazine front. He could handle the images when they were nothing but background noise in his email, a notification from an intern in marketing that he’d been caught. Yoongi deleted the email with a good conscience. Going to a bar didn’t warrant front page gossip news. 

He’d seen it all in two years since releasing any substantial work. The first guess had been that his contract was under negotiation. Dropped after successful debut? Then he’d signed for five more years and they had to scramble for something else. A fake feud with long time soloist Jung Hoseok, battle of the company’s two superstars, who will come out on top? Hoseok released new music first. Yoongi had producing credits on it. 

And Hoseok was the other shadow in the grainy press image in the present day, his face cut off by the massive pink banner that curled around the perimeter of the magazine’s layout. 

Excessive partying? The headline read. Yoongi pressed his thumb to the center of the cover, bending the magazine as he lifted it closer. Font a handful of sizes smaller than the title looped underneath the image, the curled edges of characters slipped around his throat and stalling his sharp inhale for a half second. 

Min Suga, one hit wonder? New questions as hiatus stretched toward the two year mark. 

The vibration of his cellphone startled him out of his trance. The magazine flopped forward in his grasp, giving out to curl over his knuckles as he poked at the device with his free index finger. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi dragged his fingers down his cheek, letting the limp magazine rest against his thigh. “Yeah, Tae?”

“Are you working on something?”

His blank monitor mocked him, the plain black screen with massive SUGA written through the center ridiculously simplistic and frustratingly idle. Yoongi shook his head even though his manager couldn’t see him over speaker phone. “No.”

“Great, they want you in the conference room in ten,” Taehyung’s voice dropped an octave, falling out of professionalism as he casually asked, “Have you seen the headlines?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi let the magazine fly, hitting the free space near his keyboard with a smack and a tinkling noise. Just another trinket. “What do they want me for?”

“To talk about the headlines,” He could hear the smile in Taehyung’s voice and he could hear the way it erased at Yoongi’s lack of response. “No we’ve...figured out a way to move forward from this. From all of this. Maybe. Just be here, alright?”

“Where else would I go?”

“I don’t know, the bar?”

Yoongi let himself laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. The last time he’d set foot in a club was the last time he’d been photographed in one. An incident that happened far before his first album when he’d just been signed to the label from some offhanded success on a self published streaming site. 

“Watch it.”

“Didn’t know you still had it in you, old man,” Yoongi could sense Taehyung beaming and he relaxed. Marginally. 

“Whatever. See you in a few.”

His phone hit his work space with another elicited click of soft against glass. The reflection of his idle monitors curved over the object in question, contouring shadows around the silver and purple object until Yoongi reached for it, dragging it out from underneath where he’d shoved the magazine. 

A tiny glass orchid purposed to be a pin with the sharpness of a gold latch strapped to the back teetered in Yoongi’s open palm. A misplaced trinket. He clutched it tightly, letting the smooth edges cool into the calloused lines of his hand as he stood from his desk chair, safely depositing the object a tier up on his desk, far away from any further misplacement. 

The magazine didn’t last long in Yoongi’s collection, though. He rolled it, depositing it with a heavy thump into a trash bin on his way out the door. 

Taehyung fidgeted in time with Seungcheol shuffling papers at the head of the small conference table. He crossed his legs, uncrossed, shuffled to the side, fingered at the edge of his own stack of folders slipped sideways from their neat tower, shifted enough to bump shoulders with Yoongi where he sat white knuckled in the chair directly next to him. Yoongi nudged him back, intentional, reaching over to pat his thigh until he settled. His manager and friend glanced at him with wide eyes and Yoongi shrugged, retracting his hand to fold it with the latter then shoved intertwined fingers between his thighs. 

“How’s the writing coming?” Seungcheol asked finally. He hadn’t looked up, continuing to filter through a myriad of stapled packets, one eyebrow cocked into styled bangs. 

Yoongi shrugged again, features wincing. His shoulders hunched from the curl of his stature into himself but he allowed his muscles to relax, and inverted shrug. “No different,” It was shame at himself in his voice, at the nagging innards that told him he needed to make music and at the smoldering creative synapses that refused to fire anymore. Softly, he added, “But I’m working on it.”

“Have you spoken with Jihoon?” Seungcheol looked up then, enough to flatten a packet to the table and slide it across. It was a list of credited songs to said company producer, ones Yoongi would have to do no more than record over his soft vocaled friend and send out a release date to the public. 

The high value Yoongi held his art to, personal and important to him, loomed in his subconscious. Somewhere in the archive he was sure he could connect to Jihoon’s words, dig out enough content to compile into an EP and sate the media. 

But it was the principal of the thing. 

“I’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol accepted the packet when Yoongi pushed it back, nodding with folded fingers settling over the paper. “About the press...recently—”

“We have an idea!”

Yoongi glanced at Taehyung like he’d grown a second nose from the round of his smiling cheek but Seungcheol didn’t seem affected, nodding with a gentle smile curving upwards on his lips. “Go on, Taehyung. You explain.”

It was only the three individuals in the cramped conference room, a spare in the back corner of the company hallways that was grabbed for the sake of privacy and the ability to drop formalities between the artist, manager, and CEO who’d become easy friends. Yet, Taehyung’s dramatic pacing around the perimeter of the room suggested he was plotting a multi-million dollar investment to a swath of shareholders. 

“What’s the one thing in the world that takes ages to plan?”

Yoongi squinted, “...I don’t believe that description is limited to one thing.”

Taehyung ignored him, “When googling this very thing, there are to do lists that range anywhere from a ten step process to an eighty-eight step process, depending on how you choose to split up the planning…”

“It’s an event in which there is an entire job created to plan the very thing.”

“Event planners are a universal job,” Yoongi sighed, “Go on.”

Taehyung’s steps stalled, one arm still folded behind his back, the latter lifting one finger in Yoongi’s direction. “What’s the one, single most romantic day and event that will ever happen in a couples life?”

“Romance is not limited to a singular interaction and often the horrors of capitalism prey on that insecurity when in reality, leaving someone their favorite coffee in their favorite coffee mug before they go to work can be considered romance—”

“Correct!” Taehyung remained unaffected by his rant, letting his wrist hinge to point a stiff index finger in Yoongi’s direction, “If one day you happen to find someone willing to put up with those kind of statements, what would you like to do to them? Or with them, I guess—”

Seungcheol sighed, brushing his paperwork aside to clatter ring clad fingers against the top of the conference table. “How do you feel about getting engaged?”

Yoongi briefly thought the world had chosen that exact moment to flood the remaining thirty percent of it’s surface with water, voices sounding far away as if muffled by an echo and thirty pounds of wool. He managed to pull himself out of it by actually looking at something blue, the stretch of skyline on the tiny window just beyond Seungcheol’s shoulder and even if towers of smoke created faux clouds, it still reminded him to breathe. 

As a result, a neanderthal question tumbled out of pouted lips, “To who?”

“Someone,” If Yoongi weren’t fond of the organization in his files, he would have tossed one like a frisbee directly at Taehyung’s neck. His manager flailed his hands as if it were simple, “Anyone! That’s the beauty of the plan.”

Seungcheol had shifted forward to bury his face in intertwined fingers, muffling the audible sigh he let out. “At first, we thought to sign a contract with someone within the company,” Red marks were left in the path of his fingertips dragging down from underneath his eyelids, “But the aftermath of the eventual breakup would be too much for both parties. We can’t do that, not to someone in or outside the agency—”

“I wouldn’t do that anyway,” Yoongi’s levelheaded sternness faltered as he dropped his gaze to the fiddling fingers in his lap, “This is all my fault. I’m not incidentally sharing my burden with someone innocent.”

“Besides—” He tried to smile, “—not sure you could get anyone to want to fake marry me.”

“You are so dense,” Taehyung scoffed, “Half our talent would add a dating clause to their contract right now if you were on the other end of it.”

A deep spring pink blossomed in jagged puzzle pieces over Yoongi’s bare cheeks and he was thankful for the lack of schedule and makeup as he involuntarily lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. 

“Essentially, your partner will remain nameless,” Seungcheol drew a shape on the table with his nail, “We’ll disguise them as a non-famous individual. Something about a short term relationship but a long term planning process for the wedding—” He nodded solemnly, “—that’ll be why your music has been on hold.”

He wasn’t done, lifting his finger from the table, “The suddenness and the eventual break up of the relationship will be a win win. Each will buy you time to write.”

“And you know what else?” Taehyung had sat again, barely, dangerously hovering on the edge of his chair as he leaned toward Yoongi. “You can go home!”

Another folder glided across the table, coming to a stop in front of Yoongi’s furrowed eyebrows. He tucked his thumb inside, flipping it open to be met with a full page ad, one that had his breath stalling in his throat and his tongue curling into a dried knot. 

“There’s still a wedding business that runs out of your parents’ former home.” 

Yoongi watched you spread the petals with a delicate touch, fingers placing pressure in the sand as you instead created them a tiny rut to rest in, safer from the curl of gentle night breezes brushing off the calmed waves. His gaze trailed in a jagged line, from the ballpoint tip of his pen to the half drawn character crooked between the lines on his yellow notepad to the stretch of his legs outward on the tiny embankment to the crouched curl of your stature. Finally you settled, one full flower in cupped palms, breeze catching the petals there to drape them across the lines in your hands. 

“Did…” He paused when you glanced at him quizzically, “You got the last of the contract details finalized, yes?”

A bright smile encased your features at his question, nodding, “Same day you signed your contract, superstar!—” You leaned closer, hand falling over his knee and he tensed, “Technically I’m a business owner now. You should be nicer to me.”

“So you never finished the application then?” You tilted your head and Yoongi clarified, “School. Scholarship. The city…” My city. 

A quiet smile graced the wrinkles next to your eyes even if your teeth died from it, dropping your chin. One petal plucked from it’s center, lifted by the pinch of your fingers until the wind caught it and it drifted toward Yoongi, slipping up over the spine of his notepad and settling against his belt. 

“I don’t need a degree to teach me a business I already manage,” You said kindly. “If your parents felt confident enough to completely sign it over to me in their retirement, then I suppose we’ll just have to trust their judgement.” 

You tilted your head, “Why? Do you not trust me?”

Yoongi swallowed. He wasn’t holding his bag, but it felt heavier in that moment, like it’s very important contents were weighing on the straps slung to shoulders that drooped involuntarily. You’d gone back to plucking at your flower by the time he gathered himself, eyebrow still raised albeit. 

“No, no, it’s not that,” The next mark on his page was angrier, dark and scuffing through thin pages to leave flakes in its wake. “You’ll do great.”

“I…” Your speech stalled but your petal picking didn’t, “You know, up until I signed the contract, the business was yours to have. Your parents would have left and still would leave it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to run the business. You do. We both know that,” And he meant it. Taking over the family business had never been more than a joke passed over dinner and the occasional holiday, especially not when you’d earned full time employment there. His parents had never been interested much in the idea of keeping it in the family. It hadn’t started that way and there was no reason for it to be such in the future. Why allow you to spend thousands of dollars to start your own aspirations from the ground up when you could continue something that had only improved in legacy from your thoughts and ideals in the time you’d been employed there, anyway. 

Still, Yoongi knew you felt a certain level of apprehension towards signing the contract. There were invisible standards to hold up in your mind, just like there were invisible boundaries you desperately never wanted to cross. 

There was a feeling of indebt clouding the way your clammy fingers shook to sign the paper on the same dinner table you’d been invited in to by the boy whose gum filled smile only shined for you. 

The petals had stopped drifting against his calves again. He glanced at your shoulders rounding, arms limp between the part of your thighs. 

“You’re sure?”

Yoongi nudged your shoulder, incessant until you looked at him.

“I’m sure.” 

Your face grinned at Yoongi in melded inks, ones clearly from the office printer in Taehyung’s office slapped onto low grade, basic copy paper. 

“Do you know the owner, by any chance?” Seungcheol nodded toward the document in Yoongi’s possession, “The person who bought it from your parents?”

Purple specks bled into pink when he dropped the folder to the table, instead using the last link of his middle finger to rub at his eyelid. 

“No,” He met the tattered edge of his fingernail instead of the eyes of his boss, “I have no idea who took it over after them.”

Fingertips patterned a beat to the table top, lining over Seungcheol’s soft hums as he considered the information, shuffling a bit more at his paperwork. 

“Story will hit the press in three days. Your flight will leave in a week. I’ll email you the itinerary but essentially there will be a series of different press dockets done in your time at home—” Seungcheol gestured vaguely, “—engagement photos, staged bits of you planning, things to make it believable, completely produced and sent by us, of course. Keep the prying away from your next album.”

“We’ll insinuate that this is a wedding you’ve been planning for a while, something you’ve been fronting the majority of the work for in the comfort of your ridiculously romantic seaside hometown.”

Yoongi set his shoulders after a half heartbeat of silence, one that earned Taehyung’s gaze on the side of his face, “Is that our only option?”

“Of course not. It’s an idea, no more no less,” Seungcheol sighed, “Unfortunately, we’re to the point where there is only so much I can do for your image. Refuting claims of going to a club seems ridiculous, but the narrative is out there now. No one cares that you were there with Hoseok, they only remember their fabricated feud.”

A gentle smile crossed his lips, “An inspiration block isn’t a good story until there’s music that comes out of it.”

“How do I keep—” Yoongi’s tongue dried on your name, stuttering it back into his throat as he corrected, “How do we keep those close to the situation from telling the press?”

“We’ll give the wedding planner a check. Otherwise, no one should know the wedding is fake. Improve authenticity if anyone gets a hold of the gas station attendant who met you one time,” Seungcheol made air quotes with his fingers, “Trusted sources, you know.”

“...is that something we should be worried about?” He leaned forward in his chair, “Someone leaking something to the press, that is?”

Yoongi swallowed. His chin broke the rigidity of his stature first, dropping, then shaking, fists on curling outward until flattened palms curled around the edge of the table. 

“No,” He said finally, “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

Particular details he knew would be in various reminder emails and sent by text from Taehyung well in advance became background noise to him, like the water from earlier had returned and lipped over his ear canals. They’d taken his lack of protest as a go ahead on the plan, discussing contract details for legality and file purposes without much input from Yoongi. He wasn’t going to deny them, anyway. No matter what the selfish ball unfurling in the sinking pit of his stomach told him to feel. 

Taehyung standing caused him to stand, numb in moving as his brain registered the quiet dismissal without his conscious quite catching up. It was his name that startled him enough to focus, Seungcheol standing opposite him with a hand resting on the back of the chair he previously sat in. 

“Enjoy your trip home,” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a request. The next bit was a comfort, “It’ll come back.”

In the light of his trinkets, Yoongi lounged into his office chair, carefully pulling his phone to his face. The expected text messages were there, ones Taehyung had labeled with giant letters WRITE THIS DOWN WHEN YOU OPEN IT, an email from Seungcheol with his flight information, and an obligatory email from Jihoon that he assumed was at the prodding of their shared boss. He swiped past all of them with a delicate index finger, instead tapping around meticulously organized folders until he found his contacts. 

Phone changes had been abundant through his young career but he maintained a vast majority of the information. Including your name, one he scrolled by without truly remembering if it were there but quietly hoping to see anyway. He let that same finger hover over the name, gathering enough courage only to press on it to pull up the full contact page but not to hit the tiny blue phone hovering out next to the number. 

Instead, he slipped his phone to his desktop, shaking awake his idle screen to click onto an internet browser. The business name appeared in the search box from a prior investigation but Yoongi typed it all out anyway, making sure to add the town so that the relevant place was pulled up. 

The website was a bit generic but it was leaps and bounds ahead of what it had been when his parents still held control all those years ago. In any case, it was a higher quality version that the manila folder Seungcheol had presented him with, that a screen cap of the business homepage that currently stared at Yoongi in ridiculously bright pixels. 

Incidentally, the cursor hovered over your picture, one slightly bigger than the panels of options and tabs scattered underneath. His gaze wandered from the familiar lines of your smile to the orchid he’d placed aside earlier, gaze wavering until he could see the reflection of the glass in the computer monitor. 

Long fingers plucked the trinket out of it’s place for the second time that day, letting it rest to the heel of Yoongi’s palm as he placed it between his thighs, sighing. 

“See you soon, angel.”

Muscle memory presents in things like riding a bike, something your body never quite forgets how to do. But even the trained cyclist will bobble after years of not climbing aboard their vehicle or at the very least, they certainly won’t be hitting their personal record the first time back out. In a similar fashion, Yoongi’s wrist remained limp over the head of his steering wheel, bypassing the correct turn twice. 

It wasn’t that he was lost. He recognized his surroundings once engulfed further into the scenery, pulled into the days of his youth and budding adulthood. But it wasn’t his final destination. 

By the third time his rental SUV rolled past the gravel turnoff, he started to think his subconscious was doing it on purpose. 

His conscious remembered the back way, guiding his car out to the highway that circumvented the coast line, blue blurring into the early afternoon sky until he was almost startled by the return of trees as the road curved back on to land. A few purposeful turns later and his phone GPS, a backup that he’d tuned out the nagging of, happily informed him you’ve arrived. 

The grass was a bit greener than he remembered, almost plush under his tennis shoes as he stepped out of the car. The flowers definitely were, decorated meticulously around varying archways, wire and wooden in build, chevron patterns of pink and purple and blue and yellow and everything in between. Paneled outsides of the main building appeared to have been freshly painted, a red outlined in white dirtied near where the cinder block foundation peeked up from the ground and the mulch collected in the landscaping. 

Yoongi scuffed his way to the winding dirt path that led to the front door of the two story farmhouse, the only thing that appeared as though it hadn’t changed. Bits of gravel stuck here and there but the path was otherwise a beige dirt, dust clinging to the ground from the lack of rain and kicking up around Yoongi’s ankles as he shuffled. Ground lanterns lined the way, solar panels absorbing the heat for their evening duty, some staked out of the ground more so than others, tilted at all angles but the effect in the night was there regardless.

A handful of paces from the house was a wooden sign, it’s white outer edge not fairing the same as the house as chips were missing to show the wood underneath, splinters poking out in all directions otherwise. Most were covered by stacks of hay bales positioned strategically around more clay pots of flowers, ones that had started their vining process up the rough posts. 

Your face wasn’t there this time but your logo was, contact information splayed out underneath the looping script, Be Happy, white on top of a powder blue. You hadn’t changed the name when you took over ownership. Yoongi had a size too small t-shirt somewhere deep in the recesses of his closet with the same name in opposite colors, black and white. You’d looked ridiculous when you worked events together, even when you returned back to the house and spent hours on the front porch swing sipping slightly unbalanced lemonade Yoongi made on the spot while shit talking the groom.  

The memories, plural in the way they swirled to the forefront of his conscious at the first step of his sole onto the lowest porch step, elicited a tiny upward curl to the outer seam of his lips. Curled fists stuffed their way into the pockets of his pants, hanging his head as he vaulted another step up until two heeled boots cinched at the ankle came into his view. 

The lipped edges of his white bucket hat flopped into his direct line of sight but he still managed to register a lot of black, skin tight in a pair of ripped jeans, in the ajar hang of a leather jacket on toned collarbones, in the widen of perfectly round irises that blinked three consecutive times at Yoongi’s frozen figure. 

“Suga?” The man squeaked, taking another step backward on the staircase. “What are you....why are you....”

“How did you get to this town of all places?”

Yoongi’s lips parted just enough to let out a noise that would stall the younger man, a prolonged hum until he finally settled on the gentle answer, a tease in a monotone, “By plane and then rental car.”

The black figure giggled, giggled, a high pitched noise that made his features crunch up in the center of his nose. In his distraction at Yoongi’s poor attempt at humor, he rushed out your name, something that made the younger man pause in his laughter fit to cock an eyebrow. 

“Do you need to....” The poor man blinked again, chin cocking in the slightest, “Are you needing…” A high pitched noise of confusion came from the back of his throat and his chin twitched the opposite direction, “How do you know Y/N?” 

Yoongi’s lips pressed into his cheeks again, just for a fraction of a second, “Small world—” Determined yet wobbly steps carried him to stand level with the man yet still leaving him a few inches below eye level. Sharply, he stuck out a hand, “—Yoongi.”

“What—”

“Call me Yoongi,” Yoongi slipped his bucket hat off with his free hand, letting black locks fluff in static pieces around his eyelashes, “Please.”

“Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk,” The younger man surprised Yoongi by grasping his palm with both hands, giving it a firm shake. He continued to stay attached to him as he turned up toward the house, eyes darting wildly until he chirped, “T-they’re out right now but if you want to come inside, I can go see if I can find—”

“That would be great,” Yoongi smiled kindly, letting his hand stay in Jeongguk’s grasp as the younger enthusiastically began to drag him toward the front door. 

A lot of things appeared to be updated from when Yoongi resided within the creaking floorboards of the house yet somehow, you’d tastefully managed to keep its original charm. There wasn’t anything that said you couldn’t update whatever you pleased, you owned the house and you owned the business, his parents happy to hand over everything in favor of an easy retirement a few cities up the coast, a bit more lively than the sleepy, tourist free town they’d spent the majority of their adult lives in. Even then, Yoongi found himself oddly charmed by the way you’d retained a lot of what you’d grown up around too, a consistent visitor from your cognitive teenage years to a steady employee through high school and college. 

It was between admiring the sealer you’d chosen for the hardwood floors and wondering how you’d so artfully covered up the floral wallpaper his mother insisted on piling onto drywall that Yoongi’s heart stopped beating somewhere in the base of his throat, resuming it’s patter at a skyrocketing pace as it shot downward into the pit of his stomach. 

There was something to the low sitting wardrobe piece kept in the foyer of the business section of the house that Yoongi couldn’t quite understand. In the end, he decided it was probably due to the fact that none of the drawers would quite stay on their tracks, sticking shut when you tugged on their flapping gold handles after twirling tiny gold bars into minuscule locks and then tipping out and forward when you finally could get them out, puffs of dust curling outward from the harsh scratch of wood on wood in the process. 

Maybe it was that the top left drawer stayed unlocked at all times, enough to harbor a cardboard box that kept the keys for the rest of the drawers. Maybe it was that he knew there was nothing in the locked drawers aside from some decades old paperwork, a handful of paper grocery bags, and his every day personal items, ones that never stayed in there during business hours. 

That is, until he started storing a few secrets underneath his wallet and car keys. 

The first secret didn’t remain that way for long. Plane tickets were booked just as a formality but they signified so much more, like the unsigned contract he’d had emailed to him in the middle of recording something on his half dead microphone to upload to the very account that had pushed him toward getting recognized by an entertainment company. Unsigned quickly became signed and synonymous with the day it no longer became a secret, breaking the news to his parents that he wouldn’t be going back to university after the summer of catering to carrying any and all truckloads of equipment associated with a wedding planner to and from their positions. Yoongi was careful then, softening the news as to why there was a new key on his lanyard and garnering the warmth that his announcement of finding an apartment near his new job had lessened his parents' apprehensions in the slightest. 

Then there was you. The person who’d started off as willing to listen to his halfhearted rants about basketball and the specifics of what an angry bride sounded like over crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and eventually became the person his parents trusted with hearing those complaints firsthand. In a roundabout way, he had your eventual co-workership to thank for starting his career, giving him more time to write and record and publish, particularly when you lessened your hours at your shared university in order to take over a greater role at the business. 

In Yoongi’s mind, the ideal scenario was the one with the highest probability of becoming reality. He would sign with an entertainment company not minutes away from a university with a high ranked business graduate school. You would get into said graduate school, giving his parents a final few years to iron out any details they wished for your eventual takeover. 

He would have enough time to translate song lyrics into Yoongi words and effectively cure part of the yearning in his heart that dragged his chest first toward you anytime you were in his general vicinity. 

The addition of you to his secret drawer came in the form of a tiny velvet box, the first step toward allowing his yearning to manifest in an exterior way rather than remaining simply as his heart swelling and spilling between the spaces in his rib cage. 

Yoongi took the staircase two at a time, dropping onto the ground floor with a resounding creak. Socked feet pulled at the various splinters formed between the spaces in hardwood as he made his way through the silent business level of the house. His plane tickets and apartment key came out of hiding, resting on top of the wooden piece of furniture as to not forget them with the addition of his massive grey suitcase stationed next to the refrigerator two rooms over. He left the normal essentials though, allowing himself that familiarity in what would be his last night in the house potentially for good. 

Meticulous fingers balanced the proper key between the hole underneath the handle, mechanical click making Yoongi’s tongue pull back into his mouth in triumph as one hearty tug had the drawer popping free. He shrugged his backpack from one shoulder, enough to deposit his wallet into the front pouch and snag his keys on the twirl of his index finger. The next object made his throat dry, digits clasping around the box with a hard swallow. 

If you can’t see it, it can’t make you anxious. Yoongi promptly hid it away next to his wallet, shoving his arm back through the dangling backpack strap and striding for the front door. 

You seemed to be just as startled as his most vital organ, pausing your advancements into the house just in front of the heavy piece of furniture, loose knobs rattling with the steps you took. Yoongi instead scrambled, tripping out of the oak chair Jeongguk had left him in when he’d scurried away in search of you. In the process, his hip nudged at the corner of the round conference table, scuffing across the floor and effectively rattling all the metal again. And every other loose object in the house, it seemed. 

“Yoongi?” Your voice came out soft, lips parting like a fish out of water. Your apprehension lasted long enough for a soft smile to corner into the seam of his lips before you were coughing, shaking your head as your stature set, “What can I do for you?”

The bashful smile spread into a bit of heat that sprinkled his cheeks and his hand touched his neck, shoulders hunching. “Uhh—” He squinted from underneath his eyelashes, “—do you happen to plan weddings?”

He missed the way your stature froze again, rigid all the way down to the tips of your toes that rooted to the ground inside your shoes, gaze instead jerking to the squeak of delight Jeongguk let out from the doorway. The younger’s eyes widened when your gaze whipped to him, trying to retreat outside before you could scold him but to no avail. 

“Can you go finish loading the archway into the trailer for me?” Jeongguk nodded frantically, another step dragging the door with him until you added an octave louder, “The sunflower pots go with it, not the petunias.” His got it! was muffled by the echoing shut of the front door. 

“Thank you. I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble—”

“Sit.”

Yoongi plopped directly down into the chair, watching with pursed lips and round eyes as you drug out the chair across from him, taking your time in sliding to the end of the wood. A sharp inhale racked your shoulders, keeping your gaze on the grain of wood where it peaked out from the lace table runner curled down the center of the furniture until you finally looked at him. 

“No how are you? No how’s business going? No stack of signed CDs for me to hand out to customers as incentive?” Your eyebrows furrowed in teasing but the light didn’t quite reach your full smile. Not the one Yoongi remembered. “Just a I’m getting married.” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Yoongi’s smile softened, leaning forward until one of his hands could encase the fiddling of yours. You glanced at him between picking a bit of skin from around your thumb nail. 

“How have you been, angel?”

It was childish, the way you pulled your hands against your chest, and there was still a hint of something in your voice, teasing, “No, too late now.”

He shook his head, a soundless laugh leaving through his nose. “Business seems to be going well. I see you’ve made a lot of upgrades on the property—”

“I told you,” Your arms instead threaded at your chest, leaning back into the chair, “You are too late. Should have done those formalities first.”

“Ah, right. Customer treatment now?”

“What’s your spouse's name?” You shifted again, enough to cross your legs, “For the paperwork. Not for the press.”

Part of Seungcheol’s monologue curled into his mind in that second but he had no reason to believe you were series. He shook his head, earning a laugh from you that confirmed his suspicions. You were kidding about the last part. 

“That’s actually, uhm—” Yoongi turned, glancing in the general direction of the staircase, “—is there anyone else around?”

“Jeongguk is my only employee. Spill, who are they?”

“Have you...read anything about me lately?”

“Truthfully, Yoongi—” Your arms uncrossed to grip the chair underneath you, legs unfolding to place your feet flat on the ground, “—I try not to.”

Yoongi nodded. Right. You’re the one who left. You’re the one who stopped returning phone calls. 

“The press hasn’t exactly been...patient in waiting for my second album. The negative press has piled on so much that it’s started to reflect on my image and frankly the state of my agency.”

“Is any of it true?”

He blinked at you, “Last week they contrived the image of me being an excessive party-er.”

“Right, they have no idea then.”

Part of Yoongi grew warm at your conviction. “I suppose…”

“The idea is to create positive press with a story my agency can control.”

“Ah, so to fake a wedding,” You nodded gravely, “Everyone loves a celebrity wedding.”

That’s what Taehyung said. “I guess. They thought if they sent me home, that it would give greater meaning to the story. That I’ve been pining at home trying to make the wedding perfect for all these months.”

“And your music?”

Yoongi blinked, finding you leaning forward again with your fingers clasped together, thumbs rubbing at each other. “What about it?”

“Why is it so delayed?” You were gentle again in your obvious statement, “You used to write a song a day here. At least.” 

“Wasn’t that much.” And something in Yoongi remained endeared at the fact that you thought he was constantly writing something new each time he carted his notebook around with him and not fretting over a set of three songs he’d written with your smiley nose wrinkle in mind. 

“Just haven’t felt anything in a while,” To say it out loud felt weird, especially in the presence of someone he’d no much as said hello to in the past handful of years let alone confided his feelings in. The house wasn’t your weekly beach trips.

And you weren’t his best friend anymore. 

“I’ll figure it out.”

“So you need me to…”

“Help me plan a fake wedding,” He said it simply because in his head, he wanted it to be simple, “Obviously, we don’t need the nuanced things in between. But I do need the outward details to be very apparent.”

“...there will be press here eventually to take pictures of me planning. I need to be seen at a venue...here...picking out flowers...you know. Doing wedding planning things.”

“After a few weeks, my company will call it off and I’ll go home. Somehow, they plan to frame the story as a mutual breakup that leaves me in heart break,” He had to refrain from rolling his eyes, “Hopefully from that I can slap together some music to sate them. At the very least, maybe they’ll give me some space.”

“Probably not.”

The tension left Yoongi’s stature and he allowed himself to laugh for a few beats at your bluntness. “Yeah, you’re right, probably not. It’s worth a try or at least, my agency thinks so,” His eyes flicked across your face, “It’s nice to be home, anyway.”

You didn’t allow him the luxury of enjoying the simple silence of your presence, instead standing with a harsh scrape of the chair across the floor. He held his breath as you approached the wardrobe, exhaling when you reached past the top to crouch on the bottom, yanking open the right to retrieve a stack of stapled papers from within. 

“Do you want to go ahead and start?”

Yoongi frowned, “You don’t have any questions?”

“No.”

“You aren’t worried about the press being here?”

“You’re my client,” You shrugged, “Whatever comes with that isn’t my business.”

“...do you want your check?”

It was your turn to frown. “Has your service been fulfilled to your utmost satisfaction?”

Yoongi settled back into his chair. “No...not yet.”

“Then I don’t need paid yet.” A pen materialized in your grasp, one you twirled twice before clicking on. “State your full name.”

You blinked at each other in a challenging silence until you shrugged, “I could just put Min Suga, if you like—”

“Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi watched the poke of your tongue between your cheek fondly, enamored even when you didn’t look up from writing to say, “Spouse...to be determined…”

You’d moved your paperwork party to the front porch of the building, sign now flipped closed and the main entrance gate shut and looped together with a rusted old chain. Condensation lipped down Yoongi’s knuckles when he reached for the glass of lemonade Jeongguk had brought the both of you, ones that garnered his attention away from your incessant chattering. 

“I don’t need to make a full guest list,” He said finally and when you didn’t respond, just continued to rock yourself in the wicker chair you perched upon, he clarified, “The wedding isn’t actually happening.”

“What are you supposed to tell the press then? What if they want a rumored guest list?” 

“I’ll just tell them Hoseok—”

The chair stopped abruptly. “...J-Hope?”

Yoongi rolled his lips together to keep himself from laughing, “That’s the one.”

The rocking resumed and the audible sound of the pen scratching against paper could be heard over the breeze and chirping of birds. “I forgot you were signed under the same agency. Hope World is one of my favorite albums.”

“I had a feature on there, you know.” It was embarrassing how quickly he informed you of the obvious fact but you smiled to his flushed cheeks. 

“You also had a number one best selling album.”

“Did you ever get the album I sent you?” 

“I gave it to Jeongguk.”

Yoongi didn’t have to remind himself of his guilt, he just had to keep it at bay. He smiled, “I can get you another copy.”

“So can I,” You scribbled a nonsensical line to the paper, letting your wrist rest on the pad of paper as you looked at him, “Who else?”

“You.”

You didn’t blink. “I’ll be there. I’m the event coordinator. Theoretically.”

“And theoretically, I’d want you there,” Yoongi didn’t blink, “In another circumstance. I’d invite you.”

He didn’t miss the way your voice softened into a murmured thanks, resuming your haphazard scribbles, “—but unfortunately I am nothing the press would be interested in. Give me another name.”

“Uh...Taehyung I guess. He’s my manager. The fans know a good deal about him. It may be obvious that he would be there, though.”

“It’ll work for now,” Your wrist carried your pen in looping circles down the length of the page until you flipped it at the stapled corner. “Okay, next. Who would you have stand up with you?”

“Taehyung.”

You couldn’t hold your laughter that time, puzzling Yoongi’s features. “I can do that—” You eyed him as you pressed pen tip to paper, “—but that would really make it obvious that he’s attending.”

“Oh,” Yoongi frantically reached for his lemonade again, downing a sizable gulp, “You’re probably right.”

“Okay, most important question. For me and for the press,” You clicked the pen a few times in a rhythm he didn’t recognize, “Give me a date.”

“I was told I had a four week time frame. Agency orders,” His eyebrow cocked when you choked, “What? Do you need more time, because I can call—”

“You think a month is enough time for people to believe you?”

There wasn’t anything condescending about your question. You’d been sitting with him long enough for the sun to start to hide behind the coastline, bathing the world in a color that bordered between black and blue, a hue he couldn’t quite place a name to but knew by heart. You hadn’t jumped at the first opportunity to write a number on the blank line of the check tucked neatly in his wallet. You’d barely considered the validity of his motives and immediately jumped into the task at hand. 

You hadn’t asked him what was wrong when you, of anyone, had the absolute permissions to do so. 

“The press currently believes I’m lazy, undermine close friends for fame, am not genuine in the message of my first album, and, for some reason, that I am unapproachable,” Yoongi shrugged, “I’m, frankly, not too worried about what they do and don’t believe at this point.”

Your features quirked as you shut the packet on your lap, settling your palms flat to the paper to let the pen roll a few paces away in your lap. 

“Yoons.” 

Part of his facade crumbled at the tenderness in which you uttered the nickname as he gripped a bit harder to the chair in an attempt to keep it in place. An audible breath shuddered in and out of his nose before he looked at you. 

“Are you doing okay?”

The fragmented part of his heart that had tumbled into his throat threatened to spill out as you offered him the compassion he wasn’t quite sure he deserved from you and the only way he knew to keep it down was to stand and swallow. His bucket hat came in white knuckles, smashing the article of clothing over wind ruffled hair as he averted his gaze to anything but you. 

