#before learning you can in fact put more water than coffee in The Machine. and brew long black americanos instead

[avis-writeshq]

03 — labyrinth

summary: “uh oh, i’m falling in love”/“thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it right around?” pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining warnings: drug usage & addiction, talks about relapsing, therapy, tobias hankel, talks about weight (not reader’s), panic attack/night terrors wc: 3.8k a/n: as always, special mention to @astrophileous for beta-reading SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

“Are you okay?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you gently lay a hand on Spencer’s forearm. You offer a soft squeeze of reassurance, your gaze meeting his. 

He nods dismissively, averting his eyes but not shrugging your hand away. His tone is cold as he responds, “I’m fine.” 

You know better than to believe him. Ever since his kidnapping a few short weeks ago, he’s been acting strangely. His eyes are sunken, bloodshot most of the time, with dark bags beneath them. He’s lost weight, not that he wasn’t already skinny to begin with, but he’s thinner than usual. He gets distracted more easily, he doesn’t spout out about random facts or statistics, and he’s now almost always irritated about something. 

He’s been spending more and more time at your apartment, not that you don’t blame him. The two of you would spend your mornings at the dining table, eating half-stale cereal and sipping coffee from the premium machine you splurged on a couple years ago. The closeness is nice, and at times it feels a little too domestic to be platonic, but you’ve learned to control yourself around him. 

You open your mouth to say something else (you’re mainly hoping to call him out on his behaviour), but he moves his other hand on top of yours, lightly pressing your fingers. Your mouth goes dry and your cheeks flush at the contact, effectively making you go quiet. He glances at you, his face softening and for a moment you could have sworn you saw the ‘old Reid’ resurface.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear, his voice wavering with each syllable. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Even before you were a profiler, you prided in being able to read people well. Spencer is no exception to this; he’s always been easy to read, and his tells are only obvious to the trained eye. In other words, in your long five years of knowing him, you could smell his lies from a mile away. You don’t comment on it, just allowing yourself to bask in the comfort of his touch and the warmth he exudes. 

The two of you head off to work minutes later, climbing into your car with you in the driver’s seat. He holds your hand the entire time. 

*** 

Spencer thinks he’s going to throw up. The moment he gets onto the plane, he thinks he’s going to hurl. He locks himself into the bathroom, fumbling with the little vials of clear liquid in his satchel. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this a secret for– he’s always been a bad liar– especially from a team of profilers. He gathers that they probably already know.

His vision blurs and his head grows foggy as soon as he feels the liquid enter his bloodstream. He squeezes his eyes tightly, relishing in the artificial feel of serenity when there’s a knock on the door.

“Uh… Spencer?”

Fuck, he wants to scream as he scrambles to put everything back in his bag. Not you. Anybody but you.

“In– in a minute,” he responds hurriedly, flushed and woozy from his high. He feels nauseous again and he wonders if he should actually just throw up to make the story more believable.

“Um, okay? I was a little worried; you’ve been in there for a while. Did you need anything?” You ask again through the door as quietly as possible, glancing at where the team were sitting. “Water? Tea?”

He swings the door open, and his voice is a lot harsher than he expected it to be. “I’m fine.”

He almost misses the way you step back uncertainly, and the way your fingers twitch at your side. Almost. He knows you don’t believe him. He knows that you know him better than anyone and at times it scares him. He feels like Pandora’s Box and it’s only a matter of time before you release the demons within him. His heart lurches as he watches the way your face falls into confusion and hurt– hurt that he is responsible for. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer now. “Just– just tired.”

He watches as you pause and give him a once over. His breath hitches in his throat as he feels your eyes over every inch of him, and for a second he feels incredibly exposed. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” You say slowly, cautiously, and you reach a hand out to gently graze against his forearm. “I’m here for you.”

The contact is enough to get him to calm down, and his shoulders visibly relax and his eyes close for a moment. He nods, looking at you with a softness he didn’t even know he could muster.

“I know,” he responds, touching his fingers to yours. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” you respond with a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You pause for a moment before nodding towards the seats of the plane. 

Spencer follows you there, sitting beside you and as he relishes in your warmth and, in your company, he doesn’t feel quite as lost. The nausea begins to dissipate and he suddenly feels a lot lighter– and it’s not because of the drugs. This is different, a better different. A different he could get used to. The pressure from the plane doesn’t seem to affect him as much anymore, and his ears are no longer ringing. 

He leans into your touch, his head pressed against your shoulder and his eyes begin to close. He feels your fingers gingerly hold his own, squeezing lightly in an effort to help him relax. It works. It always works. He feels the way your thumb grazes against the back of his hand and he feels both full of air and breathless at the same time. 

“You okay?” You ask into his hair, continuing to rub your thumb back and forth against his hand. 

He nods, not being able to bring himself to speak. He’s tired, so unbelievably tired, and he thinks that if he speaks he’ll begin to cry. He doesn’t realise that his grip on your hand has tightened.

“I’m not going to leave you.” He hears you whisper, squeezing his hand back.

He only brings himself to nod again, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart flutters in his chest. Uh oh. He’s falling in love.

***

Spencer knocks on your door at half past two in the morning, eyes bloodshot and feeling as if he was suffocating. He doesn’t want to be alone. At least, he doesn’t right now. He would usually enjoy the feeling of solace, considering that it was unlikely he would be able to experience those moments, but lately it feels as though he is lost inside of his own mind. He misses the moments where his head would swirl with unnecessary statistics, or random animal facts that he knows you adore. Now, the only thing stuck in his mind is the rush of the high– and the plummeting feeling of the low.

He holds a breath as he watches your feet come to a stop at the door before the doorknob jiggles and opens. His eyes hesitantly meet yours and he swallows thickly. 

“Can I come in?” He asks, the words barely a whisper. 

“Yeah,” comes your response, and you open the door a little wider. “Yeah, Spence, of course.”

He watches as you boil water and prepare two cups of tea– one chamomile and the other peppermint. He sits on the couch, fiddling with his fingers and his eyes darting around nervously. 

“Spencer.”

Your voice echoes through the room, and suddenly he feels very grounded. He forces his eyes to meet yours and he feels himself stop breathing. Have you always been this beautiful?

“You haven’t been yourself lately,” you say, setting down the cup of peppermint tea in front of him. “Talk to me.”

He laughs humourlessly, sipping at the scalding tea and he grimaces at the burning sensation. “You sound like a therapist.”

“I studied as one,” you counter, dipping your teabag up and down in the cup. “The others… they can’t say anything. But I’m leaving the BAU soon, so I’m technically allowed to ask you this without any federal obligations.” 

“I don’t know–” he begins to deny, but stops short at the way you give him a warning look.

“You’re high right now, aren’t you? And you were on the plane.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, but he expects it from the words that leave your lips. Your gaze softens as you continue. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

He flinches and he knows there’s no way out of it. “I tried.”

“I know.”

“I just– I can’t and I want to and I wish that I was… that I was stronger.”

“You are strong.”

He shakes his head. “I should be able to get over this. Get over everything he did to me.”

“Spencer, you were kidnapped and drugged and then you came back to the BAU like nothing even happened.” You pause and lick your bottom lip. “No one is expecting you to get over it, especially not this quickly.”

He doesn’t respond, a strange sense of deja vu filling him at your words and he sits rigid on the couch with his hands in his lap. His eyes don’t leave your face, his gaze shifting from your eyes to the curvature of your nose and then to your lips. For a split second, he wonders how they would feel against his, or how they’d feel against his neck. His head goes heavy at the thought and he pushes them away.

You don’t seem to notice where his eyes have settled, or you’re very good at acting as if he isn’t staring at your face because you continue to speak. “Well,” you say slowly, putting the cup of tea onto the table, “it’s a good thing I’m leaving the BAU then, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I can do this job without you,” he confesses, shifting his eyes downcast as he stares into his tea. 

You laugh a little, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “You act as if I’m dying or something.”

“I’m serious,” he presses, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I want to be happy for you. And I am! But at the same time I feel– I feel so selfish for wanting you to stay.”

He feels you sit beside him and he instinctively leans into your touch, burying his face into the space between your neck and shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Spence,” you whisper, rubbing comforting circles on his back. “And I’m always going to be there for you. Promise me you’ll remember that?”

He nods deftly into your neck, breathing in the smell of your perfume. 

“Spencer.”

“Promise,” he mumbles, an arm wrapped around your waist. “I know. I promise.”

You hum in acknowledgement. “Good.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, but for once it’s no longer the uncomfortable silence you were tormented with back home. You could feel everything from his hot breath on your neck to the way his fingers squeeze your sides as if you’d disappear if he held you any looser. 

“We still need to talk about this whole issue at some point though. You know that, right?” You murmur into his hair.

“I know.”

“We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to stay over?”

“… please.”

***

It has been two weeks since you finished up at the BAU and started work at a clinic, working as a children’s therapist. It’s been a good change of pace for you; a lot slower and much more routinely. The hours are a million times better, and you find that you’re able to get home before seven on most days. The amount of free time that’s been handed to you is something to get used to, now that it’s no longer filled with completing paperwork or getting onto a plane. 

Despite all the positives, it feels strange not seeing your former team everyday. It feels strange not being able to see Penelope’s brightly coloured outfits, or Derek’s dumb jokes. You missed Emily’s sarcasm and JJ’s stories about Henry, and you missed seeing Hotch’s rare smiles whenever he sees someone in his team succeeding. A lot of the time you find yourself craving Rossi’s famous pastas accompanied with special wine. But most of all, you miss seeing Spencer in his element every single day. 

He’s been doing better, or so he says. He’s been going to self-help groups and you’ve been sending him summaries of help books written by former addicts. It seems to have helped because he’s been acting more and more like Spencer Reid than a weird limbo version of him. He still spends a lot of time at your place, sleeping on your couch despite your constant protests. He ends up taking turns with you after you bribed him with multiple chocolate donuts. 

Although he insists that he’s been doing better, his constant night terrors say otherwise and more often than not you find him sweating and sobbing in his sleep. Today is no different.

“Spencer,” You whisper, shaking his shoulder firmly. “Spence!”

He jolts awake, sitting up so quickly he almost knocks his forehead with yours. He groans, his fingers flying to his eyes as he rubs them. Fresh tears slip past his closed eyes, spilling down his cheeks and you pull him into your arms. 

“You’re okay, I got you,” you murmur, rubbing soothing circles against his shoulder blade as he sobs. 

He keeps repeating the words “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want it” as he sobs against your shoulder, clutching your shirt in the palms of his hands. 

“Breathe in,” you guide gently, running your free hand through his hair, “breathe deep… breathe out…”

He takes in a shaky breath before exhaling through sobs but he continues to follow your guide. He wraps around you tightly, taking deep breaths in before releasing them. After a few minutes of steady breathing, he finally speaks.

“I relapsed yesterday.” 

He expects you to push him off and start screaming. He expects you to start yelling at him for not being able to control himself and for wasting all his progress. He reckons he deserves it. But you don’t do any of those things. 

“That’s okay,” you respond, squeezing his hand. “Have you talked to Meredith about it?”

Meredith Gray is a therapist you introduced Spencer to. She’s a good friend of yours and specialises in addictions as well as post traumatic stress disorder, and she even wrote her final thesis about it. Even though you work in different fields, the jobs cross over a lot when there’s speculation that a parent could be sick. After explaining the situation to her, Meredith was more than willing to take Spencer as a client.

Spencer shakes his head, the guilt creeping into his chest and lacing his words. “No… I have an appointment with her tomorrow though.”

“Okay, good,” you nod, continuing to rub soothing circles on his back. “Relapsing is normal. It’s just another step to healing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“But–”

“It’s normal,” you repeat firmly. “You acknowledged it, and you told me. That’s good, Spence, better than most people.”

He’s quiet, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your neck before he speaks again. “Did you know I’m scared of elevators?”

You can’t help but laugh at the change of conversation and you squeeze his hand. “No, I didn’t.”

“Morgan and I got caught in one the other day. On a case,” he muses. “On average, elevators are inspected once or twice a year, but some could go up to three years without inspection. There are approximately ten thousand elevator related injuries per year, and twenty seven deaths.” 

“Now I’m never going into an elevator again,” you respond with jest, poking his cheek. “It’s late. Take the bed, Walter.”

He huffs. “It’s your turn.”

“You need it more than me.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I never said that you are.”

“(Y/N).”

You give him a pointed look. “Spencer.”

He stares at you for a moment, holding your gaze before he swallows and looks away. You watch the way his Adam Apple bobs in his throat and you suddenly feel faint. 

“Take the bed, Walter,” you repeat, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Please?”

He says your name again, and he reaches up to rest his fingers against the collar of your pyjamas. Your breath hitches and you can’t help the way your cheeks grow warm and your head starts to spin. His touch is gentle, his fingers brushing against the skin of your shoulder. You resist the urge to shudder as you relish his skin against yours.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, pleading, and his eyes glance from your collar to your eyes. 

“You hate sharing beds,” you remind him.

His thumb grazes against your jaw and his face is so close to yours you could count his eyelashes. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was going to kiss you. But you do know better, so you avert your gaze and push the thoughts out of your mind. An indescribable look flickers on his face but it is gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

“It’s okay if it’s you,” he says earnestly, and you find yourself agreeing because how could you say ‘no’ to that?