“Fine. It’s getting late and I’ve already kept you far past business hours,” Long steps carried him past your stature, pausing with a hand on the rail and a foot on the second step. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For a second, Yoongi’s peripheral swore to him that you reached for his hand in passing. 

“You’re…”

“Hi,” Yoongi thrust his hand toward the blonde headed man in front of him before he could finish. “Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you.”

The stocky florist blinked at the hand presented to him, then to the taller Jeongguk standing behind Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t have to look to know that giddy smile was still plastered on Jeongguk’s lips and he swore he felt him nod against the side of his ear from how close the younger man was standing to him. 

“Park Jimin,” He said finally, settling his smaller hand into Yoongi’s grasp. After a brief shake, his fingers continued to grip on as his gaze wandered to you where you were picking through a jar of fresh lilac. “What...what can I do for you guys today?”

“Why else do I come to you, Minnie?” You turned, wielding one of the long purple stems to tickle toward the blonde’s nose. Jimin broke away from Yoongi to giggle, swatting at you. “New client. New wedding. New flowers.”

“Right. I have a few of those,” Jimin nearly head butted the glass counter displaying arranged boutineers and sample bouquets, returning a moment later with a tiny notepad and a pen he took off the cusp of his ear, then jammed in plump lips while he flicked through the lined pages. Through the object in his mouth, he muffled, “What can we start with?”

“The usual. Twenty some of each,” Yoongi watched in muted fascination as you moved about the shop, dropping the lilac back in its place in favor of something green and leafy. Various other stems snagged on the ruffled leaves, dragging a messy handful of vegetation, earning a surprised squeak from your lips as you began to untangle them. 

Subconsciously, he reached across, fingers brushing yours in route to pull away one of the three strands. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Helping you?” Yoongi plopped the freed strand back into its container, again stretching long digits toward you. 

“Do you want to be photographed with me?” You wielded the stems away from him until he stopped making grabby hands and instead resorted to jutting his bottom lip out. “Me being your fake fiance’ wasn’t part of the deal.”

“They’re not going to think that,” Yoongi finally succeeded in snagging the tangled flowers away from you, gentle fingers prying them apart and placing them back in their rightful container. He smiled to the glare you set on his cheek, “We’ve got it covered.”

“We’re here for flowers,” You childishly poked your tongue out at him, “Not to argue the logistics of your weird celebrity powers.”

“Don’t make it sound so glamorous,” Yoongi huffed, trailing you as your footsteps took off rapidly through the shop. As abruptly as your speed picked up, it stalled, making him nearly topple over you and a stand of glass butterflies in the process. His hands gripped your waist to steady himself, an action you barely flinched at as you covered his wrists with your hands, leaning past his arm in silence. 

After a handful of heartbeats more, Yoongi ducked closer to your ear and whispered, “Why did you bring me back here?”

There was a small crash from somewhere on the opposite end of the store, then a fit of mingled laughter, something that had you relaxing out of Yoongi’s embrace to look at him. 

“They can’t hear us back here,” You explained. “Now...if you were to actually be getting married, what kind of flowers would you want?”

Yoongi blinked, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

You weren’t amused, “What about your fictional spouse? What would they like?”

~

He spotted your figure on the bridge carrying over some of the largest sand dunes, your figure just a silhouette but your features lit up by your phone pulled to your nose. He ignored the buzz of a notification in his pocket, instead calling out your name. 

“Yoongi!” You bounced a bit in greeting, arm waving so that the illumination on your screen remained for him to see. He ducked his head in response, gripping the straps of his backpack a bit tighter as he stepped out of his sandals, crooking them in between his index and middle fingers to change terrain to the sand coated wood. He barely reached you when you were snagging his wrist, dragging him down the opposite side of the bridge until bare feet changed once more to pure, cool granules of the beach. 

“Come on,” You tugged a bit harder until he fell in step next to you, “If we hurry, we can pick some before it gets dark.”

“These would be the ones you’d pick,” Yoongi grunted a few minutes later, crouched on a sliding hill of sand to reach his fingers into the vined mess of vegetation rooted to the dirt underneath. The rumble of a crab itched in the arch of his foot where it was buried deep in the sand to anchor him in place but he was afraid to jerk away in fear that his already squinted eyes would be unable to spot the singular stem of pink flowers again. Something in his shoulder popped, knee too, and the crab finally secured it’s pinches into his skin, but he managed to return with the stem in twirled fingers, falling backward onto his backside in a pride crushing triumph. 

Your phone flashlight blinded him as you jogged around the corner, frowning first then breaking into soft giggles. The center of the light shifted away from his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the fact that you were hovering above him with an entire handful of pink and white stems. 

Miserably, Yoongi lifted to a seated position, quite as the last of the sand fell back to the ground from his shoulders and around the crevices in his cloth backpack. His arm stretched slowly upward, holding out the flower with eyes scrunched shut until you slipped it in with your existing bouquet.

One eye peaked when you didn’t say anything, the second falling open in time with your lips softly touching the apple of his cheek. You held your free hand out, palm up, until he laced his fingers with yours. 

“Thank you, Yoons.”

He waited until he was standing, stalling your excited dragging of his figure down the beach with an exclamation of your name. 

“I have something else to give you later,” Yoongi said slowly, “Don’t let me forget.”

You used your intertwined fingers to punch his thigh with his own knuckles, “Better than this flower?”

A slanted smile was the only thing his rapidly beating heart would allow him. 

“Hopefully.”

“Orchids,” Yoongi decided finally, gaze still wavering off beyond your figure, “They’d probably like orchids.”

You swallowed, bouncing once on your heels. Your chin cocked, eyes staring straight ahead from where he stood in front of you. Quickly, he amended, “Is that okay? Are those not good wedding flowers—”

Your steps picked up in speed like they had before, effectively bumping into the bin of glass landscape decorations in trying to brush past him. He took the time to balance the tin, centering a blue butterfly and it’s green caterpillar counterpart before dashing off after you.

Jimin and Jeongguk appeared as though they’d been caught with their hands in a cookie jar although they were no more than crowded around the computer monitor of a shop that Jimin owned and managed. Nonetheless, you seemed to pay no mind to their startled appearances, speaking past Jeongguk’s chin on Jimin’s shoulder to nod toward his forgotten order notepad flopped open on the glass container. 

“Did you—”

“Orchids,” You said, “Pink ones, if you can.”

There was a strange lingering scent from the greenery Yoongi had helped you separate, one he didn’t notice until he was rubbing crooked fingers underneath his nose while waiting for Taehyung to answer his call. He squinted at the smell with a wrinkled nose until the dial tone rolled over to an obnoxious rustling that projected loudly through the speaker. 

“How’s it going, married man?”

Yoongi flinched at the content of Taehyung’s words and the volume, using his thumb to lower it while holding the phone away from his face. When he was sure his manager’s excited outbursts wouldn’t be wholly projected to the entire hotel, he sighed, “I’m not married.”

“But you’re going to be soon,” Taehyung sang. More rustling on the other end. Yoongi wished he could hurl a much too white hotel pillow through the screen. 

“Why did you send me five texts asking me to call you? What do you need?”

“Oh, right,” There was something muffling Taehyung’s speech now that wasn’t the aggressive sound of crinkling. The heel of Yoongi’s palm met his forehead in realization and he could picture the over-sized hamburger clenched between Taehyung’s fingers from miles away. “Namjoon and the team will be there with a new photographer tomorrow to get some staged shots for the press.”

“Staged…” Yoongi rolled to his stomach, sanctioning his weapon pillow against his chest, “Of what?”

“It’s supposed to simulate an engagement photo shoot. They want the pictures for a cover story. That’s why there’s a different photographer coming. You’ll actually get to meet this one,” More wrapper crinkling. An audible swallow. Yoongi began to think a pillow wasn’t the only weapon he needed. 

“How am I supposed to do that with just me?” 

“They only want your face. The anonymity adds to the suspense and interest,” Taehyung sighed, “They should be bringing a model with them. They’ll just be used for their shadow, essentially. Maybe their hands, hand shots of the rings will be good—”

“I don’t have rings.”

“We do.”

Yoongi groaned into the plush of his pillow. “Won’t that ruin the whole facade if someone figures out who the model is? I don’t want to drag a literal total stranger into this mess.”

“Give me a better idea, Yoongi. Use both your hands? Craft a cardboard cutout in your hotel room?”

“I just…” 

If he closed his eyes, it was like traveling through idealization with a fish-eye's view, placing him first in the depth of that rickety old wardrobe piece while a hand he recognized as his own looted around inside to snatch a velvet box, one his point of view was tethered to as he then was transported to the inside of a backpack, rattled around inside with a yellow notepad and a handful of uncapped pens. 

Somewhere along the way, the trip was halted, marked by a nonsensical swirl of color as his fingers rubbed at his eyes, Taehyung’s sarcastic rambles just background noise as the story picked back up in the forefront of his consciousness. It was a longing that generated the second half between the darkness of the backpack and the open breeze off the beach, viewpoint now situated in his own palm, looking up at your tear filled eyes, then skipping forward to peer into the familiarity of his own gaze as he was slid securely onto a finger. 

It was the ridiculous daydream about becoming a literal piece of jewelry that made him speak, cutting off Taehyung’s increasingly outlandish suggestions.

“I’ll do it just…” Yoongi settled his chin on top of the pillow, letting his eyes open to the cloth headboard in front of him, “Don’t send the model. I have someone I can get to stand in.”

There were muffled noises of surprise marked by more, very apparent, chewing until Taehyung sighed, “Won’t that just create the same issue you said previously? What if someone finds out who your stand-in is? What do we do then? Pretend to marry the two of you?”

“That won’t happen,” Yoongi saw shades of pink in hazy petal shapes when he closed his eyes a second time, squishing his cheek against his free hand that rested on his pillow. “Just don’t send the model. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t know much about the entertainment industry but don’t they generally have models available that can do these kinds of things?” You blinked across at Yoongi as his stylist, Mingyu, jabbed a makeup brush between the closed crease of your eyelids. 

“They do if you’d like me to have them call one,” Yoongi shifted in his own chair, fiddling at the collar of his button up that had just been meticulously fixed for him. He tucked an index finger under the tight fabric, tugging it away from his neck. When that couldn’t sate him, he popped the top button and folded the lapels across his chest. “This isn’t exactly part of your contract…”

“It’s not.” He continued to be amazed by the nonchalant way in which you accepted his suggestion, seeming to move in autopilot since he rigidly explained the dilemma from your dew covered front porch that morning. Stunned must have graced his gaze when you glanced at him, your eyebrows raising considerably when Mingyu moved on to poke and prod at your hair, “But you’re my friend, so I’m helping you.”

You ducked a bit, catching his eyes that darted away while gloss tinted lips parting into a neat oval. “We are still friends...right?”

Yoongi masked his relief with his tone, pitching his voice in firm words so that you couldn’t hear the way his heart did several back flips that tickled the back of his throat and retrieved some of their broken pieces in their tumbling path, settling a bit of warmth that was a step closer to full into his chest cavity until it spread upward into the tiny tug on each curve of his lips. 

“Of course we are,” Stoic faltered when you blinked at him. Yoongi let himself smile. 

“One more question,” You lowered your voice, dipping a bit closer to him Mingyu shifted behind you to continue toying with your hair, “Why do I have makeup on if you won’t see my face?”

Yoongi’s shoulders bounced in silent laughter, lips wrinkling then rolling together to prevent anything audible and he shrugged. His healing heart let him study your face for far more time than necessary, finally settling on your eyes as his cheek nearly lulled to his shoulder. 

“You look nice,” He assured gently.

You turned away, surprising Mingyu in the process as he now had better access to final touches, but even through the touches to your face with fingers and brushes and pads, Yoongi didn’t miss the trace of your smile. 

“Okay you two…” The photographer approached you like walking through sand was wading through knee deep water, sandals dangling on feet he lifted in high stepping advancements until he was stationary in front of your folding chairs. Knee length jeans appeared to be self tailored by a pair of kitchen scissors and a pink hoodie hung off broad shoulders along with a camera dangling off an equally thick strap. “Are we ready?”

Yoongi slipped off his chair first, offering a hand to you. You took the offer delicately, feet hitting the sand with a minimal puff of debris. He was a breath away from addressing the photographer until he spoke to Yoongi’s publicist Namjoon instead, the only other individual wandering around beyond Mingyu’s box of equipment. 

“No faces, right?”

“Uhm, you can get my face. Just...my face,” Yoongi smiled kindly, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “That’s preferred actually.”

The photographer blinked at the smaller man in front of him for a passing beat before addressing Namjoon again, “So...no faces then?”

“Seokjin,” Namjoon warned tiredly, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a crooked knuckle, “Cooperate.”

A wheezing laughter broke out from the photographer’s lips, Seokjin’s lips, the noise carrying upward into the coastal breeze of early afternoon. There was a minuscule tug on the twine of Yoongi’s fingers and he found himself, perplexed, glancing at you. Despite the fond expression on your lips, he could sense the confusion in your aura too. He gave a second comforting squeeze until Seokjin’s laughter quieted away into periodic hiccups placed between the raise of his free hand until it landed on Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“I’m just joking,” A kind smile was left in the wake of Seokjin’s giggles, patting twice at Yoongi’s shoulder before he was off wading through the sand again. 

You tugged down on Yoongi’s hand, squeaking, “Are we supposed to follow…?—”

He pulled in the opposite direction, leading you through the ruts Seokjin’s fussing left. When you caught up to him, shoulder bumping into his arm, he laughed quietly, “I guess so.”

“Okay!” Seokjin’s sweeping announcement sent a domino effect through the small caravan of three people now subject to the wind in the center of the beach. Yoongi bumped into him, you bumped into Yoongi, Yoongi was sure Namjoon was laughing from where he watched on. The photographer turned, catching sight of intertwined hands first and he lifted an eyebrow as he addressed Yoongi.. 

“Just your face, right?”

Instinctively, Yoongi pulled you closer even if the inquiry was spoken without any ulterior motive, instead a genuine confirmation. “Just my face,” Yoongi nodded sharply, “In fact, if we can limit the pictures to shadows and features—”

Seokjin held up a solaced palm, “No worries, I know what’s going on here.”

Yoongi felt your gaze on the side of his face but he situated his thinning eyes to the man in front of you as he began to fiddle at the various knobs and buttons on the back of his camera. His smile erased into something of confusion when he found Yoongi eyeing him, rushing in a series of startled noises to amend, “It’s understandable that you would choose to keep your partner anonymous if they are not in the spotlight themselves. I’ve covered it before—” Yoongi’s expression softened only slightly when Seokjin lifted his camera to his face and the lens twirled closer to the point of Yoongi’s nose. The shutter clicked over, making Yoongi blink, and Seokjin pulled the device away to squint at the preview. A thumbs up followed, paired with the purse of tulip shaped lips that spread into a kind smile, “—your secret is safe with me!” 

Part of him forgot that there was a limited group who were aware of the full situation even in scheduled events like a photo shoot, a timeline for what was supposed to be something of life changing unity. The weight in his pocket wasn’t one that would hold any higher meaning, rings faux quality and meant to superimpose elegance where Namjoon had pulled them from a plastic prop bag. This wasn’t his bulky backpack with his deepest regret hidden in the front porch.. Instead, it was just another gimmick to save face and time for his favorite writing journal that he’d unpacked from his suitcase only to move over into the shoulder bag he carted around everywhere. 

And, to some people, it looked like he was, truthfully and honestly, engaged to you. 

There was a twitch of your hand in his and Yoongi relaxed with that pressure in mind, nodding once. A grateful smile laced the seam of his lips and he backed off of his stance with a nod, “Oh, right. Thank you…”

“Of course,” Seokjin beamed, gesturing vaguely again, “Should we get those face shots first?”

You were turned gently around the pivot point that was your connected hands, free palm slipping gently into the crooked fingers Yoongi offered face up. As for your hand he’d previously held, you slipped it away, just quick enough to rub the clamminess against your thigh before returning it to its previous position. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to Yoongi’s. 

He didn’t even try to hide his fond smile as the camera shutter whirred over your shoulder. 

“Do couples actually do this?” You complained through clenched teeth, rigid smile coating your mouth even if no one could see you but him. Something genuine twitched upward in your lips when his smile grew a bit brighter at your whined complaints, “This is so awkward.”

“That’s great, perfect,” A few more clicks and the sound of Seokjin’s thumb against plastic buttons. “A few more...could you touch their face, maybe?”

Yoongi didn’t give you time to complain, cupping his palm to your face, stroking his thumb gently under your eye to soothe the tension that immediately curled upward in your shoulders. 

“Better or worse now?” He teased, tilting his head to look between your wide eyes. 

Your fingers responded to him, slipping around his wrist to keep his hand cradling your face. In the same moment, you took your hands that remained intertwined and molded his hand around your waist, stepping closer to him in the process. Your thumb pressed against his racing pulse point and he swallowed, a moot attempt to calm his heart that he was sure you could hear and feel. 

“I don’t know,” You shot back, smile loosening, “You tell me.”

Yoongi shook his head, a genuine laugh emitting at your antics while his thumb continued it’s strokes to the apple of your cheek and his hand scrunched it’s way to the small of your back, holding you against him. 

Seokjin jogged backward across the beach with some vague instructions, haphazard words sticking in Yoongi’s brain to act on. Pretend and dance. The implication of the words roused a single syllable laugh from your lips, head tipping back, more of an amused smirk settling into your expression when you came to.

“This should be good.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” You repeated the challenge from before, a daring confidence seeping into your aura now. 

His touch fell away from your face, holding his hand palm up instead. “Give me your hand.”

Your expression didn’t falter as your hand landed in his, head only tilting when he squeezed your hand and started to move you. 

“You know, the sand doesn’t exactly make this easy.”

“Is that your excuse for squishing my toes?”

Yoongi’s expression crossed into horrified for a fraction of a second, “I haven’t stepped on you!”

“Not yet.”

“What if I dipped you?” He tightened his grip on your waist. 

“Then they’ll see my face,” You squeaked when he half jerked to do so, lightly smacking his chest in retaliation. 

“The picture will be cropped.”

“Yoongi—”

“I’m going to do it.”

And he did, a full pivot that bent you at the waist, half hovering over your angled stature. The slow spread of his laughter across his features came in time with his foot giving out as support underneath him, sending your figures stumbling a few paces. He managed to ground himself while you clawed at his shirt in an equal amount of startled joy, dragging yourself up by tight fists on the open collar of his shirt with your forearms pressed to his chest. 

“I think you need some dance lessons, Min Suga.”

If you were anywhere else in any other circumstance with any other person, Yoongi would have kissed you. He told himself that, a firm response to his conscious that was trying to will his muscles to do so. He was wholly aware of the desire, one stirred by your proximity and your presence and you. And, given a few more seconds of silence aside from the lip of foam across neatly created ruts in the sand and the mechanical flick of a camera shutter, he might have excused the situation and the circumstance and the presence of another person. 

But, Seokjin, who was none the wiser to any of it yet assumed the relationship before him was very real, tried to combat a kiss regardless. A loud, satisfied wah! Came as he approached in messy steps that sent sand flying everywhere below his still attached sandals, startling your embrace apart to find him hunched over the preview screen. 

“Great,” His smile was knowing and his wink confirmed it, “Shall we move on to something else? Hands, maybe?”

Yoongi took to threading his fingers around yours to combat the heat that curled behind the thin layer of makeup on his features, staring straight at the overlap of your index and middle fingers around the bend of his thumb. You cleared your throat into the painful silence and the ambiance of waves continued to be blissfully unaware. 

Seokjin sliced into the tension with confusion, “Uh, yeah, that’s great but...rings?”

Yoongi felt like those waves had just become self aware and barreled out of gravity’s clutches, swallowing him whole and effectively dragging him into their depths. 

“I mean, if you guys aren’t doing rings, that’s fine too. There are all kinds of symbolic ways to outwardly show your unity, I just assumed it was with rings but perhaps that was wrong of me. We can do something else—”

The band meant for his finger was just too small but Yoongi jammed it on anyway, aided by the clamminess slowly engulfing every inch of his skin. Scrambled movements nearly sent yours tumbling to the sand below but he managed to secure it between the pinch of his thumb and index finger, joints twitching periodically as he let his gaze meet yours again. The tips of your fingers barely brushed his curled knuckles and he moved the ring out of your reach. 

Yoongi swallowed, taking the crook of your left hand in his free one. “Let me.”

The hollow echo left by the screen door clattering shut on his shoulders felt like the raw crescendo before the soul gripping bridge in a song. Except the final chorus wasn’t the round trip loop, a tie up with a neat bow on top that made a song a story. His story wouldn’t lead him back to the rickety screen door and the creaky floorboards underneath the heavy piece of wardrobe furniture in his parent’s, your, business foyer. 

Yoongi didn’t think the last time he’d open the top drawer would be to put the velvet box back, its contents still very much intact, his heart very much not. The plane ticket and apartment key mocked him, a reminder of his unfinished heart song, one he supposed would remain a rough draft with no clear path to an end. 

At least, that end wouldn’t include you. 

He felt selfish for the hot tears that pricked the back of his eyelids, the direct result of your excitement, your adamant exclamations of how perfect your futures were about to become. The guilt was eating him alive, that he couldn’t simply feel happy for you without his conscience drifting to the ring he’d bought you and how selfish, horribly selfish, his confession would be after you’d just poured your one track soul to him. He couldn’t remember half of what you’d told him due to his own personal inhibitions. 

He couldn’t tell you he was hopelessly in love with you. He couldn’t do that to you.

Yoongi let the drawer shut for the final time, choosing to drag everything else out so as to not see the black box again. One tear became three, lipping down his nose and dropping onto his fumbling fingers as he jammed the lock into the knob, turning the mechanical click one more time. 

And then, he simply went to bed. He had a flight to catch, after all.

“Is it true?”

He stopped flipping through the paperwork, non disclosure agreements and consent forms you’d scribbled your support onto in the dull blue pen Namjoon had handed you. You sat in the chair from before, makeup wipe Mingyu had handed you damp against your thigh as you instead took to fiddling at the diamond band still wrapped to your finger. 

Yoongi pressed the pages shut, leaning into the back of your chair, “Is what true?”

You turned to peer up at him, diamond tucked between your fingertips, “...that you get to keep props sometimes.”

“You want to keep the ring?”

“It’s pretty,” The band slipped easily off your finger, cradled in your palm, “A little big, but that’s okay. Who doesn’t want the evidence of their first fake engagement?”

“Not your first magazine cover shoot?”

“No one will ever see my face. I’m basically a hand and head model.”

“You can keep the ring,” Yoongi conceded with a laugh, “Are you done with this paperwork? Nothing else you want to read?”

“I am and if you are as well—” You jumped off the chair to stand in front of him, “—I want to take you somewhere.”

“Don’t you have work to do today?”

“I’m working right now. Wait right here.”

 He watched, silent, as you skipped over to where Seokjin was chatting with Namjoon in the small gravel area beyond the sand. Seokjin’s expression flitted to you while Namjoon’s went to him, raising an eyebrow while you tugged on the photographer’s sleeve to cup your hand around his ear. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi heard Seokjin exclaim, scrambling backward away from your whispers with a frantic smile, “Yeah, of course. I have a few hours before my flight leaves. Lead the way!”

You approached him in a similar, giddy fashion, taking his wrist. He raised an eyebrow, stumbling a few dramatic paces when you tugged on his arm. 

“Yeah. Lead the way.”

“Why are we at a dance studio?”

You tugged on the strap of his bag rather than his hand this time, ignoring him as you coaxed him through the glass doors. It was dimmer inside, lights shadowing the rounded front desk and the flutter of various flyers pinned to a cork board in the corner with the small ceiling fan that whirred overhead. Even then, Yoongi still startled at the noise, yes noise, of greeting the man twirling in an office chair at the front desk let out. 

The man knew you by name, stretching forward rather than standing up to take your hand over the desk. He directed his attention to Yoongi next, standing but in a quieter fashion than his previous actions suggested, gradual in the way he held his hand out. 

“And you’re...Suga, right?”

“Yoongi,” He corrected quietly, slipping his hand into the man’s, “Nice to meet you…”

“Soonyoung,” You and the man provided at the same time, effectively earning mingled laughter. “I thought I heard from somewhere that you were in town. Planning a wedding, right?” Soonyoung leaned away to pass his gaze between your two figures, “I guess the rumors must be true if you’re hanging around with this one.”

That earned a halfhearted swat from you and more giggles from the man as he shuffled around, presenting a clipboard to the top part of the desk. “Are you needing studio space again?”

You nodded, pressing a pen between Yoongi’s fingers and sliding the paper underneath his curled hand. He blinked absently at the words name, time in, and time out. You continued to talk while he feathered the general outline of his name above the line, “If anyone asks, it was his idea to rent studio space.”

Puzzled, Soonyoung slipped the clipboard from Yoongi to squint at it. “Will someone ask? Why would someone ask—” 

Again, your hand was on the strap of his bag, dragging him around the corner, “If, Soonie, if!” 

An echoed got it! was the last thing Yoongi heard until you shut him inside a dark studio space. He watched his shadow light up in the mirror when the lights crackled to life, tint uneven on his lips, shirt he wore to the shoot a bit haphazard across his collarbones, black fringe windblown and stuck in blinking eyelashes. 

“Am I allowed to know why you brought me here yet?”

“I told you,” He watched in the reflection as you crossed the wood floor, crouching next to a small set of outlets with varying cords dangling out of them. You jammed the short white one into the end of your phone, prodding around with your index finger until the soft sound of something top forty began playing through the speakers. You stood, approach to his figure marked by swaying, off beat movements, “I’m giving you dance lessons.”

“Are you going to show me how to do that?” Yoongi accepted you when you took his hands despite his dismissive words, “Because if so, I don’t want them. I want a refund, in fact—”

“I told Seokjin to follow us here and take a picture of you signing up for dance classes. They’ll run the story like you did it directly after the cover shoot photos,” Dramatically, you swung your twined fingers together to the rising beat of the music, “Cute, right?”

Yoongi hummed, continuing to allow you to lead him in messy circles around the studio, “I thought Namjoon was my publicist?”

“Maybe you should hire me,” Your eyes cut in zigzags down his features before you dropped your chin, movements relaxing enough for him to take over, “This soft image suits you better, anyway.”

“You’ve been reading the articles?”

“Free publicity. Need to see how my business is being represented” You shook your head when he squinted at you, “I’m joking. They’ve never mentioned the business directly. The pictures don’t give enough clarity to location.” 

You looked at him again, “So yes...I have read a few.”

“And they’re portraying me as…” Yoongi’s nose wrinkled, “Soft?” 

“Quiet. Gentle. One who shows his love in simple ways,” One corner of your mouth turned up in a smile, “Frankly, it’s rather unfair that they thought anything otherwise.”

Another broken chisel of Yoongi’s heart slotted itself back into place, healing with the warmth that spread quickly to the tips of his toes. He squeezed your hands, “I’m glad you still see me that way.”

“The Agust D video though,” You gripped his hands back, tilting your head, “The bleached hair and the makeup. Perhaps I understand the savage hype—”

Yoongi shoved you away, a halfhearted attempt as you still clung on to him with the last link of your knuckles tucked between the empty spaces in his spread fingers. Laughter followed suit, mingling with the silent, shoulder bouncing emission of his before you were brought close to him once more. This time, there were no cameras. No Namjoon to type reports to Taehyung and Seungcheol, no Mingyu to tuck plastic ends of brushes into sea breeze hair, no Seokjin to fool. Second time failed to be the charm, Yoongi’s face leaning a fraction of a space closer to you until you dropped your gaze again. 

“We can leave soon, if you want. Seokjin should be out of town by now.”

Yoongi didn’t move until his silence coaxed your eyes back to him. “I was dragged here against my will for dance lessons,” He let go of your hands, stepping back to shrug himself out of his cross shoulder bag and place his appendages on the high rise of his hips, “and I intend to get them.”

Lessons came less in the form of serious intention and instead manifested in you teaching him what not to do as he observed with his back against the mirror and his pen against his notepad. The yellow pages were no longer empty, the tray of ink shoved through the middle of his pen now considered to be used. The radio hit on max volume couldn’t drown out your laughter and if Yoongi ignored the tiny, unfamiliar space the joy was confined to, he could convince himself that everything was back to normal. That this was just another off day between carting flowers and chairs and catered crock pots to venues where he got to watch your joy overfill his heart with a warmth that he had to make space for more by manifesting that into something tangible. 

Filled lyric notebook and all. 

“This is going to look like a stock image.”

Yoongi couldn’t contain his snort, adjusting his stance a bit to fit your comment. Legs angled wide from his hips, arms folded neatly to his chest, nothing relaxed about his stature. He turned to where you were mirroring his position. “You’re probably right.”

Jeongguk leaned so far across Yoongi he stumbled out of his similar position, tripping to a stop between the two of you as he looked up with wide eyes. An apology came soft but his inquiry came an octave lower, “...what is going to look like a stock image?”

The item on the agenda was picking a venue, or rather, make it look like you were picking a venue. With the rumored wedding date less than days away, finishing touches were to be in order, but the press would be days behind by virtue of what was being actively publicized as a private wedding. And by the way you were standing just in front of a mock row of chairs beyond a meticulously decorated arch, pastel pinks and yellows and blues and purples, it looked like you’d just been cut directly from a wedding magazine’s ad section for structure rental. Yoongi wasn’t sure how the press would frame it. The house wasn’t the rumored location for the wedding, anyway. The beach was. But the press was only available for a short time, their hired stint by Yoongi’s company lasting until their flights left in the evening after they would capture what would eventually be the last of Yoongi’s wedding planning ventures. 

He shifted in the plush grass, squinting closer at two flower pots that made symmetry to the front display of the mock wedding alter. The way they moved with the wind was artificial, and his focus slid to see if those beautiful petals on rungs of the arch were fake flowers as well. 

“Do people actually have weddings here?” He thought back to his years as an employee. You’d always arranged for off property events. Your set up in the field behind the house suggested otherwise. 

“Not yet,” You nudged Jeongguk where he’d scrambled to stand between the two of you, managed to fit his broad stature in the minuscule space, “Jeongguk has been heading the project to get us a space to do so here. We could offer a discount on the venue if they used our services. Extra profit.”

“But for now it’s just a mock set up,” Jeongguk nodded. “That’s why I don’t understand why we’re here...shouldn’t we be getting the last of everything set up at the beach?” He turned to Yoongi with a question in his round irises, “And Yoongi, when is your fiance’ getting in? Have you arranged for transportation from the airport? Should I go get them?”

“Jeongguk,” You touched his arm, squeezing gently, “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off? I’m going to need you to be at full capacity the next couple days.”

“But I can come help—”

“Jeongguk.” 

Yoongi glanced behind him as the sound of tires on gravel descended, watching as the familiar SUV that had been trailing him through the weeks made it’s exit. Somewhere in his pocket, flight details buzzed from Taehyung. His gaze found your serious expression when the car peeled out of sight, speaking kindly to your coworker, “I’ve got it. Please take the night off. Tell Jimin the same.”

It hit him then that it wasn’t just you he’d be leaving to deal with the aftermath of his press playtime. In fact it was you that he’d be leaving to deal with it, your knowledge effectively making it ten times harder to sate what would essentially be a town’s population left confused and without him. The panic of it made his lips part but you cut him off before he could speak. 

“Do you want to go down to the beach for a little bit?” Your eyes widened, gesturing to where Jeongguk was still very much in earshot in the trek for his car. “Make sure everything is in order…”

Part of him was relieved that you seemed to want to talk to. The tension left him in a sigh, “Absolutely. I’ll drive.”

“Hold your hand out.”

Yoongi blinked, still trying to shake off the vibrating blurs in front of his lenses from the force in which his head had smacked into yours. He rubbed at the space that throbbed in an attempt to lessen it, “What?” 

“Unless you don’t want my gift. I can keep it.”

He was slightly disoriented but he didn’t miss the embarrassingly fast thrust of his hand toward you. “No,” He said simply, “I want it.”

You beamed, taking his wrist to press your fist against his palm. Slowly, you spread your fingers, depositing the smooth object against his skin. Then, you folded his fingers together over it, gently pushing his curled digits towards his chest. 

“It’s a…”

“Orchid!” You nodded, bouncing slightly where you sat, “It’s a pin, if you want to put it on your backpack. Or you can just display it. It’s yours.”

Yoongi turned the glass piece over in his palm, stroking his index finger through the smooth rivets of glass where white and purple mixed in a marble like texture underneath the surface. His smile was teasing as he passed it to his opposite hand, “Anything to remind me of nearly dying in sinkholes trying to help you pick these, huh?”

“Shut up,” You dug your fist into his thigh, leaning closer to him again. Dangerous territory for the endeared roar of Yoongi’s heart in his ears. “Where’s my present?”

“What?”

“You told me to remind you that you had something else for me. You know, other than the orchids gathered by near death experience,” You blinked at his confusion, “This is me reminding you.”

The weight on his bag could finally be released, a weight that had previously tucked into that wooden drawer and forever had resided on the tenderest part of his stuttered heart. All his pent up emotions, ones swallowed down and confined to the red lines crossing horizontally on his yellow notepad, could be released, could fly off the page and relieve a bit of his intense yearning. 

At the very least, he could say I love you out loud. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to do that to you. 

So, instead, Yoongi reached past you, bringing his lyrics back into his lap. His flips through the pages were calculated, counting until he made it to the eighth draft. Meticulous fingers peeled back everything in its way, tugging until it was a clean rip in the paper. Gently, he held the page out to you. 

“A piece of paper—”

“It’s the song the label wants to release as my first single,” Yoongi blinked at you until your teasing sobered up, dropping back a bit from where you leaned over him to take the page with you, “The first draft of it anyway. I want you to have it.”

It’s for you.

Your eyes widened, squinting through its contents as the sun began to bath dusk pastels into the landscape surroundings. Yoongi added softly, “Something to remember me by.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying.”

“That’s what you said,” He laughed gently.

“Yeah, but the way you said it. The way you keep talking. This song…” You frowned, “You’re only moving a plane ride away. A phone call away at that. We don’t have to say goodbye.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

You tried to reach for his hand, “But not for good. This isn’t the last time we’ll ever see each other.”

Yoongi evaded your touch to make it hurt less. The more time between your last touch on his skin, the easier it would be to forget. He stood to not have to see the hurt in your eyes, holding his notebook against his chest as he reached for his backpack. 

“Speaking of, I have to be at the airport fairly early tomorrow,” He adjusted the straps of his backpack, pointedly shoving his hands into his pockets. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“Remember the last time we were here?”

“Similar circumstance, too,” You brushed spread fingers across the small hill of sand in front of your crossed ankles. 

Glittering fairy lights strung to a timer on varying ends of the venue set up reflected on your skin and in your eyes when you eyed him. White chairs in a ten by thirteen grid buried into the sand, a velvet pink rug cut between the fifth and sixth chairs in the row, leading upward to where a white sheet took the place of where the wedding party would presumably stand. There was a custom arch, too, one Jimin had sweated over to have only the best pink and purple orchids threaded through the white rings and rungs. The venue space existed even when there wasn’t an event scheduled, that part of the beach roped off to tourists and locals alike, but it had certainly been magnified at the premise of the false wedding that was supposed to be occurring the Saturday following the current Thursday.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow?”