You climb into bed, one leg outside of the covers because everything felt so warm, especially with his arm wrapped around your middle and his breath against your shoulder. The thin line between platonic and romantic love has blurred indefinitely now, and at times like these you feel as if it has disappeared entirely. Guilt creeps into your veins as you feel him bring you closer to him, his nose buried into your shoulder. Is this considered coercing? He’s in the middle of healing, working towards sobriety, and here you are taking advantage of his vulnerability. Well, technically you’re not ‘taking advantage’ of him if he seeks you out first but it still feels inherently wrong. Morally wrong, maybe. 

It takes you another thirty minutes to fall asleep, your head rushing with thoughts and questions as you do. He’s gone when you wake up in the morning.

***

“Someone is looking happy,” Derek comments with a teasing grin, slinking an arm around Spencer’s neck. 

It has been about a week since the ‘sleep in the same bed’ incident and he was promptly whisked away to a case in Nevada. He felt guilty about the whole ordeal, considering he wasn’t in his right state of mind at the time. It still made him feel like a sleazy college student who had a one night stand with some random person and then bolted (even though there was no contact of that sort that night). Despite his initial guilt, his head is spinning with the sheer peace and comfort that he experienced when he was sleeping in the same bed as someone. And that someone was you! He could barely even believe it. It all felt so right and perfect… and the way you would shuffle closer at times… it was enough to get his heart racing (he thinks that it’s terribly cliche and horribly cringe-worthy, but therapy has told him that he needs to ‘embrace’ his gross sappy feelings).

“What? No– I mean yes but–”  Spencer coughs in response to Derek’s teasing, clutching the strap of his shoulder bag. 

Derek cackles at his fumbling, grinning ear to ear. “Alright, so… is it a girl?”

“What?!” He shrieks, his voice raising by two octaves as he does. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Oh so there is a girl,” Emily joins in with a smirk.

“There is– there is no girl,” he responds briskly, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Derek hums in thought, a mischievous look in his eye. “Did you catch up with Lila again?”

“No!” Spencer bristles at the thought. Ever since he almost destroyed his friendship with you over her, he hasn’t even bothered to give her a call. “I haven’t seen her since her since– since her case.”

“What about that girl you picked up at a bar?” Emily offers with a sly laugh. “What’s her name again?”

“Austin,” Spencer recalls instantly, his cheeks flaring up again as soon as she says her name. “B-but I haven’t spoken to her either!”

JJ rounds the corner, all too happy to join in the fun (much to Spencer’s chagrin). “I bet it’s (Y/N),” she says with a knowing smirk. 

Spencer considers his brain to be a well oiled machine of facts and logic. It’s one of the only things he could rely on– and the only thing people seem to respect him for. As of late, his ‘well oiled machine’ hasn’t been functioning as well as he would have liked, but that doesn’t mean it’s not functioning at almost full capacity. But JJ’s comment, no matter how well functioning his brain was, rendered him speechless. 

“Looks like you hit the nail on the head, JJ,” Derek cackles, clapping Spencer’s shoulder. 

He lets out a small grunt at the contact, almost stumbling over his feet before he catches himself. “There is nothing going on between (Y/N) and I. We’re just friends.” The words taste bitter on his tongue and he resists the urge to cringe.

“Sure,” Emily says with a short laugh. “Totally believe you. How long did it take for you to realise you’re in love with her?”

JJ snickers along. “Yeah, before or after you had that make out session with Lila?”

Spencer groans at their relentless teasing, covering his face with his hands as they walk along to the bullpen. They’re definitely a lot calmer once they enter their official place of work, but it still doesn’t stop the way they poke fun at him through sly smiles and tasteful words. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Spencer reiterates with a frown. “She knows just how difficult this job is; she doesn’t deserve to have to deal with it again.”

“Isn’t she the one who’s supposed to decide that?” Emily asks gently, no more teasing in her tone. She’s always been good at giving advice.

He pauses at that, a frown etched upon his features. His mind rushes with memories; the constant leaving, the torture, the trauma, the drugs… his fingers run through his hair. 

“It’s not a good time right now,” he explains softly.

“When will it ever?”

He doesn’t meet her gaze.“I don’t know.”

← previous part || next part →

full work

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #taylor swift #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader angst

[lemme-just-oops]

Arcana Twilight visiting your room:

Alpheratz was just looking for a good place to nap. Everyone kept bothering him, so he decided it would be a good idea to just teleport to your room and finish his nap there. Does not comment about the style of your decoration, but he will comment on the quality of sleep your bed delivers. And no, you cannot get rid of him, even if you try to. If you wake him to get yourself some sleep, he will move to the couch.

Arcturus will never enter your room without permission. Even if you left the door open for him, he will knock until you open for him. It is just the polite way. If you have plants, he will comment about them. If you have consoles, he mentions that he'd like to watch you play. He does not play games himself, but if it helps you relax, he would not mind sitting next to you. In fact, it would be a nice idea to sit next to each other and both of you doing your own hobbies while you chat. Sometimes when he comes over, he brings you presents for daily use. Tea, self made soap, socks. Anything that you may use.

Pollux cannot accept the fact that your room looks beautiful. No matter how much he cleans, it feels like it still is the messiest place on earth. Whatever he sees, he will comment: "I bought one of these before, but dropped it on my way home." In case of plush animals, he will bring his own over, for a sense of comradery. Makes himself feel at home immediately.

Sirius asks why you live this way. It is either too clean or too messy, too much or too little. You cannot satisfy his interior instincts. Or maybe you did and he just attempts to annoy you. If you tell him to not touch anything, he will get dangerously close as he inspects everything he finds. If you did not lock your drawers, his eyes will find a way to learn the contents. Even if he does not actually open it, he knows exactly what you have in your fridge, or the way your clothes are aligned in the closet. Do you have an uneven amount of socks? He can tell you where the missing socks can be found.

Spica asked you all he needed to know before he came over. Shoes on or off, layout of every room, if he is allowed to get himself water or help himself to your coffee machine. He may have come over to simply talk and spend time with you, but when he leaves your room is spotless. There will not be a hint of him ever having existed. If a string of hair falls from him, he takes it back with him. Where his cup left an imprint on the table will be swiped clean. To the stars, he even put the chairs back the way they were. The experience could have been a dream and you would never know.

Vega visits you when necessary, but a simple invite to hang out is not a necessity. Studying? Instead of doing that in your room, he will move the two of you to the library. Cooking together? Arcturus is a better chef, he will come over for him. Is genuinely surprised if you are disappointed over that, because he considers results more important than the time spend doing it. He will add that spending time with you is important to him, but that spending too much time alone with each other will cause rumours and he does not want to be bothered with them.

#arcana twilight #arcturus #otome game #pollux #alpheratz #sirius #vega #spica

[bibicoffee-com]

#Brewing

[simplysable]

Sick Resident Evil Lords and Their S/O Because I Crave Hurt/Comfort

Alcina Dimitrescu

She says that she’s fine, but she, in fact, is not

She and her daughters do the same thing when they’re sick so you could see through that facade in a heartbeat

She was a little flushed, hiding a sniffle, and drinking water instead of tea, wine, or coffee

“My darling, I’m telling you, I’m fine. Stop your fretting and let me work!”

Alcina tries to work, she really does, but you do Not let her

She’s angry with you? Too bad she’s getting bed rest

She’s missing an urgent meeting with Mother? Fuck off they can reschedule

Her daughters won’t leave her alone? They can get sick too for all you care you just need to keep them in one place so they 1.) don’t infect the household and 2.) get better successfully

“How could you tell I was sick? I hid it so well!”

“Alcina, love, you’re wearing a summer dress in winter while being covered in blankets, you’re flushed, and you feel like a furnace. You’re sick.”

“…Well say ‘I told you so’ already and get over here so I can smother you in sick affection.”

Donna Beneviento

She’s better at hiding it than Alcina, but you can still tell

Some of your medicinal herbs and tonics have gone missing, and Donna seems to be requesting you cook soup more often than anything else

Angie is also more docile, and you can hear her complaining from across the manor about a stuffed nose (even though she doesn’t breathe)

While she’s drinking tea or making a doll, you can hear her sniffles and sneezes

“Y/N, if you’re about to say something, you can shove it up your- ACHOO!”

At Angie’s extremely convincing message, you take matters into your own hands

You shut off the sanding machines, you hide the polish and the paint, you hide the screws and the bolts so Donna can’t make any more dolls

You drag her miserable self to bed while she holds Angie like a child’s toy

“I don’t need any help, my love. You don’t know how to heal me, even if it is just a cold.”

You couldn’t heal her her way, is what she meant

You knew this, so you paid a visit to the Duke

In a smiley face shopping bag he gave you was Benadryl, ibuprofen, Motrin, Advil, Vicks VapoRub, and every other over the counter drug you could buy

“Welcome to the world of twenty-first century medicine, Donna!”

Salvatore Moreau

He’s sick all the time, and he’s reassured you that at this point it’s normal for him to have a trash can at every door (just in case)

You didn’t like it, but he was right

You learned to not freak out when new piles of green acid-like substances showed up, but still, not a fan on your part

This was different, you could tell

Instead of vomiting, he was sneezing and blowing his nose constantly, coughing wetly and trying to hide it

“Darling, I’m fine, it’s just a result of the cadou. Mother can fix it at our next meeting.”

No she goddamn couldn’t it was cold season and Salvatore had obviously caught it

You don’t care if it was a “very important meeting” (it was just Mother Miranda mourning her kid and whining about needing a vessel), Sal was staying home

You slap a warm towel over his eyes, make a blanket cocoon, and make him wriggle in there

“Salvatore, I love you, and you’re sick. This is what sick people do to get better. I’ll be at the Duke’s to get some hot soup, you stay here, alright?”

With a grumble (and a smile) from him, you leave, but not before doing the “I’m watching you” move at him

He has no idea how he got so lucky

Karl Heisenberg

This idiot pushes himself so much that he simply chooses to ignore the fact that he’s sick

Either that or he has a Man Cold™️ and there is no in between (for the sake of fluff, I’m going with the first option)

In all honesty, you mistake him for a soldat at first because he’s so dead on his feet

You roll your eyes, grab any sharp object Heisenberg has lying around and prepare to McStab, but then you see the gleam in his glasses and put down the sharp thing

“Jesus, Heis, I was about to stab you! You look dead on your feet.”

At this point he is, but he doesn’t tell you that

You can see that for yourself

When he turns around, his eyes are red and puffy, and he’s paler than normal

He’s also shaking like a dog but you can’t tell because of how many layers he’s wearing

“You couldn’t stab me very well with a fork, hun. Nice try, though.”

You throw it at him and hold his hand, dragging him out of the hot factory area and bringing him to his room

He’s too hot and too cold at the same time, and he’s too tired to say no to being coddled

“Dumbass.”

You watch him while he sleeps and are always at his side, making sure he doesn’t get up and start working again

He pretends to hate it when he’s better, but he’s so touch starved he doesn’t protest to being coddled very much

Hope you liked the sickness, and I hope that you’re not sick reading this! If so, drink water. Also, at this moment, my requests are closed, but I’ll be going through my previous asks when quarantine eventually starts again. Hope you liked it, and stay safe!

#lady demitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil alcina #resident evil donna #donna beneviento and angie #donna beneviento #resident evil angie #angie beneviento #salvatore moreau #resident evil moreau #resident evil salvatore moreau #tw sick mention #sickfic #sick and tired #sick character #cold season #stubborn Heisenberg #stubborn alcina #reaident evil #the duke resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #hurt/comfort #mother miranda #mother Miranda can suck my dick #ask me things #requests closed

[wornoutmouse]

Last one I promise to stop bothering you ahhhhh . Can we plz get a Iida Tenya (pro hero age) smut (I love this guy) like maybe you reader catching him jerking off can you imagine prim and proper tenya doing dirty things? And things get crazy after:) thank you for listening to the rambles of a crazy woman

Your wish is my command

We all know Iida has a big dick right?

And yes i looked up black hairstyles cause i just started doing my own hair leave me alone 🤚🏿

Dubious Consent, blackmail, squirting

Working for the Iida family was honest but harsh work. They strived for professionalism and didn’t allow mistakes, no matter how small. With each member holding a leading title in almost every section of Japan, it was a no-brainer that you would choose to work with them. The only problem was, your socially oblivious boss.

One would think that as the new Ingenium’s sidekick, you would have an insider’s look into his personality and lifestyle, but that was farthest from the truth. For the 2 years that you’ve worked alongside him, you had been kept at a distance and forced mainly to handle the paperwork.

According to him, until he was sure you could handle yourself on the field, you needed to stay away from danger. In hindsight, you would have understood that choice and would have been completely fine with it. However the fact you couldn't m could never learn to handle yourself in the feels if you were never allowed on the feels was a glowing contradiction

Spending time with your boss was informative yet draining. He always set an example of a good business deal and would always explain things you didn’t understand.

The downside however, was his obsession with the non-existent dress code. Since you don’t do any outside work lately, you never put on your hero costume. So i you were always dressed in normal clothes, and every last one of them he had something to critique about.

“Here’s your coffee Mr. Iida.” The bluenette man hummed his appreciation and you turn to sit back at your corner desk.“Miss L/n….”

You tense, preparing yourself as the sound of his chair scraping against the hardwood floors announced his incoming presence. His heavy footsteps loomed closer until he stopped just barely behind you.

Your legs are kicked apart and you find your boss kneeling below you with a measuring tape. “I am appalled, your skirt is 4 centimeters away from the recommended 5 inches above the knee, we do not run a brothel here, please respect the code Miss L/n!”

You sighed, it was best to just go along with his antics. “Yes, Mr. Iida, I’m sorry for my ignorance.” As you bowed you faintly heard a small choking sound and Iida’s hands grabbed your shoulders to raise you back up. “I’ll have none of that bowing, it was a simple mistake.” He pushed up his glasses before stiffly walking back to his desk.

When he came back into view, his face was slightly flushed from what you assumed to be the heat, “I am printing something in the room below, do you mind getting it for me?” You nod and headed out the door. It may have been your imagination but you could have sworn you heard a faint curse word coming from your boss’s mouth.

Reaching the lower room was quick and effortless so you sat and waited for the presumed paperwork Iida was printing. Many of your coworkers passed you with pitying looks that you did your best to ignore. You knew that this life was not one strived for by an aspiring hero but you couldn’t just up and leave.

Your head began to itch slightly. Why is it taking so long to print? While you pondered the situation, you watched a short woman walk up to the copy machine and begin copying her own set of work. You felt your eye twitch, there wasn’t anything even programmed to print.

You stood up and quickly made your way back to your office. Stepping inside, you look blandly at your enclosed room. The memory of your boss's large windowed room flashes through your mind and you decide to work out there instead.

As you walked to the door that connected your office to his, you tilt your head curiously as a loud muffled growl comes from inside. "F-Fuck yes, suck that cock!"

His voice was guttural, and the words were something you would never dream of him saying. But what stuck out to you more was where it was all happening. I know this man ain't screwing at work!!

Without thinking you barge into the room and your jaw drops at the sight.

Sitting in your chair, was your boss, Tenya Iida. His hair was disheveled and his suit was reduced to nothing but his white shirt and open slacks. He was flushed from the neck up and sweat had accumulated in his brow.

Held tightly in his right hand was his dick and it was just as dodged as him. It was also bigger than you imagined

….not that you even imagined it in the first place.

Angry blue eyes dart up to look at you through low hanging bangs and you realised you had been staring. "This is uh… Sorry!" You internally cringe at the fact you stuttered.

As you turn around to leave, you are restricted by Iida's voice. "Stop." Almost as if in a horror movie, you turn back to him slowly and it takes all your willpower not to look down as he had shamefully left his manhood out.

You press yourself against the door as you watched Iida remove his glasses and place them on your desk. "It's rude not to knock Miss L/n." You swallow shallowly when he raises a finger to motion you forward and for a moment you lose all rational as you soon found yourself standing in front of him.

His legs were spread wide open and his dick looked like it was ready to bust any moment. The tip had become an even darker red hue, contrasting ironically with the trimmed layer of dark blue curls nestled at the base.

Despite the situation, the man before you sat looking rather relaxed. He slowly rolled up his sleeves and you caught sight of swirling tattoo sleeves wrapping around each bicep. "Come closer Y/n, I promise not to bite very hard."

He had never used your first name before and that seemed to compel you to move closer, allowing him to use your wrist to place you in-between his legs. "There is a very important rule that I have yet to teach you in the world of business."

The trained look he had focused on you left no room for argument as one of his large hands easily wrapped around your upper thigh. A shiver runs up your spine as his thumb strokes your skin slightly under your skirt. "When one has even an ounce of blackmail against you…"

Iida grabs the front of your blouse and uses it as leverage to tug you to the ground. Down there, fingers gingerly comb through your freshly dyed Nubian Twists, "... you need to blackmail them as well, fair trade and all that."

The grip in your scalp tightens and you feel your eyes slightly water at the sharp sting. The other hand still holding his cock, positions it towards your full lips as a silent order. Salty precum covers your mouth and your tongue darts out to lick it off. The sight was porn worthy.

Before you got too carried away, you decided to see how far you could push him. You bring your hands to softly wrap around his member as you gauged his response. "If I agree to this arrangement, what will I get in return?"

Iida sighed as you licked his dick starting from the balls to just below the top, "What do you want, a raise?" You shake your head and kiss a thick vein traveling along his shaft. "I want to work out there, as your official sidekick."

You could tell his patience was running thin as his hips twitched so you wrapped your mouth around the top, pressing the flat of your tongue against the slit. Iida looked down at you, teeth nibbling roughly on his bottom lip. "Why...ah~ why should I let you work anywhere near me after this!?"

In a bout of anger, you accidently let your teeth drag down the sensitive skin. Iida's eyes roll to the back of his head in such a way that you couldn't pinpoint it as a result of pain or pleasure. "I can easily report your victimizing and unprofessional behavior to HR."

Iida's eyebrows furrowed and he yanked you off of his cock. You stand up shakily before being slammed against his glass table. "You got a lot of nerve, making demands yet you're the reason I was being so unprofessional."

Iida slides down to his knees and raises your skirt over your plump ass. You internally groan as you remember the matching baby blue lingerie you were wearing, that was not going to help your case. Iida slaps your right asscheek nice and hard making you moan softly. "Who is this for?"

You decide to play into it, you sway your hips a little and stick your butt out closer to his face. "It's for me, myself, and I." Iida pulls at your panty strap before letting it snap back. You had to admit it stung. Giving attention to your other cheek, a tan hand takes hold of it and squeezes hard.

"And if I let you work with me, what is my reward?" Iida uses his teeth to pull the fabric of your underwear away from your hidden prize. You hummed as if in thought, "Good karma?"

Lips wrap around your clit and suck hard, "Sorry that's not good enough for me." You grind back on his face and relax on his table more. His hot tongue massaged and prodded your lips and clit, but never got close to being inside of you.

"Working as a pro hero is karma filling in itself, but it is stressful. Not enough time for personal focus."

Iida sucked on two of his fingers before siding them up and down your slit, taking extra time to teasingly delve past your opening before retreating just as fast. You groan, "What do you want me to do, suck your dick under the table on weekends?!"

Iida hums as he joins his mouth along with his fingers. You sigh as his large middle finger finally breaches you and sends soothing sparks throughout your body as it rubs against your walls. The combined stimulation of his hot tongue against your clit, and his even warmer fingers barely grazing against your g-spot had you in pure ecstasy.

"As convenient as that sounds, if someone were to find out we'd be in a lot of trouble." At this point you're bouncing back on his fingers giving Iida a show as your pussy squelches around his fingers. Your mouth hands open in soft pants, fogging up the clear glass below you.

Iida stand up as he continues to finger fuck you in the same rythm as he pumps his cock. "How about dinner and we see how that goes? Let's be professional." You side your clenched fists down your sides as Iida removes his fingers and replaces them with his dick.

You wait in anticipation for him to fuck you but he stands completely still, and you then realise that he was waiting for an answer. "You don't think it's a little too late, dinner comes first you know?!"

As much as Iida loved your banter, his dick was so fucking hard that your joke only agitated him.

Leaning over you, he places one hand on the glass table while the other takes hold of your hair, jerking it back. You hiss as your scalp burns for a moment, but that small pain was replaced with a greater one as teeth sank into your shoulder. "If your going to be sidekick material, that attitude is going to have to be worked on now stop testing me before I fuck it out of you."

You roll your eyes and grind down on his dick making him moan, "Fine sergeant dick, I'll be your little trophy wife, in return let me work for once, I didn't go to school for nothing damnit."

Your hair is released so much quicker than you expected that you almost hit your head on the table. Iida chuckles darkly, "Wife? Trophy slut would be a better word for it." Another harsh smack was delivered to your burning bottom, but he was satisfied after long last.

His hips finally press firmly against you as the full length of him is accepted with your pulsating core.You try to talk through the discomfort, "My ring better be huge after this."

Iida laughed sympathetically as he kissed the dark bruise forming from where he bit you. "The biggest money can buy."

The stretch began to feel pleasurable as his thrusts got faster. As a result of course you could feel yourself getting louder as well. "Faster!" Iida grunted as he held your waist to balance himself. Underneath the sound of the wobbling desk, your low groans are heard as the slapping of skin soon becomes more incessant.

"I've been waiting to fuck this lewd bottom for months! Parading around in all them damn form during outfits!"

The feeling of your bosses cock pumping in and out of you was overwhelming as he was ruthless when it came to chasing his own pleasure. Your legs trembled themselves closed, as you received another harsh slap to your ass. By the time this was over, you were sure you were going to be unable to sit.

On the other end, Iida was deeply pleasured by the sight of your ebony skin shaking from the force of each thrust. That's why it was unsurprising when a high pitched moan that most definitely wasn't yours fills the room.

"Ah, yes, I'm going to cum so deep inside of you, I can right? Pretty please!?" The man was practically whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you. If you were honest, you couldn't even answer as you feel his cum fill your insides. Even so, you felt your toes curl as he kept going.

"Come for me Miss L/n!" The shakiness that seeped from his voice as he fucked himself into an overstimulated mess was adorably pathetic. You do your best to reach in between your legs and stimulate your clit.

As you get closer, your cute hole tightens like a vice around Iida's cock and he finds himself coming again in quick spurts just like before. He was unable to take anymore stimulation and weakly pulled out of you before pumping the fingers in your wet heat. "Come on, cum on my fingers Miss. L/n."

You while loudly as you rub your clit faster and like a large wave, an orgasm crashes down on your body making s clear liquid spew from your cunt, wetting the floor.

#black y/n #blackreader #bnha headcanons #mha #bnha x black reader #mha smut #iida x black reader #iida smut #iida imagine #semi public sex #iida x reader

[luvdsc]

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged. 

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play. 

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode. 

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold. 

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you. 

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fluff #mark scenarios #mark imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #mark x reader #mark fluff #nct dream fanfic #mark fanfic #nct angst #nct scenario #mark lee imagines #mark lee #lee minhyung #mark #nct dream #nct 127 #nct

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 8

Lazy Mornings:  A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1226

Warnings: Injuries, food

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself.  When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 8

It was raining and Steve’s body ached.  Not in that pleasant, after a workout or marathon sex session way either.  He just hurt.  The last mission he’d been on had been rough.  It had worked out, but not after having his ass kicked by two different supers and jumping off the top of a 10 story building and using his shield and a plate glass conservatory ceiling to break his fall.  He was cut up, bruised, and he was pretty sure he had broken more than one rib.  Definitely one was broken, he could feel how it moved when he poked it, grinding against itself and jabbing his lung uncomfortably.  He thought maybe it was three.  Whatever the case, he was in pain and exhausted, and yet he was completely relaxed.

When the team had gotten back, he’d let the medical staff check everyone over, including himself.  They’d had a quick debrief with orders to get some food and sleep and reconvene in the morning, and then he’d dismissed everyone.  Normally he forced them all the stay for a full debriefing, but he knew tonight was useless.  Everyone had been pushed to their limit, and they’d just end up falling asleep at the table.

Besides, all he wanted from the moment he got on the Quin, was to see you.

It had been an interesting experience showing up to your place all battered like he was.  Rather than you relaxing him, he had made your adrenaline spike and you’d gone into overdrive trying to take care of him.  You’d dragged him inside, touching all over his body and kissing his cheeks and neck as you tried to decide if he should, in fact, be here with you or in the medbay with morphine.  When you seemed to settle on him being well enough to be with you, you’d drawn him a bath using Epsom salts and left him to soak while you’d gone to order dinner and make him cocoa.

He was wrapped up in one of your handmade quilts on the couch now, a mug of cocoa in his hand.  It had both whipped cream and marshmallows in it and was far too sweet for his taste.  You seemed to realize that as you approached him with a bottle of Scotch.

“Here,” you said, pouring a very generous amount into the little room he had in the cup.  “I know you can’t get drunk, but maybe it will take the edge off.”

“I’m fine,” Steve chuckled, taking your hand and pulling you a little closer to him.  “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you said as you began playing with his hair.  “But I want to  It makes me feel better.  Besides, look at you.  You look like someone put you in the washing machine on max.”

Steve chuckled and winced at the pain in his chest when he did.  “Feels a little like that too, if I’m honest.”

“See,” you said and kissed the top of his head.  “You just heal.”

There was a knock at the door and you pulled away from Steve.  “That’ll be the food.”

He watched you go and collect dinner, tipping the delivery driver generously before heading into your kitchen with the bags.  When you returned it was with a tray laden with different things.

“I had very specific ideas of what you needed to eat right now,” you said as you brought the tray over.  “But not too many places nearby that make it are still open right now.  Thankfully I found one place that had close enough.”

You placed the tray in front of him.  You had laid it out with a lace placemat and a flower in a small glass vase.  There was a bowl of steaming Matzah Ball Soup and a plate of roast chicken and vegetables.  There was even a side of corned beef hash and a warm dinner roll.  All the kind of food he considered comfort food as a kid, but never really got to see on his plate very often.  Or if it was, it was an anemic, watered-down version.