“Day after.”

“Ah,” You nodded, scooping up some of the sand and letting it drain between the spaces in your fingers, “Rather than being left at the altar, you’re doing the leaving.”

“I’ll have someone sent to help you clean everything up,” Yoongi touched underneath his chin, letting his fingers slide to the back of his neck, “I’d stay and help but—”

“No need,” You waved a hand, “Maybe making Jeongguk do it will suppress most of his questions.”

“Right…” Yoongi’s lips pressed into his cheeks, “Sorry about that, by the way. I hope he doesn’t think too horribly of me.”

You ceased all movements, turning to him. He paused in plucking miniscule specks of dust from his jeans, seizing at the softness of your tone. “Why are you saying a definite goodbye again?”

“I’m not.”

“Then you can make sure Jeongguk doesn’t hate you when you come back and visit. Or when you text me. I’m not asking for much. Even a happy birthday would suffice.”

He hadn’t felt a chomping sense of all consuming guilt since he’d lied about not saying goodbye before. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” The curl of your hand wrapped around his index and middle fingers where they rested in the sand, “Just don’t say goodbye to me again. Not like before.”

The suffocating weight was back, like a crater sized boulder resting directly in the thinnest part covering his most vital organ. Yoongi let himself nod. 

“Okay, angel. I won’t.”

You smiled away from his gaze, letting your fingers slide just barely away until the two of you were no longer touching. Instead, you scrambled, gathering your feet underneath you to crouch next to him. 

“Want to help me pick some orchids?”

“Can I take them off the decorations?” You smacked him, standing yourself to brush sand from the backs of your thighs. “What? No one is going to see them anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” It was scoffed but he sensed the sincerity. He didn’t want to remember either. “Come on, I think there’s a patch further up the shore—”

Yoongi fully woke the third time his cell phone rang on his bedside table. The light bathed his stack of packed luggage in the corner when he dragged it closer, ignoring the caller ID in route to accept it and press it against this ear. 

“Yeah?—”

“Yoongi,” Taehyung sounded as exhausted as the sand heavy behind his eyes felt, “I booked you an earlier flight. You’re to get on it.”

“Why?”

“Do it. Details are in your email. Don’t look at social media, if you can help from it.”

“I won’t look at social media,” Yoongi found it within himself to snort, rubbing at his eyes with a tired knuckle, “How early is this flight? I still have to pay the wedding planner.”

“Let us do that. We’ll direct deposit it. It’s the twenty-first century, we should do it that way, anyway.”

“Taehyung,” He sat up in bed, letting his duvet and sheets curl around his torso as he squinted at the soft white filtering through the sheer curtain of the singular window in the room, “I’m not leaving without telling them goodbye. They’ve helped me, us, tremendously through this. The least I can do is tell them thank you in person.”

“Besides, what’s the rush for me to get back? I don’t have a schedule for at least another two weeks.”

“Yoongi, they know.”

In the silence left by that vague yet horrifying statement, Yoongi swore he heard a camera click. Then another. Then a flash to pair. 

“They know what? Who is they?”

“The press. And not that the engagement is fake,” Taehyung rushed to amend as if that made it any better, “They found out where you are. Someone must have been tipped off through the pictures we published and sent their own team to investigate. And they found out the identity of the wedding planner. Which, I kind of commend you, having them step in for those pictures was genius. Are they wanting any extra money for pretending to be engaged to you? Seungcheol said he’d pay whatever they want. You should see the headlines, marrying the wedding planner, the story just keeps getting cuter!” 

“You told me not to look at the headlines,” Yoongi cut off numbly. He was on autopilot moving about the room, yanking things back out from their neatly packed suitcases, managing to locate a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that vaguely matched. “I’ll call you later.”

“The flight, Yoongi! Don’t do anything stupid please—”

There was a small group of reporters waiting on him in front of the hotel, ones he managed to shake off with relative ease but it did nothing to calm his nerves as he sped through familiar streets to get to you. He found the same scene in the parking lot of Be Happy, a handful of reporters crowded around with their cameras and phone mics and notebooks, shouting out questions that were still so far off base from the reality of the situation that it forced a headache behind his ears and on the spot below his fringe almost immediately. He shrugged them off too, leaving them at the gates to the drive that you hadn’t opened well into business hours, jogging until he reached the front door. 

It was locked, understandably so, forcing him to tap knuckles gently at first and harder the more frantic he got while calling your name. “Angel, it’s me. Let me in, please, let me help.”

Yoongi saw red, red and pink, and more red when you fiddled at the locks, dragging the door open to reveal tear filled eyes that only amplified at his presence and the volume of the shouts outside. He touched you only enough to shuffle you backward, letting the door shut behind him and he was halfway through locking it when you thrust something toward his face. 

It was a blurry picture from the night before, your face fully on display as you accepted something that was very much not an orchid from his grasp. It was a weed, something Yoongi knew the name of when his only thought wasn’t occupied by the tears lipping angrily down the slope of your nose. 

“I don’t know why it shocked me, really. That someone found us. Even if I hadn’t done that photo shoot with you, it wouldn’t have mattered. People would have assumed it was me, anyway. People were already starting to question with all the things your company allowed to be released. I was getting weird phone calls to the business phone and I just assumed they’d all go away when you did,” You swiped your phone away from him, letting it clatter harshly to the circle table, “I didn’t think the universe was selfish enough, that you were selfish enough to leave me like that again.”

“You should have told me you were getting weird calls,” Yoongi rasped hoarsely.

“Right, and what would you have done?” You blinked, “Called it all off? And then what, left me again?” 

“Why do you keep saying that, angel—”

“Don’t. Do not call me that,” You held up a hand, collecting yourself until the streams of tears weren’t as thick on your skin, “I keep saying that because it’s what happened. You left me here without so much as a second glance back. Then, when you needed me again, something to save face for a writer's block, you came back.”

“Why couldn’t you have just come home before that?” You were sobbing again, unable to help it. Yoongi felt all the healed pieces of his heart scar for a second time, “You were always writing when I was here. I could have helped you.”

“And I did help you. But I hurt myself. I had to live through all the reasons why I fell in love with you with no plausible endgame that wouldn’t shatter my heart. Again,” You laughed despite the unattractive sniffle you sucked in, “You did this to me again.”

He could hear his heart in his ears, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“How could you have?” Another laugh, one that made Yoongi wince, “You forgot to not forget me. Even then, you never let me get a word in.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Great,” He watched your fists curl at your side, setting your shoulders, “Then if you’ll excuse me—”

“What—”

“I have a wedding to get ready for,” You shrugged, “That’s what everyone expects, right? Then that’s what we’ll give them. In real time, not on some corporate media delay.”

“I’ll fix this. I will, I’ll—”

“Yoongi.” You paused across the room from him, facade clearly shattering as you begged, “Please just go. You probably need to pack for your flight tomorrow still, right?”

“Angel.”

“Go.” 

“You’re to call it off. Now.”

Seungcheol sighed into the phone speaker, overlapped by Taehyung interjecting, “We can’t do that, Yoongi.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. I do not care how you cover this up, how you choose to handle it, or if you have to eliminate my contract. I don’t have a preference and I don’t have any ideas,” Yoongi sighed into his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “All I ask is that it’s called off. That the media knows it’s not happening and that they leave me and everyone in my hometown alone.”

“All I can think is to suggest that the wedding is postponed indefinitely due to some sort of complications—”

“Great, do that. I’m not taking my flight, either. Neither flight.”

“You have schedules in a few weeks.”

“I’ll handle that when the time comes,” Yoongi sighed, covering his face with his hand, “I just...I really need to stay here for as long as possible.”

Taehyung continued to mutter to himself while Seungcheol murmured, “May I ask why?”

“It’s a long story,” Yoongi eyed the bouquet of pink in his fist, swallowing toward the heavy tides as they propelled towards the shore on the heels of heavy winds, “I’ll have to tell you some other time. But right now...I have to go.”

In any other circumstance, Yoongi would have sobbed seeing you ascend the aisle. And frankly, in the given circumstance, he wanted to as well, breath welling in the base of his throat when you hesitated upon seeing his figure, choosing eventually to drop your head and stalk for him. When you were in earshot, he said, “You didn’t pause.”

Tear tracks were still evident on your skin, fresh in fact, when you glared in confusion, “What?”

Yoongi gestured with his free hand, cuffs on his suit jacket riding up over the jewelry dangling from a delicate wrist bone as he pointed for the place beyond the last row of chairs. “You’re supposed to pause until the proper music starts. Standard wedding procedure.”

“Good thing this isn’t a wedding,” Your fingers brushed at your cheeks, trying to cover up, “Why are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

“Change of plans. I don’t think I’ll be leaving for a little while now. Turns out I have a fiance’ here,” He took one step toward you, kicking up sand with the polished toe of his dress boot, “Weird, right? Who would have known…”

A short huff left through your nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise, I wouldn’t find this funny.”

“I don’t think this is funny. Not what I have to tell you, at least.”

 “Well get on it with it,” You kicked up some sand without moving, “I have wedding details to finish.”

“I’ve kept this in for far longer than I should have. I thought it would be selfish of me to say it, especially when I really wanted to. After all, I was leaving. I wasn’t just leaving to go to university a few towns over or to accept an internship. I was signing to release an album. A real life album, something I’d always dreamed of doing.”

“And in my ideal situation, you would come with me. You would have taken the scholarship for that business school and at least stuck by my side for just a few more years. It was selfish of me to even have the thought. I feel guilty about it every day.”

“The extension of that thought was why I had it in the first place. Why my conscience would even think to conjure up such a painting of the future, one that included you in the short term but would assure you in the long run. Hopefully. I always hoped that.”

“When it didn’t work out that way, I didn’t want to give you any indication that I had wanted that in the first place. You had your mind set up and you were so excited. So excited. I couldn’t do anything to pull you away from that. I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to.”

“And I’ve regretted it every day since that night,” Yoongi used the bouquet as a wand, waving it vaguely as his free hand dug around in the pocket of his jacket. “Have you ever looked through the drawers of that wardrobe piece in the foyer of the first floor?”

You blinked, welled up tears not able to break from the streams you’d previously wiped away, “I could get all but the top right open after your parents moved out. I guess I lost the key to it.”

“It’s because I had the key,” The black box balanced between his fingers, tucked underneath the first knuckle on his thumb and the pad of his index finger, “This was in there.”

Yoongi popped the box open, revealing the glittering band inside. It was real, unlike the prop you’d happily collected from the photo shoot, polished in its original condition where the dusted outer edges of its container didn’t fare the same. “This is what I had to give you that night. It’s not what you think,” He shrugged, shifting to let the box slide fully into his cupped palm, “Or maybe it is. I wasn’t proposing, certainly. But I didn’t want to give you this. Not the draft of that song. Nothing else.”

“And it had a message attached to it so—” Yoongi thrust the flowers toward you, waiting until you took them so he could fully cradle the ring box in both hands, “—if you’ll allow me to be just a little bit selfish for a second, I’d wholly appreciate it.”

“I’m in love with you. I always have been and at this point, I think I always will be. My goodbyes and my horrible communication all were done with the idea of protecting you in mind but now I know it did nothing but hurt you more and for that, I apologize.”

He stepped twice, bringing him to stand directly in front of you. “I don’t think what would have happened if I would have told you all this that night. I can’t predict and I don’t want to think about it. I can’t change it,” Yoongi shut the ring box, gripping it tight in one hand as his opposite appendage tested your wet cheek, finger breaking the trail in route to cradle your face, “but I’m telling you here and now that I love you, angel. I really, really do.”

“I can tell you what would have happened.”

Yoongi frowned, attention split between clearing your tears and watching your teeth try to collect your trembling bottom lip. 

As if it clarified, you added, “I would have told you the same thing I’m about to tell you now.”

“I love you. Then, now, always,” You sniffled into quiet laughter, “Even a few Min Suga scandals can’t push me away.”

The seam of your lips tasted like salt and strawberry lip balm and you, one touch of your mouth as a result of the words Yoongi had waited years to hear come out of your mouth effectively sweeping up all the pieces of his shattered heart into a dustpan and fusing them back together, leaving it to soar in his ears as the moon fondly watched his hand on the side of your neck draw you closer. 

“I have two questions,” You mumbled against his lips. “Can I have the ring now? I think I’ve waited long enough.”

Yoongi laughed, pecking your mouth one more time in fear you’d dissolve into the ocean waves and he’d wake up in his apartment in the city. His grip fumbled the box back open, just as shaky as he had been in pushing the fake ring onto the proper finger as he nodded, “Yes, you certainly have. Second question, shoot.”

“Do I still have to marry you tomorrow?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Better you than J-Hope,” You grinned through your tears when he laced your fingers together to squeeze your hand, dragging you in for more sweet affections from his pouted mouth. 

“Right,” Yoongi punctuated his words through stamped kisses down your jaw, “I’ll remember you said that when I introduce you two.”

“Besides. I’m only wary about the wedding being tomorrow,” Your features scrunched when he nosed your cheek, “We need a little more time to plan, don’t you think?”

“Maybe just a few years. Maybe just a few months,” You shrugged when his gaze returned to yours, laughing as the realization flickered over in real time to Yoongi’s expression, “Just some more time I think would be good.”

Yoongi hummed, letting go of you to pry apart the stems in your hand picked bouquet, careful in plucking one of the flowers away from the center before reaching to pleat it behind your ear, lips following to settle on your cheek. 

“Good thing I know a wedding planner.”

Min Yoongi, better known as rapper, singer, songwriter, and producer Min Suga released his second studio album on Friday. Titled ‘Orchid’, it’s rumored to be a series of poems written for and about his spouse with which he recently celebrated marriage to from the privacy of his secluded, beach side hometown. This release comes nearly four years after his debut album and some fans have speculated the songs seem to be speaking to each other, as though the track lists tell the story of the couples love from Min’s perspective. The album is projected to debut number one, proving that perhaps the wait is, in fact, worth it in the end. 

[haunthouse]

5 for the telephone siblings?

things you didn’t say at all / writing prompts. content warnings: strained sibling relationships, death, the identity issues that come with being an alternate. uh. this one got long and it got sad. also on ao3!

“Seb, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

It’s not a sentence that’s ever preceded anything good, in Sebastian’s experience, and there’s a small, petty part of him that wants to turn his back out of spite, say I will not look, walk out of the locker room and go home. His Steaks, the ones he was with three years ago, pointed at the decree results and said the same thing, moments before he was ripped between realities — and now, when these Steaks say Seb, he knows they aren’t talking to him but to the ghost of the Sebastian he replaced.

It gives him a headache if he thinks about it too much, makes something swirling-sick spark up in his gut. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s like he’s forgetting the world he left behind. There’s no good options, no happy medium, just static droning on and on under darkened skies.

August’s still staring at him, so he fights the urge to run away back with a stick and looks where she’s pointing. The TV mounted on the wall. It’s tuned to the splorts network, tuned to —

Canada. Moist Talkers versus Pies; their game of the day offset from the Steaks’, still going on an hour after the Steaks’ game had come to an end. He thinks August’s pulling a prank until the view switches to a shaky-cam close-up on a murder of crows so thick he can’t see past them, until they part, until out from the swarm steps his sister. She limps to the dugout, leaving the peanut shell in pieces on the field behind her — and despite the shakiness of her steps, she grins a movie-star grin directly into the nearest camera.

Sebastian feels sick.

***

It isn’t that he’s not happy for Jessica.

Sebastian imagines it isn’t fun to be trapped in a shell. Sebastian imagines it’s a little like being trapped in a shadow — not the shadows, like Townsend, but constantly ignored in favor of a sister or a god. Same thing, when it comes down to it.

Maybe that’s an unfair thing to think. Maybe comparing Jess to the god that trapped her there is cruel; maybe comparing himself to her is self-serving at best; maybe it doesn’t matter. The Steaks seemed shocked, when he appeared, that he didn’t fawn over his sister’s every move. Jess seemed shocked, too. Sebastian feels a little bad for whatever former version of himself was here — a version who didn’t seem to want anything more than being the second of two, the lesser Telephone twin.

He’s a little jealous, too. From the stories he’s heard, it seems like this version of himself and his sister were much closer; maybe he genuinely hadn’t minded being in her shadow, maybe he’d celebrated her. Maybe they hadn’t traded jabs every time they were on the field together and meant most of the awful things they said about each other. Maybe they’d actually loved each other; didn’t just say they did.

Sebastian — this Sebastian, the only one who’s here, the one who can’t stop thinking about how he’s not the right version of himself and not the right Telephone and his stats might be better than the old one but clearly that doesn’t actually matter to anyone else — hadn’t spoken to his Jessica in years, when he disappeared. When he was replaced with the other one, he can only assume.

He’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to have a sister he was friends with. They’d fought too much for that to ever be more than an idle daydream, one he would shake himself out of quickly — there was no use in it, even if it would be nice.

(Maybe he’s more than a little jealous.)

But — but — but. But here’s it’s in reach. Here Jess smiles at him when they pass each other on the field, even if it is always a little grief-tinged. He hasn’t been rude to her, but he also hasn’t been kind. He doesn’t call.

And when she’d been shelled, the Steaks had given him condolences like he was the Sebastian they used to know, even knowing he wasn’t. He’d been — not sad, not really, but something more complicated than that. The bitter joy of being the only Telephone mixed with the regret — his chance to reach out taken, too late, not enough, gone. She’d tried calling him a few times, back in season five, and he’d stopped answering the phone, let it ring once and hit end call, not even giving the illusion that he’d just missed it and would call back later — and maybe that was cruel, maybe that was just leftover animosity towards his Jessica, maybe he should have been kinder.

He’d assumed she wouldn’t be coming out of the shell, or that she would be someone else, when she did. The gods don’t do anything without consequence attached.

He hadn’t expected to feel grief at the thought.

Now that she’s back — and with a two-run homer on her first at-bat; he tries to steer his reaction more towards good job, Jess, away from showoff — all those swirled-together emotions make a model volcano somewhere in his gut, threatening to blow.

Sebastian fights back the urge to run, sits himself on one of the sofas in the stadium’s den and watches the game play out. The Steaks give him distance. He tugs at a loose thread on his jersey until there’s a hole in it; he’ll have to get Conner to help him sew it back together before the next game, but he keeps worrying at it anyways, because the harm is already done and he might as well. Jess hits a two-run homer and takes the Pies from losing to victory, and smiles even as she looks like she’s about to collapse.

Leach Herman, from the other sofa, as the TV drones on about the birds and the shell and the league’s star: “You gonna call her?”

Sebastian’s still blinking at Jess’ face on the TV. Takes a moment to process Herman’s words, and another to process that they’re said to him. “I don’t know,” he says.

The rest of the Steaks leave quickly. Game’s over; the excitement of an unshelling has calmed; the Garages’ game is over for the day, too, so no risk of beaning-related news filtering in. Home game means they can all go home. Sebastian still doesn’t know how to feel at home here, so he spends most of his time in the stadium; plays games on the den’s TVs when the rest of the team has filtered out, or reads the comics Greenlemon leaves scattered across the common areas.

Leach is an alternate twice-over, so she gets it more than most. Sometimes she sticks around. They tell each other about the places they came from.

(Her home sounds like a nightmare, and as such, she’s adjusted far better than he has to this new world. His wasn’t ideal, but he was happy there. He knew where he stood, there.)

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do,” she says, which means she’s about to tell him what to do. It’s hard to read her expression, but from the tilt of her head, she’s deep in thought for a moment before continuing. “But I saw you when she was shelled. That first moment, realizing what it meant, that she might be gone — I’ve lost a lot of people, Sebastian. You almost lost her, and didn’t realize it would hurt until it was done.”

“Wow,” Sebastian says. “Jesus, Leach. Are you a mind-reader or something?”

“Only sometimes,” she says, which, ominous. “You’re not very subtle, though. Your emotions show on your face.”

“Cool,” Sebastian says, half-sarcastic but too soft for it to come across.

“Think about it,” Leach says, standing up. “Her place on the idolboard has hardly shifted. It’s possible she’ll go back again at the end of this season.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sebastian says, and he means it.

***

The Steaks beat the Garages the next day, and the Pies win their own game in Charleston, and Sebastian hits the call button before he gives himself time to second-guess.

“Seb?”

Jess’ voice sounds the same as he remembers, from both his world and the Jess who’d called him after he’d been swapped. Jess’ voice sounds mostly the same, but it’s hoarse, like she was screaming the whole two months she was trapped. He wonders if anyone outside the shell would’ve heard, if she had been, and feels a pang of awful guilt for the thought.

“Hi, Jess,” he says, and wills his voice to stay steady, and half-succeeds. “I, uh. I saw you were back? And I wanted to say — uh, congratulations, I guess?”

“You called,” she says, slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I called.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it’s almost diplomatic, like she’s weighing her words before saying them, which — really, he hasn’t given her much reason not to. Another pang of guilt. “But why? It’s been — it’s been a while.”

(Echoes of that first time she’d called him after he’d been swapped, and had acted as if they talked constantly, had said she was worried when he hadn’t called to fill her in on the election results. He doesn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it was something like Why are you calling me, Jess, you haven’t called me in five years. He’d hung up on her, then. He wonders what would have changed if he hadn’t.)

“I don’t know, I was just — I was thinking, while you were in there? I didn’t think I’d get another chance to talk to you. And I might not be the Sebastian you grew up with, but — I was never close to the Jess I grew up with, and I thought, it would’ve been nice, if I’d taken the chance to get close to you, when you offered.” He’s rambling. He’s not giving himself enough air between words; he takes a shaky breath, continues. “And now you’re out, and I just… thought I should say hi.”

There’s a moment of silence long enough that he checks to make sure she hasn’t hung up. The background-static of the call still thrums somewhere at the back of his skull, and her name is still written in bold letters on the screen of his phone.

“Sorry, it was — I was in there a while, I don’t know if I remember how to talk to people,” Jess says. “Hi. It’s good to hear your voice, Seb.”

There’s so much warmth to that single sentence that it makes him want to cry.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, sinks further into the couch he’s settled himself on. “We’re playing the Pies next week,” he says. “Can we go for lunch before a game, or something?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Seb says.

“You’re playing the Garages tomorrow,” Jess says. She says it like it means something, and he knows it does — because it’s not just the Garages, they played the Garages today and it was fine; it’s their undead pitcher, it’s the body count attached. “I caught myself up on everything that’s happened. Hotdogfingers. The debts.”

“Yeah, it’s been — it hasn’t been fun. She got Marco and Sam the second week, and — they’re alright, they survived, but a lot of people didn’t.”

“Be careful? Please. I can’t l—” and she cuts off, but he gets the gist. Can’t lose him again. Because it was a loss, for her, when he showed up and replaced the other-him. “Just be careful.”

“Always am,” he says. It’s a lie. A joke. She wonders if he knows enough about him to know that.

“I have to go practice,” she says. He can hear a smile in her voice, and he realizes very quickly that he’s never heard that tone from this Jess before. It’d been years, when he swapped, since he’d heard it from his own Jess. “But I’ll see you next week, alright? Day seventy-three. Just call me when you get to Philly.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and it’s the truth. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Seb.”

***

The next day, Jaylen Hotdogfingers aims a fastball directly at Sebastian’s chest, knocks him flat on the ground. He has to take a long moment in the dirt to catch his breath. The umpire looks like they want to incinerate him just for taking that moment, for delaying play at all before he drags himself to the dugout, sits heavily next to Leach.

She does him the courtesy of not asking if he’s alright.

He isn’t. He saw Sam and Marco go through instability and come out unscathed and thought, foolishly, that it would be easy. They hadn’t seemed any different after being hit. They’d looked exactly the same; perhaps a little more wild-eyed, but the game does that to people.

He looks down at his hand and it has smoke coming off of it already. The smoke before the fire. Events in the wrong direction, happening the wrong way.

“Do you see that?” he whispers to Leach. Holds his hand out in front of her.

“Your hand?” She tilts her head in what might be concern. “It’s the same as it was before.”

He yanks it back into his lap as if it’s been scalded by the words. He’s nervous enough without feeling burnt, even metaphorically.

He should call Jess after the game, he thinks. If something happens to him, she deserves to know beforehand. On the other hand — the video of three Steaks being struck by pitches won’t be plastered over every blaseball news website for the next twenty-four hours, and he knows she checks those religiously, has every stat and every schedule memorized. He’s seen her mouthing her opponents’ stats to herself when the Steaks play the Pies; some of them are numbers he’s never heard of in metrics he can’t fathom, even though they must exist applied to him, somewhere. 

She’ll find out. He’d be surprised if she didn’t know already.

He thinks, in the infield, at the plate, on the bench, about the pros and cons of calling and not calling. Pros: he could talk to her again. The weather forecast is predicting another eclipse in the next few days, and he feels feverish under his skin, like the fire’s just waiting to engulf him. She cares in a way his Jess never did, has replaced all the distance that used to characterize the idea of siblings in his mind with something else, and it’s taken him this long to even start to wrap his head around that.

She doesn’t want to lose him again. She’d been best friends with the other Sebastian.

And that leads him to the cons: it seems unbearably cruel to try to be her friend if he’s only going to die. If they won’t even be able to see each other in Philly, go out for lunch like he promised — the lack of closure might kill her, too. He thinks about the swirling storm of regrets he’d had when she’d been shelled, and thinks about the hopelessness of an incineration. No chance of being pecked free by birds.

He just has to survive the next week. Then he’ll call, and they’ll go out to lunch together. He can apologize for assuming she was the same as the Jess in his world, at first; he can apologize for pushing her away; he can apologize for not calling, as long as he survives.

When Jess calls him after the game, he lets it ring and ring. He does not listen to the voicemail she leaves.

***

Two days later, Sebastian Telephone is incinerated.

[baby-grayson]

Sweet Enigma| Part 5

Word Count: 2605

Tags:  @wheezeatmedolans​ @styles-dolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @evergreendolan​ @baby-turtles​ @dolanstacoma​ @kombuchagray​ @not-gbd​ @graysavant​ @someonetogray​ @dolansficsandpics​ @batgirl009 @voguekristens @letsgoget-high​ @crossedbone-kat​ @graysonsdollface​

Ethan sat at his kitchen island, shoveling bites of pancake into his mouth. His phone buzzed so hard it nearly jerked off the counter. He swooped an arm down and caught it before it hit the ground. When he stopped to read the messages illuminating his screen, he once again confirmed his status as the smarter twin.

In a room on the other side of the house, a strung out and angry Sherry typed furiously at her laptop. She ignored phone calls and emails from her agent and publicist. Her nostrils flared at her computer screen while her manicure clacked against her keys. She sneered at the notifications coming in, forcing her to face the images of Grayson stalking into their tiny home with another woman.

From the other side of the room, Calvin Maddox leaned against a wall with a cool gaze. His eyes did not move from his emotional daughter while he spoke into his phone, “You hear me Chip? I want that girl’s name. I want her daddy’s name. I want her mama’s name. I want to know what she ate for dinner last night. And don’t you dare call me back until you know everything.” With a stern finger, he hung up the call and crossed his arms. Sherry turned from her position at the computer, her blue eyes were dark with something mad and disturbed. She gritted her teeth and turned back to finish what she was doing.

Wesley’s voice was choked up when Kate picked up the phone. She felt every one of her organs shake. Wesley’s breathing was uneasy, clearly audible over the phone. She closed her eyes and winced: like she was in pain at the dentist.

He didn’t even bother starting with pleasantries. “Katie—” Her heart broke to hear him say it like that, “What’s going on?” “Wes,” she started, “It’s not what you think,” her words got quicker with each second, “It-it looks—it’s not what it—”

“What am I supposed to think?” His voice was loud and sharp on her ears, “I’m—I’m confused Kate.”

“They’re not telling the truth—” “You’re not telling the truth! Kate! You said you were in Philadelphia! You said you were with your mom! And I look at my phone and see you in Jersey with some guy! Some guy that’s practically married! What am I supposed to think Kate? What am I supposed to feel?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t think—” “Didn’t think what?” Wesley choked on his words, “That you would get caught?”

Kate felt a single tear fall down the side of her face. As much as she had never believed Wesley was the one for her, she would have never pictured hurting him like this. His voice sounded like someone was stabbing him in the gut. In a deep place, she knew Wesley deserved better: not someone who would run off to the East Coast under false pretenses and the remnants of an old romance. She felt messy. She felt dirty. She felt problematic. Wesley was the last shred of her old life left. He was the last memory of a happy girl, with a healthy mom, and a doting boyfriend who never worried about Grayson Dolan.

“I’m done Kate. I can’t do this. Not if you’re going to treat me this way. I-I wish it was different, I really do but…. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me enough to at least tell the truth.”

It pained Wesley to do it, in a deep and emotional place. Seeing those photos of Kate and Grayson forces Wesley to permanently let go of his vision for a future with her. In ten minutes, his entire idea of what his life would look like was erased for a darker picture. He loved her; she lied to him. He wore the stains of the tainted spaces she left in his heart.

And with that, Kate said goodbye to the last shred of her old life. She was, officially, a confused girl, with a sick mom, and no boyfriend but many worries about Grayson Dolan.

Her heart felt tortured: skewered by the events of the past few days. She felt a thousand arrows puncturing her aortas: some of them with Grayson’s name, some of them with Wesley’s, and some with her own because she could not deny that it was her own actions that catalyzed and inflicted her own pain.

And on that day, so many hearts were in pain. Grayson’s heart ached for Kate. He felt existentially disturbed in a deep place. He worried about what his decisions had done to Kate. Half of his mind hated the other half, for worrying more about Kate than he did about Sherry. He paced around his mother’s house, dragging fingers through his hair and playing at the callouses on his palms while he tried to formulate some kind of plan to make everything right.

The ability to do so was stripped from him from the media storm erupted in the winds of Sherry’s announcement.

 Displayed as white text on a black background she wrote: “It is with a heavy heart and so much sadness that I am forced to announce the end of my engagement to Grayson Dolan. Grayson gave me so many beautiful moments and wonderful experiences, but I am moving onto a new, independent chapter in my life. Grayson’s decision to pursue a new direction in his life has offered me the opportunity to enjoy life as a liberated woman. Although I am trying to look at this new point in my life with excited eyes, thinking about all of the horizons that are out there for me: I am stricken by the pain, grief, and anguish of being involuntarily compelled to dispose of any fantasies of the life I was going to create with the man whom I thought was my soulmate. In this time, I am eternally grateful for the love and respect of my mother, father, sister, and all of my supporters.”

 Grayson dialed the phone before the dust settled in his mind. He was surprised to hear Sherry’s voice on the other end, not her recorded voicemail or her assistant.

“Sherry—” his tone landed somewhere between agitated and massacred. “What was that? What did you—” “I should be asking you the same question,” she was calm and pointed. For all of her selfish, greedy flaws: Sherry Maddox never lost her purposefully, Southern composure. The only time she addressed someone with so much as a hair out of place, was when Grayson intruded on her space when he went to pack his bag: he had unraveled her once and he wasn’t going to do it twice.

“So we’re over? You didn’t even have the decency to tell me you were going to—to—to post that? To send that?” Grayson’s meaty fingers clutched his phone with white knuckled.

“Take it as retribution,” she popped her lips before continuing, “For not having the decency to tell me you were running away.” Her jaw cracked over the phone, “With another woman.”

Grayson sighed, “Sherry,” his tone was lighter. “I—I—” Grayson struggled. He wasn’t going to ask for her back. He didn’t want to ask for her back. He didn’t want to be with her. He didn’t even want to be on the phone with her right now. But he was trying to do the right thing, to honor his past commitments and make right his past mistakes. “—I’m trying to be a good man Sherry.”

She laughed. She laughed not with a happy effervescence but with a cold, chilling, mocking breath. “Good man? Since when does a good man leave his fiancé? Since when does a good man travel to the opposite end of the country in the middle of the night to get away from his fiancé? What kind of good man takes up post with another woman sleeping in his bed while his fiancé is stuck in California—trying to explain to her entire family why he wasn’t at their celebration and decided to embarrass her like that?”

Grayson gulped. She didn’t stop. “Tell me. How much of it was a lie? Because some of it had to be? Did you never love me? Did you used to love me? What was I? Some kind of a publicity stunt? Were you insecure that the D’Amelios and the Pauls were more famous than you? Being a run away groom? This is more press than you’ve had in years? Did you know this from the beginning? Was it all fake? Or did something happen and suddenly I was just a device?” “No-“ his voice sounded more like a cry. “To think I actually wanted your children. You don’t deserve to have children in this world, anyone who can leave a path of hurt like that---you’re damn near a sociopath Dolan. I just can’t believe I let you hoodwink me into not seeing it for so long.” “NO!” He screamed into his phone, “I’m not a sociopath Sherry. I did love you. Once. I used to. But things changed. And I was wrong for—for not talking about it. For letting it boil up in me. For thinking that a happy future was a—a good enough reward for a problematic present—but sometimes it isn’t. and it wasn’t for us—for me.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Sherry. I’m sorry I hurt you—you didn’t—you don’t deserve this. I’m going to be sorry I hurt you for the rest of my life. But please believe me when I say I never used you, when I say I never lied to you. I’m not a perfect man Sherry—I’m far from it—but nothing from the past year and a half was an act.” “You must really think I’m a dumb blonde huh?” Sherry’s cool tone was completely juxtaposed to the sound of Grayson’s panting yells, “You are right about one thing Dolan, you will be sorry about this for the rest of your life.” Before he could ask, Grayson heard the dial tone as she hung up their call.

Grayson didn’t notice his mother’s figure leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, but he didn’t flinch when she put a loving hand on his shoulder. His entire, large, beefy body was shaking. He sucked in his top lip and let it flop onto his bottom one with a large breath. Lisa clutched him caringly, “It’ll be okay.”

“That’s what Kate said,” Grayson’s face fell into a defeated picture.

“She’s smart,” Lisa took a seat at the kitchen island with Grayson. He looked over to his mother, finding comfort in her familiar gaze.

Grayson nodded softly, “I’m not.”

Lisa moved her hand to hold his forearm, radiating heat onto his skin, “No, you are. You just need to slow down. To think about what you want.” “What I want?” Grayson’s mouth shortened at the edges. Lisa nodded softly, knowingly, “You didn’t want Sherry. Not in that way.” Grayson lifted in his eyebrows in silent agreement. “Courage is grace under pressure,” she recited from memory, “In our hardest moments, we look to our purest truths.”

Grayson bit the inside of his cheek, “Thank you fortune cookie” His tone was low and deprived of any jest.

Lisa scoffed softly and hit him across the arm playfully, “I’m saying when you left Sherry, you weren’t just leaving her—you were looking for something. Something that is currently upstairs, laying in a ball because her boyfriend just broke up with her.” “Broke up with her?” Grayson had been too preoccupied with his own storm to check in with Kate for the past few hours. Lisa nodded, “It was bad but she’ll make it. The strong ones always do.”