“This looks perfect,” he said.  “Didn’t you get yourself anything?”

“I did.  I just can’t carry that much at once,” you joked and went back into the kitchen.

Steve started eating and soon you had returned and sat down beside him with your own tray.

“This is really nice,” Steve said.

“That’s good. I’ve never ordered from them before,” you answered.  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“No… I mean… well, yes -the food,” Steve said.  “But I mean this.  Coming here to you.  It’s really… I love you.”

Your spoon stopped midway to your mouth and a smile slowly crossed your features.  You put your tray on the coffee table and then carefully took his off his lap and did the same.  Steve couldn’t help smiling at how careful and methodical you were being.  Your hands went to his cheeks and you looked deep into his eyes.  “I love you too,” you said, and brought your lips to his.

Steve hummed and tilted his head, kissing you deeply.  The ache in his ribs throbbed lightly but he ignored it as he wrapped his arm around you and drew you closer to him.  You pulled back and ran your hand gently down his chest.  “Did I hurt you then?”

He shook his head.  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek.  “You should finish your dinner.”

Steve playfully stuck out his bottom lip.  “But I don’t want to.”

You laughed and smacked him gently on the shoulder.  “Go on.  No shenanigans for you until you’re at least fed.”

He settled back and you passed him his tray again.  “I don’t know if you’ve thought much about us,” Steve said.  “I think about it a lot.  I keep overthinking how I feel about you and how this will work when we’re so different.  But I love this and I love you.  I hope we can have some kind of future together.”

You turned so you were sitting cross-legged and rubbed his thigh.  “I can see one too, Steve.  I know our lives are very different, and we are very different people.  But I think that’s a good thing.  For so long, I felt like I was just going along existing and never connecting to anyone in any real way.  But I feel like I have with you.  I feel alive with you.”

“What about that thing you said… where I’d stop appreciating you if I spent too much time here?” Steve asked.

You shrugged.  “I guess it’s a risk.  But maybe it’s a good thing.  Maybe instead of feelings and ideas, we can be real people together.”

Steve smiled and leaned into you a little.  “I like that,” he said.  “I think that’s what I’ve been missing.  Taking time for myself to be Steve and not just Captain America.”

You nodded.  “And I have been the same.  Always just a feeling, never a person who had them.”

Steve leaned over and kissed you tenderly.  Despite the broken ribs and the cuts and bruises, he felt good.  Alive.  And worthy of having a real life.  He could see a full one with you, and he looked forward to seeing how it would play out.

~ END ~

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #lazy mornings

[shuadotcom]

Don’t Leave Me | KSJ

➤ Summary: Whether it was something small like a scraped knee or something bigger like the death of someone close, Seokjin made sure he was always there to hold your hand and be your shield. He’d done just that throughout your marriage up until that day. You had asked him to do the simplest of things, and he refused.

➤ Pairing: Seokjin x Female!Reader

➤ Rating & Genre: PG-15, angst, fluff (at the end), established relationship au, idolverse

➤ Warnings: A few curse words, mention of a car accident, mention of a coma

➤ Word Count: 1.8k

➤ A/N: This is for the wonderful, lovely, amazing @aroseforyoongi​! Happy birthday, Eva!!! 🎉 I hope you enjoy some angsty husband Jin you magnificent human! ❤️❤️

Nothing was out of the ordinary that morning. It was early spring, so the weather was nice out. The windows were open in the apartment, letting the warm breeze inside. The radio was turned on low on the coffee table as a ballad played. You were sitting on the couch surrounded by schoolwork as you graded papers your class had turned in that week.

Seokjin was curled up next to you, his eyes skimming over a script for a new drama he was going to start filming soon. Days like these were his favorite. He had no interviews to film, no dance routines to learn, and no one to impress except the woman sitting next to him.

"Jinnie, I want coffee." You whined suddenly, pulling Seokjin away from his reading. He raises his eyebrow at the cutesy tone in your voice that told him you wanted something.

"Well, go into the kitchen and make yourself some." 

"We don't have anymore. Wanna walk with me to the cafe down the street and get some?" 

He should've said yes to you. He should've gotten off of the couch, slipped on his shoes, and gone with you. It wasn't that far from your apartment, so it wouldn't have been too much trouble. Yet, he was feeling exceptionally lazy and didn't have the desire to move. So instead, he said no. Even when you pouted and widened your beautiful eyes at him, Seokjin still held onto his unwillingness and denied you.

"It's not that far; you’ll be fine by yourself," he said. Stupid. He had been so stupid. He sent you off with a quick kiss on the lips and a request for you to bring him back a latte. He hadn't even told you that he loved you.

You had always said that Seokjin made you feel safe. That was something that you put in your vows, which you had written yourself. He promised you, when you wed two years ago, that he'd always keep you safe no matter what. He said he would protect you against anything that'd try and hurt you.

Whether it was something small like a scraped knee or something bigger like the death of someone close, Seokjin made sure he was always there to hold your hand and be your shield. He’d done just that throughout your marriage up until that day. You had asked him to do the simplest of things, and he refused.

Seokjin knew something was wrong when almost an hour went by, and you weren’t home. You only lived within ten minutes from the cafe, so the walk shouldn't have taken that long. When he got the call from the hospital, he knew his worrying wasn't for nothing.

A car had blown out a tire and skidded off of the road, careening towards the sidewalk and hitting you on your way home. You’ve been in a coma for a week now, and there are no words to describe how Seokjin feels. He failed you, and this was his fault. He can’t lose you. You’re his reason for being, and if it wasn't for you, he knows he wouldn't be anywhere near as happy.

"Hey, are you going to eat?" Yoongi asks, stopping to check on his friend once again. Seokjin shakes his head, his hand still curled around your limp one. He stares at the book in his other hand, his eyes read the words, but his brain doesn’t process them.

Yoongi sighs before leaving the room. He'll bring Seokjin something anyway. It's what he's been doing the entire time you’ve been in the hospital to make sure the other man didn't pass out from starvation.

With a sigh, Seokjin puts down the book he’s been staring at and looks at the face of his wife. "Hey, honey. The doctors say even though you’re still in a coma, your vitals are looking good. You should be back to nagging me in no time,” he jokes. Seokjin could swear the corner of your mouth twitched just the slightest bit at his words.

"They also say that talking to you will help you wake up. Voices of loved ones are supposed to help stimulate your brain or something. I don't know. I mean, I told them you're already a genius, so there wouldn’t be much I could do. You'll probably wake up on your own without my help at all. You’ve always been the smarter one between the two of us." Seokjin's eyes glance towards the various machines connected to tubes in your arms, and he feels his stomach churn.

"I still can't believe...I can't believe I did this to you." His grip on your hand tightens. "All I had to do was leave the damn house, and I couldn't even do that for you. What kind of selfish bastard does that?" Seokjin's voice cracks, and he takes his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it to hold back tears. "If I could, I would go back. I would go in your place to the cafe, so this wouldn't have happened. You don't deserve to be lying in this hospital bed right now." He lets out a sob then, unable to fight back the tears that began to blur his vision.

“Y/n, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'm so, so sorry. I promise I'll be better, and I'll protect you better. I'll get you coffee every day, whether it be from down the street or across town. Hell, I'd fly to France to get you French coffee on a whim if you wanted. I’ll get you whatever you want. I just, I can’t do this without you. You’re my voice of reason. You’re the one who leads me where I need to go in this world. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Y/n. Please, please come back." Seokjin drops his head onto the side of the bed and loses his ability to speak. He’s relieved that Yoongi had shut the door when he left the room so no one can hear him weep into the scratchy hospital sheets.

Eventually, he falls asleep in that position, his hand clutching yours and his head lying on the edge of the bed. Sleep hasn’t been easy on him and tonight is no exception. He stirs throughout the night, images both positive and negative in his head. He dreams of you finally waking up and smiling at him and telling him that you love him. 

He also dreams of you lying in that hospital bed for seven more days, then seven more months, and eventually seven more years. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt something like that. He always wakes up gasping and clutching his head after those dreams, which are more like nightmares.

Seokjin jolts awake at nearly three in the morning after a harrowing dream. The room is dark and quiet, save for the small lights and sounds coming from the medical equipment. Deciding that he needs a drink of water for his scratchy throat, he begrudgingly lets go of your hand and raises himself from the uncomfortable plastic chair he had become one with.

He’s only gone for five minutes, if even that. As soon as he rounds the corner with his bottle of water in hand and sees the pair of nurses flocking towards your room, he doesn’t have to think twice before he’s hauling ass and sprinting down the hallway. 

Seokjin expects the worse in those five seconds it takes him to reach your room. He expects the machine to be displaying a flat line or for you to be having a complication of some sort. Anything could be waiting for him in that room.

The last thing he expects was for you to be awake and looking around. 

He’s frozen in the doorway as he watches the nurses ask you questions and check the machines around you. A doctor lightly pushes past him and does the same thing the nurses did. Eventually, they all file out of the room, decreeing that your vitals all seem well and that they’re happy to see you awake. Even when the two of you are alone and given your privacy, Seokjin still stands frozen at the door.

"So, are you going to just stand there and stare at me without saying hi?" You croak, adjusting your position in bed. Seokjin is next to you in a flash, fluffing the pillow behind your back and helping you get comfortable.

"I'm so sorry," he blurts out. "I am so, so sorry. Before I hug or kiss you or tell you how crazy I have been going, I just want to say that I'm sorry."

Your face frowns in confusion as you look up at him. "Sorry for what?"

"For putting you here! For letting you go by yourself and letting this happen to you! I’ve been trying for the past week to figure out something to say to you when you woke, so you'll forgive me and not think I'm a shit husband. This is my fault, and I'm sorry, and I don't know what else to say." Seokjin waits for you to yell at him or tell him how much his apologies weren't going to work this time. Instead, you roll your eyes at him and sigh.

"Seokjin, please tell me you have not been sitting here wallowing in self-pity this whole time. The fact that you think this is your fault is stupid." Seokjin opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a raised hand. "You can't be everywhere with me all of the time. We both lead different lives, and no matter how hard you try, you can't be a superhero. Accidents happen, and that's just the way life is. I love the fact that you want to protect me and all, but what happened is not your fault."

"But I-"

"But nothing."

"Y/n, just-"

"Seokjin. The only thing I want to hear is how much you missed me. I don't want you saying anything bad about yourself, and I don’t want any more apologizes."

"But baby-"

"No buts!" 

The two of you have a brief stare down until Seokjin acts. He leans forward, cradling your face in his hands, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss isn’t intense or too long, but it’s more than enough. It’s enough for him to let you know how much he’s missed you and how much he loves you. It’s soft and light and drawn out and just right. 

In his head, he’s still blaming himself, and he probably will for the foreseeable future, but he keeps it to himself as he celebrates the fact that he gets to kiss his wife again and that you’re okay. He’ll make sure he’s always there to watch over you and kiss you as much as he wants. Whether you like it or not, he’s going to keep you close to him no matter what it takes if it means you’ll be with him forever.

#btsnoonanet #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #bangtanuniversity #btscreatorscorner #btsgoldnet #btsguild #magicshopnet #bangtaninn #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin angst #jin angst

[ahkaahshi]

appreciation [nanami kento x reader]

pairing: nanami kento x fem baker reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): swearing, brief violence, mentions of injuries and a curse

word count: 3.7k (yeah I went off a bit lol)

overview: you know how you feel about nanami and how nanami feels about your bakery, but on a rainy day, you finally learn how he feels about you

As you watch rain pour down outside, forming patterns along the windows of the shop and collecting in murky puddles disturbed by the rushed footsteps of people trying to find shelter from the storm, your eyelids threaten to close once more. The elbow propping your chin up on the counter wobbles slightly, the gentle rhythm of the store’s soft instrumental music melting together with the gentle patter of raindrops to form a lullaby that, combined with your exhaustion, sends you to sleep.

The sound of growling and a pair of familiar, red eyes appearing in the darkness, however, quickly wakes you up with a start, and your gaze darts around the shop. With an exasperated sigh and shake of the head, you stand up straight on shaky legs and task yourself with making a fresh cup of coffee to give you a bit of much-needed energy. As long as you stayed awake, you wouldn’t have to be haunted by this image an unsettling experience earlier this week had created.

While you prepare the caffeinated beverage, a glance up at the time finds the clock’s hands at a familiar hour—one that always marks the arrival of a regular customer. Once your drink starts dripping into the cup you’ve placed in the machine, you busy yourself instead with opening one of the display cases housing a vast array of different breads and baked goods.

The aroma that greets you fills you with warmth and brings a smile to your face, as does the thought of his impending arrival. Your hand knows the location on the shelves of his favorite loaf by heart, since you make it specially for him without a care in the world if anyone else wants to purchase it. Upon retrieving it from inside, you wrap it up carefully and set it down on the counter.

Contemplatively, you eye the other pastries waiting patiently behind the glass, wondering if it would be too obvious to get him something else to eat and some coffee as an invitation to stay a bit longer. Sometimes, he found half an hour in his busy day to seat himself at one of the booths along the wall and enjoy a treat you’d selected for him while he occupied himself talking to you if you weren’t busy or reading through one of his books if you were. But no matter how long he stayed, it never felt like long enough to you.

I hope the rain hasn’t driven him away today.

But you should know better than to think this way, since, through your conversations with him and his actions, you’ve learned he’s a man of routine. Regardless of what you should or shouldn’t be convincing yourself to believe, however, your attention snaps to the door when you hear the bells above it jingle. The sound of rain, cars honking, and passing conversations seep inside for a few moments as the man in question shakes water off his umbrella and places it securely into the holder by the entrance.

Against the bleak darkness of the cloudy sky outside, his sand-colored suit and blonde hair seem to glow in the warm lights hanging down from the ceiling, making him look almost ethereal—to the point where you wouldn’t have been surprised if white, feathery wings sprouted from his back. Maybe he was your guardian angel, since he’d just saved you from falling asleep on the job once again.

“Kento, welcome back!” you chirp, lips curling up into a grin you struggle to keep as professional-looking as possible.

Taking off his glasses and tucking them safely away in one of the pockets of his suit jacket, he turns to you and sends a hint of a smile your way that you know is rare given his serious demeanor. “Good evening, (f/n),” he greets you as he walks towards the counter, making your heart beat faster with every foot of distance closed between the two of you.

You ask, once he’s approached the counter and glanced at the loaf you’ve wrapped up for him, “So, can I convince you to dine in and take a little break with one of our fresh pastries, hmm?”

A hint of a chuckle sounds from him through a short breath out his nose, and he reaches into a pocket in his trousers to retrieve his wallet. “I don’t need much convincing on a day like this, but I’ll take a pastry as well, please. And a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“You came in right as I was brewing my own, so you can just have it, instead, since I know we take ours the same way,” you mention, turning away from him to grab the steaming drink.

“Nonsense,” he utters, stopping you in your tracks, “If you made it for yourself, keep it for yourself. I can wait a few extra minutes for mine.”

Prickles of heat rise to your cheeks, but you nod and give him a small, appreciative smile. Once you’ve selected a treat of his choice for his visit, you enter the total cost into the register, which he prepares promptly and hands to you. His fingers brushing against yours sends tingles across your skin like stray sparks of electricity. “I’ll bring your coffee over once it’s ready,” you offer, speaking to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, “Go ahead and get comfortable; you’ve got the whole shop to yourself.”

He thanks you with a small dip of the head and picks up his food so he can head over to the same booth he selects each time he visits while you start making a fresh cup of coffee for him. As you take a sip of your own, you can’t help but pause a moment to admire his appearance now that his attention is focused elsewhere. He’s a striking man with sharp features and a straightforward, authoritative manner of speaking, but there’s a certain softness to his edges that you’ve seen within him over the time you’ve been acquainted.

You wonder if that tenderness to him is reserved for just for you. If you’re the only one who brings about the softness you can see behind his warm, brown gaze. If he would put his book down as quickly if someone else approached him. You like to think yourself the only witness to his subtle, gentle mannerisms, but you prevent yourself from getting too caught up in your thoughts by reminding yourself that he’s a customer. Someone who comes solely because your bakery’s the closest one that makes his favorite bread, rather than because he has any sort of attachment to you.

With a small sigh, you bring your cup of coffee to your lips for a long drink before taking the one you’d made for Nanami in your other hand and wandering over to his table. Judging by how the crowds outside are moving, everyone seems to be more concerned with getting home and out of the terrible weather than with picking up treats from your bakery. If you hadn’t had such a busy day, you’d be concerned by the lack of customers in at this hour. Now, however, as your aching feet move over to the empty seat across from the shop’s sole patron, you appreciate the quietude in the store that allows you peace in its final hour before closing.

Nanami slides a page marker towards the spine of the journal he’s writing in and closes it when you arrive with his freshly brewed drink, setting it down in front of him. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Mind if I sit?” you ask, even though your knees are already bending to guide you onto the padded seat across from him.

“As long as I won’t distract you from your work, please, go ahead,” he answers, then takes a long, appreciative sip of his coffee.

“I don’t think anyone here would be opposed to me taking a break, considering it’s just us,” is your response given with a smile. You’ve forgotten quite how long it’s been since you’ve had a moment off your feet, and you let out a long sigh as you sink into the booth. Weariness makes itself known in a yawn that suddenly escapes your mouth—a sign that all the fatigue you’ve been somehow avoiding is starting to catch up to you. “Excuse me.”

Blonde eyebrows furrowing slightly with concern, he wonders, “Long day?”

Shrugging, you gaze into the dark liquid filling the cup in your hands, watching it quiver with each minute movement of your body. “It’s been a bit of a long week, to be completely honest,” you sigh. A pair of red eyes appears in your coffee as your mind wanders momentarily. Taking a deep breath and curling your lips into a forced grin, you quickly gather yourself and add, “But, anyway, it’s alright. I’m sure you’re much more exhausted than I am given what you have to do on a daily basis.”

“The nature of our jobs may be different, but I’m sure you’ve been just as busy as I have.”

You chuckle softly at his words and add, “You fight curses and I make baked goods. I’m sure one’s a bit more taxing than the other. Or, at least, more life-threatening.”

“Both deserve appreciation,” he states in his usual, matter of fact tone that never fails to amuse you. Though he’s completely serious, you always find a bit of humor in his straightforward manner of speaking, especially when he argues the essential nature of your job. “I know that you make this specifically for me just to make my life that much easier—” he taps the wrapped loaf of bread with one of his long fingers—“so, I appreciate your work and what you do.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, making you lower your head bashfully while you take a long drink of coffee. It’s a surprise your voice doesn’t falter when you comment, “You’re too kind to me.”

“There’s no such thing in your case. I’m simply being honest.” There’s a short silence that ensues his compliment, during which you try to slow your racing heart by glancing out the window at the other shops, cars, and people all distorted by watery veins across the glass. Nanami’s gaze doesn’t leave yours, however, and he inquires, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

Somewhat dozily, you echo, “Taking care of myself?” as your eyes flutter shut so you can think for a moment. Almost immediately, they fly open once more at the sight of those red orbs piercing the darkness once more. “I just… haven’t been getting enough sleep, I don’t think.”

“Is something bothering you?”

The expression of concern on his face could easily be mistaken for frustration or disgust, given the way his lips are pursed, and brows angled downwards. But you know from experience that those emotions are reserved for conversations about his work, rather than those regarding you, and his level of interest warms your heart. “I… I saw something earlier this week, and… it was a bit unsettling, is all.”

You can’t help but notice how his full attention is on you when your eyes meet again. Neither his pastry nor his steaming cup of coffee is on his mind, since neither one is in his hands. Instead, his gaze searches yours for the answer that you’re not speaking. Before he can attempt to coax it out of you with another question, you quickly realize that the conversation has veered off in a direction you deem selfish given your desire to allow your most devoted customer a peaceful refuge from the world under the roof of your shop.

“Please, I really don’t want to worry you,” you speak quickly, your hands moving energetically for extra emphasis. Unfortunately, your fingers nudge the cup in front of you just hard enough to topple it over rather dramatically, and its contents flow across the table in a dark wave that has you uttering a curse word under your breath and reaching for the napkin dispenser. Your fingertips are met with plastic, bringing you to realization you’d forgotten to refill it after the morning rush. “I’m so sorry. I’m really out of it today, it seems. Give me a second while I run to the back, okay?”

Before he can respond, you’re up and making a beeline for the kitchen and storage room, cursing yourself on the way there for being so clumsy. A rush of unusually cold air along with the sound of rain pounding the ground greets you when you set foot in the kitchen, and your gaze moves across the room to where the back door is mysteriously ajar. You shudder, but not just because of the chill.

I just got the lock on that damn door fixed…

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, and your feet feel as if they’ve been replaced by sacks of bricks when you try to lift them. It’s as if every fiber in your body is resisting any and all movement toward the door even though you know you can’t leave it open. The horrible sense of dread welling up inside of you almost makes you want to call for Nanami but telling yourself you’re just being dramatic allows you to walk to the other end of the room, but it feels like miles separate you and the far wall.

With a deep breath, you shut the door once more, returning the air within the kitchen to its original stillness, but the weight of the silence that follows feels crushing. And that’s when you hear it. The low, distorted rumbling that you’d heard nearly every night this week from outside your bedroom window. You almost don’t want to look, but when you finally muster enough courage to follow the direction of the ominous sound, you’re met with that same, red gaze that had burned through the gap between your shutters at night.

A few feet away, in a corner that seems much darker than usual, a disfigured but humanoid hand splays across the tiled flooring as the curse who’d been making house calls pulls itself out of the shadowy depths it’s created. Your breath hitches in your throat as fear takes hold, its cold grip freezing your body in place so all you can do is watch as the creature rises up from the floor and stares at you hungrily from where it stands on all fours.

Before you can even understand what’s happening, it lunges at you with a shriek. Thankfully, one of the loudest screams you can muster leaves your mouth, and your survival instincts break you free of the paralysis your emotions had trapped you in. You’re barely able to evade the curse’s grip as you run around the corner of a counter and grab the closest thing to you in the moment, which happens to be a broom. Furiously, and without thinking, you whack the creature as hard as you can while you try to run back towards the shop.

“Kento!” you shout, words accompanied by a loud hiss as you slip, falling against the cold tiles with a thud. The arm you use to brace yourself courses with pain, but that doesn’t stop you from using your free arm to continue throttling the curse with your barely effective weapon of choice.

Just as you see a shadowy hand reach out towards you to grab you, your vision is suddenly obscured by the familiar, sandy brown of Nanami’s suit. In an instant, he’s swinging his cleaver in front of him with his cursed technique that downs the beast in one fell swoop. Once the threat has been eliminated, your knight in business attire places his weapon in its holster on his back and bends down to check on you.

Any questions he asks you are lost in a hum of shock that rings in your ears for a moment, and you find yourself unable to do anything but stare at where your otherworldly assailant had been looming over you mere seconds ago. However, a sudden moment of clarity brings you back to reality, and you finally meet Nanami’s gaze, feel his hands on your arms, and hear his voice.

“It was waiting for me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The curse,” you clarify before repeating, “Bastard was waiting for me.”

As he helps you up to your feet and gets you settled back down at the booth you’d previously occupied—and that he’d cleaned, you notice—you explain to him the story of the unsettling visitor whose loitering had robbed you of your sleep the entire week. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you could see curses?” he wonders, taking off his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Whether you’re doing so out of shock or your body’s need to maintain its natural temperature, you’re unsure, but the warmth of the garment he sheds soon puts an end to it.

“I don’t know,” you answer slowly, eyes steadily making their way up to his face where it hovers above your arm so he can carefully place a bag of ice he’d wrapped in a towel on the steadily swelling lump adorning your forearm. “I think it’s because I wish I couldn’t see them and saying that I can would really make me think about all the horrible things I’ve seen.”

“Do you have any other injuries?” His touch is gentle in an unexpected way, given the level of his strength and the ease with which he’d disposed of your attacker, and you can’t help but watch his fingers rearrange the bag of ice to cover your injury after you shake your head in response. “Give me a moment,” he states, retrieving his phone from his pocket, “I’m calling a coworker to take us back to Jujutsu High’s campus so you can have a proper examination.”

“I’m okay! I promise!” you splutter quickly, but the pain in your side that suddenly makes itself known when you try to stand causes you to grimace and further solidifies his suspicions. “I don’t want you to work more than you have to.”

He ignores you and delivers a very to the point message to his colleague with information about your whereabouts anyway. After he hangs up, a feeling of appreciation spurs you to open the palm of your opposite hand as you extend it towards him and rest it on the table. He returns your gesture by placing his unoccupied hand in yours so your fingers can wrap around it tenderly. But even once you’ve given it a gentle squeeze, he doesn’t make any attempts to retreat from your grip.

Quietly, you ask, as your heart flutters in your chest, “Why are you doing this for me?”

With a gentle sigh, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of amusement meet yours. “Do you remember the first day we met?” You nod and a small smile forms across your lips at the pleasant memory coming back to you, pushing away all the worries and doubts that had been previously swirling around your head.

“I came in here, asking if you sold my favorite type of bread. You told me you didn’t—much to my dismay. However, you looked at me for a long moment and I don’t know what it was you saw in me, but whatever it was spurred you to say, come back again tomorrow, and I’ll have some made for you.”

The short pause he takes while his gaze shifts to the bread you’d given him earlier is filled with the soft music playing throughout the shop. “I’ve thought about how you could’ve just said no and been done with me. We didn’t have any obligations to one another. We were just strangers. Yet, you chose to go out of your way for me.”

“You were exhausted.”

He watches you expectantly, so you explain, “That’s what I saw in you. That you were just so, so tired, Kento; and I wanted to do anything I could to give you some peace of mind. That’s why I make it, just for you.” A giddy grin spreads across your lips at being reminded of how your coworkers had always asked if you were making the special loaf whenever you’d been working on your own in the kitchen after your first meeting with Nanami.

“Plus,” you continue, “you’re a jujutsu sorcerer. You’re constantly putting your own life on the line for the rest of us, so you should be able to enjoy a simple pleasure like being able to eat your favorite bread.”