“Am I strong one mom?” Grayson’s voice sounded small leaving his lips, nearly childlike.

Lisa released a breath though her nose and met her son’s eyes, “You are. Stronger than you think. But the only way to prove it to yourself is to get your life in order. And the only purpose who can do that, who can prove that, is you Grayson.”

Grayson Dolan never liked running. He felt like a hamster on a wheel. If he wanted to enjoy nature and feel at one with his surroundings, he would go for a merry walk or a bouncy hike. If he wanted to work out, to drench himself in sweat and manifest his troubles into physical struggle: he had a myriad of options to tone his body.  

On that day, Grayson Dolan took off running and did not look back. The dozens of confusing, conglomerated, and strange emotions he had been feeling propelled one foot to push off and fly while the other met the ground. He felt his mind slow down for the first time in too long while he body quickened. The New Jersey breeze blew through his hair while leaped over a stump and kept going. If it wasn’t for the occasional pebble in his shoe, Grayson would have felt like a bird: soaring in the air without a precise destination. He glided through the air until he figured out what he wanted to run toward. Once he had a goal in mind, he turned around and hustled his way back home.

Kate stood under the shower head, letting a pressurized stream dance over her skin. She lifted her head up, taking in deep breaths as the water washed over her body. She felt her muscles relax for the first time in months. She let her mind go blank, refusing to let negative thoughts ruin this moment for her. She hooked her hands around her neck, rubbing soft circles and feeling a serene calm sound over her entire body.

 The shower had started to steam up, the air was thick was a humid fog. The only audible sound was the whistle of the hot shower head. 

Kate didn’t hear the door close. She didn’t hear the soft sound of clothes falling onto the bathmat. She didn’t even hear the shower curtain move from within her zen state.  Her muscles tenses and then relaxed with the knowledge that the hands wrapped around her waist were Grayson’s. 

He placed a kiss on the side of her neck. She stretched it out, allowing more room for his lips. His gentle fingertips drove deeper into her wet skin. She pursed her lips while she exhaled, nearly moaning as she melted under his lips. 

One of his hands draped down and grabbed onto her thigh, pulling her closer to him at the waist. She bit her lip and smirked, silently wishing he could see her expression while she felt him press hard against her ass. 

She turned slightly and went to meet his lips. 

Grayson pulled back. His eyes darted around the scene and his hands went lip from where they laid around her. Grayson swallowed and took a step back, nearly fell over in the shower. 

He suddenly realized what he was doing. Sure, he was now a free man but Kate wasn’t his woman. He couldn’t just barge into her shower, hold her naked body, slam her against a wall, and do dirty things to her all night.

Hell, the last he kissed her was nearly three years ago. 

Kate seemed to sense his inner turmoil. She stepped toward him and licked her lips, wearing something dark in her eyes. 

She clasped a hand around his jaw and his lips and pulled his face toward her, “Finish what you started.”

[gotham--fc]

Firstly so sorry I haven’t replied had a mad couple days with hockey games/training and Xmas parties 😂.

But yeah the Toronto skyline would look slick, like a dark grey background and an outline in dark red would look fire.

And yeah Boston are really good, they’re my fave pwf team but tbh I prefer PWHPA Montreal bc pou and fillier on a team is so fun to watch! How is the T6 doing now ?

That sounds so fun I hope you have a good time! Skating is so fun I love it!

😂I think I get you when I watch Canada in international competitions I’m like hmmm which one is it today?😂😂

And as for your fave player Fleming and putellas are both boss, haven’t seen putellas much tbf but I’ve seen highlights and stuff and they’re boss!

Band does sound like a ton of fun and it sounds fun to work both with people and then individually to show off. Are you still in a band or is there not one where you’re at now?

😂😂 that sounds boss I have a similar thing with my mates, one of them is nicknamed after a thing she said in practice that sounded dirty and it stuck 😂 and Tbf a lot of my mates are mispronunciations of thier names. I also called one of my mates by her last name and it’s gotten to the point that when I say her first name it sounds weird 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️. Also what are you doing to those tomatoes?

Halladay sounds really cool, to have that sort of impact and respect for both the teams he played for is really cool. And the fact that the fans still loved him is really cool and sweet too and it’s probably one of the best compliments a sportsperson would have. And yeah tell me all about it we don’t play or watch it here as far as I know and it seems cool (but long) so yeah tell me all about it😁

They are so so bad like I know I’m already bias bc I love team Canada and GB and there’s a rivalry there (less so with GB) like I don’t know why the designer couldn’t think of a logo or a design , rather than putting USA on it like no other country writes thier name on them cause you know who they are.

I don’t hate them I just wish they let in one more goal and then we’d be in the next round, I watched that game on the bus home from a game and I spoilt a goal for a teammate who was 10 seconds behind (cause I jumped in excitement and she saw) and when the game was over and Although GB won that game they came second in the tourney so korea cellyd thier 1st place (as they should) and I was like nope and switched off my phone😂🤦‍♀️

And good booo bruins. The Montreal Canadiens are cooler (we ain’t playing good this season but our jerseys are nicer👍), who would you support in that leauge? Toronto leafs cause you’re a T6 fan?

Also about hockey I tried the weirdest tape and I kinda like it😂 it’s the same as Stutzle who plays for the Ottawa senators 😂🏒

Bro don’t worry about it I get it we be busy (only one more week only one more week of school😂)

The Toronto skyline is so sick like yeah I agree I think the t6 white jerseys would be sick if they had a light grey skyline on them, you know? But really how much more Toronto can they get than literally calling themselves the 6ix?? 😂

Toronto just swept the rivs so I’m feeling better now 😂 they’re doing well, Boston just likes to rain on our parade, so far they’ve only lost the two games against Boston and hopefully *knock wood* it’s only Boston they struggle against

The good part of having to play the anthem with band is I don’t ever have to worry about what version because the melody is the same in either language 😂

Putellas is boss she’s so good like no one has any issue with her winning the ballon dor or any other awards, like there’s always issues with the awards but this year everyone’s like yep Alexia deserves it, I was worried she would get overlooked because the Spanish national team isn’t (yet) a team that will win the World Cup or Olympics, she is without a doubt the best player in the world right now for sure

I’m not in a band rn because I’m not sure if there’s a local orchestra that will accept me right now and I also don’t have a sax 😂 if I had money I could buy a sax and play out all the rust and see if I could get into a band or an orchestra or something, tbh I love playing concert music just as much as jazz so I can’t decide what kind of music I wanna play

Oh yeah nicknames are always bad mispronunciations of my friends names or stupid things they say, for my one friend (and roommate) we have the same first name so we go by our last names when we’re together

And I was literally just eating them😂, she just thought it was weird that I eat cherry tomatoes straight up, she only eats them with something else

Well baseball where to begin? The basic rules are you have 9/10 starters, three outfielders, 4 infielders, one pitcher, one catcher, and a designated hitter if you’re an American League team, the designated hitter bats for the pitcher so the pitcher doesn’t bat, so you have one team bats first, one team fields, the point of the game is when you’ve batting to hit the ball and get as many players “home” as you can (home means you circle the bases and end up at home plate which is where you bat from) and when you’re fielding to stop the other team from getting anyone home, you play nine innings (an inning is both teams get to bat) and whoever has the most runs at the end wins, it can’t end in a tie so you play extra innings until someone wins basically endless overtime I’ve seen games go to 20 innings, the longest mlb game went to 26 innings, the longest pro baseball game was a minor league game that went to 33 innings. You switch who bats after 3 outs, an out is where one of the batters doesn’t get on base when they bat or if a runner (a batter who got on base) doesn’t make it to the next base, this is a very quick summary there’s a lot of rules and stats and teams and players and blah blah blah I can keep going but some stuff probably doesn’t make sense until you watch a game (if you want to watch a game please let me pick the one you watch I don’t want you to pick a boring game and lose interest I’ll pick an exciting one for you)

I don’t know why the us never wants to be creative with their jerseys, like I don’t get how they look at what they’ve designed and say yes this is exactly what we want let’s keep doing it, like what?? Literally no one will forget you’re America trust me buddy we all know you’re America 😂

Oh that’s so funny, that happens when I’m at my parents house and I force my dad to watch the game on a different tv because he’s bad luck, our TVs are never in sync so either me or my dad will hear a reaction from the other and be like welp I guess I know what’s coming up 😂 my mom gets so mad because we’ll talk about what’s happening but I’ll be in the basement and he’ll be upstairs in the living room so we’ll just be shouting to each other and my mom will just be like can’t you two just watch it in the same room 😂😂

I will never support the leafs, I love Toronto but not that much 😂 tbh I don’t know what nhl team I’d support, my dads a bruins fan but my brothers a bluejackets fan, I do like gritty tho so maybe I’ll become a …. Penguins fan??? It’s Philadelphia right? Is that where gritty is? If you can’t tell I don’t know much about the nhl 😂

I didn’t know there was different types of hockey tape I thought there was just… hockey tape… but you know what you go weird tape go do hockey tape stuff

Side note, at the Canada-us Ottawa game I was at, one of the Canadian players (I forget who) was having so much trouble with her tape, it kept coming off all game and every time she skated near where we were sitting we’d all start yelling “your tape is coming off” and then we’d watch her look and see yep her tape is coming off, she kept sticking it back on but I’m pretty sure after her one shift she just threw her stick at the bench and got a new one 😂

[yellowocaballero]

Small Joke Story Bc I’m Not A Coward

 “Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”

“Why not?!” 

“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead. 

Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously. 

“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”

Hm. 

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him. 

TMA American AU, made as a result of four hours of increasingly inane text messages between myself and @lazuliquetzal. Every time we bring this show further from Britain it is brought further into the light. 

Read the rest of it under the cut!

The timing had to be exact. 

They had agreed to wait for the 55th Annual Historical Salem Convention to roll around. It was the closest thing they had to security while working at the Usher Foundation. After a while you really did get used to eyes constantly watching you, all the time, never feeling quite safe in your own skin, but it never really hurt to be careful. Especially when it came to Elias Bouchard. 

Personally, Martin really didn’t see what the big deal was. Of course there was a mysterious, malevolent entity always watching you, judging you, finding you wanting, and finally condemning you to eternal suffering. God existed. 

Still, it seemed to bug the others, so Martin bribed Rosie with a loaf of his trademark sausage and cheese loaf to let him know when Elias excitedly left for his favorite event of the year. When he got the text from Rosie, Martin stood up from his chair, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Bouchard has flown the coop!”

On the turn of a dime, everyone stopped pretending to work. Tim threw down his pen, Melanie jumped up and ran to go wheel out the whiteboard, Basira tossed her book over her shoulder and pulled out her secret legal pad, Daisy logged off her favorite website GunShoppersUSA.com, Sasha spat out her chewing tobacco into the tin on her desk and put her boots back on the ground, and even Jon emerged from his office with a grim expression. 

“It’s time,” Tim said grimly. “It’s time that we all find out the fuckin’ truth.”

“I keep on telling you, you’re over-reacting,” Jon insisted. He dug his hands in the pockets of his Harvard hoodie, scowling. Martin fastidiously arranged the plaque on his desk (“Your Life Is A Gift From God: What You Do With That Life Is Your Gift To Him”) as he imagined ripping it off him. Best not to be inappropriate during work hours. “Why put forth all the effort for such a stupid lie?”

“It’s hardly his first lie to us,” Basira said, seemingly bored and watching Jersey Shore on her phone. “He also lied about not being an omniscient serial killer.”

“This is different!” Tim said, slamming his fist on his desk and Melanie rolled the whiteboard in. “That’s a matter of common sense. Who wouldn’t lie about being a serial killer?”

“If I was a serial killer I wouldn’t lie about it,” Sasha said with a straight face. “I’m not a pussy.”

“I am a serial killer,” Daisy said, bored. 

“You guys are fucking freaks,” Tim said.    

“Jesus christ, just say y’all,” Sasha said, yet again. Martin nodded fastidiously. 

“All’a youse be quiet,” Jon muttered. He walked forward and sat down in the chair next to Martin’s desk, which made him flush. Martin quietly pushed over his big candy bowl full of fudge, which Jon absently took and stuffed in his mouth seemingly without realizing it. “What’s alla this ‘bout, then?”

“Wow, he really must be tired,” Basira muttered to Daisy, who looked strongly as if she was pretending not to mark down whenever Jon’s hilarious accent jumped out. 

 “Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”

“Why not?!” 

“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead. 

Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously. 

“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”

Hm. 

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him. 

Sasha, from where she was sitting across from him, noticed the action. She smiled reassuringly at Martin. “Don’t worry. I kinda...I kinda get Tim about the Elias secretly being British thing, but there’s no way there’s any witchcraft going on here.”

“I just heavily disapprove of witchcraft,” Martin said haltingly. “And I really don’t think it’s something we should joke about -”

“We know,” everyone said. 

“You tried to exorcise Jane Prentiss,” Tim pointed out. 

“She was of the Devil! So sue me!”

“She was definitely of the Devil,” Sasha agreed. “I’ve seen hordes of insects that big plenty’a times, and they’re definitely Devil work. One time, I saw this spider the size of a dinner place eat a bird -”

“Shut up about the bird spider,” Jon screamed, “I am sick to death of the bird spider -”

“She was of Portland,” Basira said flatly.

“What’s the difference?” Daisy asked. 

Basira fixed Daisy with a cold, beady stare. “Unless you want everyone in this room to know exactly what place you got in the Miss Kentucky County Fair Pageant -”

“Second,” Jon said, “it was humiliating.”

Daisy took out her hunting knife the size of her forearm, which Basira quickly wrestled from her, and it took another twenty seconds for Sasha to call the room to order. Martin stared longingly at the gun cabinet they kept in a corner of the room underneath a big pile of boxes, which everybody had a key to but Jon. 

“Okay,” Tim said loudly, after the room had returned to relative order. Mostly through Martin feeding Jon the toffee fudge that kept his mouth glued shut for at least the next few hours. “To recap. Our evil boss, Elias Bouchard, is a well known douchebag asshole cuntface. He is gnarly as fuck. He is uncool.”

“Mfmf,” Jon said.

“No, it was pretty fresh how he framed you for murder. Let’s cover what we know of his background.” Tim rapped the whiteboard. “Pothead rich kid from San Diego. Now, everybody knows certain things about people from San Diego. Rich! White! Hipster! Dope on the waves. But not as dope as me. Really rockin’ zoos. San Diegoans are cool dudes who are great to hit a vape with.” He rapped the whiteboard again, much more empathetically. “Elias Bouchard is none of these things but rich and white!”

“That’s all you need,” Basira said flatly. 

“Vaping is really bad for you, you know,” Martin said reproachfully. 

Melanie took out her vape threateningly, making Sasha throw the stuffed alligator she kept on her desk at her to knock it out of her hands. “No sources of ignition in the archives, Mels!”

“Now, let’s go over my evidence,” Tim said loudly. “In the interest of fairness, I will list reasons that Elias may actually be from California.”

“Are we going to go over his means, motive, opportunity, anything?” Jon asked, seemingly bored, having finally swallowed his fudge. 

Tim’s eyes locked in on Jon’s. Jon quailed. “I’m sorry,” Tim said pleasantly, “are we going to actually stop and wonder about why someone would, hypothetically, want to do something stupid before accusing them of it and, perhaps, stalking them to their homes?”

“Massachusetts isn’t a stand your ground state,” Daisy whispered to Jon. “We’re in coward territory, you can take him.”

“If you call the North coward territory one more time, Daisy -” Basira said threateningly.

“Anyway!” Melanie said loudly, as she wrote on the whiteboard. “It’s possible that he is from California because he’s rich and white.” She wrote down ‘privilege’ in big letters on the board. “However, as we know, there is rich ethnic diversity in California. Do you know where else rich and white people live? 17th century Puritan England.”

“I have a reason why Elias could be from California,” Sasha said seriously.

“You have the floor, hun,” Tim said. 

“He’s an asshole.”

Melanie silently wrote down ‘ASSHOLE’. 

“Pretentious,” Jon called. 

“Big talk from the Brooklyn Boy,” Sasha called back. “Gentrified Gentleman! Colombia Copycat! Big Apple Asshole!”

“I oughta kill youse,” Jon hissed. “Disrespect the boroughs in my house again and I’ll show you how 84th street boys do it -”

“You and what square mileage?!”

Melanie, who was the most emotionally honest out of all of them, wrote down ‘PRETENTIOUS’ anyway. 

“Now, let’s move onto the real arguments,” Tim said, clapping his hands to restore order. “Let’s review. Mels, make sure you get this down. One time, I saw him parking in December, and he drove well in the snow. He’s a natural at it.”

Silence bore down over the assembly. That was, by far and away, extremely incriminating. Californians couldn’t drive well in the snow if you held a gun to their head - Daisy had checked. 

“Moreover,” Tim continued. “I tried sharing my korean-ecuadorian-french-thai fusion food truck take-out with him and he refused. Can a Californian refuse the siren call of food truck fusion cuisine?”

“That is suspicious,” Jon said grudgingly. 

“Tim and I experimented,” Melanie volunteered, as she wrote down ‘EATS LIKE AN OLD PERSON’ on the whiteboard. “We tried cranking down the temperature in his office to - get this - sixty degrees. He didn’t even notice.”

“I haven’t heard him complain about winter once,” Tim pointed out.

“Winters in this infernal land fucking suck,” Sasha groused. “If it’s below 100 degrees it’s too fuckin cold.”

“Bood,” Daisy said. 

“Agreed,” Martin said. “I had to figure out what snow chains are.”

“I can’t drive,” Jon said proudly. Martin patted his hand. 

“Moreover!” Tim said. “I asked him his opinion on reality TV and he said that he didn’t watch it. I asked him what his favorite outdoors activity was and he said ice fishing. Every summer he goes to Maine with his shitty husband to go ice fishing. It’s bullshit.”

“Elias is gay?” Jon, Known Worst Gaydar In The Fucking World, said in surprise. 

“Put that down in the pro-California column,” Daisy said. Melanie wrote down ‘GAY RIGHTS’ on the board. 

“I hope you don’t let the fact that Elias is gay influence why you righteously hate him,” Melanie said to Martin seriously. “Gay rights are important, Martin. I believe this very strongly.”

“Aw, bless your heart,” said the guy who had been thrown out of his small Oklahoma town and excommunicated when he was eighteen. Not that anybody knew that. Martin didn’t believe in oversharing. Everyone took one look at the bolo tie and Precious Moments desktop calendar and assumed heterosexuality. What if he just liked bolo ties? What if Precious Moments was cute and sweet?

“Okay, back on topic,” Tim said, as if they had ever actually been on topic. “I have a finishing blow for all of you. This’ll blow your socks off. It’s really the coup d’tat. That’s a little something we say in California to show that we really got this sucker on lockdown. One time, Melanie saw him eating Taco Bell in the cafeteria -”

“ - and enjoying it,” Melanie said viciously. “Then I walked up to him and went, hey boss, what’s that you eating? And he said -”

“Just having some Mexican food,” Tim spat. 

Everybody sat in silent observance of this crime. 

Finally, Jon rubbed his chin and said, “I just don’t get it. Why would you pretend to be from California? It’s a mediocre state.”

“Say that to my SoCal beach bum face -”

“It’s to hide the fact that he’s the ghost of a 17th century Puritan witchfinder bodyhopping in order to feed his infernal god of paranoia and suspicion,” Melanie said, with a straight face. 

Cautiously, Basira said, “And you got to that conclusion...how?”

“By using the investigative skills I learned at Buzzfeed,” Melanie scoffed. “Duh.”

But now Basira was actually looking thoughtful.  “I mean, there is the fact that the Usher Foundation is built on a sacred Native burial ground and is precisely located on the ancient site where witches were sentenced to death, constructed using the wood from their holy pyres?”

Everybody thought hard about this. 

“If he pretended to be from Florida I would have caught him out in a second,” Sasha said finally. “Man looks like he’s never seen a spider bigger than a saucer.”

“Shut up about the fuckin spiders -”

“I’ve seen the rats in NYC, they look like they could do my taxes -”

“That’s their prerogative, James!”

“I’d be able to call him out in a second if he pretended to be from Jersey City,” Basira said thoughtfully. “And, come to think of it, I have heard him call a trunk a ‘boot’ before.”

“I heard him call an elevator a lift once,” Daisy volunteered. 

Everybody chewed over this new piece of information. 

“God,” Sasha whispered, looking sick. “I can’t believe an English scum has been among us this entire time. It’s terrible. I never thought I’d be forced to interact with those fuckers.” She muttered something else under her breath in Spanish, which made Jon roll his eyes. 

“You’re scared of Englishmen, of all things?”

“It’s their legs,” Sasha shivered. “Too many legs.”

Finally, Jon turned to Martin. “What do you think, Martin? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Martin sighed. Martin carefully drank some of his world famous peach sweet tea. Martin took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. 

“Of course he’s a heckin’ seventh century puritan body hopping ghost,” Martin said finally. “I’ve known that for, say, since I was hired.”

Everybody stared at him. 

“Why the fuck haven’t you mentioned that,” Daisy said flatly. 

Martin shrugged. “Y’all done never asked.”

Jon took a second to gather himself, clearly two seconds away from flying into sheer Brooklyn Rage. 

Thankfully, Melanie was squinting furiously at him. “What makes you say that?”

Martin just shrugged again. “So I was interviewin’ wit’ him, right? And I wanted ta make a good impression, so I just said, oh, the Lord provides for our meetin’ and all that. Then he said some Bible quote at me. Then I was like, oh, I can totally work this angle. Then I quoted the New Testament back at him, and I guess we got into a sorta competition? This happens in the South. But I ain’t never met someone who can out Bible quote me. So I figured, oh, he must be a body hopping evil Puritan ghost from the 17th century.”

Everybody stared at him. 

“He called me a nice young God fearin’ boy,” Martin said. “Only Puritans and Southern Baptists do that, and he ain’t no member of my church. Plus, you know, when were fightin’ over him framing Jon for murder and how dangerous that was, he’s the only person I ever met who could use cherry picked Bible quotes as effectively as me in order to win an argument. So...really, it’s just logical.”

Slowly, Basira said, “You figured he was evil because he was an expert in your tactics?”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Martin said wisely. 

“Fuck this shit,” Jon said, standing up abruptly. He threw on his coat over his hoodie, frowning down at everyone from his unfair height. “I’m going down to the deli and getting me a pastrami on rye. Martin, c’mon, I’ll spot ya a Pabst.”

He had never been more in love. Martin shot upwards, throwing on his own coat and hat. “Alcohol is of the devil -”

“Just drink the beer, Martin.”

Well, there were some benefits in being excommunicated. Martin saluted everyone, eagerly linking his arm around Jon’s. “Saints keep all y’all! See you after lunch!”

“Honestly, Martin, just say youse.”

“I would really rather die.”

[rpf-bat]

When You Wanna Be A Movie Star

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 13. Prompt: “Stigmata.” 

You’re a struggling actress, living in Los Angeles. When an audition doesn’t go the way you hoped, your friend Ray, tries to cheer you up, with a movie night. You tell him he can pick the film - and he immediately chooses Stigmata (1999). 

You jumped up when the phone rang. The caller ID, told you it was the producer of the television series that you’d auditioned for last week.

“H-Hello?” you said hopefully, trying not to sound like you were out of breath, from running across the room. 

“Hi, Y/N,” the Hollywood producer said jovially. “I just wanted to give you a courtesy call today, to let you know that we’ve selected another actress for the part.”

“.....Oh.” Your face fell. 

“Thanks so much for answering our casting call, though,” the man said politely. “We’ll be sure to give you a call, next time we’re seeking new talent.” 

“....Thanks,” you replied, tears welling up in your eyes, as you disconnected the call. You resisted the urge, to throw the phone across the room. 

I didn’t get the part, you thought miserably. I worked so hard to get my audition monologue just right, and it still wasn’t enough. 

You knew that if you stayed home tonight, you’d do nothing but cry about it. It was better to go out, and try and take your mind off it. Feeling in need of emotional support, you called your best friend, Ray. 

You two had known each other, since your second year of film school. But, rather than graduate alongside you, Ray had dropped out, in order to go on the road with his band. His gamble had more than paid off - The Black Parade had recently been certified platinum.

Despite his newfound fame, Ray still always managed to make time for those that knew him before he got ‘big’. He picked up on the second ring. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he said warmly. “How are you doing today?”

“Not so good, Toro,” you confessed. “Would it be alright with you, if I came over, and hung out tonight?”

“Sure, I didn’t have any plans,” Ray replied. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s almost Halloween,” you pointed out. “How about a horror movie night? You can pick whichever movie you want, I don’t care.”

“In that case,” Ray suggested, “how about Stigmata?”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You showed up on his doorstep, later that night, a few bags of microwave popcorn in hand. 

“Hi, Y/N,” Ray smiled, opening his door for you. “Thanks for bringing the snacks! Come on in.” 

You walked into his spacious living room. His television was twice the size of yours. You couldn’t wait to see Patricia Arquette’s hands bleed in super-high-definition. 

“Out of all the horror films you have on tape,” you asked, raising an eyebrow, “you really want to watch Stigmata?”

Compared to other titles in Ray’s vast collection, like Friday The 13th or Dawn Of The Dead, you thought that Stigmata was kind of obscure. It had done decently well at the box office, when it first came out, but critics had panned it. 

“Well, I’ll always have a soft spot for Stigmata,” Ray confessed, “because you were in it.”

“I was barely in it,” you recalled. “I was just an extra, in the background. I didn’t even have any dialogue.”

“Still, it was your first role ever,” Ray remembered fondly. “You were so proud of yourself, when it first came out, you made everybody from school, go to the theater, and see it.” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. You’d thought, at the time, that it would be the beginning of your success story. Instead, over half a decade later, you were still struggling to get gigs. You’d had no choice, but to supplement your income, with a stereotypical barista job. 

It was Ray, who had actually become someone important. 

He sat down on the couch, patting the seat beside him. 

“Are you ready to get spooked?” he grinned. “I’ll go pop the popcorn, if you get the VCR started.” 

“Sure,” you nodded, taking the VHS tape, from his outstretched hand. You were surprised that he still had a VCR. Over the last few years, DVD had quickly become the primary format for new film releases. Then again, Ray was an old-fashioned guy - most of the films he liked were classics.

You popped the tape into the VCR slot, and sat back down on the couch. He sat down beside you, a bowl of freshly popped corn in his hand. You dug your hand into the bowl, and dumped a handful of salty, buttery comfort food in your mouth, as Ray pressed play. 

The film opened with Gabriel Bryne’s character, watching a statue of the Virgin Mary, cry tears of blood. 

“Did you know he won a Razzie Award, for Worst Supporting Actor, for this film?” you scoffed. 

“Aw, did he really?” Ray laughed. “Poor dude. He tried.” 

“He was actually a decent guy,” you recalled. “He wasn’t too snooty, to talk to all the extras, who were filming this scene with him.” 

“Oh, look, there you are!” Ray said excitedly. He hit the pause button, freezing the frame. Bryne’s character, Father Andrew, was walking through a bustling Brazilian marketplace. The you of six years ago, stood behind him, playing the role of a nameless shopper. You were looking down, scrutinizing a piece of fruit that was for sale. 

“Yeah, blink, and you’ll miss me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I was in this movie, for a whole thirty seconds.” 

“Every time I watch this movie with the guys,” Ray confessed, “I point those thirty seconds out.”

“Do you really?” you blinked.

“Yeah,” Ray chuckled. “I’m like, look, there’s my friend! Isn’t she cool?”

“I’m not cool,” you frowned. “Ray, I’m not even cool enough, to get a part, on some stupid daytime soap opera.”

“Is that what you were upset about, when you called me earlier?” Ray realized, frowning. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I thought I did really good, at my audition. But, I guess I blew it.” 

“It’s okay,” Ray assured you, giving you a supportive pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll knock your next audition, out of the park.” 

“No, I won’t!” you said glumly. “Ray, I’ve been trying to get famous for years now, and I’m no closer to my goal, than I was the day I started.” 

“Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, okay?” Ray grumbled. “Last week, I was super sick. Like, coughing up a lung….” 

“Oh, no,” you interrupted, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine now,” Ray assured you. “My point was - I was feeling like absolute crap, and I just wanted to get some NyQuil, take it, and go to sleep. So, I’m standing in the cold and flu aisle, at the drugstore, and of course, this girl in a My Chemical Romance shirt comes up to me.” 

“Yikes,” you groaned. “She wanted an autograph?”

“Yeah!” Ray nodded. “I was like - really? Right now?!” 

“Did you tell her no?” you wondered. 

“Nah, I signed her thing,” Ray confessed. “But, honestly, I hate getting recognized in public like that, when I’m just trying to go about my business.” 

“You could have paid somebody to go to the store, and get the NyQuil for you,” you pointed out. 

“I mean, I could afford to,” Ray admitted. “But, I really don’t want to do that. I just want to be….a normal guy. Like I used to be, when we lived in New Jersey together.” 

“You’re not that guy anymore,” you frowned. “You’re the guitarist of one of the most popular bands on the planet.” 

“I don’t care about popularity,” Ray shrugged. “I just like making music.” 

“It’s not fair!” you snapped. “You have all this notoriety, and you don’t even want it! Meanwhile, I’ve always dreamed of becoming a Hollywood star - a household name. But, my biggest claim to fame, so far, is some shitty Pizza Hut commercial!” 

“I...I actually really liked that commercial,” Ray said softly. “Every time I saw it on TV, it put a smile on my face.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “My line in it, wasn’t even that funny.”

“I didn’t like it because of the script,” Ray confessed. “I liked it, because seeing your face, made me happy.” 

“What’s so special about my face?” you asked.

“Well…..it’s a very pretty face,” Ray mumbled, blushing. 

“Wh-What?” you stammered, your ears turning red. “You think that I’m pretty?” 

“I’ve always thought that, Y/N,” Ray whispered, his brown eyes, staring softly into yours. “I don’t love Stigmata, because of the script, or the cinematography, either. I don’t even care, that Billy Corgan did the soundtrack for it. I loved it, just because….I love you.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Could Ray actually return, the feelings you’d been keeping secret?

“You mean, you love me….like you love all your friends?” you guessed, trying not to get your hopes up. 

“No,” Ray shook his head, looking away from you, shyly. “Y/N… I mean, I love you, like a man loves a woman. I want you. Like...how Frankie wanted Father Andrew, in the second act of the movie.”

“Doesn’t he reject her advances, because he’s a priest?” you asked, recalling the film’s plot. 

“.....Are you gonna reject mine, too?” Ray breathed, eyes downcast.

“No,” you shook your head. “I sure as hell didn’t take any vow of celibacy, Toro. I want you right back.” 

You leaned over on the couch, and kissed him. He tasted salty, like popcorn. But, his touch, as he gently pulled you closer, was oh so sweet. 

“....I’ve wanted you all along,” Ray confessed, gently kissing you a second time. “I just didn’t know how to ask you, to be mine.” 

“Well, if you’re asking me now,” you smiled, pushing him backwards, into the couch cushions, “then I’m yours.” 

[sumeshi-t]

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

beta-ed by @bubbleteaa​ and @taeiliee ​ iloveyou both always <3

i. 》 ii.》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ “Glimpse of me and you—oh, you were a good dream,”  ✧･ﾟ: *

“LN Group’s Heir, getting close and personal with volleyball rookie?”

The headline was on the news, accompanied by blurred photos of you and Hinata together after his games, or of you two leaving the same car entering the same restaurant. Currently, you were sitting behind a large desk in your office, leaning comfortably against the leather, having your morning coffee.

“Director,” your secretary began, perhaps about to ask you for your next step.

“Let the media talk. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me dating someone months after mourning?” you answered nonchalantly, savoring the bittersweet taste on your tongue.

“But what about… the suitors, FCU Corp’s—”

“This conversation is over. I don’t want to waste my time over the boring sons of CEOs. They cut ties with me and they lose everything they have. Understood?” you don’t spare your secretary a glance as you dismissed him, before proceeding to look through the stack of documents on your desk.

You would occasionally cough as you worked, but not to the point wherein you can’t handle being in a conference. Your condition hasn’t been better, for what once were just coins, were now being accompanied by bills. You decide to collect the money that you vomit out, at least put the ill-gotten fortune to good use by donating to charity or using it for tips.

Soon as you signed the last project proposal, your phone vibrates against the glass of your table. You peek, and you wondered if it was the coffee that made your heart skip a beat. You put your pen down first, then, slowly reply, “Can I call?”

“…sure,”

One, two, five rings later, Kenma picks up.

“So… you’ve heard the news,” you speak first, twirling your seat to face the glass walls overlooking the city.

“Yeah… I thought you were just sponsoring Hinata,” you hear the sound of a game in the background as you waited to see if he was going to continue. You felt somehow disappointed when that was all he said. 

Did he believe the news? Was he jealous? Why was he concerned? Your brain was screaming these questions but all you gave him was silence. And this, he notices; so he replies, “Well, if it’s true, just… don’t mess up I guess.” 

This wasn’t the response you wanted but it was better than nothing. With that thought, you sighed, finally regaining control of yourself. “Hopefully, I won’t. Have you asked Hinata-san about it?”

“Hm? Not really,” a pause and then, a soft chuckle. “For someone dating, you’re still so formal. But I guess that’s just how you are, y/n.”

Soon after that, Kenma drops the call to resume his own schedule.

Your face was flushed from how soft you felt inside. Not only did you get to hear Kenma’s little laugh, but perhaps this development was one step to reaching your goal. You immediately text Hinata about this milestone you’ve attained, before going back to work.

A few hours later, around half-past four in the afternoon, you received a text message and all you could do was gasp.

“I’m near the café, y/n-san! See you!”

It was Hinata. And you were confused why he would tell you that, until you scrolled up a little and saw that text you sent from that same morning: “Hinata-kun! I think it’s working, let’s meet at the usual and celebrate!”

Since when… did you type that? You only planned to tell him about the phone call. Well, you could also just cancel, say that you’re working overtime after a five-hour meeting. It was an easy excuse, an easy way out of this mess you didn’t seem to remember doing. However, as your thumb hovers over the send button, you feel your breath shorten, brows furrowing, and with a sigh you drop your phone on the table.

“Alright, I’ll see you there,” sent.

You quickly finish up your work for the day: reviewing your own schedule for tomorrow, making one last trip to one of the director’s involved in tomorrow’s meeting, and giving your secretary any last reminders or errands.

You drove your way to the antique café—the amount of times you’ve done so made it feel like a routine for you. This was your favorite place; you basically knew the owners already. But lately, it seems as though you had something, someone to look forward to. You feel your lungs constrict, seeing an image of Hinata’s face in your head—you thought you were about to spit out another set of bills and coins, but you didn’t. It was a good thing you were at a stoplight, or else you’d have stepped on the brake in the middle of an intersection.

As you crossed the street and arrived at your destination, you couldn’t help the feeling that in some way, you were still stuck in that intersection. Was this the right way? Should you have taken a U-turn at a different street? But then, brakes existed. You remember you have brakes; so you can always stop and go back anytime you feel lost.