When he smiles, the pain throbbing deep beneath your skin subsides for just a second. It’s such a rarity to see that tough and somewhat aloof demeanor of his break and give way to what you’re witnessing now that you wish you could stop time and hold onto this moment forever. But what he says next makes you glad that it continues without a care in the world about what you desire.

“You asked why I’m doing this for you. From the first day I met you, you’ve made it clear that you care about me. Please, let me show you that the feeling is mutual.”

Maybe it’s a combination of the week you’ve had or the fact that you’d just narrowly avoided death thanks to the man sitting in front of you, but his words nearly bring tears to your eyes; and your heart swells with affection at every effort he makes to do right by his promise. He helps you gather your belongings, even going so far as to sling your bag over his shoulder, places an arm around you to support you and keep you under the cover of his umbrella while the two of you walk out to his colleague’s car, and allows you access to his hand to hold during the car ride to campus.

“Kento.” His attention shifts over to you from where it had been directed towards the window, watching the city pass by outside. Placing your other palm atop the back of his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, you say, “Thank you so much. I really appreciate you.”

“As I do you.”

fun fact that didn’t make it in the fic: nanami didn’t say it, but he thinks you’re ruthless for going after a curse with a broom. and maybe a bit insane. but he’s certainly not put off by it.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #x reader #reader insert #tw violence #tw injury #fran writes jjk!!

[mandoalorian]

Vanilla Lattes [Frankie Morales x F!Reader]

Summary: You camp out at the coffee shop in the midst of a thunderstorm, only to be awoken by a soaking wet man with puppy dog eyes, who is struggling outside in the rain. You let him into the warmth, offering him a lot more than just a vanilla latte to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Warnings: drink mention, brief mentions of anxiety and a few sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 4,200 words

Masterlist

You took a deep breath, hunching up your shoulders as you fumbled with the key trying to unlock the front door. Your hands felt like ice, the cold stinging your fingers and even making them swell up slightly. The key got jammed, again. The heavy raindrops pelted against your back, drenching you, and you couldn’t help but let out a prolonged groan of frustration. Pressing your body weight against the door and wriggling the key into the lock, you were grateful for the bolt of lightning which provided you with a temporary illumination to see what you’re doing. Hearing the lock click out of place, you sighed with relief as you managed to shake the door open and entered the coffee shop almost in a turbulence. You slammed the door shut before locking it behind you and turned on the light.

The chairs had been stacked neatly on the tables from the night before, the floor had been swept and mopped, and an overwhelming smell of lemons filled the room. It must have been the new air freshener your boss had purchased after the last one exploded. You slid out of your shoes, not wanting to leave a puddle of water with every step, and took off your coat, hanging it on the radiator. You checked the time on the wall clock. 3:45am.

Your apartment was shit. Your landlord was shit. And everything was going to shit. The thunderstorm had been going on for days now. At first, you were coping, despite the power outage. But now apparently there’d been a leak in the building’s boiler room and your apartment had no heat at all for the past day and a half. It was far too cold to sleep, no matter how many fluffy blankets you had to hide under. So, in the midst of the night as you tossed and turned, you were struck with an idea. You could camp out at work. No, it wasn’t the most convenient of places and if your boss found out you’d most likely be fired but at least it had heat, and lighting, and at least you could catch a few hours of sleep before it opened for business.

Thankfully your hair wasn’t too wet to begin with, thanks to the hood on your coat, and as the front of the shop began to warm up, you were able to cozy up. The mismatched patterned rugs and the dim amber lights created the perfect, homely environment. There was a sofa in the back room which you contemplated sleeping on but it was torn and covered in suspicious looking stains, so you decided to just stay out front, take a chair down and sit at a table, resting your head against the oak wood.

There was no telling how long you were asleep for when you heard a loud thudding knock against the store door. You bolted up and your eyes snapped open as you tried to distinguish the silhouette who was standing behind the glass. All the lights in the shop were on which meant he could definitely see you, but the blackness of the night sky meant that you couldn’t make him out at all. You were struck with fear, cursing yourself for coming to the coffee shop in the first place. The figure continued to bang their fists against the door and your mind started to race as you wondered what to do.

They could be anyone. They could be a serial killer. Should you call the police? You tried to shake away your anxious thoughts, promising yourself that the chances of the silhouette being a mass murderer was slim-to-none. 

"Hey! I see you in there! Please- please could you let me in? I'm f-ffffreezing." The voice was deep, masculine, and it didn't necessarily sound local. You almost wanted to stifle back laughter at how they drawled out the word 'freezing'. Feeling less afraid, but still hesitant, you slowly approached the door until you could get a clearer look at the person.

It was a man, and he was soaking wet. He was wearing denim jeans and a pale green shirt. Well, it looked like it was meant to be pale green, but the rain had darkened it considerably and it clung to his body uncomfortably. In his hand, he held a soggy map and a baseball cap. He looked up at you with big brown pleading eyes as if he was waiting for you to open the door. You'd be foolish to open the door to a stranger in the dead of night.

But of course, you opened it anyway, and he didn't move an inch. He continued to stand still at the door frame, staring at you. You were lost for words. Was he going to pounce on you? Attack you? You could just slam the door in his face and leave him out in the storm... that was always a possibility.

"May I come in, p-please?" he asked politely through a shiver, and your heart sank into the depths of your chest. There was no way a man as softly spoken as him was going to put you in any kind of danger, and you almost felt bad for assuming that he would. You nodded, quickly stepping out the way so he could come into the warmth of the coffee shop. You shut the door behind him. "Are you- are you open?" he asked. He couldn't tell if the shake in his voice was from the cold, or quite possibly nerves. What were the chances he'd find a coffee shop open at 4am, and a beautiful girl to let him in?

You furrowed your eyebrows together, checking the time on the wall clock before turning back to him. "It's just turned 4:15." you sighed as if that would answer his question.

"Right, I'm sorry, that was a dumb thing to say," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. You hoped you hadn't come off as rude. "Thank you for letting me in."

He was dripping wet, literally. His dark brown hair was flat against his head but the tips began to curl into waves as the heat of the shop quickly got to it. You had so many questions. So many. But the fact he was still holding himself, shivering, distracted you just enough to ask your next question.

"Can I get you a coffee?" you questioned him before scrunching up his nose. A coffee at 4am was going to be the last thing he needed.

To your surprise, he answered yes.

You nodded in affirmation, giving him your best barista smile out of habit and padded around the coffee bar, turning on the machine. "Will take a sec to turn on," you explained as the man just stood there. "Uhm, what's your name?" you asked, taking a paper cup and a black permanent marker. This felt like something out of a fever dream. The stranger had been adorned with your presence for approximately three minutes now and you had only just asked for his name— because you were making him a damn coffee. Nothing about this situation was ordinary.

"Frankie." he smiled. His smile was so warm and comforting, you couldn't help but shoot him an even wider smile back. You didn't know if it was the dimly lit room in the dead of night, but his eyes had a sparkle in them which brought around a feeling of protection and safety. He was a stranger, but you already felt like he could trust you.

Frankie. And his name was just as sweet as sugar. Frankie. You imagined the way it rolled off your tongue so perfectly. A pretty name for a pretty boy. He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts and you scrunched up your nose wondering how long the uncomfortable silence had lasted for. At least, you hoped it hadn’t have been uncomfortable. You gritted your teeth together and introduced yourself.

"Hey, that's a nice name." Frankie beamed, stalking over to the coffee bar and awkwardly shuffling to sit down at one of the stools. 

"I was gonna say the same about yours." you giggled, trying your hardest to ignore the heat that flushed your cheeks.

"Really? It's short for Francisco." he explained as you held the paper cup under the espresso machine.

"Francisco," you hummed, liking the way that rolled off your tongue just as much as Frankie did. "It's cute," Now Frankie was blushing. "Do you have a sweet tooth?" 

Frankie's gaze snapped to meet yours, his mind wandering elsewhere. "A sweet-? Ohhhh," he nodded knowingly when you held up an abundance of syrups in his direction. "You know, I've never tried coffee with syrup before. Afraid the guys will tease me for it." he muttered.

"The guys?" you beckoned further out of curiosity. 

"Oh yeah uh- the guys I work with. My friends. I live with ’em too. Well like, not all of them. But Santi is my roommate- Santiago, I mean…" he rambled. You paused making his coffee, staring at him intently as the man you had just met began talking to you as if he's known you forever. He had such a friendly nature. "Sorry, am I blubbering?" he asked. "I don't normally get nervous- I mean, I'm not nervous, I just-"

You grinned ecstatically, shushing him. He looked up at you, the corners of his lips curled upwards and his chocolate coloured eyes wide, full of admiration. "So, how does a vanilla latte sound?" you chuckled.

Frankie nodded. "Delicious."

You pushed a few pumps of the vanilla syrup into the cup, stirring it around the espresso with a lollipop stick. You loved the smell, it was your favourite.

"Are you from round here?" you quizzed Frankie, hoping he wouldn't mind the questions. Small talk was part of your job as a barista, something you'd grown very much acquainted too, but after years of working here, he was the first customer who you were actually taking an interest in. Maybe it was his rugged handsome looks, or the fact fate had somehow brought you into the same coffee shop, at the same time during the same thunderous stormy night, but you had an urge to learn more about him.

"No I'm not," he started, holding up the soggy map. "I actually got lost. I'm here for work."

You took the dripping map from him and looked at it with a quirked eyebrow. "Don't you have the Maps app on your phone?"

"The what? Sorry, I'm not too good with technology," he brought his phone out his pocket and set it on the counter. "It's actually ran out of battery."

"Thankfully we have the same phone," you laughed, and Frankie's eyes lit up. "I should have a charger round the back. Where do you work?"

"Everywhere, really," Frankie shrugged. "I'm a pilot," The milk had finished steaming and you brought the jug away from the machine and back to the cup. Tipping the cup to its side, you practiced some experimental latte art. "How long have you worked here? I'm assuming you work here," he said awkwardly and you let out another laugh. "Well I had to check!" he laughed back, raising his hands defensively.

"Four years," you sighed. "Was supposed to just be a temp job to get me through my degree, help pay my tuition, but… you know, I'm still here." 

Frankie nodded. "I get it. I used to do engineering stuff at some dodgy garage back in my hometown. I used the money to help me get through flight school but I was there way longer than I needed to be," Frankie told you and you nodded sadly. "But I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

"Well yeah!" he exclaimed cheerily. "If you weren't, who would be able to save me from this God-awful rainstorm."

You passed him his latte. His jaw dropped slightly when he saw the pattern you'd carefully construed with your jug of steamed milk. A heart. "I- wow," he said almost breathlessly.

"Do you like it?" you asked nervously, biting down on your lip. You hoped your attempt of a flirt didn't come across as too overbearing.

"Yes, I like it," he confirmed before clearing his throat and making direct eye contact with you. "I like it-a-latte."

After a momentary silence you burst into laughter, Frankie soon following. "You dork!" you smacked his arm playfully. Frankie swore your laugh was contagious, and he adored the way small crinkles in the corners of your eyes appeared. This man had made you smile so much in the past fifteen minutes, your cheeks were beginning to hurt.

Frankie took a sip of the hot beverage, before licking his lips and relishing the taste. "That's delicious." he moaned longingly before taking another sip. Your fingernails subconsciously began to graze at the wooden counter. His moans and hums of delight were like the sweetest melody you'd ever heard. You'd whip him up a thousand more vanilla lattes if you got to hear him make those noises more often.

Your smile dropped when you remembered he was still dripping, even his bare forearms had goose pimples. There was a man sitting before you in soaking wet clothes, and he was too shy to even mention it to you. "Is the coffee warming you up?" you asked with slight concern. He nodded gratefully, taking another sip. You were glad. "We might have a change of clothes out back. It'll be employee uniform but-"

"You wouldn't mind?" Frankie asked with gratitude.

"Of course not, let me go see what I can find."

You went to the back of the coffee shop, where it was a lot colder, darker and dingier. Rummaging through one of the plastic crates, you managed to find a pair of black pants and a maroon coloured polo shirt, both with the company logo embroidered into it. They looked to be about his size. You took a sniff, thanking the Lord they were clean. You brought them back out to Frankie.

"You have to wear this?" he asked with a slight gasp as he unfolded the shirt.

"Yeah, it's not the most attractive," you giggled. "Will it be okay?"

"It's perfect, thank you so much." Frankie stood up and went to take off his shirt.

"Oh- uhm-" you started, diverting your gaze immediately. You got a glimpse of his tummy and the little trail of hair between his belly button and the waistline of his underwear that was poking out above his jeans. He pulled his shirt back down and looked at you with doe-eyes. "There's a room out back if you'd feel more comfortable getting changed back there. You know, for like, privacy." you mumbled awkwardly.

Frankie nodded. "Thank you." he said graciously before following your finger that was pointing towards the backdoor.

He wasn't gone for long, maybe just a few minutes, but you couldn't help yourself from daydreaming about him. You cursed yourself for letting your mind wander as you imagined him changing out of his sticky wet clothes and into the clothes you had provided for him. You thought about the shape of his arms, the curve in his bicep and the way his thighs might flex as he slides his legs into the pants. Maybe you were the one who needed a coffee to wake you up from these ridiculous thoughts.

When he returned, you were both back to laughing almost immediately. He did a little twirl, modelling the employee outfit. "It's cute! Suits you. You know if you ever get bored of that piloting thing…" you joked.

"I'll consider it, thanks," Frankie chuckled. 

"Oh, you should take off your socks and I'll hang them next to my coat on the radiator. There's nothing worse than having wet feet." you recommended.

"You sure?" Frankie asked hesitantly, but already reaching down to untie his laces. You nodded your head. Noticing his hair was still wet, you grabbed a small tea towel from one of the cupboards.

"You should dry your hair too," you told him, passing him the towel. Your urge to care for him was almost maddening. "So you don't catch a cold."

"W-would you?" Frankie asked awkwardly.

"You want me to dry your hair for you?"

Frankie nodded— and how could you possibly refuse him?

“How come you aren’t wearing your hat?” you quizzed, gesturing aimlessly towards the discarded baseball cap on the table.

“Well I like this hat. Didn’t want it to get wet.” he chuckled. You gently let the towel tangle in his dark brown locks of hair, making a conscious effort to massage his scalp. He closed his eyes. "F-feels so good…" there was that elicit moan again. You didn't say a word, continuing to gently rub the towel into his hair. This whole night definitely felt like a fever dream.

The hours that went by felt like mere minutes as you and Frankie talked and laughed and messed around. Five cups of coffee later, and you were both practically bouncing off the walls, full of energy. You had clicked instantly and learned that you both had so much in common with each other.

He was charmed by you, entranced even. If your beauty wasn't enough, he admired your endearing personality and how you were so thoughtful and passionate with everything you did. From the latte art to drying his hair for him, he thought you were the most perfect girl he had ever met.

You could say the exact same about him. You didn't want the night to end. In fact, you wanted to spend every waking moment with him. You learned a lot about him too. He was ex-military, divorced, with a two year old daughter that he couldn't help but gush about. He showed you a photograph of her that he kept in his wallet and she was the spitting double of Frankie, with big dark eyes and curly brown hair.

By morning, the storm had ended and the golden sun had risen. The birds were tweeting and the roads slowly started to get busy in preparation for the day ahead.

The cuckoo wall clock made a disrupting noise as the handle struck 9am. "Oh shoot," you gasped, standing up. "We're officially open for business! Uh- I gotta go get dressed for work so I'll be as quick as I can. Just- just wait here." you told Frankie in a hurried rush before whisking yourself to the back of the store.

You didn't even give Frankie a chance to reply. He sat there, at the table, nursing his fifth vanilla latte. You hadn't been gone long at all when the doorbell jingled, signifying that the coffee shop had gotten its first customer of the day. Frankie abruptly stood up, his eyes going comically wide as he spun around on his heel, ready to address the customer.

It was a tall, broad shouldered businessman with dark blonde hair holding a briefcase. His mismatched patterned tie and pocket square was enough to make Frankie cringe as he sauntered into the coffee shop with tired eyes. "The usual." he muttered.

Frankie furrowed his eyebrows together. "Hey, I recognise you from somewhere…" he trailed off, thinking of where he might've seen the man before. Frankie figured he was just being hyper-aware, considering he wasn't even from round here.

"You must be new," the customer grumbled. "Three shot espresso black coffee, extra hot, extra wet, no sugar or sweetener or anything like that." His words were very stern and demanding.

Frankie couldn't help but emit a small, helpless gasp when he remembered he was dressed in employee uniform. It certainly looked like he worked in the coffee shop, but the truth was, he hadn't operated one of these extravagant machines in his life. He might know how to do helicopter repairs but this was brand new to him. And what the hell did 'extra hot' and 'extra wet' mean? The businessman sighed, tapping at his gold wristwatch impatiently.

"Chop chop," he said rudely. "I don't have all day." Frankie frowned at his comment before sauntering behind the coffee bar, looking at all the different machines around him. He took a deep breath. Taking a paper cup, he requested the businessman's name. "Really? I know you know my name," the man snarled. “Or do you need me to do the thing?”

“What thing?” Frankie quizzed back feeling genuine bewilderment. The man took a deep breath and pointed his finger, but before he could say anything you returned from the back to the front of the shop just in time. "Ah!" Frankie called excitedly, taking your hand and pulling you behind the counter with him. "We have our first customer of the day!" he exclaimed with a fake enthusiasm through gritted teeth. The businessman slowly dropped his ring clad hand back down to his side and huffed in annoyance.

You wanted to laugh. Frankie was so adorable. Frankie's brown eyes flicked nervously between you and the businessman as he passed you the paper cup. 

"Just the usual?" you asked the businessman politely, already writing his name down on the cup. Frankie assumed he must've been a regular.

"Obviously." he rolled his eyes.

"How come you didn't send your assistant for your morning coffee?" you asked.

"You know I don't care for small talk." the businessman sighed before pulling out his wallet.

"Right, sorry, that'll be four dollars please." you apologised quickly. He tapped his black company credit card against the reader and you passed him his triple shot espresso. He left without even muttering a thank you.

"What a jackass," Frankie whispered, intensely staring at the man long after he left the shop. He slipped into the back passenger seat of a car which quickly drove away.

"Believe me, I'm used to it. There's plenty of customers who are like that." you explained, making sure all the machines were switched on and ready for the day.

"Well you shouldn't have to be," Frankie sighed, shaking his head. "I should probably go," he shrugged. You nodded your head understandingly. Frankie went to the back of the shop to collect his clothes. "Thanks for everything." Frankie smiled. He really didn't want to leave but he knew he had to eventually.

"Of course." you returned the smile. You found yourself fumbling with the stack of napkins. He hadn't even left the coffee shop and you already missed him. Frankie nodded and headed towards the door. He opened it and turned to you one last time. 

"By the way, what does 'extra hot' and 'extra wet' mean?" he asked, and you burst into a fit of giggles at his comment. Frankie loved hearing you laugh, and he loved the way that he was the person who could make you laugh.

Picking up the black permanent marker, you scribbled your phone number on a napkin. "Give me a call and find out?" you suggested, handing him your number with a small but flirty smile. Frankie's cheeks reddened and his heart felt fuzzy.

"O-okay," he waved. "I'll speak to you soon. Have a good day at work."

"See ya, Frankie." you smiled one last time.

That was, by far, one of the best nights you had ever had.

------

Taglist - let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ah-callie​ @luvzoria​ @stardust-galaxies​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @goth-topic​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @kiwi-the-first​ @pedroepascal​ @castiel-barnes​ @honeymandos​ @rocketqueen​ @ladycumberbatchofcamelot​ @dybalalover10​ @girl-obsessed-with-things​ @elena-myth​ @moth-guillotine​ @pedro-pascal-love​ @hayley-the-comet​ @pinkninja190​ @maxiarapamaya​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @artsymaddie​ @harrys-stan​

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

L O V E B O U N D

“Christmasbound IV”

Taylor opens her eyes, just once, then closes them immediately. The entire room is spinning again. Her eyes are glued together, her vision blurry. She should’ve taken an Advil before bed. She should’ve prevented this. With a loud groan, she turns around in bed, the blanket only covering one half of her body. She swallows once, can obviously feel how dry her throat is. Taylor wants to move, wants to get up and tell herself that this is a new day, a new beginning, a new chance. All of these positive affirmations that she’s been growing up with. But today, she can’t. Maybe it was the late night whiskey while being all alone that was a bad idea. Maybe it was taking step closer to Joe and his family, which truly has been a bad idea after all. 

Taylor takes another deep breath, holds her hand. She’s tired. Emotionally even more than physically. She slowly sits up. A stinging pain in her head keeping her from moving further. She looks to the side, could’ve sworn that she ensured to have a water bottle next to her bed. But the only thing she finds on the nightstand next to her is the whiskey glass. Almost empty. Disgusted at herself, Taylor moves her legs to dangle down the left side of the bed. She just sits upright, feels how dizzy she still is. When she was twenty- three and the world was against her, Taylor would always feel a sense of direction deep within her. As bad as it was, and as destructive as her dealing mechanisms may have been - she always knew this was just a phase. Just a bad month, a bad occurrence. A bad relationship. But now, at age 32, she doesn’t feel a sense of direction anymore. Even more so, she feels like she’s been on the right path. For a long time. Until she decided to leave it. Decided to go so incredibly wrong. All of that, while being a mother. Taylor swallows, stands up on the soft carpet on her bedroom floor. Barefoot and with nothing but her oversized sleeping shirt, Taylor makes her way down the stairs. Her eyes immediately fall onto the big window fronts. With swollen eyes and dried mascara on her cheek, she can’t help but smile tiredly. The world is white. Taylor can already see Eleanor before her eyes, having woken up hours ago and excitedly jumping around the Christmas tree. She’s happy it has snowed. She’s happy Eleanor is with Joe and his family. Where there’s more happiness. Where she can make these happy childhood Christmas memories that Taylor always wanted for her little girl. Even before she was born. 

Taylor reaches for the blue coffee mug on the top shelf in the kitchen. She quickly turns on the coffee machine and waits silently for the warm brew to enter her cup. Maybe, just maybe, Eleanor is happier staying with Joe and Naomi, and Elizabeth and Richard. Not with her, right now, on this day. She doesn’t know how to be a mother when deep inside, she’s the lost teenage girl again. She’s never gone through this scenario when becoming a mother. She’s never been prepared that something might hit her that would absolutely numb her from being Eleanor’s mommy. From putting on a fake smile, just to be there for Eleanor. Taylor swallows the hot beverage, knows even without looking into the mirror how horrible she looks. Her shoulder long hair curly and in all directions, mascara under her eyes, bangs all messed up. She slowly grabs her phone, tabs two times to open the chat with Joe. She stares at their last exchanged messages for a few seconds. And she swallows again. 

I can’t wait to have you two here, see you soon. 

How ironic, that she actually felt like he had other reasons to invite her over. Other reasons than to finally move on from her. 

Hey, Merry Christmas. I woke up not feeling great and don’t want to risk anything, so I think I’ll be staying home today. I’ll call later to speak to E. Merry Christmas to your family, give E a kiss from me. 

Taylor drops her phone on the marble counter, doesn’t even care if the fall was a bit too harsh. She then grabs her coffee mug and wanders up the stairs again. This time though, she doesn’t go back to her messed up bed and the empty whiskey glass that is waiting for her like a cloud of guilt, in the middle of her house. Instead, she walks straight to the piano room. With bare legs, she slowly sits down on the little chair right in front of the massive piano. For a second, she just sits there, then lifts the piano lid slowly. She doesn’t even move, just takes a last sip of her coffee before placing the mug right on top of the piano. Her fingers slowly brush each key, low undefined sounds coming from the instrument. She’s never been good at life. But this was all she’s had. All she could really get right. All she will ever understand. 

Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? 

Taylor begins to follow this voice inside of her. Without thinking too much, she lets her hands do the work. Wanders from key to key, until there’s a melody that speaks for her.

 ____________________

“Mommy, I also got the new tonniebox that I wanted. And daddy and me also read me the note that Santa left for me. Santa wrote a note, just for me!” the little girl babbles into her mother’s ears. Taylor, who’s still just in her PJs, sits on the sofa now. Coffee number three in her hands, her hair still as messed up as before. She laughs quietly on the phone, can see her daughter’s excited little face in front of her eyes. “Of course he did. You’re such a good person, and you know that Santa always has an eye on that. And he’s so proud of you, same as me.” Taylor says, consciously didn’t tell her that she’s been a ‘good girl’, this year. She’s learned the difference between society telling you you’re a ‘good girl’ and actually being a good person. There’s worlds between these two things. Taylor can hear the background noises, Elizabeth probably rushing to prepare breakfast for everyone. Just when Eleanor was done telling Taylor about her presents, she can hear Joe in the background. Asking her if ‘mummy’s still on the phone’. Taylor swallows. It takes less than five seconds and she can hear Joe’s voice. He sounds careful, almost worried, a hint of curiosity in his voice. Her text this morning was probably too obvious. He knows her too well, probably can tell already that she’s been to overwhelmed by last night. Too overwhelmed meeting Naomi. Too overwhelmed seeing Joe with another woman. For the first time in a decade. For the first time ever. 

He asks her if she’s feeling better, if she can make it to join them for lunch. How important it would be for Eleanor to have her mum there. Taylor feels sick, just hearing his voice again. Maybe it’s the coffee on her empty stomach, or it’s the warmth in his deep voice, that has captured her from the first time he opened his mouth, ages ago, through all the noise, on a warm LA summer night. 

“I don’t know if it’s safe for me to come over, especially with covid and.. I do feel a scratch in my throat. So I think it’s better if…”

“We all got tested yesterday. It’s impossible that…”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I feel like crap,” she says, hoping he would finally stop. Taylor hears his silence on the end of the phone line. He knows. She knows that he knows. 