For now, you choose to wander the winding road and see where it takes you.

The chimes ring softly as the door hits against them when you enter.

Your eyes scan the place, and yet can’t seem to find the guy you were looking for. You whip out your phone, already mid-text when a paper plane flies idly and drops by your feet, getting caught in your periphery.

Putting your phone back in your pocket, you bend down to pick the paper plane up. You didn’t even see the direction where the plane came from, and curiosity was getting the best of you. You flip one of the folds, unraveling the tiny origami in your delicate hands.

“Coffee?” The word, rather, invitation was scribbled in a mediocre way—definitely written by a man trying to pick up girls in poor taste. You looked around you again and spotted a cute girl just near you. So, you check the note once more, and notice how awfully familiar the strokes of every letter were.

You blinked once, twice, and, somehow kept seeing images from a time so long ago; you don’t remember this happening before so how do you have memories of this certain encounter? You feel your head pounding, heart racing, as your legs took you to the source of it all, hiding behind the counter.

“Hinata-kun,” ah, what’s this, why were you smiling?

The ginger male smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he faced you with cheeks blushed. The staff simply watched on, with amused snickers and teasing looks on their faces.

You hand him the note with a raised brow, “You missed,” you say as you nod your head towards the girl you saw earlier. Hinata chuckles, and the sound seems awfully familiar, in this awfully familiar place and moment; it felt so right, so fitting—

It feels like finally coming home.

“N-Not really,” he stutters, before handing you your porcelain mug, the mug you always used, with tiny little flowers you yourself hand-painted. The smell of freshly brewed coffee reached your nose, and as your hands touched when you were taking the mug from him, you feel a surge of warmth that no coffee you’ve had before has given you.

You gasp when you look into his eyes, and all you could see was how his lips moved when he nibbled on them, how his hair was ruffled, how his nose wrinkled at the end of his sentence. You’ve seen all of this before that you knew what he was going to say.

“I don’t drink coffee, but if it’s with you I don’t mind!”

“You don’t drink coffee, but if it’s with me you won’t mind,”

The two of you say at the same time, and you had to blink twice—you could have sworn you just saw him wearing a checkered top over baggy jeans. His laugh was first to break the tension between you, and you managed to calm down a bit, especially at seeing him in his jersey jacket again.

Hinata looks more amazed than surprised at what just happened, eyes wide in fascination at his deduction— “y/n-san, is that part of your, er, sickness? Because if it is, that’s so cool!”

You also wanted to ask yourself that. The book your predecessors made never mentioned anything about these dreadfully clear episodes of déjà vu. His question was left unanswered, as the old gramps, the owner of the café, went out of the kitchen to thank Hinata for his help, and to tell you two to get to your table already.

For the rest of your date, you try to get your mind off the memory—the memory of Hinata Shoyou that wasn’t yours but seemed like they were.

Wait… date?

“I’ll do even better, y/n-san! If… if you like, you can watch the next practice match and we can… go on an obvious date again! Oh! Kenma is a Youtuber too right? What if… we…?”

Ah, that’s right. There was no need to fret. Hinata Shoyou is your “boyfriend” after all. It was right to call it a date. So were all your previous meet-ups considered a date? You’ve never been to one before, so how would you know?

You couldn’t focus on anything but on the way Hinata made you feel both on edge and at peace. Perhaps, it was the coffee; you’re drinking too much lately that’s why you’re so easily flustered. Blame the caffeine. Blame the caffeine. It’s just the caffeine in your veins—

“That’s genius! I’m in! Besides, I can promote projects that way too; kids these days like that, gossip, and advocacies,” you end with a chuckle, before taking a fork to stab at the slice of your favorite cake.

Hinata’s smile softened, and he released a silent chuckle, just looking at you from across the table. The yellow dim light casted shadows over the curves of your face, highlighting your best features. In his eyes, you will always be a porcelain doll, fragile and precious, which he vowed to protect with his own heart even if he knows you wouldn’t accept it—accept him.

“y/n… you should smile more,” his usual energetic tone was gone. He said it so gently, sweetly, sincerely—you might as well follow his words and believe the next, “You look better when you do,” he grins at you before drinking his own more-milk-than-actual-coffee. 

He still has more things to say, and honestly, even if he was happy being with you, he couldn’t help but worry about himself. A part of him wishes that Kenma would just finally reciprocate your love, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could have full control over his own emotions.

But the thought of that puts him in pain brought about by sadness —he surely didn’t want to lose Kenma but Hinata knows he couldn’t bear life if he was to lose you too.

The two of you spent the rest of the night chattering over your upcoming plan of creating your own little couple vlog, all the while your minds and hearts were both beginning to sway uneasily, without even knowing you two were starting to test new waters.

As you laid in bed that night, you were more preoccupied by the date and the images that flashed before you, than at the slim possibilities of Kozume Kenma being jealous.

You didn’t seem to notice that, for the first time in months, money and blood never slipped out your lips and you were able to enjoy an uninterrupted sleep.

That night, you were able to dream. But the subject of your dreams wasn’t the man you were truly dreaming for when you were awake. Even in your subconscious, Hinata Shoyou managed to infect his way through, he was like a new disease that has just started to grow. He was a disease that you peculiarly welcomed into your life, without knowing at the time that he could possibly be the cure.

Just like on that date, you keep seeing him from a timeline wherein you weren’t alive. The most confusing part was how you were still able to see you. And that you were the one talking to him. Distant memories of old, it was similar to skimming through an antique cinematic clip of a romcom—

“I’m sorry, y/n-san… I can’t,”

“Are you telling me that it’s my fault for falling for you, Shoyou?”

“But there’s already someone else,”

“And you’re loved in return?” you feel the urge to puke when Hinata Shoyou turns his back and walks away without an answer to satisfy you. It was too painful, your chest tightened, eyes red from held back tears, and soon, there were drops of blood on the floor below you, with coins following soon after.

You retch blood and coins all over your sheets, at five in the morning. This was the fifth time you’ve seen that dream turned nightmare and you didn’t know which haunted you more: was it a premonition or was it nothing but a reminder?

As the maid cleaned your sheets for you, you take note of how you’ve reverted back to vomiting nothing but a few measly coins. Perhaps you were getting better. But then, why has Kenma not told you anything that would hint you of his feelings? Was it because you were with Hinata? Was it time to finally end things with the ginger-haired man?

This is what you were aiming for… right?

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi ​ @hanibuni ​ @cupofkenma ​ @kawanisshi ​ @milkandc00kiez ​ @thiccbokuto ​ @shinsukestan ​ @sufiawrites ​ @wakaitoshi ​ @skyguy-peach ​ @fern-writes-ig ​ @briswriting ​ @kawaiikraykray ​ @bubbleteaa ​ @miyuswriting ​ @raevaioli ​ @ouikarwa ​ @hakueishirei ​ @pineapplekween ​ @estherwritess ​ @keiji-n ​ @achoohq ​ @badlywritten-hq ​ @mochibeaa @oinkanna ​ @chxrry-wxne ​ @spudicide ​ @airybby ​ @asranomical ​ @karmasuna ​ @nekoglasses ​

gen. taglist: @yams046 ​

[sapphicparker]

Fell from the sky into my lap // peppermay

Summary: "May Parker, will do you the honor of being my fake girlfriend?” She hold out her hand. May smiles.“Yes, I do, Pepper.” May intertwines their hands together. (AKA fake dating/college au)

Words: 21,231 | Other ships: SteveTony & Yelenat

Warnings: SMUT

(Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921644)

May Parker rarely lies but when she does, let’s just say she’s the mighty, great leader and sole creator of the ‘lying is totally okay and cool’ club. They even have jackets, leather ones to be exact. She doesn’t do it out of habit or force, it just happens and she, eventually, deals with the consequences later. The short list of lies she’s ever told aren’t as catastrophic, most of them range from lying about not doing homework to studying for an important exam, even making up an excuse not to go out. Even telling her boyfriend she was home sick when in reality she was cheating on him. 

Okay, maybe the last one is a bit much, but in her defense, they were already broken up and she definitely didn’t think he would come back a few hours after their final fight to get his boxes of shit while seeing her go down on some girl she met at the bar right after their fight. The biggest lie she has told was to her parents, who she hasn’t seen in a couple months, is that she’s bringing someone home for winter break.

Before the inevitable break-up;

Honestly before the fight, her and Ben were doing great. They met at one of the bars, Carter’s, right down the block by campus. Did their usual routine, two or three beers, depending on what kind of day they had. He would talk about football and courses he was taking, but mostly about football. May honest to god tried to pay attention but that night, her mind was somewhere else. Somewhere else like finding an engagement ring in a drawer. She shuddered at the thought of marriage, not that she liked it, she did, it’s a huge commitment that she was in no way, shape, or form ready for it.

She grabbed her beer and chugged it as Ben began to about classes and bullshit drama that somehow crossed his path during the day. After an hour or two they went back to May’s place, put on Netflix and did some homework.

To this day May still silently thanks god everyday that meeting Ben wasn’t set up by some dating app but instead by one of their mutual friends. She still remembers it like it was yesterday. Carter’s bar is not the most spacious or extravagant looking bar, it still has it’s charm and outside good looks. The inside however smelled like aged old liquor and a weird sense of mildew. Truly comforting in its own weird way.

As for Ben, he’s just like any ordinary tall, brunette, college football player who is somehow not a pretentious douchebag. Him and May were friends at first, good friends even. Ben needed a place to stay for awhile, so she let him room with her. Awhile turned into weeks, which turned into a couple months, and then into him moving into his own place…down the hall from her.

May thought it was nice seeing him every time she had to do laundry or even throw out the trash, sometimes he would get both of their mail so she wouldn’t have to trudge down the flight of stairs to get it. May knew the first time she realized she liked Ben was when he came over for their annual Friday movie night. Usually, she was the one to remind him but, this time he remembered, it was a tiny thing that made her stomach do the weird butterfly thing. He even brought over Chinese food takeout and a cheap bottle of wine.

A couple weeks down the road they kissed and it was nice and exciting and new. They would wait for each other after classes, get some drinks and study together. May would go to his practices and games, cheer him on, even wear his jersey. After games they would get ice cream, it didn’t matter if he won or lost, or if it rained or shined, they would go.

They lasted around eleven months or a year, May honestly doesn’t remember, and it was bad on her part, actually it’s both of their fault. May told Ben she found the ring, he asked her if she wanted to marry him, she said no. May explained to him why she didn’t want to, that she wasn’t looking for that kind of commitment right now and she definitely didn’t want to be tied down. She was still young, she wanted to live more, worry less.

Ben didn’t like that, he got all defensive, arguing back about some bullshit leading him on, so what did May do? She rolled her eyes, told him she’s going out and to pack his shit and leave. Next morning, Ben comes home to get his things and sees May having sex with someone. He quickly shuts the door and never returns. May still has his boxes stacked in the hallway closet, she hasn’t opened the door since.

Flash forward to now. May’s currently very single and lonely at this place and time. She’s wearing an old ACDC shirt that she “borrowed” from Carol and a pair of plaid pajama shorts while sitting on an old maroon couch drinking wine as season six of Great British Bake Off plays in the background. Yeah, that little fling she had with that bar girl, she doesn’t remember her name, it sounded like that coffee company, Folgers. May tilts her head trying to remember the name, it takes her a moment until it comes back to her, like someone flicked on the light switch. She snap her fingers. Felicia, that’s it.

May pours more wine into her glass as she narrows down possible fake boyfriend, or girlfriend options. Separating them into two columns; boys slash girls, and jotting down basically everyone she knows. Boys; Steve, Quentin, and Bruce. Girls; Carol, Jane, and Maria.

She takes sip of her wine before immediately crossing out the lists and throwing the notepad onto the adjacent coffee table. May lets out a heavy sigh and lays her head back on the couch, she feels entirely overwhelmed and more stressed than when she took midterms. It’s at this moment her black cat, Milo, jumps onto the couch and purrs. He rubs his head on her arm and looks up with his black eyes, tilting his head, almost as if he can sense something is wrong. May gently scratches his cheek.

“It’s okay, buddy. Everything is fine,” she say to him as if he can somehow understand and magically talk back to her. He immediately jumps into May’s lap, curling up into a ball. This has to be some kind of witchcraft, she thinks to herself. Not that black cats are often associated with witches, they are, but Milo is special in his own way.

A groan slips out of her mouth when she realizes she has a, now, sleeping cat on her lap and she absolutely refuses to wake him up. That’s the second rule you have to follow when you get a pet, owner shall not move when said pet is sleeping on you. Right on top of feeding your pet and loving them unconditionally.

Mumbling ‘fuck it’ under her breath, May reaches for the tv remote and turns the volume up. In this particular episode of Great British Bake Off, the bakers are making a delicate spongecake. May has never in her life wanted spongecake more than she does right now. Grabbing her phone from the side table, May unlocks it and opens the notes app. Typing, GET SPONGECAKE, in all caps to let her future self know that it’s important to get it when she eventually leaves the comfort of her bed to do grocery shopping tomorrow morning.

She adds in the following; eggs, almond milk, coffee, coffee creamer, peaches, strawberries, mashed potatoes, box of pasta (x2), White bread, plums, chocolate and vanilla ice cream.

Satisfied with her list, she puts the phone down only to pick it up again when it rings. The name ‘Tony’ with the black heart emoji next to it flashes along with a horrible selfie of him. May’s finger slides over the answer and she puts him on speaker, holding the phone in her hand.

“What do you want you, gremlin,” May says annoyingly as she tries to focus on the tv, taking a sip of wine.

“Well, hello to you too, what’s up?”

May rolls her eyes. “You called me, genius.”

Tony lets out a gasp. “Yes, yes I did. My mistake.” He takes a breath before continuing. “Right, what are your plans for winter break?”

“I’m unfortunately going home, remember? Or did you completely forget what we talked about this morning at the coffee shop.”

“I didn’t forget.” May could hear the exaggeration in his voice.

“Yeah, sure you did,” May says as she raises an eyebrow at one of the contestants forming an elaborate cake that might possibly take up all the baking time.

Tony scoffs and May’s sure he’s shaking his head. “Do you or do you not want to come back with me for winter break, instead of going back home?”

“That’s sweet, Tones, but I already told my folks I’m coming back and that I’m bringing someone.” She mumbles the last part, hoping he doesn’t hear it.

“I’m sorry, what was the last part?”

May groans. Damn bastard has ears like a goddamn hawk.

She lets out a sigh, “I told my parents that I was bringing someone home for break. I’m pretty sure they think it’s Ben, they don’t know that we broke up, so they’ll find out when I come home.”

“You really need to stop lying about things, May. I know sometimes you can control it, but in situations like this you really shouldn’t.”

May pinches the bridge of her nose, “if you’re going to lecture me, please wait at least 24 hours before doing so.”

“Fine, at least tell me who you’re bringing?”

She pauses and that seems to be a good enough answer for Tony.

“Are you serious? Winter break is literally in a few days and you don’t know!” Tony exclaims over the phone loudly and May lowers the volume a tad bit.

“I’ll figure it out, I always do,” May confidently says, knowing damn well, she have no clue what to do.

“I don’t believe you but, alright. I’m coming over for lunch tomorrow since Steve’s taking his last midterm, sound good?”

“Fantastic. See you then,” May says before Tony mumbles out a ‘bye, love you’

May casually tosses her phone onto the side table, not really caring whether or not it dies overnight, or mysterious lives thanks to the new and improved battery life span. Eventually she finishes the episode, the credits begin to roll when Milo stirs in her lap. He turns his body facing her, a small meow echos throughout the room along with the Great British Bake Off song credits.

“Did you have a nice nap?” she says softly, rubbing her nose against his fur, he purrs in agreement. “Yeah, I bet you did, buddy.” Shutting Netflix off, May carefully lifts Milo off her lap and cradles him in her arms as she simultaneously grabs her phone.

Once in the bedroom, May puts Milo down on the bed, he immediately curls up at the end of it. Plugging in her phone and setting it down on the bedside table, she grabs the blankets and comforter, shuffles a couple times before finding a comfortable position and falls asleep.

It’s next morning when she hears her phone ringtone blaring throughout her room. May’s eyes are still closed when she reaches over, answering it without a care in the world who could be calling her this early in the morning.

“Hello?” She mumbles, her voice still horse and clouded.

“I’m here with coffee, let me in.” It’s Tony because of course it is.

May lets out a groan, she hangs up, and rubs the sleep out of her eyes. She trudges to the door, unlocking it, and welcomes Tony in. She lets out a yawn as she stares at the brunette man now standing in her kitchen.

“You know, you could be nicer in the morning. I did bring you coffee.” Tony hands her an ice coffee. May takes a sip and a small smile appears on her face. She sticks her tongue out at him before sitting on the couch, one leg under the other.

“Why are you here? I thought we were meeting for lunch, not breakfast,” May calls out to Tony as he’s lazily pouring cat food into Milo’s dish, some of it tumbles out of it and onto the floor, Tony shamelessly kicks it under the fridge. Milo appears in front of him and Tony lets out a gasp, clenching his chest.

“Jesus christ, Milo!”

May lets out a loud laugh and Tony stares at her, completely flabbergasted that she would laugh at his pain. May lets out a breath, “I should’ve warned you, he tends to do that when he gets food.”

“You think!” Tony exclaims as he shakes his head. He kneels down to scratch Milo’s head, the black cat lets out a small meow before digging into his breakfast.

“I’m telling you, he belongs to witches or something.” Tony shakes his head and smiles at Milo before standing back up and grabs his coffee. May looks up at him when he enters the living room, Tony jumps onto the couch and sits crisscross, staring at her.

“What?” She asks questionably.

“Did you think about who you’re bringing home yet? You still have time to change your mind and come back with me.”

May immediately lets out a groan, she hoped Tony would have forgot it by now but, no. He can remember what they talked about yesterday but he can’t remember his goddamn anniversary.

“Not yet,” May pauses to take drink the rest of her coffee, occasionally slurping it, causing an annoying sound to echo in the room. Tony rolls his eyes at her childlike behavior. “And, no to coming with you. As much as I love Jarvis’ cooking, I promised I would go home for break.”

Tony nods his head. “I’ll bring you leftovers but you might not get it with how much Steve eats.” May chuckles.

“That’s alright, i’ll take my chances. I just need to find someone who will actually go along with it.” A sigh escapes May’s lips.

Tony thinks for a moment and snaps his fingers, breaking May’s train of thought, not that she was thinking about anything in the moment anyway.

“What?” She asks.

“I think I know someone, wait do you want male or female?”

May stares at him, one of her scary death stares that Tony hates. He immediately puts his hands up. “Alright, jeez. Just stop looking at me like that. God, you’re worse than Milo.”

It’s nighttime and May is sitting uncomfortably in a fancy restaurant, she checks her watch again for the third time that night. Her date, who Tony set her up with, was fifty minutes late and she felt awful for the poor waitress who kept coming up to her asking for her order. May sighs as she drinks the remaining wine in her glass, she gestures towards the waitress for another bottle, dear god she’s going to need it. The waitress, Pepper is her name, leaves the bottle on the table.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else? I’m sure bread and wine isn’t the most suitable meal.”

May reads the menu again. “You’re right. You know what? I think I’ll have the ravioli.”

“Excellent choice, I’ll bring that out for you shortly.” Pepper smiles.

May bites the inside of her cheek. “Please take your time, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone else.” She gestures towards the empty seat in front of her.

Pepper’s lips curl up into her mouth, she looks around the restaurant before leaning down to May’s height, “I’ll throw in a free desert, just for you.”

The glass of wine stills in May’s hand, the red liquid swooshes around in it. She turns to look at Pepper, her tongue poking out to wet her lips. “Why, thank you.”

Pepper walks away towards the kitchen and May can’t help but stare at her as she does. Her line of sight is interrupted by her phone ringing. Without even reading the I.D, May already knows who it is.

“Hi Tony,” she grumbles into the phone.

“Hi darling, so tell me everything, how is he? Great?”

May’s jaw clenches, she doesn’t want to cause a scene in this very nice restaurant. “Well, darling,” she imitates Tony’s tone, “it’s been an hour and I’m sitting here alone in this fucking expensive ass place.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Stark.”

“But I- I don’t understand. He was actually excited for it, I don’t know why,” Tony rambles on and May isn’t listening to a word he’s saying because her eyes are flowing over to Pepper talking to customers.

“May? You still there?”

She lets out a cough, “yeah, I’m still here. I’m getting dinner for one.”

“Oh, okay, I was just gonna come to you but if you’re good,” Tony’s voice trails off as May stares at Pepper who’s carrying a tray of food over one shoulder and placing it down onto the serving table. She bends down to grab extra napkins and forks and May can’t help but advert her eyes down to Pepper’s body. Tight black jeans do wonders for everyone.

“Parker!” Tony yells out. May does a double-take and blinks repeatedly. “Jesus christ, what the hell! I’ve been talking for two minutes without an interruption.”

“Sorry, I got distracted,” May says as her face becomes flushed.

“Distracted from?” Tony coerces out.

“There’s a really cute waitress who’s working tonight,” May whispers into the phone and Tony reacts how anyone would, by letting out an excited scream.

“No way! Steve! May’s crushing on the waitress,” Tony says excitedly. In the background May can hear Steve say ‘are you serious, Tony hang up! Let her get back to the date.’ Tony shushes him.

“Goodbye, Tony,” May hangs up the phone as Tony yells excuses to not hang up.

May’s putting her phone back into her bag when Pepper is walking towards her with dinner. She places it in front of her. May takes a breath. “This looks great, thank you.” A genuine smile flashes across her face.

“Enjoy, I’ll just be over here if you need anything.” Pepper smiles and nods her head in the direction where she’ll be. She begins to walk away when May grabs her forearm, stopping in her step.

“Please, sit,” May gestures towards the empty seat in front of her. Pepper looks around the restaurant, it’s late and nearly empty with a few stragglers and the clean up crew’s about to start coming in. Pepper immediately sits down and loosens her tie, pulling it down a few inches before unbuttoning her collar.

May digs into her ravioli, it tastes so delicate and warm, and the sauce is great, a mix of red and vodka sauce. It might be one of May’s new favorite dishes. “So do you like being a waitress?”

Pepper chuckles, “Is this how you always begin conversations?” She grabs a water pitcher from a nearby empty table and fills up a glass, nearly downs the whole glass and lets out a breath. May smiles before taking another bite. “Not always but I thought I would give it a shot.”

A small smirk appears on Pepper’s face, “I just need this job to help pay for college. It’s only a couple days a week so it’s not all bad.” May hums in agreement and takes a sip of wine.

“Can I be honest for a second.” May nods her head. “Who the fuck stood you up tonight?” May lets out a loud cackle. She covers her mouth with her hand to subdue her laughter. Pepper stares at her, for the first time that night she actually really looks at her. She notices how May gets crinkles in the corner of her eyes when she laughs really loud. She notices her dimples rise up when she grins a certain way. She notices how her brown eyes look lighter, more warmer in the light. She notices how her cheeks get more flushed, a light shade of pink. And lastly, Pepper notices how her heart is beating like a drum in her chest and how her palms are suddenly clammy, and how she wants May to feel like this every day of the week.

Once May has calmed down, she wipes an invisible tear from her eye and drinks the remaining wine in her glass. “Thank you, I needed a good laugh.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you finish your meal and I’ll bring dessert out,” Pepper says as she stands up from the table.

“Hopefully for two?”

“Absolutely,” Pepper walks away towards the remaining stragglers, talking to them. May sighs contently, she suddenly feels very warm and a tad nauseous.

Ten minutes pass by and May eats half of her ravioli dish. She leans back in her chair, deciding she’s definitely bringing leftovers home. Pepper exits the kitchen carrying a plate of dessert. Once in front of May, she places it on the table. “Chocolate mousse cake with vanilla ice cream on top.”

May licks her lips. “Looks great, shall we?”

“We shall,” Pepper hands May a spoon and they dig in. It’s so rich and creamy and delicious. Once dessert is devoured by the two of them, Pepper grabs a take-out container and puts May’s leftovers in it, sealing it in a brown paper bag. May hands Pepper her card for the check, after a brief moment she comes back with it.

“Thank you. I hope the rest of your night is lovely.”

May smiles, “Yours too.” She pauses for a second, her breath catches in her throat. “When do you get off work?”

Pepper stares at her, mouth agape, and she looks at her watch. “My shift ended ten minutes ago.” She chuckles awkwardly, hoping to ease the sudden tension.

May has her coat on, her bag slung over her shoulder and leftovers in hand. She turns to look at Pepper, “You wanna get out of here?”

Pepper nods her head, “yes, yes. Let me get my things.”

May watches Pepper run off to get her things, as she does, she quickly texts Tony. No, she texts Steve because he’s more likely to read it. She texts him; ‘I know Tony won’t respond so I’m telling you to tell him to not come over in the morning for breakfast.’ Seconds later Steve replies, ‘will do’ with the thumbs up emoji, followed by, ‘late night? And wink emoji.’ May responses back with the middle finger emoji and once she does Pepper is at her side. She puts her phone in her bag and they’re out the door.

The minute they’re back in May’s apartment, May has Pepper pressed against the door. They shuffle their jackets off, their bags land on the hardwood floor with a thud. Peppers arms are around May’s waist, pulling her closer. She presses her soft lips onto May’s, they move in sync, letting out breathy moans before Pepper slides her tongue into May’s mouth, deepening the kiss. May grabs Pepper by her neck, pulling her closer until the silky fabric of May’s dress rubs against her now, slightly unbuttoned shirt. Pepper shivers at the touch of it, small goosebumps rise on her exposed skin. They pull away for a second, both chests heaving and feeling hot.

“Bedroom?”

“Definitely.”

It’s early in the morning when May wakes up, she turns her head to look at the alarm clock, instantly rolling her eyes when she sees that it reads exactly eight a.m. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes before rubbing her bare shoulders and reaches down to the floor, grabbing a white t-shirt and throws it over her naked torso. It’s not perfect, there’s a small coffee stain on it, but she doesn’t care because Pepper is still in bed.

May carefully reaches over to move a blonde strand out Pepper’s eyes before placing a kiss on her forehead and quietly gets up to make some coffee and breakfast. She hears the pitter-patter of Milo behind her as she enters the kitchen. As the coffee machine powers up, May gives Milo his breakfast, he lets out a soft meow as if he’s saying thank you. May ponders for a moment deciding on what to make for breakfast, she opens the fridge to see it almost bare and empty. She lets out a groan when realizing she got held up with Tony and forgot to go grocery shopping. She settles on making French toast, making a couple slices and topping it with powered sugar and syrup. The coffee machine lets out a beep and she pours the dark, warm liquid into two mugs, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and an insane amount of coffee creamer. May lets out a content sigh when she takes a sip, it’s perfect.

Pepper wakes up as sunlight shines through the window, her skin feels warm and soft and golden. She reaches over to check the time on her phone, it reads eight-thirty along with text messages from a group chat. She stretches a hand out to feel a cold spot, her bottom lip pokes out. She wanted to wrap her arms around May and thank her for making her feel like she escalated to another world, for feeling like she saw the moon and stars and everything beyond.

Pepper grabs a discarded hoodie that was on a nearby chair and throws it over her, lifting up her blonde locks that got stuck under the neck hole. The smell of French toast leads her to the kitchen, where she quietly watched May sit on the counter sipping her coffee while watching tv. May looks up from her coffee and sees Pepper, her eyes light up.

“Morning! I made breakfast and coffee.”

Pepper swears she could stay here forever, she could get use to this. May hands her the other coffee mug and Pepper doesn’t miss the cute look on May’s face when she takes a sip of her black coffee.

“I’m not even going to ask about that,” May’s eyes advert towards the mug in Pepper’s hand. Pepper nods her head. “Good, cause that’ll be up for debate later or another day.” She takes another sip of coffee.

“I forgot to go grocery shopping so I made French toast.”

Pepper smiles. “It smells wonderful. I haven’t had French toast in forever.” She cuts a piece off, dips it in syrup, and takes a bite. She gives May a thumbs up as continues to devour the breakfast food. May finished her remaining piece of French toast a few minutes before Pepper came into the kitchen, she sits quietly drinking her coffee as Pepper eats. May smirks to herself, god knows she worked up an appetite last night.

Once Pepper is done eating, she looks up at May, silently hating that she has the height advantage now that she’s on the counter. She places her hands on May’s thighs. “You have a little,” May begins before licking her thumb and wiping off some powder sugar at the corner of Pepper’s lip, “there. All good.”

“God, you’re so cute,” Pepper breathes out before kissing May. Her hands slide up her torso towards May’s face where she cups her cheeks, her thumbs comfortably resting on her cheekbones as she gently caresses her soft skin. May smiles into the kiss, she feels lightweight, like she’s floating on a cloud. It’s soft when Pepper kisses May, she grabs Pepper’s waist pulling her in between her thighs. She holds onto her waist as she wraps her legs around Pepper's.

Pepper’s tongue darts into May’s mouth as she lets out a low moan, a hint of heat radiating off both of them. Pepper pulls away for a moment, a pout immediately forms on May’s face. Pepper chuckles as she takes off the hoodie, she’s bare underneath except for her underwear and May bites her lip. Pepper lets out a gasp when May’s cold hands touch her, the hair on her arms stick up slightly as she moves her hands towards Pepper’s neck. Her hands remain still on Pepper’s chin, “if you’re cold, I can warm you up in no time.” May pulls Pepper into a kiss and they return to their former position. May’s about to take off her shirt when there’s a knock at the door.

“Who the fuck is that?” May growls as she jumps off the counter and darts towards the door. The door is open in a flash and May is annoyed at the sight in front of her. Of course, it's Tony, with a smile on his face while Steve is daunting an ‘i’m sorry’ look. May is looking at them both with an expression that could make a child cry.

“Go away,” she practically yells at them.

Steve sighs, “I’m sorry, you know how he gets. I tried my best to make him stay home.”

May rests a hand on her hip. “Yeah, that worked out pretty well, huh Steve. Did you not try sex?”

Tony perks up at the mention of sex, “Oh, you bet he did.” He mouths the word ‘twice’ and holds up two fingers, Steve rolls his eyes. May shakes her head knowing there’s no way they’re not just going to stand in the hallway all day, she moves out of the way to let the boys in.

“Put the hoodie back on, we’ve got company,” May says annoyingly as she makes her way back into the kitchen. She begins to put the dishes into the sink when Tony lets out a shriek, almost making May drop a mug.

“Shut up, Pepper!”

“Hi Tony.”

Tony does a double-take, looking at May then Pepper, then May again before letting out a gasp. “Oh my god.”

Steve gently pushes Tony into a seat on the couch, letting him absorb everything his genius brain can handle, before helping May in the kitchen. He’s handing her various plates and forks around the kitchen, eventually getting distracted by Milo who was now sitting on the counter, meowing at Steve to pet him. He happily obliges, a smile plastered across his face as he does.

“Okay! I’m good,” Tony yells as he claps his hands together.

Pepper shakes her head, she looks over his shoulder to see May making another pot of coffee. It only takes a few seconds before May is looking back at Pepper, she mouths an ‘i’m sorry’ with a pouty look. Pepper shrugs before mouthing back, ‘it’s okay’ and blows a kiss. May blushes.

“So how did you two meet?” Tony says as he rests his arm on the couch, leaning closer to Pepper. May is in the living room now, changing the tv channel on the remote to a Will & Grace marathon. She falls into Pepper’s lap, earning a giggle from the blonde and blocks Tony’s view of her. Steve carefully drops Milo into Tony’s lap, he stares at the black cat, still not over yesterday’s incident of scaring him to death. Milo looks at him before jumping down and walking over to Steve, who sat in the corner loveseat. Milo jumps into his lap and comfortably lays down.

Steve smiled, his dimples coming into play as Tony shared a look of jealousy at him. He let out a scoff before bringing his attention back to May and Pepper. Tony let out a cough. “Can I get an answer or is this going to be a bigger mystery than finding out if an actress is gay or not?”

May scoffs, “First of all, we always find out. Second, we met last night at the restaurant. Remember, your guy didn’t show up? Pepper was the waitress.” Tony’s face lit up like a little kid on Christmas. Pepper chuckled as she shook her head. God, Tony was one of a kind, there was certainly no one in the world like him.

“How did it go?” Tony asks as he sits in a criss-cross position, hands clasped together with his chin resting in them. A literal child.

“It was going well until you showed up,” May blurts out as Pepper shushed her. May sighs. “It’s very good.” Pepper rubs her arm up and down May’s in a comforting manner, already feeling how tense and annoyed she is. Something she’ll definitely have to get used too.

Steve snaps his fingers causing everyone to look at him, including Milo who raised a paw at him. “Why don’t you ask Pepper to come home with you for winter break? You said you were bringing someone. Well, here you go.” May looks at Steve with an expression he can’t read, nor understand. She side eyes Pepper, she was definitely not in the position to ask Pepper to come home with her to meet her family. They just met last night and May was in no way ready for her to get caught up in her bullshit, she wanted Pepper to be hers and only hers. She didn’t want her to be a victim to the chaos her family causes, May just wanted to stay in the little happy bubble with her. But eventually the bubble pops and you have to make a new one, oh, what the hell could go wrong.

“What’s he talking about?” Pepper asks, a wave of concern flashes across her faces. May sighs.

“I wasn’t even going to bring it up, Steven,” May angrily says as she looks at Steve, his face is filled with regret the moment May says his full name. He immediately looks down at Milo, petting him softly as he licks Steve’s hand.

“I told my parents I was bringing someone home for winter break, so I told Tony I just need to find someone to fake date until it’s over, it’s only for two days. I was planning on cutting the reunion special early anyway.” Pepper nods her head, taking everything in.

“Okay,” Pepper says.

May raises an eyebrow, “okay what?”

“I’ll do it, I’ll come with you. I’m not doing anything for break. My parents are going to some ski resort upstate. Plus, I’m an only child.”

May hesitates for a moment, her mouth agape. For once, she’s utterly speechless. Her mouth curls up into her mouth, “you know what? Fuck it. Yes.”

Pepper grins, “Let’s make it official. May Parker, will do you the honor of being my fake girlfriend?” She hold out her hand. May smiles.

“Yes, I do, Pepper.” May intertwines their hands together. They stare at one another and Pepper looks at May like she holds all the secrets to the universe and wants to discover all of them, including the hidden ones. It’s no secret May’s a tad bit scared of commitment, but she’s looking at Pepper as if all the stars and moon combined into one single element. It’s barely been twenty-four hours and she knows she wants Pepper in her life.

It’s the day before they head to May’s family home and May is immediately regretting even going. She hasn’t packed yet, and she can’t bring Milo with them because her dad is severely allergic to cats. May rolls her eyes for the third time, Pepper has counted so far, sitting across the island table as May talks to her mother on the phone. May put her on speakerphone so Pepper could hear what the devil incarnated sounds like before meeting her in person.

May mouths ‘blah, blah, blah’ as her mother goes on and on about her cousin getting remarried again. She imitates Darth Vader using the force to choke herself until her mother calls her name.

“May”

“Yeah?”

“Are you listening to me or are you drowning me out by staring at the tv screen?”

May lets out a cough, “no, i’m totally listening. You were talking about Natasha getting remarried.”

“Yes! I can’t believe she’s already getting remarried after divorcing Matthew last year!” May’s mother exclaims. May could hear the annoyance through the phone.

“Well, some people move on fast and I think this is good for Nat, you know how she can be,” May says genuinely, she always defends Natasha.

“I just don’t understand,” her mother trails off and May looks at Pepper. She’s caressing Milo as he’s lies down on the counter, his eyes are closed and purring softly.

“Your dad said you’re bringing someone with you? Is it Ben? I’ve missed him, how is he?” And just like that, May’s entire demeanor is changed, Pepper immediately stops petting Milo to look at May.

“Oh, um, yeah i’m bringing someone but it’s not Ben. We broke up,” May says carefully, almost like she’s stepping on eggshells, one wrong move and it’ll break.

“Oh no, what happened? He was so sweet, May.”

May ran a hand through her brown locks, she pulled on the ends. “I don’t really remember, mom. Listen, I gotta go, I have to start packing.”

“Okay, sweetie. Remember to bring sweaters! It’s cold here!” May hangs up and lets out a heavy sigh as she crosses her arms on the counter, resting her head in them. Pepper is behind her, rubbing her shoulders in a comforting manner, she places a kiss to her hair. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

May lifts her head up and turns to face Pepper, she blows a raspberry. “You really think so? I mean, what you heard was only the beginning of it. We don’t even have to go, we can just stay here or even go to Tony’s.”

Pepper shakes her head, “there’s no way you can get out of this, you promised and you’re going to fulfill it.”

May lets out a groan and crosses her arms over her chest, “fine but you’re helping me pack.” She grabs Pepper’s arm and drags her to the bedroom.

“I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

They haven’t gotten on the plane yet and May is already dreading this. She hasn’t even had her coffee yet, and it was definitely killing her mood. Steve, the ever so sweetheart, drove the two of them to the airport at the ass crack of dawn. He was already out on his morning run before picking them up and was in the most perky, happiest, mood ever. In the car ride to the airport, Steve was telling them that he let Tony sleep in, knowing how much of a little shit he’s going to be when Steve eventually wakes him up to get on the road to his parents house later in the day.

May’s knee bounced up and down as she waited for their flight to be called, she was getting impatient as she laid her head back on the chair, eyes closed. A sudden cough made May open her eyes, she looked up and saw Pepper standing in front of her, holding two hot cups of coffee. May perked up, her eyes widened. Pepper outstretched May’s cup, their hands touched briefly when May grabbed it. She took a sip and let out a heavenly sigh. Pepper smiled at her as she took a sip of her own, sitting down next to her.

“When do you think our flight will be-”

“Flight 702 to New Hampshire is now boarding,” the announcer yells in a horrible, yet mildly disgusted, tone.

“Never mind,” Pepper chuckles as both of them stand and grab their carry ons . On the plane, they have a row to their selves, Pepper gives May the window seat. It’s a short flight and May falls asleep the entire time, her head resting on Pepper’s shoulder. Pepper doesn’t sleep, she’s too busy reading the book she brought with her and making sure May’s okay. She doesn’t tell May that two people told her they were a cute couple, Pepper smiled and thanked them for their kind words.

May wakes up when the plane touches down on the runway, she looks out the window to see that it’s snowing, she lets out an inaudible groan and turns to see Pepper talking to the flight attendant about the weather. Their conversation ends when she announces they can start exiting the plane.

“Did I sleep the whole flight? I’m sorry.”

Pepper pushes a strand of May’s hair behind her ear, “It’s okay, you were tired. Everyone heard you snoring.” May gasps, “I don’t snore!” Pepper lets out a chuckle as she grabs her bags in one hand and May’s in the other. May smiles.

Natasha is waiting outside the airport for them and May’s entire mood is lightened. She pulls May into a hug and ushers them into her car, instantly cranking the heat up before turning to Pepper, in the backseat. She holds her hand out, “i’m Natasha, May’s favorite cousin.” Pepper shakes her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Natasha.” Natasha smiles and pulls out of her spot and starts driving to their destination, the radio is playing soft music on low.

“Mom told me you’re getting remarried?” May questions once their silence got enough. Natasha smiles and holds out her left hand, the diamond on her finger isn’t big, it’s small, wrapped around a silver band, and it’s just perfect for her. “It’s so simple, I love it,” May says happily as she watches Natasha take another look at it before using said hand to turn on the blinker, making a right turn.

“Do I even want to know who gave it to you?” May says curiously.

A hint of blush appears on Natasha’s face, she clears her throat, “guess.”

May lets out a heavy sigh, “are you kidding me? I haven’t seen you in so long and you’re making me guess! Can you believe this Pep?” May turns in her seat to look at Pepper who pauses for a second, “Is it a woman?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything which essentially means yes, and May lets out a gasp. She repeatedly claps her hands in excitement, “Oh my god yes!” Natasha grins.

“How did you know?” Natasha asks into the rearview mirror, her undivided attention on Pepper. Pepper smiles and she leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. “You look happier, and the ring is simple, yet elegant. It’s not drawing a lot of attention, it’s just right. Plus, you should have cleaned out your car before picking us up because there’s a lace bra back here.”

May laughs loudly as Natasha mumbles ‘fuck’ under her breath. She puts the car into park once they pull into a driveway. May lets out out a deep breath. “Do mom and dad know?

Natasha shakes her head, “not yet. She’s coming over soon. I can’t wait for you to meet her May. You too, Pepper. You’re gonna love her.” May smiles. In all her years she’s known Natasha, she’s never once been this excited for May to meet someone. She’s met her former husband, Matthew, but only on rare occasions. Natasha was never a very open person with her relationship, so this was all new to May, and she likes it. She likes it when Natasha is openly accepting and vulnerable, showing her true colors to people she loves dearly. May can see it in her eyes, the way she talks about her fiancée is so soft and unique, you can see how in love she is. May reaches over the cupholders to pull Natasha into a hug, she instinctively wraps her arms around the smaller woman, burying her head into her shoulder.

“You know I love you,” May mumbles. Natasha smiles into her shoulder, slowly swaying her back and forth. “Of course I do, you dork.” Natasha releases May from her embrace and they exit the car. The snow is coming down hard as they stand outside the front door of May’s parents house. May exhales a shaky breath as Pepper grabs her hand and rubs her knuckles softly.

“You know, we can just run back to the car and get a hotel?”

Natasha gives her a look, “you know we can’t do that. Stop trying to run away.” She opens the front door and the three of them are instantly greeted by warm air and the sound of voices echoing throughout the house. May immediately leads Pepper up the stairs to her former room, the loft a.k.a the attic. Once in the room, May shuts the door, locking it before letting out a breath. Pepper looks around the room, curiosity getting to the best of her as she takes everything in, admiring all of May’s little nicknacks and decor.

“This is where the magic happens,” May says as she slides a hand over her comforter, a sly smirk flashes across her face. Pepper chuckles as she shrugs off her carryon bag, placing it onto the couch in front of the bay window. May’s room is very cozy and simple, Pepper’s eye is immediately drawn to the huge bookcase adjacent to the queen size bed, the books on the shelves are old and new, and of course they’re in alphabetical order. She drags her fingers across the books.

“It took me awhile to finally complete it and a lot of money at thrift bookstores,” May chuckles as Pepper smiles, still taking her time to look at the books, “it’s very impressive.”

There’s a knock at the door and May lets out a groan, she trudges to the door, opening it to reveal Natasha standing next to a petite blonde woman who looks nervous. They don’t bother asking to enter because Natasha grabs the woman and pulls her into the room, taking a seat on the couch. May stares at the empty hallway, flabbergasted, she shuts the door.

“A simple hi would’ve done but okay, what’s up?” May rests her hands on her hips. She gives Pepper, who leans back on the book shelves, a confused look. Natasha grabs the woman’s hand, intertwining them together, her thumb rubs her knuckles. “This is my fiancée, Yelena.”

May lets out a gasp, her mouth agape. She runs over to the two of them and hugs them tightly, Natasha has to pry her arms off of them. May awkwardly chuckles. “Hi Yelena, i’m May. Natasha’s favorite cousin.” She extends an arm out to the blonde. Natasha rolls her eyes, “you’re my only cousin, idiot.”

Yelena shakes May’s hand, “it’s very nice to meet you, May. Nat has told me a lot about you.” May lets out a squeak, “you let her call you Nat! That’s so cute! No one in the family is allowed to call her that.”

“It’s true,” Natasha says as she shrugs her shoulders. She pulls Yelena in closer, making her comfortable as she lays back on Natasha’s chest, pressing a kiss to her hair. May grins, she extends a hand out to Pepper, pulling her to the bed. They lay back against the many pillows on the bed.

“This is Pepper, my girlfriend,” May says to Yelena, they both wave to one another. Natasha gives May a look, like she trying to figure something out but, May shrugs it off.

“Your mom’s looking for you,” Natasha says when she’s putting Yelena’s hair into a French braid. Yelena smiles at her through the mirror next to them. May lets out an incoherent groan and drops her head back on the headboard, banging it slightly. “Did you see her?” May looks at Natasha.

“Yep,” Natasha says as a small chuckle escapes her lips. Yelena turns to look at Natasha, “tell her, please.” A smile is across her face in a flash. May immediately sits upright, “tell me what?” She’s curious, along with Pepper who imitates her.

“Melina had already met Yelena a couple days ago, and she’s really happy so I thought it would be the same with your mom so,” Natasha is interrupted by May letting out yet, another groan, “let me finish telling the story you little shit.” A pout forms across May’s face. Pepper kisses her cheek, and the pout disappears.

“So I introduce Yelena to your mom and she said,” Natasha laughs, along with Yelena. She takes a breath to get regain her composure, “she said it’s so nice of you to bring your gal pal with you, the matching rings are adorable!” May cackles loudly to the point where she’s clenching her stomach and repeatedly hitting Pepper, who’s covering her mouth with her hand to subdue her laughter.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re lying!” She blurts out as she takes a deep breath.

“I swear to god May, Yelena can vouch for me,” Natasha gestures towards Yelena who nods her head and wipes a tear from her eye.

“I told you it would be a nightmare,” May whispers to Pepper, turning to look at her. Pepper tucks a strand of brown hair behind May’s ear as she looks into May’s eyes. Pepper can tell she’s nervous and scared to show it, “you did. Many, many, times but i’m here, so it’ll be okay and if not then there’s always a hotel.” May leans into her and Pepper places a soft kiss onto her forehead, May smiles.

After an hour of catching up, Natasha and Yelena retreat to their room, they already had dinner and May felt bad for keeping Pepper all cooped up in her room. It’s after eight pm when they ascend down to the kitchen, May heats up whatever leftovers the family had for dinner as Pepper grabs two sodas from the fridge. A light flickers on and they freeze in place. “If you were hungry you could’ve just came down for dinner like everyone else, May.”

May curses under her breath, “hi, mom.” A fake smile flashes across her face and Pepper knows this because May’s real, genuine, smile causing those cute dimples that she loves so much. “And you must be Pepper, hi i’m Claire Parker. It’s so nice to meet one of May’s friends other than that Stark boy.”

Pepper shakes her hand, “yeah, Tony can be a bit of a handful.”

May takes out their leftovers from the microwave when it beeps, grabs two forks and walks past her mother, “actually, Pepper and I are together, you know like Natasha and Yelena, except without the rings.” An expression flashes across Claire’s face that neither Pepper nor May can read.

“Oh, okay. You gals have fun. I’m just going to make some tea,” Claire says as she turns on the stove, boiling water in the teapot. May lets out a deep breath, she clenches her fist in her free hand not holding the takeout and forks. “I don’t know what century you’re in but, no one says gal pals anymore, and it’s quite an out of date term and i’m not sure you think you’re saying it correctly.”

Claire gives May a confused expression, “of course, I am. You’re girlfriends.”

Pepper now understands why May didn’t want to come home, she’s also feeling a tad bit uncomfortable as the tension in the room has reached a higher level. May is resisting the urge to slap herself across the face, how was she related to this person.

“No, mom, I-“ May pauses. She mumbles ‘fuck it’ under her breath and licks her lips. “Pepper and I are together as in we kiss and have sex and go on dates like everyone else. The same way as you and dad do. The same why Natasha and Yelena do, it’s normal.”

Claire’s face is as white as a ghost and she doesn’t say anything for a solid minute which means it’s a good time to run upstairs and eat, and they do exactly that. May and Pepper climb the insane amount of stairs back to May’s room, sit on the couch by the window and eat as they look out the window at the stars. It’s silent for a moment, they’re eating as May’s record player is quietly blasting a spice girls record.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Pepper says once the silence got enough for her, she looks up from her container of food to see May smiling. “I didn’t think I would do it but it just got so frustrating. We can leave tomorrow if you want, i’m sure I can get Natasha and Yelena on board.”

“Don’t you have family staying over the weekend?” Pepper questions as she snatches an egg roll out of May’s takeout dish. May gasps and shrugs it off, it’s only food.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen most of them since last break, but i’d rather just spend it with Natasha and you.”

Pepper looks up at May after taking a bite of her egg roll, “I’m in, whatever it is you want to do.” May cheeks turn a light shade of pink and she smiles. She smiles the real, genuine one, cute dimples and all, that makes Pepper’s heart beat fast in her chest, it echos in her ears.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” May puts her now empty container onto the coffee table, she sits in a criss cross position and leans forward towards Pepper. “Tell me something about you. I want to know everything.”

Pepper tilted her head, pausing for a moment to think, “I wanted to be a vet when I was younger. I loved animals, still do, so much until I realized going to school for almost seven years seemed too excessive.” May smiled at the thought of Pepper being a vet, helping animals, making sure they’re happy and healthy.

“That’s cute. I always knew I wanted to do something with my love of books, whether I decide to become a writer or open up my own bookstore, it’s where I truly feel like myself, when I’m surrounded by books and of course, Milo.”

Pepper rests her chin in her hand, she looks at May as she talks about her love for books and writing and what she could do. She notices that May talks with her hands a lot, they’re constantly moving in different directions when she speaks, making her point across. Pepper also notices there’s a tiny twinkle in her eyes when she talks about anything she loves and Pepper decides right then and there that she has moved from the like stage of their relationship to love, and it was going to be difficult.

May lets out a yawn, breaking Pepper’s train of thought. She gets up from her seat, shuts the record player off and grabs a pair of pajamas from the wardrobe. She changes into them, not caring if Pepper sees, they already had sex. May lazily braids her hair as Pepper changes into her own pajamas.

Pepper’s flannel pajama set is far more gracious looking than May’s old Beatles shirt and some boxers. They throw out the empty containers, shut the lights off, and are immersed in the softness of the sheets and comforter. May turns on her side, she pulls the comforter up to her chest, and faces Pepper. The blonde imitates her, they stare at each other as the moonlight shines through the window onto their face. May’s tongue pokes out, wetting her lips, before whispering, “Did you know that the moon is a lesbian?”

Pepper covers her mouth with her hand as she laughs. She takes a brief pause to collect her breath. “Are you serious, who told you?”

May raises her eyebrows, “Um, everyone knows. The moon and the sun are lesbians, they’re together.” Pepper nods her head, “yes, what was I thinking? They definitely are.” She didn’t know much about the moon and sun, even the stars, but what she did know was that May was very enthusiastic about the moon being a lesbian and Pepper didn’t have the heart to tell her what she thought of it.

“It’s just a theory, I’ll let you sleep on it.” May says before giving Pepper a sweet, soft, kiss and turning the other way to get some sleep. Pepper freezes, she didn’t expect that at all. She mumbles out, “Night, May.”

The bedroom door barges open, it smacks against the wall. May instinctively sits upright in bed, her hair is disheveled and eyes are still closed, and Pepper is still soundly sleeping.

“What,” May mumbles out, eyes still closed, her voice is hoarse.

“Breakfast is ready,” Natasha says as she leans her back on the doorway frame “I’m not leaving until you get up.”

May lets out a groan, she runs a hand through her hair and gets up quietly from the bed without waking Pepper. She takes one last look at the sleeping blonde and follows Natasha down the stairs. It’s suspiciously quiet for a Saturday morning in the Parker household, besides the tv in the next room playing the news on blast, it made May feel a little on edge. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes as Natasha immediately grabs the already made coffee pot and sits in the empty chair next to Yelena.

Natasha hands May a mug, she pours the steaming dark goodness into it, adding a touch of creamer and sugar before taking a sip and letting out a content sigh. There’s a variety of breakfast foods scattered along the island table. Eggs, pancakes, bacon, and toast. Even some boxes of cereal and bowls of fruit.

May rolled her eyes, her parents always go all out when they get together and there was only eight of them currently in the house. Three of said eight were currently sleeping. Claire hasn’t even acknowledged May’s presence yet, occasionally sipping her coffee and looking over at the newspaper her dad was currently reading. May let out a huff and piled some of everything onto a platter, she grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with orange juice and set it onto the tray. She lifted it up and began to walk back upstairs to her bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Claire called out. May bit the inside of her cheek.

“Upstairs. Pepper’s still sleeping, so I thought I would surprise her with breakfast in bed or is it mandatory to eat in the kitchen now?”

“That’s very sweet, kiddo,” May’s dad, Ed, said as he licked his finger and turned a page in the paper. A half smile appeared on May’s face, she ascended up the stairs when no one objected, though May knew as soon as her back was turned her mother had a stern look on her face.

Natasha and Yelena sat quietly watching May walk up the stairs. Yelena gave Nat a look, almost asking if we should follow but Natasha shakes her head. She broke off a piece of pancake, dipped it in syrup and took a bite. Yelena craned her neck to look at May’s mother, she felt a sense of uneasiness but discarded it when Natasha threw a berry at her.

“Why?” Yelena asked when Natasha threw a second berry.

“Because I wanted too,” Natasha argued back, instead of throwing another fruit, she popped it into her mouth. Yelena stared at her, her nose scrunching up.

“If you keep doing that i’m going to kiss you,” Natasha said as she scooted closer to Yelena, her arm rested on the back of Yelena’s chair. Yelena moved closer, she reached over to wrap an arm around Natasha but moved it at the last second to grab a strawberry off her plate. Natasha let out a small fake gasp before smiling, she knew what Yelena was going to do before she even did it. It was a little thing that Yelena loved, like Natasha was part witch or something, she had a sixth sense.

“No PDA in the kitchen please,” Ed said without even looking up from his newspaper as he did the crossword of the day. Natasha rolled her eyes, “we weren’t doing anything, uncle Ed.”

“Oh, I know, but who knows what happens after the kitchen gets covered in fruit, I definitely don’t.” Natasha let out a chuckle. She cups Yelena’s face with her hand and gives her an eskimo kiss, Yelena lets out a giggle.

May shuts the door quietly behind her as she places the tray of food onto the table. She walks over to Pepper’s side of the bed and places a kiss on her forehead, Pepper stirs and mumbles, “Why are you giving me kisses, no one’s around.” May chuckles, “that makes it even better.”

“I brought up breakfast since you wanted to sleep a little late.” May leaves Pepper’s side to bring the tray over onto the bed, Pepper is immediately woken up by the warm, delicious smells of food. Her stomach rubbles. “First of all,” she lets out a yawn. “You didn’t wake me up so don’t blame it on me, sweet cheeks.”

Pepper ties her messy bed hair into a ponytail as she sips her orange juice and cuts into her pancake. It’s covered in syrup and completely lathered in butter, just the way she likes it.

“What are we doing today?’ Pepper asks after she takes a bite. She pops a pre-cut strawberry into her mouth.

May takes a sip of her coffee. “I’m not sure, maybe we’ll go to a museum or just hang out.” Pepper nods her head. They sit in silence as Pepper eats her breakfast. Occasionally May will steal some fruit out of the bowl, earning a glare from the blonde. Pepper lets out a huff as she sits back, she’s content and in a slight food coma, it’s good though. May stares at her and raises an eyebrow in her direction before standing up, taking two long strides to the dresser and grabbing an outfit for the day.

“I’m heading to the shower,” May suggests as she walks towards the door, “unless you want to save time and water.” She raises both eyebrows up and down. A small smirk appears on Pepper’s face, she licks her lips.

“Love to, sweet cheeks. But, I’m afraid I can’t get up, due to the food coma that has overcome me. Raincheck?” A pout forms on May’s face, “okay.” And she’s out the door. Pepper lays her head back onto the pillows, closing her eyes as her nose scrunches up and a sigh escapes her lips.

“You should’ve went,” Natasha calls out.

Pepper looks up and sees Natasha with her arms crossed, hair braided, standing against the wall. She’s dressed like Lara Croft, black jeans and leather jacket. Pepper gets up from the warm, comfortable bed, to her suitcase, pulling out an outfit.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll make it up to her,” Pepper says as she stands awkwardly holding her clothes in her crossed arms.

“This has nothing to do with morning shower sex but please don’t hurt her. She can overthink anything and is a little fragile.”

“I won’t. You can count on me to pick up any broken pieces that have fallen,” Pepper swears as she places a hand on her chest. Natasha looks at her, almost stunned, maybe her little cousin finally found someone who equals her.

“Well we’re going to the museum today, because I don’t think anyone wants to be in this house right now,” Natasha nods her head and walks way, leaving Pepper alone to get dressed. She’s half naked in just her bra and pajama bottoms when May comes back into her room, towel wrapped around her body and her brown hair is dripping wet down her back.

“Oh,” May says as her cheeks flush, she shuts the door behind her. “I thought you were going to shower after me.”

Pepper shakes her head, “dry shampoo does wonders.” She chuckles. “I’ll do it tonight, you did say you wanted a raincheck.”

May does a double-take, “You’re right, I did say that.” She smirks as she pulls her jeans over her tan, skinny, legs.

“I always am,” A now dressed Pepper says as she runs a hand through her hair. She turns around to see May standing in front of her mirror, admiring herself. Pepper smiles as May turns around.

“Let’s go,” she says as she glides past Pepper and out the bedroom door.

The four of them exit Natasha’s car and head to the museum, it’s not as grand as the one in New York, it has its perks and small flaws. Natasha grabbed Yelena’s hand and drags her in the opposite direction May and Pepper are going. “We’ll see you at the gift shop later!” She called out over her shoulder. Yelena sent the two women a sympathetic smile.

May let out a groan, “of course she wouldn’t want to keep the buddy system in place.” She opened the museum map and began to walk towards the art section, Pepper followed.

“It’s alright. They just want to do their own thing. C’mon,” Pepper smiles as she links her arm around May’s. They’re standing in a gigantic room, paintings scatter the walls in various directions and Pepper’s eyes are immediately fixated on a flower portrait. She stand in front of it, her hand rests on her chin.

“Whatcha thinking about?” May asks as she slides next to Pepper, her eyes move back and forth from the painting to Pepper.

“The colors in this blend almost like a sunset. See here,” she points. “The way the purple moves into the blue then fades into green and so on so forth.” May nods her head. It’s this moment she really wished focused during art class she had to take as an elective.

“I take it you like art?” May asks as they move down the line of paintings, staying in sync with Pepper.

“Yes, very much.”

“God, you and Steve would get along so great,” May says drastically as she looks at the map.

“Why’s that?’ Pepper asked curiously. She tilted her head to the side.

“Because Steve’s an artist, or at least trying to become one. He’s fascinated by it to the point where his apartment is filled with paintings, old and new, unfinished and completed. It’s really remarkable to see someone with their life together and completely immersed in their work.” May frowns and shamelessly tilts her head down to the floor. She walks towards the next set of paintings. Pepper’s eyebrows furrow, she’s not sure how to respond to the truth hidden between the lines. She lets out a breath and follows May.

It’s quiet in the museum besides the soft, elegant, classical music playing throughout the room. May and Pepper don’t speak for a moment until they reach another exhibit, the statues. May’s demeanor has completely changed. She pulls out a camera that Pepper had no idea she brought with her. May ran over to an open bench and rolled back the camera. She disposed the film into it, slow and steady, and snapped it shut. The sound of the camera rolling film was pure, soothingness, to Pepper’s ears. It was equivalent to a wave coming to the shore or the sound of coffee pouring into a mug. With a content sigh, May looked up at Pepper and smiled.

May jumped up from the bench, rolling back and forth on the heels of her shoes. She ushers Pepper to stand by the statue. “Imitate it please.”

With her mouth now agape, Pepper drops her bag next to May and immediately does what she’s told. The statue’s arms are slightly crossed with one another and her head is tilted up, showing off her jawline and collarbones. Once Pepper is in position, May adjusts the zoom and clicks the shutter. “Nice,” May says as she rolls the film. “Come on.” Pepper blinks and nods her head, she grabs her bag and follows the petite brunette.

They spend the next forty minutes lost in one another’s presence and taking photos of the statues while also recreating some of them with the help of a very nice bystander. By the time they’re done, it’s time to meet Natasha and Yelena at the gift shop. Natasha is talking indistinctly to Yelena, May can see that Yelena has a bag of goodies, no doubt in her mind Natasha bought her it.

“Did you guts have a good time?” Yelena asks as she pulls her bag tighter around her shoulder and leans into Natasha.

Pepper nods her head, “Yes, I loved it.” She pauses to glance at May and clears her throat. “The art was beautiful, this was a lot of fun.”

A small smirk appears on Natasha’s face, “good. Let’s go.”

May lets out a groan, “Awe, come on. I don’t want to go home just yet.”

Natasha sighs, “you know we have to go back eventually. You can’t keep hiding in your room until you leave tomorrow night.”

“I can try,” May mutters under her breath as she follows them to the car. Pepper rubs May’s shoulder in a calmly manner.

“I heard that,” Natasha calls out over her shoulder. May rolls her eyes because of course Natasha did. She probably, no definitely, has a sixth sense, May thinks.

They’re back again in the driveway and May just wants to stay in the car. She hates confrontation and she knows it’s only going to get worse. Maybe she can leave early, she thought. No, that would do no one good. Natasha and Yelena exit the car and head towards the house when May pauses in her step before entering. Pepper’s next to her, holding her hand. Getting a weird sense of deja vu.

“It’s alright if you want to leave tonight instead of tomorrow.” Pepper looks at her with concern, her eyebrows furrow. May sighs and says nothing when they enter the warm house. Her mother has definitely been baking as the smell of chocolate and cinnamon flow throughout the house. There’s a roar of laugher coming from the living room.

Natasha takes a pause when she sees Melina and Alexei sitting on the couch with May’s dad. They’re in the middle of a game of chess and a bottle of bourbon has been opened, the bottle is empty halfway. “Um, hi,” Natasha says and their attention is immediately drawn from the chessboard to her.

“Natasha!” Melina says as she gets up from her seat to hug Natasha. Natasha doesn’t know if she should hug her back or remain stiff as a board. “I told you we would come. Hello Yelena.”

“Hello,” Yelena responds as she glances at Natasha. The expression on Natasha’s face is hard to read. Yelena doesn’t know if she should comfort or drag her away from the scene in front of them. Behind them, May and Pepper lean their heads in the room to see what the commotion is and May’s eyes widen. “Those are Natasha’s adopted parents,” she whispers to Pepper. Pepper nods her head. “We heard you were going to be here for the holidays so we thought we would surprise you,” Melina says as she glances back at Alexei, who is taking a gulp of his cold, bourbon, glass. Natasha swallows and clears her throat. “Not that I’m happy to see you, but you didn’t have to come here. We would be with you for the holidays anyway.”

Melina’s eyebrows furrow, “I thought you would be excited to see us. It’s our first Christmas here and it’s been so long since we saw our dear niece, May.” She pauses to look around for the brunette and her eyes land on May slowly sneaking upstairs with Pepper. “May!”

May sighs and turns back around with a smiles on her face, “Hi aunt Melina.” Melina embraces May and rubs her shoulders. “It’s so good to see you dear, how are you?”

May is taken back by the question. Ever since she arrived home, no one has asked her that and she is once again reminded why she likes Melina more than her own flesh and blood mom. May sniffles.

“I’m doing my best, aunt Melina. Um, this is Pepper, my girlfriend. Pepper, this is aunt Melina, Natasha’s mom.” May says as she glances at Natasha, who is sneaking away with Yelena to another room.

“Hi Pepper, it’s so good to meet you” Melina outstretches a hand to her. “How are you enjoying our cold weather? I bet it’s a bit upscale from New York.” Pepper softly shakes her hand, she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s definitely colder than New York but nothing I can’t handle. Actually, I quite like it.” Pepper says honestly. She doesn’t know where this sudden burst of confidence and truth came out. Maybe it has something to do with the way Melina does things and asks the right questions.

“That’s wonderful to hear. I can’t wait to tell you more once we have gotten settled,” Melina is interrupted by Alexei yelling at Ed, she rolls her eyes. “I have to go calm him down before things get out of hand again. I’ll see you girls later.” As quickly as she came to them, Melina is next to Alexei, rubbing his arm calmly.

May exhales, “there, you met Melina. I think that’s everyone besides by brother and sister who,” May pauses for a second to overlook the living room and part of the kitchen, “who, aren’t even here.” May rubs a hand over her face, she was starting to get tired of her family.

“If my mom and I don’t make up tonight then we’re hopping on the first plane out, is that alright with you?” May asks Pepper, she looks up at her, there’s almost tears in May’s eyes.

“Come on,” Pepper says as she grabs May’s hand. Together they walk up the stairs to May’s room and shut the door. Both of them let out a gasp when they see Natasha and Yelena sitting on the couch.

“I thought you guys were still downstairs,” May questions as she sits on the bed, Pepper following.

“How did you forget your house has more than one set of staircase in it? It truly baffles me that i’m here more than you are,” Natasha says as she plays with Yelena’s hand, instinctively drawing circles on it.

“Yeah, well, don’t take that as a compliment or let it go straight to your head,” May argues back. She leans her head back onto the pillows.

“Do you want to tell or should I?” Pepper whispers. May turns her head towards her, “No, I can”

“Anything you’d like to share with the class, Parker?” Natasha says with an eyebrow raised.

“If mom and I don’t make up tonight, we’re leaving,” May says calmly as she intertwines a finger with Pepper’s, locking it together. Yelena’s eyebrows raise and she cranes her neck to look at Natasha.

“Are you sure?” Natasha asks in a concerning voice, surprising May.

“Yeah. I’m tired of it, I just want to go home, be in my bed and see Milo. I knew I should’ve gone to Tony's.” May angrily says as she hits her head back down onto the soft pillows.

Yelena was about to open her mouth but Natasha beat her to it, “Milo is her cat.” Yelena nods her head and closes her mouth, smiling.

“We have a cat too. A white cat named Luna,” Yelena says smiling.

“She hates me,” Natasha says with a straight face.

“No, she doesn’t,” Yelena looks at her defensively as Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Awe, we can have cat playdates,” May says grinning and definitely doesn’t miss the awful, horrid, look flashing across Natasha’s face.

Yelena laughs. “I’m so down for that. We need to set up at date.”

“No.” Natasha immediately says.

“Yes.”

May clears her throat, “can I just ask-“

“No,” Natasha says once again. “We’re not talking about why they’re here. I have no idea. I didn’t ask them, neither did Yelena.”

May nods her head, “okay, good.”

“Good,” Natasha repeats as she rubs a hand across her forehead, trying to relieve the sudden tension she had.

There’s a knock on May’s door.

“Yeah?” May calls out.

Ed pokes his head in with his eyes closed when he opens the door, “is everyone decent?”

Natasha chuckles, “yes, uncle Ed.”

“Oh, good,” Ed opens his eyes. “Dinner’s ready.” He turns to head back down the stairs before pausing to turn back to May.

“May, it’s okay with me if you want to go back to New York. I know you’ve only been here a short time but, it was nice to have you back home, kiddo.” He smiles and trudges down the staircase. May sighs and thinks to herself, he’s definitely a spy or has cameras everywhere.

Dinner that evening is quiet, the tension in the air is thick. Melina helped Claire make pasta, even their homemade sauce. It was delicious and very comforting. Alexei and Ed talked amongst themselves, discussing various things from cars to the economy. The girls sit at the booth, Natasha and Yelena sat in during breakfast, while the other adults claimed the island.

Melina, who sat the closest to them, turned in her seat. “So Pepper,” Pepper pauses, her forkful of penne froze midair. “How did you meet May?” May glances at Pepper.

Pepper places her fork back into her bowl, “we met through Tony, one of May’s closest friends. He introduced us and the rest was history.” Pepper smiles.

Melina nods her head, “very cute. Tony as in Tony Stark?”

“Yes,” May says this time, allowing Pepper to continue to eat her pasta. “You met him, I think, last year when we came over for Christmas. It was the year Natasha got sick.”

Melina’s face lit up, “yes! I remember, he was very sweet. He helped me bake cookies and talked about a boy named Steve, whom he had a crush on.”

May smiled, “they’re together now. They’re disgustingly adorable.” May sticks her tongue out before taking a bite of bread.

“That makes me so happy to hear! Alexei, dear."

Alexei pauses his conversation with Ed and focuses his attention on his wife, “yeah?”

“You remember last Christmas when May brought home her friend Tony?”

Alexei face also lights up, “of course! I told him he needed to grow more, he’s uncomfortably short for his age. How is he doing May?” He cranes his neck to look at May from over Melina’s shoulder.

“He’s doing very well, he’s trying to get into business while working part-time at a garage. And as I told Melina, he’s with Steve now. I think they’re going on almost a year together, right, Pepper?” Pepper nods her head.

“Get outta here!” Alexei exclaims. “That’s wonderful. Please tell him I wish him all the best, I hope one day we can meet Steve.”

“I’ll pass it along, uncle Alexei. You can count on me,” May says smiling as she takes a sip of water. She glances up at Natasha and Yelena who can sense a relief coming from May, more like a breath of fresh air. It’s extremely comforting for all of them in their little booth.

A pair of utensils clattering onto a plate makes everyone jump in their seats, except for Ed, who continues eating and is definitely used to this annoying behavior from his wife by now. Claire stands up, her chair screeches on the hardwood floor, she puts her dish into the sink and heads towards the living room. The tv echos throughout the first floor of the house.

Ed lets out a heavy sigh and excuses himself from the kitchen, he follows in his wife’s footsteps while absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. Melina and Alexei side eye one another before they continue eating, occasionally grabbing more bread from the bowl.

May lets out a puff of hair, a strand of hair blows. She pushes her pasta bowl away from her and crosses her arms over her chest. Natasha looks at her sympathetically, she reaches across the table, palm facing up. May looks at it before putting her own hand on top, Natasha rubs her hand with her thumb, in a circling motion. Pepper leans over and places a kiss on May’s temple.

“If you want to go, we can go,” Pepper whispers. May nods her head and gets up from her seat, she takes the semi-empty bowls to the sink. As she pushes back her hair from her face and ties it onto a low ponytail, she turns back to Melina and Alexei.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together. I hope you’ll come to New York soon and we can do something, maybe i’ll cook and bust out the card games,” May says as she laughs uncomfortably.

Melina nods her head, “I would love that May, thank you. Definitely stock up on beer for this guy,” she nudges Alexei who raises his glass.

“I’ll keep my schedule open,” May responds before signaling the girls to head upstairs. They pause in their steps when yelling is louder than the tv.

“I don’t want to hear it Claire. I’m tired of it and getting annoyed every second,” Ed exclaims.

“You’re tired of it? Tired of what exactly, me telling you how I feel?” Claire says back, hostile as usual. May rolls her eyes.

“Tired of you treating May and your niece like this,” Ed gestures his hands out. “Like they’re not human beings, they are, and one of them is your flesh and blood. Have you even talked to Pepper since she’s been here, besides the hello from yesterday? Cause I have. She’s incredibly smart and I can see how much our May means to her.” Ed argues back.

May looks at Pepper, who’s eyebrows are furrow. Pepper may have forgot to mention that she did talk to Ed when she came down for lunch. May grabs her hand and kisses her knuckle. Natasha and Yelena continue up the stairs while Pepper and May linger for a minute.

“Change our attitude and mindset, even the way you treat everyone in this house. I’m sleeping in the guest room for the time being.” It’s quiet for a moment until Ed’s footsteps are being heard and he’s standing on the bottom step of the stairs, looking up at May and Pepper. A smile appears on his face and he puts a hand on May’s shoulder, rubbing it in a comfortingly. The three of them head upstairs, Pepper continues walking while May and Ed stop at the landing.

“Have a safe flight, kiddo. Please call me when you get home.”

“Will do, dad. And, um, thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” May says when Ed pulls her into a hug. She feels a little uncomfortable with the sudden affection, something she’s not used to since she was a child. She hugs him back, wrapping her arms around his torso. He pulls away after a full minute.

“Remember what I said,” Ed says while pointing at her, smiling, and enters the guest bedroom. May chuckles and throws her arms up in the arm and brings them back down while letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding it.

May enters her room when Pepper is packing her suitcase, she’s folding her clothes neatly, making sure they fit perfectly. “You know the t.s.a agents don’t credit you for how well you pack your suitcase?”

Pepper chuckles, “is it a crime to have everything neat for when I unpack at home? No.” May shakes her head and starts packing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I talked to your dad while I had lunch and you were with Natasha. It slipped my mind,” Pepper confesses while looking at May throwing her clothes into her suitcase.

“It’s okay, you don’t need my permission to talk to anyone. I appreciate you talking to him. Please tell me he didn’t dive into his dad talk or completely overshare about my childhood,” May pleads as she holds her hands together, praying. Pepper smiles, “Yes, he talked about you but, nothing bad I promise.”

May smiles as she zips her suitcase shut. She reaches down to grab her carryon and puts her necessary items in it, including the book she wanted to read but never got the chance to. Pepper puts her coat on, not caring that the outfit she wore, a pair of leggings and a hoodie, didn’t match. She lifts her hair that got stuck under the collar and turns to May. “Ready?”

May has her coat on and throws her carryon over her shoulder. “As I’ll ever be.” They walk down the stairs, suitcases in tow.

“Hey, wait, who bought our plane tickets?” May asks with an eyebrow raise.

“Your dad,” Pepper says enthusiastically as she looks at her feet, worrying she might tumble down the flight of stairs.

May smiles and mumbles, ‘of course’ under her breath.

At the bottom of the stairs is Melina and Alexei, they embrace the two girls in hugs. May promises Melina she’ll call her when they get home to arrange when they can get together, because let’s face it, they need a redo of this Christmas break.

As they head out the door, Claire gives them no attention, her sole focus is the reruns of criminal minds. Pepper shakes her head. Natasha opens her trunk and helps them put the suitcases in it. The door closes shut and they’re in the car. Natasha starts the engine and before she can pull out of the driveway, Ed comes out of the house, yelling, “wait!”

May rolls down her window, “yeah, dad?”

Ed stops in front, pausing to catch his breathe even though the distance between the front door and driveway was no longer than eight feet.

“This is for you,” he hands her a present wrapped in red paper and a bow on top, “Merry early Christmas, May.” He smiles. May’s eyes widen and her eyebrows raise high enough that she has lines on her forehead. “Open it when you get home or even at the airport,” Ed says before sending May one last smile and running back into the house.

“What was that about?” Natasha asks as she looks into the mirror, pulling out of the driveway.

“A present,” May says smiling as she rubs her hands over the wrapping paper.

“Great, so you get one early while we have to wait until tomorrow,” Natasha says sarcastically as she turns right.

“Are you going to open it?” Yelena asks May, turning in her seat.

“Later, I will,” May replies as she glances at Pepper.

Natasha puts the car in park when they arrive at the airport. There’s a sudden realization between the four of them that this could be the last time they see one another, until Natasha’s wedding, at least. Natasha doesn’t say anything when she exits the car and pops the trunk open for May and Pepper to grab their luggage.

May sets her luggage on the concrete and immediately grabs Natasha in for a hug, the redhead instinctively wraps her arms around May’s petite form. She buries her head in May’s neck.

“You know you’re my maid of honor, right?” Natasha mumbles against May’s neck and May lets out a sob and laughs.

“Of course, I know. Who else puts up with your shit?” This time Natasha laughs, a real genuine one. They pull away slowly and dry their tears with the end of their jackets and laugh. “Promise to call me?” Natasha says as she extends out her pinky finger. May nods her head and wraps her own finger around Natasha’s, they shake. May turns her head to see Pepper and Yelena exchanging numbers and talking quietly amongst themselves.

“She’s a good one, I hope you keep her,” Natasha nods her head in Pepper’s direction. May licks her lips and smiles, “I plan too.”

May waves over to Pepper, “we better get going.” Pepper nods her head. “It was nice to meet you Yelena. I hope you know you have a long road ahead with this one” May nudges Natasha’s arm. Natasha glares at her.

“Oh, I know. I’ll enjoy it,” Yelena says with a grin on her face.

“And that’s our cue to go. Goodbye, I love you,” May exclaims as she blows the two of them a kiss. Natasha imitates her before pulling out of the spot.

“You ready?” Pepper says once she’s next to May at the check-in line. She instinctively reaches out for May’s hand and intertwines their hands together.

“Yes,” May says without a beat. She kisses Pepper’s knuckle and they’re off back to New York.

It’s only nine-thirty when they’re in a taxi headed out of the city when May begins to question where they’re going. She does a double take before asking Pepper, the right and only question, “Where are we going?” To which Pepper responds with, “just relax and you’ll see when we get there.” May sighs and leans her head against the headrest, she slowly begins to drift off. With the day she had she at least deserved some sleep. Another thirty minutes pass and May is awaken by the car door shutting, she jumps in her seat and rubs her sleepy eyes. Pepper opens the door for her and unbuckles her seatbelt. May feels like a little kid when her parents used to wake her up after a long car ride and carry her into the house. No way is she allowing Pepper to carry her. “I’m alright,” she says once she gets her bearings. Pepper nods her head.

“C’mon, I’m sure they’ll want to see you,” Pepper says as she hands both of their luggage to a man at the front steps. May raises an eyebrow when she steps out of the taxi, she’s about to pay the driver when Jarvis steps up to do it for them. May’s eyes widened. She wants to squeal but she knows it’s late and she definitely didn’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood. Jarvis turns to face them when the driver pulls away from the sidewalk.

“Good evening miss Parker,” Jarvis says in his wonderful British tone that May absolutely adores every time she hears it. May is hugging Jarvis faster than Pepper can blink. The tall man smiles and imitates her, wrapping an arm around her neck. May breathes in his scent, a smell of cherries and a hint of scotch. They pull away and walk in arm and arm towards the house, Pepper follows closely behind, smiling to herself.

“I’ll have you know miss Parker that I have missed our weekly board games. I can play a mean game of poker.”

“Oh, don’t I know it, J. You always beat me but, never at checkers. That’s my speciality.” May says as she winks back at Pepper.

Pepper’s never been inside the Stark family home before and it’s much more beautiful than she imagined. It’s like it was taken straight out of a renaissance painting and fused with modern elements.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Jarvis says, breaking Pepper’s train of thought.

She clears her throat. “Yes, it is.” She extends a hand out to him. “I’m Pepper Potts, we spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, of course, miss Potts. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.” Jarvis shakes her hand before reaching over to grab the phone.

“Tony, you have company. Can you and mister Rogers please come down.” Jarvis nods his head and hangs up. He turns to the girls. “Would any of you like some tea? We have every kind.”

“Yes!” May exclaims as she follows Jarvis to the kitchen, dragging along Pepper. “Jarvis makes the best tea, you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Pepper responds with a smile on her face.

Jarvis starts up the teapot by pouring water into it and setting it onto the stove, igniting it. He takes two tea cups and sets them next to the stove, a teabags in each. As the teapot heats up and begins to whistle, Tony and Steve enter the kitchen. Tony’s eyes widen as he runs to them, hugging both of them tightly. Steve smiles with his arms crossed against his chest.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were home,” Tony questions May, a concerned look plasters his face. He rubs her shoulder in a comforting manner.

“Not now okay? They just got here,” Jarvis says suddenly when he pours, now four cups of tea.

“Yes, sir,” Tony says as he sits next down to May.

Jarvis adds honey to every cup and slides one to each of them. “There are some lemon squares on the counter, feel free to take as much as you like. Tony, mister Rogers, miss Parker, and miss Potts, it’s been a pleasure. I bid you all a goodnight.”

“Thank you, Jarvis” They all say in unison, and that makes Jarvis grin.

Steve slides in next to Pepper, he blows on his cup of tea before taking a sip of it. “Thank you for calling me. He was getting worried about the two of you going to May’s home. I’m glad you cut it short.”

“Anytime, Steve. I mean it. I should be the one thanking you, not the other way around.”

“I’ll take you up on that anytime, starting now,” Steve lets out a chuckle.

“How was your weekend before we crashed yours? Sorry,” Pepper says shamefully as she sips her tea.

“It’s been great, Tony’s parents aren’t home and—“ Pepper raises and eyebrow and smirks. “hey! None of that.” Pepper chuckles. “Anyway, it’s been really good getting to know Jarvis. He’s really the best, I finally see what Tony’s been talking about all this time.”

“That’s really great, Steve. You got the approval of the highest person on Tony’s list of who he truly cares about. The second being you, then May and me.” Steve smiles bashfully.

“Thanks, Pepper. I appreciate it.”

“Hey,” Tony suddenly says making Pepper and Steve look in his direction. “What are you two talking about that’s making Steve go as red and hot as his tea?” Steve chuckles.

“Nothing that concerns you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, god,” May gags before taking a bite of a lemon bar.

“Oh, shut up Parker, you’re much worse.” Tony says as he drinks his tea in slight disgust. Tony wouldn’t dare say he hates it because he does. He just couldn’t live with himself to see the look on Steve’s face when he disappoints him.

“You got me there,” May mumbles through the lemon bar and holds up a pair of finger guns. She chuckles. Tony sets his cup down on the counter.

“Okay, lay it on me. We have plenty of time.” Tony rests an arm on the counter, his head lay in his comfortably in his palm. He looks up at her with eyebrows raised and a concern look. May sighs heavily. “First, Natasha’s getting married.”

Tony’s eyes widen. “I thought she was divorced?”

“She is. Now, she’s engaged to Yelena, who is just wonderful. You’ll love her, she’s so sweet.”

Tony’s mouth is agape with a grin on his face. “To a woman?! Why didn’t you lead with that! That’s great.”

“It is. I’ve never seen her so happy before, it was relieving.”

“Okay, so that’s the good news. What’s the bad?” Tony’s face is all serious. The grin from before is replaced with a stern look. May wets her lips and stops herself from looking anywhere but Tony’s face. “Um,” she pauses, moving a strand of hair out of her face. “My mom doesn’t approve.” May lets out a dry laugh. Tony immediately pulls her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her frame. He comforted her in the same way Jarvis had did when his own father didn’t approve of him being with Steve. Tony felt May’s tears soak his shirt as she sobbed into his arms, clenching his shirt in her fists. A wave of anger washed over his face as he looked up to Pepper and Steve sitting quietly, letting them have their moment. One look at Tony and Steve knew, of course he knew. How could he not? It was the exact same face Steve made when Tony told Howard. They understood one another. Pepper began to rub May’s back gently, she let out a sigh. None of them moved for a solid seven minutes, occasionally drinking their tea in silence. Tony held his breath when May lifted her head off of his tear stained shoulder, she sniffled.

“Sorry, about your shirt,” she rubbed her nose on her sleeve and wiped her eyes.

Tony chuckled, “it’s okay. I have plenty of shirts.” He tilted his head to the left and raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, eventually.” May let out a breathy laugh. “Thanks for that, I needed a good cry.”

“Don’t we all.”

Tony reaches over and grabs a lemon bar. He takes a bite of one and looks at Steve. “Ready for bed?” Steve nods his head and puts his cup into the sink and rises it out.

“Ladies, we’ll see you in the morning. Jarvis is making his special pancakes.” Tony beamed as he wraps and arm around Steve, slowly leaving the kitchen.

“You must be exhausted, baby.” Pepper gently says as she moves a strand of hair out of May’s face and places a kiss to her temple. May blushes at the nickname, she always does, as she ponders saying something but stops when she instinctively leans into Pepper.

“C’mon, let’s get to bed. We’ve had a long, tiring, day.”

May nods her head. She slides her empty cup over to Pepper who gracefully takes both and puts them into the sink next to Steve’s.

Arm in arm they walk up the mahogany staircase. Steve had told Pepper that they would be staying in the guest room across from Tony’s. May flops down on the soft duvet, too lazy and drained to change into her pajamas. Pepper looks around the room and notices their luggage is stacked neatly by the door, along with an adjoined bathroom.

“You lay there. I’m gonna get changed, okay?” Pepper tells May as she grabs her change of clothes. Before entering the bathroom she turns to see May lift up a thumbs up. Pepper chuckles. Not even four minutes later, Pepper is changed and much more comfortable, she sees May completely passed out on the bed. Pepper shakes her head and smiles. Slowly but carefully, without waking May, she moves her under the covers. Pepper slides in next to her and wraps an arm around May’s chest, kissing her forehead. Matching May’s breathing, she slowly begins to fall asleep.

May wakes up from the best sleep of her life, the kind of sleep that gives you lines on your arms when you wake up. She lets out a content sigh and rubs her eyes. She feels a weight on her chest and looks down to see Pepper sleeping soundly on her. May smiles. She slowly moves out from under Pepper and stretches her legs, arms and back until she hears her a cracking sound that is slightly satisfying to her ears. May heads to the bathroom quietly, without waking Pepper, and does her business before hearing a faint tapping on the bedroom door. With an eyebrow raise, May opens the door just a crack and fights the urge to let out a scream when Tony’s head peeks in. She glares at him and flicks him in the forehead, Tony’s not phased by it at all.

“Jarvis has breakfast ready, come on.”

May nods her head, feeling a bit fatigued after yesterday's unfortunate events, she rushes over to a sleeping soundly Pepper. She brushes the hair out of Pepper’s eyes as the blonde lets out a content sigh and blinks repeatedly.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Jarvis has breakfast ready, you hungry?” May asks as she slowly removes the covers from Pepper’s body.

“Starving, but I’m not imposed to staying here all day.” Pepper raises an eyebrow.

May bites her lip. “Tempting but, i’ve been craving Jarvis’ chocolate chip pancakes since we got here last night.”

Pepper hangs her head low, “It was worth a shot. Lead the way your majesty.” She bows ever so slightly before May grabs her arm, pulling her off the soft bed and into the hallway where Tony and Steve are still standing. Pepper laughs.

“Dear god, another minute and we would’ve left your ass in the dust.” Tony joked as Steve nudges him making Tony yelp out an ‘ow.’

Tony gawks at Steve. “You’re just pure muscle, aren’t you?”

Steve rolls his eyes as a sly smirk appears on his face. “Oh, shush. You love it.”

Tony blinks repeatedly and moves to kiss Steve. He pauses in his step when May lets out a barf sound, their eyes immediately glare at her.

“Can we please go eat now?” May pleads. She clasps her hands together, begging. Tony sighs as he puts an arm out, gesturing May and Pepper to head down the stairs towards the kitchen.

“Yes!” May exclaims and grabs Pepper’s arm dragging her down the stairs, semi tripping in the process. Steve chuckles.

The kitchen smells like a bakery, a heavenly, beautiful bakery. There’s plates of eggs, bacon, sausages and chocolate chips pancakes. Amongst the food is orange juice and of course, coffee and tea. Jarvis is mid pouring coffee into a mug when the four of them come in and sit at the island. A ear to ear grin flashes across his face. “Good morning, and Merry Christmas!”

A flash of confusion is on May’s face, she cups her face with her hands and gasps. “Holy shit I forgot.”

Pepper rubs May’s arm, “it’s okay. Yesterday was chaotic.”

“After breakfast, we’ll open gifts. Tony, your parents left gifts out before they left. I think it would be wise to at least call them for this occasion.” Jarvis says sternly, looking Tony in the eyes. Tony lets out a groan.

“I’ll do it later, J. I promise.” Jarvis nods his head, gesturing everyone to begin eating.

May immediately grabs a plate and takes a stack of pancakes. She adds a dab of butter and a lot of syrup and lets out a heavenly sigh when she takes a bite. May looks up at Jarvis. Pepper smiles, a giggle escapes her lips.

“Jarvis I want these pancakes every time I come here, you hear me?” May says as she raises a forkful of pancake in the air and into her mouth.

“As you wish, miss Parker.

May lets out a gasp, “Nice Princess Bride reference there, J.” May smirks.

Jarvis hides the smile across his face by taking a sip of his coffee. Tony shakes his head and whispers something to Steve that May, nor Pepper can hear, which results in Steve chuckling as he eats his scrambled eggs. Tony takes a sip of coffee and places his cup back down on the marble countertop.

“After gifts I assume you’ll be heading back to the city?” He questions, looking to Pepper, who is smearing butter onto a piece of toast.

“Yes?” Pepper questions as she side eyes May who nods her head. “Yes.” She repeats, more clear this time.

“Good. So are we. You’ll come back with us.” Tony grins, not missing the sudden death glare on May’s face. “Oh, cheer up, May. It’ll be fun.” May shrugs her shoulders.

Once everyone has eaten a little bit of everything, they graciously help Jarvis clean up and head to the living room with the biggest Christmas tree. Tony opens his gifts from his parents, from Maria, a record vinyl, and a watch from Howard. Tony shakes his head as he tosses both aside. Both gifts he had gotten from the previous Stark Christmas gathering.

Tony’s mood is instantly changed when Steve opens his gift from him. He takes a polaroid of Steve as he opens the blue wrapped box, inside it is multiple paint sets. Steve knows it’s the expensive one he’s been saving up for but he doesn’t care about that at all right now. He leans in to give Tony a kiss that Tony happily obliges with, wrapping a hand around his neck, deepening it. Jarvis lets out a cough before either of them can continue their PG-13 film.

Steve turns red, blush forming from his cheeks down his neck, while Tony shamelessly rubs the back of his neck. Tony gestures for May to open her gift, the one her father gave her before they left. It’s wrapped neatly with a red bow around it, and it’s a little on the lighter side. May untangles the bow and sets it off the the side. She lifts the cover of the medium size box to see a second box inside, it’s smaller and wrapped in tissue paper.

May’s eyebrows furrow as she rips the tissue paper off, throwing it into the previous box. She opens the box to see a folded up letter and a silver chain with a locket and ring around it. She gasps at the coldness and initials written on the locket; E.P. It also smells very old, like the smell of old books or an antique shop. Setting the necklace back down in the box, May opens the folded letter and the first thing she notices is that it's in her father’s handwriting.

‘May,

This necklace belonged to your grandmother, my mother, Edith Parker. You know for a long time she was with grandpa Parker but that wasn’t her first love. Her first love and other woman in the locket is Sophie. As for the ring, it was Edith’s. Sophie gave it to her and she wore it everyday around her neck hidden.’

May does a double-take, her mouth agape, and continues to read.

‘I’ve known Sophie all my life, you would’ve loved her my dear, May. and be absolutely enchanted by all the stories and special moments she would tell you one on one. I have other items from their time together, a box of trinkets and letters in a box, hidden, of course. Your grandmother asked me to pass this down to you when it was time and I think right now is a good one. I’m sorry, I have to give you this when you’re not here in front of me. I hope it puts a smile on your face. I love you. Happy Holidays. — Dad’

May doesn’t know how to react other than with tear-filled eyes. She smiles, a real genuine one, dimples and all. She gently holds the necklace in her hands afraid it might break, as she opens the locket and low and behold, two photos on equal sides of the locket are Edith and Sophie. May sighs, she rubs her thumb over the photos. She can see a little resemblance of herself in her grandmother. Her eyes advert to the ring, a silver thin band with multiple roses on it. Upon a closer look May notices their initials are engraved in it as well. She decides to leave it with the locket as intended. As May unclasps the necklace, Pepper is next to her, moving May’s hair onto one side of her frame.

“Let me,” Pepper whispers. May nods her head.

Pepper dangles the necklace around May’s neck, goosebumps arise on her skin. Pepper’s hands are shaking slightly, she doesn’t know when the sudden nervousness started. Probably when she realized she’s completely in love with May Parker and everything in her body is telling her this a red flag because there’s no way this angel sent from heaven likes, hell, loves her back. None of the less, Pepper shakes her head, clearing the thoughts, she fastens the necklace clip and pulls May’s hair back around her neck. May looks down at the necklace, and turns looking up at Pepper. “Thank you,” May whispers. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. And yes, it is,” Pepper says quietly, heart thumping in her chest, as she looks at May. May looks into Pepper’s eyes, her eyes widen, almost as if a light bulb went off in her head. She gasps quietly and excuses herself from the group. Pepper’s eyes follow her. “I’ll be right back.”

Tony claps his hands. “Shall we continue? Jarvis, this one’s for you.” Tony hands Jarvis a present. Their chatter slowly fades out when Pepper closes the kitchen door to have privacy. May is standing with her arms crossed, her back against the counter, and eyebrows furrow with thin lines across her forehead.

Pepper intertwines her hands together in front of her, she pauses in her step afraid of getting closer she will spook May. “You okay?”

May immediately looks up, her mouth agape. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with me?” Her arms relax at her sides.

Pepper’s mouth opens then closes. She ponders for a moment. “I was going to tell you.” She clenches her hands, knuckles turning a shade of white.

“When? In a year or two?” May steps forward.

“I mean, maybe,” Pepper shrugs. May scoffs. “And how did you think I would feel, huh? What if I started dating someone? Or you started dating? Would you just stay quiet about it and suffer in silence?”

“In the case of you dating someone, yes, I would stay quiet about it, because it’s unrequited love. If I started dating someone, I wouldn’t give my all to then and I know that’s not fair at all. Pepper takes a step forward, she unclenches her hands.

May licks her lips. “What if it’s not unrequited love?”

“Then we do something about it.” Pepper takes two steps. She wipes her clammy hands onto her pants.

“Let’s do something about it.” May strides over to Pepper, wrapping a hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. It’s hot, and heavy and teeth clashing. Pepper’s arms instinctively wrap around May’s torso, sliding down to her hips, fitting perfectly into May’s love handles. Pepper lets out a small moan when May pulls away, her pupils are wide and there’s a spark in them.

“I love you.” Pepper grins like a Cheshire Cat. Her heart is banging like a drum and she feels like she can suddenly float on water. She pulls May back in, mumbling, ‘I love you too’ on her lips. Pepper lifts May onto the counter, May dangles her legs on either side of Pepper. She wraps them around Pepper’s legs, pulling her towards her. May’s hands roam Pepper’s body, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, almost as if this is their first time. It’s not. She feels goosebumps and soft skin, and the smell of roses. It soothes her. May moves away from Pepper’s mouth to place delicate kisses along her neck and collarbone. Pepper bites her lip.

Pepper sighs heavily. “We’re in the kitchen. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get hot and heavy in here.” Pepper leans her forehead against May’s. May pouts, her bottom lip poking out. “You’re right.”

Pepper helps May down from the counter and together they head back into the living room where the others have unwrapped all the presents.

“Hey, you’re back! We opened everything because it’s my house and I can,” Tony smirks.

“That’s okay,” May says smiling. “We’re just going to relax and get things ready before we leave.” She side eyes Pepper and grabs her hand.

“That’s right, I totally forgot,” Steve gasps. His eyes still fixated on his paint supplies. Tony’s heart swells in his chest every time he sees that glimmer in Steve’s eyes.

“I’ll pack leftovers for all of you,” Jarvis announces before heading into the kitchen.

“Thank you, J.” Tony yells with a smile on his face.

May leads Pepper up the stairs to their room, she shuts the door. Pepper leans back onto the bed, she closes her eyes. May licks her lips before lunging herself on top of Pepper. Her arms rest on either side of Pepper’s head, the necklace dangles, occasionally bumping into Pepper’s nose.

May kisses Pepper slowly and softly, she slips her tongue in. Pepper lets out a low moan as she switches their position, without breaking the kiss. Pepper slowly lifts up May’s shirt to unbutton her pants. She slides them down her legs and drops them to the floor with a silent thud. May rubs her hands along Pepper’s arms, feeling how they twitch anytime she touches them.

Pulling away, Pepper kisses May’s stomach and slowly kisses down until she reaches her underwear, placing a kiss there too when May lets out a whimper. Pepper wraps a hand around her thigh, kissing the side of it before using a finger to drag down May’s underwear and off the bed, dropping down on top of her pants.

May’s hips lift off the bed when Pepper kisses her clit. She slides two fingers through her folds, feeling how aroused she is and slowly begins to rub in circular motions. May lets out a breathy moan. “Pepper.”

“Yeah?” She raises an eyebrow and looks up.

“C’mon already, please.”

“As you wish.” Pepper says before licking a long stride. She goes up and down, very slowly, teasing May. She slides one finger in and May’s hips once again, lift off the bed as she grabs onto the sheets. Pepper kitten-like licks her clit as she slides a second finger in, she speeds up her motion, feeling May’s walls clench around her fingers. She’s close and May bites her lip to the point where it starts to bleed. Pepper removes her fingers and replaces them with her tongue and May moans loud.

Pepper grabs May’s hand with her, now free, one. Too caught up in the act to care about the wetness of Pepper's hand, May intertwines them together, knuckles turning white as Pepper’s tongue goes deeper until May’s backs arches off the bed for a final time and she gasps. May sees a blinding light and stars as Pepper continues to lick, not leaving anything behind and lays her head on May’s stomach, breathing heavily.

May chuckles. “I’ll never get tired of that.”

Pepper kisses May’s thigh. “Neither will I.”

May runs her hand through Pepper’s hair as they lay there for a moment or two. May sighs.

“I have to shower before we go. Unless you want to take me up on our previous rain check?” May smirks as she raises an eyebrow.

“Tempting but if I go with you, we’ll never get out.” Pepper pushes a strand behind May’s ear.

May rolls her eyes playfully and gets off the bed. "Pick something out for me."

Pepper tilts her head down, “of course.” May smiles and closes the bathroom door behind her before poking her head out.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Pepper shakes her head and stands up, stretching. She lets out a content sigh before taking out some clothes for May and herself.

Fifteen minutes later, May is out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her body. She graciously puts the clothes, Pepper laid out for her, on. It’s just her usual grey crewneck and matching sweatpants, but May can’t help but smile to herself.

“I figured you would want to be comfortable in the car,” Pepper says honestly as she heads to the bathroom.

“Thank you.” May pulls the crewneck over her head and untucks her hair from the neckline. She puts her grandmother’s necklace back on and holds it in her hands.

Pepper quickly vanishes into the bathroom as May gathers her things. They barely touches their suitcases when they arrived, only to change into pajamas and get necessities. There’s a knock at their door and May has an inkling she knows who it is. Her suspicion is correct when she opens to see Tony staring at her. May raises an eyebrow.

“You had sex.” Is the first thing to come out of Tony’s lips and May gasps. May’s nose scrunches up as she tries to weasel her way out of talking about it but Tony ignores her and hops on the window seat, avoiding the bed at all cost.

May rests her hands on her hips. “What do you want Tony?”

Tony leans forward. “Well I would love to hear about the sexy stuff but Steve told me I have to tell you we’re leaving soon. As in five minutes because mr perfect doesn’t want to hit traffic.”

May chuckles. “You guys have the weirdest nicknames, I’ll never understand it.” Tony shakes his head.

“And you never will, my dear.”

Pepper comes out of the bathroom fully clothed, she’s not surprised to see Tony here, after all it is his house, well, parents house technically. She had a feeling he would be in the room and definitely didn’t want to scare him into oblivion at her nakedness.

Tony raises his eyebrows up and down with a smirk plastered across his face. “So,” he drags out.

“So what?” Pepper rolls her eyes.

Tony claps his hands together and lets out a child-like giggle. “I can’t believe you guys had sex in my parents room! I can’t wait to tell Steve.”

May and Pepper fall silent, they side-eye one another and shoulders tense up. Tony’s hand covers his mouth to contain his laughter.

“What!”

“Can you repeat that one more time?”

Tony takes a breath and grins. “Yeah, we don’t have a guest bedroom. Most of the rooms up here are offices and libraries, it’s just their room and mine. Jarvis has the guest house out back.” He giggles once more. May and Pepper stare at him flabbergasted. They’re at a complete loss of words and remain silent until Steve comes to check up on them.

“Hey, you guys ready to go—“ he pauses. “What’s wrong?” He raises an eyebrow. Tony lips fold into his mouth as tries not to let out anymore laughter. He scratches the back of his neck as he lets out a breath.

“These two,” he gestures towards May and Pepper. Steve looks at the both of them. “Had sex in my parents room.” Tony then gestures with his hands, in a jazz hand motion, the room. Steve’s eyes widen as he lets out a snort followed by a loud cackle. His back arches as his head tilts back, he wants to cover his mouth to suppress the laughter but he just can’t do it.

May’s mouth is still agape and at a standstill when Pepper rolls her eyes and gathers their suitcases. May feels the roughness of her suitcase handle in hand and Pepper’s warm, soft, hand in the other. She drags May along out the door, still hearing the loud cackling from Steve and occasional shushes from Tony.

May bounces back to reality when Jarvis stands in front of her, handing her Tupperware of goods. May nods her head, smiling. “Thank you, Jarvis”

“Anytime, miss Parker.” Jarvis leans in to hug May, she happily obliges, wrapping her arms around his slender frame. She pulls away when Jarvis moves to Pepper, hugging her as well.

“It was lovely to meet you miss Potts. You’re welcome to come here whenever you please.”

Pepper smiles. “Thank you Jarvis.”

Tony and Steve come trudging down the stairs. “Ready to go?” Steve asks before grabbing their suitcases and heads out the door, May nods her head.

Tony turns to Jarvis. “Happy Holidays, J. We should do this every year, it always gets better and better.” Tony sends a sly smirk to May as she rolls her eyes and heads in the direction Steve went. Pepper quietly follows not a minute after.

Jarvis rubs Tony’s shoulder. “We do this every year, Tony. Even with the exception of your parents.”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I know. I mean, it’s just better without them, more quiet and relaxed rather than the chaotic mess.” Jarvis hums in agreement.

“I see, sir. Well they won’t be back for another two weeks, can I expect to see you and mister Rogers before then?”

“Of course you can.” Tony smiles and hugs Jarvis.

Jarvis looks up and out the open door to see Steve waiting by the passenger side, arms across his chest, one over the other.

“I like this one.” Jarvis says quietly even though they’re the only two in the foyer. Tony wants to scream with glee, but he doesn’t. Instead, a tear slides down his cheek, he quickly wipes it away. Tony grips Jarvis’ jacket tighter, he starts to shake, knuckles turning a shade of white. All Tony has ever wanted from his parents is love, affection, and acceptance, maybe even an occasional ‘i love you.’ So far he has barely gotten any of those. That’s an understatement. The only ‘i love you’s’ he’s heard is from Jarvis, Steve, and May. And now, to hear something so pure and something he shouldn’t even ask for, from Jarvis, someone Tony absolutely adores and admires is just the thing he needed to hear this weekend.

Jarvis rubs Tony’s back comfortingly. Tony mumbles a ‘thank you’ into his neck and Jarvis smiles. They stay like that for a moment until Tony pulls away, wiping his face.

“Out of all of them, you’re the best one,Tony. I mean it.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony sends Jarvis one last glance and a smile before grabbing his backpack and is out the door. Steve uncrosses his arms and opens the passenger door for him. His eyebrows furrow and his smile is replaced with a concern look. “You okay?” He rubs Tony’s shoulder once he’s in arms length.

“Never better.” Tony says smiling. Steve ushers Tony into the car and shuts the door. Before entering the car, Steve turns back to Jarvis and waves. Jarvis smiles and nods his head. Steve puts the car in drive and backs out onto the main road. The radio plays soft 70s music that Tony silently hates but Steve knows he enjoys it from time to time. Tony grabs Steve’s hand and kisses his knuckles before rubbing a thumb gently over it. Steve side eyes Tony, keeping his eyes on the road but a warm smile plasters his face and Tony’s heart swoons in his chest.

In the backseat, May rests her head on Pepper’s shoulder. Their hands intertwined as May reads the book she brought with her. Pepper silently following along with her.

They’re in the car for over an hour and good thing they left when they did because traffic just started as they entered the city. Pulling up to the curb in front of May’s apartment complex, Steve’s puts the car in park and unlocks the trunk. He places their suitcases onto the curb.

“Thanks, Steve.” Pepper says with a smile.

“No problem.” Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets as he leans against the trunk. Pepper glances at May talking discreetly to Tony by the passenger side door.

“She’s a good one.” Steve says suddenly, breaking Pepper out of her trance.

“I know. Thank you for reminding me.” Pepper blushes as she fixes her shoulder bag. May shakes her head and chuckles to herself when she walks back to Pepper. She leans her forehead on Pepper’s shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

Pepper places a kiss on the crown of May’s head. “I know, babe. C’mon, I’m sure Milo misses you.” May’s instantly perks up and runs to the apartment door, suitcase in tow, yelling, “I hope Loki didn’t kill him!”

Tony shakes his head as Steve chuckles and Pepper sighs. “See you guys later. Get home safe.”

“Will do.” Steve sends her a salute and is in the car, pulling away from the curb as Tony waves goodbye.

Pepper meets May in front of the elevators and smiles when she sees May getting antsy, she’s jumping up and down in place.

“I can’t wait to see my baby boy!” May yells when the elevator doors let out a beeping sound. They’re in the elevator in a flash and immediately press their designated floor button. May’s still bouncing up and down, like a little kid in a candy store. The elevator lets out another beep and May runs as fast as she can to the door and unlocks it, leaving it open for Pepper who is still walking.

“Milo! Baby!” Pepper hears May and she giggles to herself. Once inside, Pepper shuts the door and places her suitcase by the door. She takes off her jacket and places it on the coatrack. Pepper heads to the kitchen to get a drink but pauses in her step when she sees a note on the counter. It’s for the both of them.

‘Dear May and Pepper,

Milo was an absolute dear. He was very lovable and affectionate and the most sweetest cat. So no, May, I didn’t kill him. He’s very much alive and waiting to see you again. You too, Pepper. I hope one day we can meet face to face, I’ve heard wonderful things. P.S; I would love to cat sit any time, any where.

Love, Loki’

“May, there’s a note here from Loki,” Pepper says as she carries the note with her to the living room. May is cuddling with Milo who has his head is resting on her chest and purrs softly. May takes the note with her free hand and reads it with a smile on his face. “I’ll text him later to say thank you.”

“And you thought something bad would happened to him,” Pepper shakes her head as she takes the empty seat next to May on the couch, petting Milo slowly. May glares at her.

“I have to take precautions, he’s my son. Ain’t that right, Milo?” She lifts him up so they’re face to face, Milo tilts his head and licks May’s nose. She grins. Pepper chuckles and Milo iears perk up at the sound. He's focused on her now as he jumps out of May’s hold and walks over her legs to Pepper and purrs.

“Yeah, sure, kid.” May rests her arm on the back of the couch, she stares at the two of them. “So, what now?”

Pepper eyes advert from Milo, who is rubbing is head on her arm, to May. “U-haul?”

May laughs. “Too soon.”

“Definitely.”

There’s a moment of silence before Pepper speaks up. “I don’t want to go home just yet.” May smiles and stands up from the couch. She puts a record on and moves the dial onto it, turning the volume up. Of course, Wham! plays softly through the speakers.

May gestures a come hither motion with her hands and Pepper can’t resist but move Milo out of her lap, he looks up at them with wide, curious, eyes. Pepper holds May’s hands as they sway together, back and forth to the beat of the music. Pepper twirls May around as she throws her head back, laughing, she pulls her in and rests her forehead against May’s. May pecks her lips before spinning around in a circle, moving her arms in the air. Pepper pauses and smiles at May dancing. Yeah, she could get use to this.

[thornheartcat]

Quarantine Anime Binge Reviews!

So like everyone else I’ve been bored out of my skull social distancing and not getting my life together like I’d planned to this year so I’ve been binging the FUCK out of a bunch of anime from my backlog and I would like to offer my reviews! I’ll probably keep doing this until I either get sick of watching anime (which will be never probably) OR this whole COVID thing blows over LOL

All five seasons of Symphogear: This is my show, this show was made for me. It’s got everything I could ever personally want. Please refer to the list here.

Toji no Miko/Katana Maidens: Really fun! Cute girls with cool weapons fighting monsters and/or each other is my shit and it did not disappoint! It actually took a huge left turn from where I would’ve expected it to go in just the first episode and it would deserve props for that alone, but it’s p good just in general. If you like sword lesbians you can’t go wrong with this one!

Yuuki Yuuna wa Yuusha de Aru: Yuusha no Shou/Yuuna Yuuki Is A Hero: Hero Chapter: FINALLY got around to finishing this one! I should also finish reading the Wakaba Nogi and Mebuki Kusunoki light novels during quarantine LOL anyway this season was a little rushed on account of how half of it is actually Sumi Washio Is A Hero (which I assume is just the movie footage cut into anime episodes?) but it was a good conclusion and I can’t wait to return to the world via the novels.

Ano Natsu de Matteru/Waiting in the Summer: A really really sweet romance anime about a guy and the hot alien chick who accidentally almost killed him when she crash landed on Earth trying to make a movie with his dumb friends. Hit all the right notes of comedy and drama and generally has a really comfy feeling about it. I really related to Kanna but Lemon-senpai is DEFINITELY best girl.

Vividred Operation: Boy this show sure existed huh? Honestly if it wasn’t for the occasional nip shot (on the Blu-Ray versions of course LOL) and the NIGH CONSTANT focus on underage asses you could mistake this one for a kids show. Honestly those aforementioned elements probably should turn me off more than they did but I can’t help but have some affection for a show where a godlike being is defeated by a fusion of two cute girls punching it out with the Power of Friendship.

Both seasons of Rinne no Lagrange/Lagrange: The Flower of Rinne: You wanna see a lesbian OT3 pilot mechs? Cause it’s right here and it’s great! The character and mech designs are great, the backgrounds are aesthetic af, the music (courtesy of Swedish anime composer/weeb living the dream Rasmus Faber) is fantastic, and there’s a real sort of subtlety to the storytelling (if not necessarily the story itself, if that makes any sense). Check out the first OP and ED and if any of this looks appealing give it a try. Jersey Club Spirit forever!

Mahou Shoujo Ikusei Keikaku/Magical Girl Raising Project: Listen, I am a magical girl expert. I’ve seen so goddamn many magical girls. And I too am kind of getting sick of the whole shitty dark and gritty magical girl trend that was birthed in the wake of Madoka like Watchmen birthing shitty 90s comics. BUT. Of all of those that I’ve seen that truly fit that label (ie NOT SYMPHOGEAR OR YUUNA YUUKI those aren’t actually that edgy and have their own distinct identities thank you very goddamn much), this is definitely the best. It was not just 100% torture porn like several other entries in this subgenre (I’m lookin at you Magical Girl Site and Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka) but actually had like. A plot, and characters and shit. There was like, foreshadowing, and I managed to actually give at least half a shit about most of these people, so most of their deaths actually meant something. I wouldn’t super recommend it or anything but I didn’t feel like it was a complete waste of my time which is more than I can say for other such shows. Also, Top Speed is best girl and Swim Swim can burn in hell and I will not be hearing otherwise to either of those statements.

I shall return in I guess like a few weeks? However long it takes me to watch enough stuff to feel like it warrants another post.

[liveridiculously]

Unreleased Caleb Barnett Interview From 2018

Not everything you write or do ends up getting published, but always keep your work in case someone references it, and remembers the interview… going differently than you do.

Caleb Barnett Interview January 2018 By Christian Senrud It’s been a while since an am really stood out to me. Admittedly, I’m getting older and I don’t dedicate as much time to keeping up with all the names and faces, sponsor changes, so a lot of the videos and various posts can tend to blend together in the daily deluge of “content” in a failing mind such as mine. But every now and then something surfaces and reminds you how awesome skateboarding is. When Hockey III released and Caleb opened up the video to a rattling industrial background track, it showcased a brand of skating that looks as natural and gnarly coming out today as it would in basically any era. It’s the kind of raw, no bullshit skating that gives a rider a timeless aspect to their talent and style. We only got a taste of what Caleb can do, so far, but riding for a company like Hockey and being in the van with guys like AVE or Nakel looking out for him, chances are there’s a lot more we’ll be lucky to see from him in the future. I don’t envy the ams of today and tomorrow. How anyone stands out in a sea of hungry and talented kids is somewhat of a mystery. How does someone coming up set themselves apart from all the others without forcing it or inevitably faking some aspect of their style or personality or relying on the crutch of a gimmick? It’s not a new question, nor is it a new phenomenon. It’s always been a giant part of the skateboarding equation. Some people just have a little extra light to shine, some unquantifiable quality to them that makes us keep watching and wanting more. So with all that in mind and with Caleb’s Hockey III part playing on repeat in the background, I was happy to give the young man a call to find out a bit more about who he is and his story so far. Who are all your sponsors? Hockey, Nike, Stussy, that’s pretty much it right now

How old are you? 20 What are you up to today? I might go skate later but right now I’m watching Netflix. Chilling. What’s your average day-to-day in LA? Well right now, I tore my meniscus when I went to Hawaii so I haven’t really been skating that much recently, but pretty much all I do is skate every day and hang out with friends. How’d you tear your meniscus? I was trying to noseblunt some shoot-out ledge and slipped out and fell back on my knee. I also popped my shoulder out of place at the same time. Was that it for the trick or did you keep trying? It took me out. I had to go to the hospital to get my shoulder popped back in place. I’ve done physical therapy. Now I’m just chilling, trying to skate a little more every day. Nak was saying you’re a warrior and won’t quit on tricks, like you’ll try something until you physically can’t or you’ve thrown up while trying a trick, so if that’s the case how’d you get the nickname “Big Baby”? Hell nah? Who said that? I mean, that’s just what someone told me. Is it not true? Nah, I mean I wouldn’t want myself known as Big Baby. Yeah, I doubt most people would, but is there a story behind it or why would someone tell me that? I have no clue. Maybe because I have a baby face, I don’t know. And maybe because you’re seven feet tall? Yeah. How tall are you actually? Are you openly tall? I’m 6’4.” How long have you been on Hockey and what was the process like getting on the team? Well I moved to LA when I was like 17, so like 3 years pretty much now. I’m friends with Sage and whatnot and he first got me hooked up with some Converse shoes, and then he randomly texted me one day and was like, “Do you want to get FA boards,” or whatever. It wasn’t really like Hockey or FA; I would just go to the warehouse and get stuff from either Hockey or FA. After that I was just getting hooked up, getting boxes and whatnot, but I was actually staying out in Moore Park, California, and that’s like far [from LA]. So I was working and not really able to skate that much. Then Nak was kind of just like, “I’ll get a spot in L.A. and you can stay with me out here.” So I ended up doing that, and I went on a trip last December with FA and Hockey, and I got on from there. They were like, “You want to skate for Hockey?” and I was down. I quit my job. You quit your job so you’d be able to skate more? That’s what’s up. Where were you working? I was working at some sports memorabilia place. It was in the mall. So like selling autographs, pennants and jerseys? Yeah, hats and shirts, coffee mugs…

Are you interested in that kind of stuff or was it just sort of a job so you could get by? I was just looking for a job and they wanted me to work there I guess, so I just took that job and was working there. Do you actually like Hockey, the sport? I think it’s interesting, yeah. I like hockey. I like how you can fight in it. A little bit, they let you fight. They kind of self-regulate. Yeah. Did you ever bring anything home from work? Did you have to deal with gnarly sports fans or anything? It just depends. Sometimes there would be some annoying-ass customers. They’d be super into sports and try to talk to me about sports. They’d come in and be like, “So did you see the so and so game?” and I’d just be like, “Nah.” I mean, I fuck with sports, but not to the point where I’m gonna talk to some old-ass dude about what Kobe Bryant was doing. Maybe with some homies, but not with some old man. But you never scored any jerseys or anything that you could sell on eBay? Nah, I didn’t really care to, I guess. I would just go to work and pretty much just watch skate videos the whole time.

How long do you think it is until skate stuff is going to be in those kinds of stores? I don’t know. It would have to be a long time probably. Once the Olympics start rolling in with all that. It would take a while for that. That’d be crazy if they do have stores like that, with skate memorabilia. That’d actually be kind of sick now that I think about it, haha. You’re from Detroit originally right? I was actually born in Columbus, Ohio. And then when I was like three, I moved to Detroit until I was like 12. Then I moved to Arizona and I stayed in Arizona until I was 17, then moved to LA.

Where were you when you started skating? Arizona. I’ve heard some pretty racist shit about Arizona. Was it hard growing up there, or was it like anywhere else in America pretty much. I wasn’t really around any racist areas, so I wouldn’t really know that much. I have heard that people say it is pretty racist, but nobody was ever super racist to me out there or anything. So when you moved to California, was that to try to make it in skating, or were you just trying to get out of your hometown? I was just trying to get out of Arizona. I liked California because I would go out there when I was younger. My friends would take me on little trips there, and it would be fun every time I went. I was just like “I want to just live out here.” It just feels more alive there, so I graduated high school then moved out. Was there any kind of initial culture shock when you got to LA? Had you ever lived on your own? I’ve been pretty much been couch surfing. Staying at people’s houses. You haven’t paid rent or anything yet? Nah.

Hell yeah, keep that up for as long as you can. Haha, I want to though, so I can have my own spot. I’m gonna start paying my own rent. Does couch surfing make bringing a chick home hard? Well, I have a girlfriend now, so it’s not even an issue. I mainly just be at her crib, but I couldn’t really imagine being trashed and trying to like, hanging out with a chick and just being on the couch. But I could go back to their crib. It’s almost not even worth being a single dude and getting a place, because you just end up moving in together and it’s all their shit and you get rid of your stuff anyway. Yeah, haha. I heard your lady’s dad is a director? No, her grandma is. Her grandma directed, like, The Decline of Western Civilization or something like that, and Suburbia, movies like that. She also did Wayne’s World. How’d you meet her? What does she do? I just met her while I was out with my friends, and my friends kind of knew her and I seen her at a party one time and we just hit it from there. She works for her grandma. She’s on her own shit. Has anything really changed since Hockey III came out? Yeah, it has changed. I went to this Whole Foods up the street from my house right after the video came out and some dude that was working there recognized me from the video and gave me some free acai bowl. I was like, “What the fuck?” It was sick. What’s the whole vibe at FA to you? It seems like it’s got a real thing going that a lot of classic teams have had over the years where it’s actually a bunch of friends that skate and hang out together rather than a team that was put together. It’s pretty welcoming, yeah. It’s like a family. It’s nice, like Glen [Hammerle] and whatnot are super cool. Everybody there is cool as fuck. Have you spent a lot of time with AVE or Dill? I’ve spent more time with AVE because I’ve gone on trips with him. I just recently got off a Hockey trip with him, but I haven’t really spent as much time with Dill, because he’s busy and I haven’t gone on any trips with him, but I’ve kicked it with him and gone skating with him. Is it intimidating being around AVE? Haha, he’s super mellow. I don’t say that much around him, but he’s not a dick or anything. He’s super nice. So how’d you meet Sage originally? Just being around. LA is weird; you just meet people. I actually met him a long time ago before I’d ever lived in LA. I was at Supreme and he was there and we were just chillin’, skated the bowl a little bit. I think he was getting hooked up with Alien boards and Gravis shoes and whatnot; it was a long time ago. I hadn’t seen him in a long time then we met up again, somehow linked up and he helped me out. Did you meet Nak through him? Nah, me and Nak just met through skating randomly. Then when he found out I was getting hooked up with FA boards and whatnot we started skating more and hanging out, and became cool. With getting stuff from Nike, Stussy, and Hockey, are you getting paid now where you can live, or is it still a hustle? Yeah, I’m on Nike now, so I’m starting to get money or whatever. Next year, I’ll be more set I think where I could move out. More comfortable at least. Yeah. I don’t know if I just want to jump right into getting my own place as soon as I start getting money. I want to save and be smart about my money. Yeah, you can’t just blow it as soon as it starts coming in. Yeah, gotta get my savings going and everything. Did you get that mentality from your parents? Nah, I didn’t really get that from my family. My mom tells me to save my money because she didn’t really do that I guess. She’s like a nurse now. I’m just learning from people’s mistakes and the homies that have been in my position. Now they tell me like, “Make sure you do your taxes and save,” and everything. Everybody just be looking out for me and what should I do. I’m just kind of learning on my own and from the people I surround myself with. Is your mom still out in AZ? Yeah, I’m actually going out there tomorrow. She’s going to move to Arkansas and get some land. So where’d all you go on that Hockey tour? That was to premiere the video in shops right? We went to New Jersey, Chicago, Ohio, Iowa, and Kansas. It was pretty long. Well it felt long, but it was like 10 days. It was fun as fuck though. I didn’t really get to skate on that trip though, which had me pissed, because I was still hurt. I’m still kind of hurt. Did you run into any shenanigans while on the road? This last one we didn’t really have to deal with the cops or anything, but I remember the first trip I went on it was pretty fucking crazy. John got arrested. It was funny as fuck. It was crazy, just random. I went to a strip club. I’d never gone to one before. How did you enjoy your first strip club experience? It was trash! I was in El Paso, Texas, like right on the border of Mexico and it was crazy. I was like, “Hell no.” I guess it wasn’t a great first strip club experience. What made the strip club so bad? It was just a shit strip club. The girls were gnarly. I seen some chick in there with a c-section cut on her stomach, she had a scar. She was older. That shit wild. Were any of the other guys super into it? Haha. I don’t know. I didn’t really get to see. I only stayed there for probably 20 minutes, then me and Nak and Ben were off it. But John and Cody Green were there and probably loved it. They didn’t leave with us, so they probably had fun. Well it can only get better I guess. I don’t even know, I don’t even care about strip clubs. It’s cool, I just be thinking like, “If this was someone in my family or some shit…” I’m just thinking of the girls’ families. I don’t know why I’m so serious about it, but I just look at it differently and see the sadness behind it. I’m not into it. Yeah, I’m not really into them either. I don’t even like going to Hooters and that’s just girls in go-go shorts at a chicken wing place. So why did John get arrested on that trip? I think he was a little buzzed probably and he went to the wrong hotel. There were like two hotels, and there was one across the street from us, and I think he went to the wrong hotel thinking it was ours and was trying to get into the room. Somebody probably called the cops on him. “A giant, drunk man is trying to get into my room!” Haha, yeah. So we would link up every morning in the courtyard of the hotel, and the next morning he was just not there. So we were just like what the hell’s going on and AVE called the sheriff’s office or jail or something, and they’re like, “Yeah, we have a John Fitzgerald.” I forgot that he didn’t get out right then, because that was in the morning and he got released later on. We were skating at some spot in Tucson, like the classic block spot or whatever, and he just linked us up with us there. Have you been locked up at all? Nah. Good. It sucks. Yeah I have not gone. I’ve gotten hemmed up by the cops before though, like cuffed and the whole deal. And I was in a weird neighborhood too by this skatepark called Lafayette in L.A., like Carl’s Jr. park. I guess I jaywalked. It was like no cars, but this cop just so happened to not have his lights on and he just flashed his lights on me and the homie and was like, “Get on the pavement!” He put me in handcuffs. I was like, young, and I had a little bit of weed in my pocket. I was scared as fuck. He didn’t even trip about the weed or anything. He let me get my weed back and everything. It was pretty funny. I was like, “Oh shit, it’s pretty mellow out here in L.A.” They’re definitely way more mellow about weed in California than in Arizona. Yeah, Arizona is whack with that. You think Arizona will ever come around or are they just going to be stuck in their ways? I feel like…I don’t know. There’s a lot of weirdos out there. Maybe they don’t want weed to be legal. They probably don’t even though I know a lot of people who smoke weed out there. Maybe they can’t grow it in the desert so they wouldn’t be able to make the good money off it, so they don’t care to make it legal. I mean they could have it shipped in. It wouldn’t be hard. So the cops cuffed you up for jaywalking? That seems really severe. In your experience do you think that cops profile black men specifically more than other people? Maybe. I guess they do target African Americans people sometimes. It just depends on the cop. I don’t want to say all cops are like that, but I can’t front, they do press on a darker skin tone. I’ve always been curious if skateboarding ever helps out with that, like if you’re getting profiled and a cop makes some general assumption about whatever a young black man might be up to, but then sees you with a skateboard if they have to reevaluate their assessment? Uh huh. That is true. Skating does do that. It makes them more chill when they see the board, they’re like, “Oh, skater kid. He not really in the streets like that.” But some cops don’t give a fuck. So did you know in advance, that Hockey III was how they were going to introduce you to the team? Yeah I knew that video was going to be how they’d introduce me. It wasn’t a surprise. It happened fast though. I want to film more. How long did you film for that? Probably like 6 months maybe? 4 months? But I’d only skate with Benny so many times. It wasn’t like I’d be out skating with him every day or something. I feel like it was chill for how everything was going down. I was trying hard to focus. Every time I would go out I would try to get a clip. Nak was saying that you don’t quit until you absolutely have to, that he’s seen you throw up from trying so many times. Where do you get that kind of drive? It was just like…the time, me filming this video part and shit was crazy. It was around a time where I was thinking about my life and what was going on, just home life and everything. I guess that was just my push. I didn’t want to live in Moore Park, California, like dumb far away from everything. I wanted to do something with skating, I guess. That was my push and I was like, “Fuck it, I’ll try anything. I’ll bust my ass.” That’s really what pushed me, just family and thinking about home and whatnot. And not wasting an opportunity. Yeah I was not trying to be some kid who just ends up being flow for F.A. or something, you know? I didn’t want to blow it. It would’ve bummed people out that I knew back home. Yeah, and people have a way of getting comfortable, thinking like, “Oh I made it,” when they haven’t really done anything yet. Exactly and Nake kept me on top of that, because he’s always pushing me. All the time. He’s always like, “Let’s go get a clip, let’s go do this, let’s go do that.” He would let me know that being flow, it’s not like you’re on. It’s just a let’s see what this person can do, how much he wants it. And Nak’s a good example too, because he obviously kills it, but he’s also having a great time and enjoying the ride while not taking shit for granted. Yeah, that’s why I like living here. I feel like that’s helping me out a lot, just being surrounded by Nak. He taught me a lot. What about home was motivating you? Was it something specific or just not wanting to have to come home hat in hand type of thing? Yeah, I guess it was just family shit was making me want to go harder, and just not moving back there. Even if I wasn’t sponsored or whatever in LA, I would still want to live out there regardless of skating. Yeah, LA’s got its faults but it’s all right. So what’s next for you? I’ll be working on some Nike stuff and started filming with Benny again. I just want to film whatever, just film for whatever’s next, whatever they got planned. Well that’s about all I got unless you got anything else you want to say. The 917 video was sick! That’s all I gotta say ‘cause I heard that somebody over at Jenkem was talking shit on 917, but I love 917. Those are the homies. That interview was funny, or whatever they were saying. It was random. Everyone was just confused. I was in New York and somebody, I think it was Logan [Lara], was like, “Look at this,” and it was them talking about Aiden. I don’t know, like was that a joke or was that somebody serious? Was it the article “The World That The 917 Created?” Yeah, something like that, saying like that it was a remake of KIDS or something. I don’t know, the 917 video was sick. That’s all I have to say.

[slut4supersoldiers]

Boyfriend Peter Kavinsky: A Headcanon

Warning: FLUFF!

A/N:   It’s my first HC be kind please! Also I tried to be as gender neutral as possible except a few places.

·         He is definitely flirty and charming but he is also patient

·         So hell approach you respectfully than ambushing you.

·         Probably when you’re getting out of one of the classes you two share

·         He’ll tell you how dope your shoes are or how pretty your hair looks or how cool your jacket is biting his lip when you blush and thank him.

·         After complimenting you on anything and everything for a week or so he’ll ask you out

·         He’ll come to pick you up and bring you flowers

·         He’ll knock on the door and when your mom opens it he’ll greet her and compliment the house and make small talk till you come out

·         The moment he looks at you he’ll go “Wow”, making you blush even more.

·         He’ll take you to your favourite food joint (he asked your best friend) and doesn’t argue when you say y’all will split the bill (bc its 2018). He is still chivalrous and holds the door open for you.

·         When he drops you outside your door you nervously look at him and he gives you the softest smile before asking you, “Can I kiss you?”

·         And when you nod he places a small, chaste kiss on your cheek and salutes you before driving away (only after you go in so that he can watch you as long as possible)

·         After your date he becomes a constant in your life.

·         He is always at your house, hanging out with your siblings, talking about sports with your dad and/or helping your mom do grocery shopping and bringing the bags from the car to the house.

·         He’ll always send you cute, cheesy messages in the morning and put notes in your locker.

·         If you’re shorter than him he’ll make fun of you because he absolutely adores when you pout about it.

·         But he also loves when he has to get something for you from the cupboard, etc which is at a height you can’t reach.  

·         You have to stand on your tippy toes to kiss him so sometimes he’ll pick you up to kiss you instead.

·         Takes you to eat junk food when you are on your period. (I am gonna make a separate one on period and sick days)

·         He’ll help you revise subjects you hate and gives you a kiss for every right answer.

·         He’ll take you to his games and blow a kiss at you every time he scores. He’ll GET YOU A JERSEY WITH HIS LAST NAME.

·         He’ll buy matching sweaters for Christmas for you and him

·         He’ll take you star gazing just because and pack a picnic with him with all your favourite food

·       He’ll listen to your rants after a long day.

·         (Initially hesitantly) He’ll let you paint his nails and put face masks only to love it later to the point where, “Netflix and Face masks” TM become a Friday night tradition for y’all.

·         He’ll let you “borrow” his clothes and smile when he sees you wearing them.

·         He’ll look at you with heart eyes when you’re:

-       in the car with him jamming to your favourite songs

-       walking around in his clothes

-       dancing in the kitchen

-       Singing loudly and totally offbeat pretending to use your hairbrush as a mic.

-       Doing anything. JUST HEART EYES ALWAYS!

·         He’ll make you playlists on Spotify

·         When you breakdown he’ll carry you to your room and just warp his arms around you and you pull you as close as physically possible till you start breathing normally.

·         Then he’ll listen to you talk about all that is bothering you and help you get rid of it.

·         He’ll pictures of you even when you hate it and use it as a background on his phone or put it on Instagram (which is already filled with your pictures) or save it on his phone under “my boo xx”

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

[rebelwheels-blog]

You Are The Universe Experiencing Itself

January 30, 2018

Do not become / A “new you”. / This year, / Become / A better You.

Hello there, loyal readers. This update is going to have quite a quantity of information shared with you all, so be prepared not to be able to read all of this in one sitting. I’ll have headings as I usually do so that if there is something anyone wants to skip over, it’s easier to do so.

Hair and Color

More than two months ago, I decided that I needed a change. I’d had my red hair for so long, then ended up growing it out for various reasons, and I feel like having dyed hair makes it easier for strangers to come up to me and start a conversation. So, I booked an appointment with my hairdresser. Well, not my usual hairdresser, as he moved to another salon, but this one was friends with my trusted hairdresser. Plus, she did my dad’s hair, so I figured why not?

I wrote this a while back to post as another entry, but ended up not publishing it because, well, we’ll get to that later.

November 12, 2018

Got my hair cut and colored today. I have been deliberating on getting my hair cut lately as my hairdresser moved salons, and It’s about a half hour away… My hair has been kind of a touchy subject lately. But my dad convinced me that I was beginning to look a little too shaggy, or as he so eloquently put It, “homeless”. So, I booked an appointment with Annie, who cuts his hair and my grandmother’s, but today was our first time doing my hair. She’s a really cool individual plus she’s friends with my hairdresser so I figured I’d give her a try.

I’m really glad I did! She did an absolutely amazing job! My head fell only about three times and getting it colored was painless. Between her being careful but confident, and my Spinraza strengthened muscles, and Dad when he was needed, the three of us made a good team.

Originally, I was just going to do blue highlights. I’ve missed having my hair as a talking point for strangers, and I didn’t want to do red again, so I figured why not do something totally seemingly out of character?! I’ve thought about doing crazy colors before, but I have the confidence of a… Okay, everything has more confidence than I do when it comes to my appearance or personality. Anyway, I’ve been slowly trying to get back to my old cheerful self that did what she wanted to do because It made her happy, not because she wanted to Impress someone other than herself.

So that’s what I did.

When Annie showed me the shade of blue that I was thinking of doing, it was on a ring of other colors as well. In noticing this, an Idea was forming in my head, with the conversation that I had with my grandmother playing in the background.

“May I see the purple?” I asked with curiosity.

Who said I only had to have one color highlighted into my hair?

That’s how I ended up with glorious highlights of blue and purple.

It wasn’t until about two months later that I got to refresh my glorious cosmic hair, as my hairdresser had gotten sick the day I was originally going to redo it, and then I got sick on the day I rebooked with her. Which leads me into my next heading.

A Spin On Colds

Yes, that’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I got sick recently. Directly after Christmas, in fact. It was rather an interesting holiday this year as my grandfather came down with something right before my aunt flew in from New Jersey. So instead of spending Christmas with my grandparents like we have every year prior, my aunt and I slept over at my dad’s, so I wasn’t near germs. I have, I’m sorry, I had managed to stay healthy and not get sick for almost two years this coming February. However, after three late nights, and exhibiting much more energy than I have for quite a few years, my body ended up giving in to the sick life. This time, though, something was different. This time, I didn’t go downhill like I always do. This time, I got a regular old head cold.

Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. That first morning when my sore throat began to break, I coughed, and I sounded like I was drowning. Just like every sickness I’ve had to endure since I first started this seemingly endless battle with my own body back in 2015. My dad sounded more irritated than I can describe when he heard this cough first thing that morning, but nonetheless turned me on my side like I do every morning to get my glug out and set up my nebulizer to give me a treatment. Granted, I believe it may have been an hour that it took to get this stuff out, but the thing is, I got it out. And it stayed out. It would come back a bit every so often and if I didn’t keep up with my decongestants along with my nebulizer treatments, I’d end up getting really stuffy and would feel an allergy tickle in my sore throat, but it never went beyond this. One of the days, though, my throat hurt so much that I had to use my phone to communicate by having it read off the words I was typing. Luckily, that only lasted for one day. The day after that, it still didn’t feel great and I had to periodically have my phone talk for me, but this was all normal. No drowning in my own lungs, no wishing it would all just end, no epic depression after realizing I was sick again. Just felt… Sick.

Now, this is something absolutely huge in my life because I now know that if I do get sick, this is all that will happen. I now don’t have to live in constant paranoia that if I get sick, I might die. Why have I come to this conclusion? How could I possibly know that this wasn’t just a fluke and that this wasn’t just a coincidence? Well, first off, I don’t believe in coincidences. Secondly, I would have to have absolutely no knowledge of my own body to think that this situation will not replicate itself. Every single time I got sick before, it didn’t matter if it was from pain, stress, fatigue, whatever, I would end up going downhill and not being able to breathe without extreme fear of drowning without my Bipap. This time, I spent one full day with my breathing helper and I was actually able to eat. Which was absolutely amazing since my appetite has been rather small since my fifth Spinraza injection, resulting in me eating less and less which most likely did not help my body fight off this cold in the first place. Since I got over my sickness about a week and a half after coming down with it, my appetite has luckily increased. Dinner isn’t fun trying to get down still, but the rest of the day I am actually eating.

I cannot vocalize enough how grateful I am for being able to say that Spinraza has absolutely turned my life on its axis. If it weren’t for this incredible medication, I do not believe that my cold would have simply stayed as a cold the way it is supposed to.

A week ago, I did finally end up getting my hair redone and I am absolutely in love with it again as I actually went back to my pixie cut.

Cue cheesy smile

Written in the Stars

Even though Christmas was not at all what we had anticipated, there were a few good things that came out of it. I managed to send my friend in New Jersey a home made present created by yours truly, which in turn showed me that I can actually sew with a needle and thread now. I got photos with Santa and his wife who travel around my grandparent’s neighborhood with the fire department and a fireman came up to me with a hat saying I could come work for them any time I wished. I was buzzing by the end of that night even when I knew we couldn’t have our normal Christmas Eve dinner together. My family discovered that our long-time friends and neighbors were our secret Santa that did the 12 Days of Christmas with a gift waiting outside our front door every day from the fourteenth of December to the twenty-fifth. But what really made an impact on me this Christmas was what was in my stocking. A book. But not just any book, no, this book was a book of poetry. Light Filters In written by Caroline Kaufman was in my stocking and when I read the poem written on page eleven, I felt as though I was reading my own thoughts. For the first time, what I had been trying to explain to others, but mostly myself, was written down in this two-hundred poem book created by a female the same age as I am.

Poetry has been a fairly large interest of mine since I had to write my poem for class which I added to my video for the SMA Video Contest. Especially once my dad introduced me to The Doors when he made me watch the movie with Val Kilmer starring as Jim Morrison. That man made me want to write more poetry, then I read Ms. Kaufman’s poetry and I decide that I will follow in her footsteps, but with my own spin of my tires. So far, I have twenty-three poems written and I am not stopping there. Especially when all of this made me realize that I have been writing poetry for most of my life without even being conscious of it. I’ve always loved trying to write songs, but I could never figure out a chorus. I thought poetry had to rhyme, but I realized that this is a fallacy. Which has opened a portal that I never knew existed.

Which kind of brings me to my next topic, which is going to be under this heading because this is all pretty connected.

As I mentioned earlier, I entered a contest that was to explain what it is like living with SMA for me. I placed fourth, but I had and have absolutely no idea how to promote my creations. However, the first, second, and third place winners did. The reason why I am bringing this up is due to an email I received a few weeks back. Writing this down is not easy, even though I never knew him personally, he was and is a part of the SMA family and participated in the same contest I decided to partake in. Ryan Cotter, the third-place winner, passed away at the beginning of December due to complications caused by the disease we both endure. He was 17 years old and excited to attend college after he graduated this year and was accepted to Arizona State University’s Digital Culture degree program as he was fascinated by the creation of videos and luckily, he had the utilities to allow him to experiment and fulfill his want to create with technology.

Now, I have had this information in my possession for a few weeks now and I honestly have no idea where to pocket it. Hence this update being much later than I had intended. I am about to confess something that may or may not end up bringing hate mail in my comments or inbox, but I feel like this information needs to be out there. Ryan ended up impacting me in a way that I never imagined I could be impacted.

I never liked being around, associated with, or promoting the fact that I am apart of a disabled community. I never wanted to do the video contest as it ended up making me relive my darkest moments. I never made it all the way through each video that was also entered into the contest because I could not bare to see others like me. I never like the fact that I am disabled and never want anyone to acknowledge that I am unless it involves my limitations as I’ll end up beating myself up over something I cannot do if it is brought to my attention.

All of these things kept me from watching Ryan Cottor’s video before he passed. All of these things kept me from discovering that he and I had a lot in common and that we could have developed a friendship. All because I was selfish and did what I get angry at everyone else for doing. Judging someone before I get to know them. Due to this, I have been a big ball of guilty energy. I know that I cannot change the past, I know it’s a bit too late to ask for forgiveness, but I would give every injection I have had of Spinraza to him if it meant he could have lived the life he should have lived. However, this is only something that can happen in my imagination, so what I will do to try and set things right is to allow myself to become a better version of myself. Isn’t that what everyone else does this time of year? Make new years resolutions? Well this is mine.

I promise to become a better version of myself that has theories to suit facts instead of facts to suit theories. To know absolutely everything I can about a situation before believing I already do. To be an advocate for the disabled community that will not sugarcoat the truth to make it easier to swallow.

I may appear cynical at times, but the reality behind having such a debilitating disease is not a kind one. However, there are those like Ryan who would never allow that to be his reality, which allowed him to live life the way he wanted to. Not all of us are that fearless, but we can strive to be. The way I will strive to be fearless is to put together a book of poetry written by yours truly. Becoming an even better writer is what I will work on this year. I have taken my six months off, now it’s time to work. I don’t know if I will go to college, I don’t know if I will suddenly be able to walk with Spinraza leading the way like Venom does for Eddie when he heals him after his motorcycle accident, I don’t know if a celestial anomaly will hit the earth while I sleep and wipe out humanity’s only home, I don’t know if I will ever pluck up the courage to tell someone I love them, I don’t know if the next time I get sick that I will be able to get well again. None of us have any guarantees in this world, so we have to live it without fear and with an understanding that our lives are our own, to not let anyone else take anything away from it and only add to it.

I will be trying to add to this blog at least every week from now on. That way it will be easier to keep track of new advances in my strength and so forth.

I warned you this would be a long one. Thank you for reading until the end. If anyone has any questions, or just wants to chat, I will have all my contact information in my bio of my blog.

As this entry began with a poem, it will also end with one.