“Of course, I’m sorry for pressuring you. It’s just… it’s Christmas Day and…”

“No, no. You’re not pressuring me.” She then says, still feels sad whenever he does. She needs to stop doing this. Needs to stop subconsciously mirroring him. Caring so much and so deeply about his happiness that she adjusts whenever he’s feeling some type of way. Suddenly, Taylor can hear Eleanor in the background. She is asking about mommy. Asking when mommy is coming over. Taylor feels this pressure on her chest again. Is she abandoning her daughter right now? Because she can’t get over her own feelings? 

“Eleanor wants to.. wants to speak to you again.” He says then and Taylor can hear him handing over the phone. It takes one whiny “mommy” and Taylor knows she needs to get up, get freshened up, get over herself. She’s not twenty- three anymore. She can’t just care solely for herself anymore. She can’t just stay right here. 

____________________

With a bad tummy ache, Taylor stares out of the window, watching all the naked trees in the dim light. 

You left me no choice but to stay here forever. 

For whatever reason, these lyrics are stuck in her head and she knows that she needs to write them down tonight. Just when the car stops, Taylor feels a rush of nausea overcome her. She unbuckles her seatbelt and nods at her driver. She thanks him underneath her mask, swallows hard as she sees the family home just meters away from her, behind the glass of the car where she’s still sitting in the backseat. She feels unable to move, but does it anyways. After a few seconds, she’s left the car, wearing black jeans and boots and nothing but a plaid blouse underneath her coat. She slowly takes off the mask, remains there in front of the house. She’s doing this for Eleanor. She’s doing this because she’s got a responsibility. Because she’s an adult now. Taylor slowly takes a few steps up to the entry through the thin layer of snow on the ground, can already smell Elizabeth’s cherry pie through the open window that leads right to the hallway. Taylor knows she looks better than a few hours ago. Her hair and face clean. Mascara where it’s supposed to be. Blush on her lips and cheeks. Almost as if nothing had happened to her. Nothing at all. With a slight nauseous feeling, Taylor was about to ring the doorbell but stopped in the last second, as the big door opened by itself already. A bit surprised and startled, Taylor looks at Elizabeth. And the fifty- year old woman looks back at her. It’s this uncomfortable and insecure silence between them for a few seconds. But even before Taylor can say anything, Elizabeth’s face changes into a warm smile. A relief that has run through Taylor’s veins immediately. 

“Oh hi there, I knew I heard a car pull up.” 

Taylor nods, was just about to answer as Elizabeth already pulls her inside the house and inside her arms. This is still new to her. This is still overwhelming. Taylor closes her eyes and feels Elizabeth’s hands on her back, stroking her back up and down. She immediately feels tears building up, swallows them down in the last second, just when the brown haired woman pulls back and smiles at her. 

“Are you feeling better?” She asks, a well- knowing look on her face, as she already takes Taylor’s coat from her. Taylor, who feels welcomed but trapped at the same time, just nods quietly. She doesn’t really want to talk about it. 

“Yeah I felt a bit off this morning.” she mumbles. Elizabeth places a hand on her back as soon as she’s put the coat away and walks with Taylor into the kitchen. Like a wildcat in fight mode, Taylor hectically looks through the living room but nobody’s there. That’s not quite what she expected to find. 

“Where..”

“Oh they’re all upstairs on the attic looking through Joe’s old theatre costumes.” Elizabeth laughs, begins to stir the sauce she’s preparing on the stove. Taylor just nods, doesn’t really know how to act or move. She just takes a deep breath standing there. An old Christmas CD from the 90s is playing. The lights on the Christmas tree are lid. The cooker hood making dump noises. Elizabeth looks up at Taylor again, can see her awkwardly standing there, leaning against the counter next to her. 

“We’re very happy to have you here, you know.” She says then and Taylor feels how she blushes. She never thought Elizabeth would ever say something like this to her ever again. Not after she and Eleanor left her son. Not after the last Christmas. 

“I’m happy to be here as well.” Taylor then answers and Elizabeth steals her another look, then giggles quietly. 

“Are you really?” 

Taylor feels like she’s freezing for a while. She doesn’t know what to do with this answer. 

“Of course, I.. I’m so thankful we’re speaking again and..”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” She says and Taylor knows what she knows. It must be written all over her face. A face that says ‘he’s moved on, I haven’t’. Taylor doesn’t say anything, as Elizabeth turns down the temperature of the stove and turns around at her. 

“We should go for a walk soon. Catch up a bit.” 

Taylor immediately smiles and nods a few times. Even if she feels like hell is loose, this offer definitely made her smile a bit more. It took exactly seven seconds to pass, as multiple steps come down the stairs and Eleanor screams excitedly, let’s go off her grandfather’s hand to run towards her mom. 

“Mommy!” She screams and Taylor laughs for the first time really today, lifts up the small girl and holds her on her hip smiling. “Monkey, hello.” Taylor smiles, Eleanor and her automatically leaning in for a kiss on the lips which is followed by Taylor stealing her cheek another kiss. Just as she wished Eleanor another merry Christmas, is when she notices Naomi’s warm smile facing them. Within a matter of seconds, Taylor feels irritated again, holds onto the little girl on her arm as if she’s holding onto her life. 

“Oh darling, are you so happy your mummy’s joined too?” Elizabeth strokes over Eleanor’s curls after having watched the scene between Eleanor and Taylor with a smile. She knows that after all, Taylor’s an incredible mother. A quality that she knew she’s got from the very first day they met. Right in this house. A decade ago. “Yes.” Eleanor mumbles into Taylor’s neck and they all laugh quietly. Just in that second, Joe also joins the family kitchen and smiles warmly at Taylor. He’s glad she’s made it. 

“Someone’s glad her mum’s here, huh?” he then laughs at his daughter. Taylor was about to answer him, but his hand that casually lands on Naomi’s shoulder keeps her from opening her mouth.“Ellie, are you so happy you can show mummy your presents now?” the petite woman says, looking at Eleanor who’s still on Taylor’s arm. Ellie. Just in that moment, Eleanor turns her head grumpily, and goes “My name is Eleanor”. Taylor tries her hardest not to smile, but her mini- me seems to have hit the nail in the head here. Joe immediately laughs, both hands on Naomi’s shoulders now. “Darling, why don’t you show your mum what Santa Claus left under the tree this morning for her?” He says with a grin, obviously wanted to change topics to make sure that the awkward mood in the room diminishes. In that second, Eleanor moves on Taylor’s arm quickly and signals her that she wants to get down. 

Together with Eleanor, Taylor now walks into the living room, knees down in front of Eleanor’s presents. 

“Look, this one’s from Santa for mummy.” She says with a bright smile and Taylor decides to sit down on the carpet while opening her present. 

“Mhm what could that be?” She says, swallows hard as she finally takes a good look at what’s in her hands. A colored polaroid of Joe and Eleanor, smiling into the camera is placed in the middle of the green card. Surrounded by little Christmas stickers and drawn Christmas trees with glitter hearts on them, both Eleanor and Joe have their heads stuck together, smiling the purest smiles into the camera. She can see Joe’s arm holding the camera. Of course she’s had some help with this present. Right underneath the picture, Eleanor has placed a smiling heart sticker and wrote “from Eleanor and daddy” in her messy handwriting, just the way a first grader would do. Taylor looks at the card, tears forming in her eyes. She doesn’t want to get emotional now. Doesn’t want to get emotional here in this room. But the two humans, who are so innocently smiling in this picture, still mean the world to her. 

“I love it so much.” She says then quietly, hopes that no one else has seen her get teary. Eleanor looks confused at her mum, but Taylor just laughs, wipes away the tears on her cheeks and immediately hugs her. “This is so beautiful that I got super emotional, honey.” She laughs, soothing Eleanor a bit. And the little girl nods, seems to accept Taylor’s answer. 

“I made the card, but Santa wrapped it up and put it under the tree.” 

Taylor laughs and nods before getting up. Especially, because to Eleanor - it actually makes a lot of sense.

“That’s so nice of him. I’m so happy Santa brought me this beautiful card.” She says, takes Eleanor’s hand before joining the others around the table. 

____________________

It’s been an hour now since Taylor consciously made the decision to have a conversation with the left side of the big table - Patrick and his girlfriend Jess. It’s been so wonderful reconnecting with him, hearing about his plans for after his masters degree. Hearing Jess talk about how they met, their struggles to find an affordable flat in northwest London and how excited they are to drive up to Denmark together once this coronavirus situation is over. Taylor has made the conscious effort to ignore Naomi, Joe and Tom who are seated on the other half of the table. Taylor knows she can’t block the new woman on this table out, but she clearly is taking every chance she’s got to engage in other conversations. Just when Eleanor is tapping attentively on her shoulder is when Taylor looks up and finds Naomi, Joe and Eleanor all dressed up. Apparently ready to go for a walk. A bit confused, Taylor looks at Joe and then back at Eleanor. 

“We’re going out for a walk with Flint, do you want to join us?” 

Taylor immediately shakes her head, an answer that came a bit too fast. 

“Oh thanks for asking but I think you should go without me.” she mumbles, the last thing she wants to do right now is go for a walk with Naomi and Joe. Eleanor however continues to pull her hand, seems to have made up her mind that her mum has to join them today. Just when Taylor was about to talk to Eleanor is when Joe already speaks up. His voice in the same gentle tone that he’s always put on when they had a serious conversation. 

“Actually, it would be fantastic if we could just... talk a bit? Who knows when’s the next time that we can all get together?” he says, Naomi just standing next to him, smiling hopefully and nodding with big eyes. Taylor knows that she’s being unreasonable but she would wish that Naomi wasn’t a petite and small woman, who’s got huge eyes, seems a bit shy and radiates this incredible kindness that sickens her whenever she enters the room. She wants Naomi to be someone she can passionately hate. Someone who’s toxic and mean, who gives off bad energy. But instead, she seems to be a kind, ordinary, bi- racial woman. Someone who Taylor would want to be friends with. The last person who Taylor would have wanted as her replacement. The better choice. The easier choice.

“Yeah it would be fun to.. catch up!” Naomi then says to Taylor in her British accent, sounding a bit unsure whether she’s been taking it too far. Taylor swallows. She’s got no arguments left. If she still decides to not go with them, then she would be the bad cop. A decision she doesn’t want to have to take. Taylor slowly gets up, nods and puts on a fake smile as Eleanor already cheers on her. She seems to be way more excited than Taylor is. 

“Alright, it’s fine.” Taylor mumbles, can feel Elizabeth’s stare in her neck. She knows that it’s not fine. Not at all. 

A bit insecure, just like she was back then, Taylor slowly puts in her boots that were left in the hallway. Joe watches her and he knows this isn’t easy for her. But knowing Taylor, he also is aware that things will feel way easier once she gets to know Naomi. Once she sees that she’s so respected by someone who doesn’t even know her. Once she sees that he wants her in his life. Forever. No matter what the circumstances are. 

Joe remains standing in the hallway, watches Eleanor and Naomi with Flint leave the doorway already. Joe remains standing there, looks down at Taylor who’s still fixing her boots. Once she gets up, she exchanges a look with him and he smiles. Taylor is rolling her eyes. 

I can’t believe you make me do this.

Thank you for doing this.

With her hands in her coat, Taylor slowly starts walking next to Joe. She feels awkward to say the least. Going for a walk with Joe, their child and his new girlfriend. Naomi carefully slows down to walk right next to Joe, and seems to be more than interested to start a conversation with Taylor. 

“It’s such a beautiful weather isn’t it? I can’t believe it started snowing last night.” Naomi says and Taylor nods, can see in the corner of her eye that Joe is holding hands with her. And Taylor feels sick. To say the least. 

“Eleanor was so sad these past weeks cause it hadn’t snowed yet, so she’s ecstatic today.” Joe laughs and everyone reacts except for Taylor. She usually is excellent in smalltalk, and Joe knows that. But seeing her so quiet makes him think that it’s not even a statement she’s giving him - she probably really is at a loss for words. 

“Are you feeling better?” Joe asks her and Taylor slowly looks up, looks straight at Eleanor who’s holding Flint in her hands while walking down the street. 

“Yeah definitely.” She says, doesn’t even try to sound like she’s okay with it. Slowly but surely, she feels rage develop in her chest. She cannot believe he’s making her do this. She cannot believe after everything they’ve been though, he can just go for a walk with Eleanor and her and his new girlfriend. 

“Are you usually based in London or in America, Taylor?” Naomi then asks and Taylor can feel immediately that she’s been desperate to start a conversation with her. Taylor feels her staring at her. But she can’t face her just yet.

“Well Eleanor’s pre- school is based in London so we’re mainly here. But before covid we would travel a lot between Nashville and London.” she answers, feels actually kind of proud that she’s grown up enough to not become mean or sarcastic towards Naomi. And she can feel Joe do the same. She doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s proud how civil she can be. 

“Wow must be nice to have homes all over the world.” Naomi says and Joe laughs quietly. She cannot believe he’s laughing at her. Cannot believe he would be with someone who’s from an entirely different world. But then again, wasn’t that what Joe was to her back then? A sweet escape from the crowded and abnormal world she’s been living in. Taylor dares to look to her left and she can see Naomi looking at her steps carefully. Maybe, Naomi is Joe’s escape from her. The most painful thought she’s had for a while.

“Well, I’m sure Joe already told you that living in two different countries at the same time isn’t as exciting as you may think.” Naomi laughs quickly, and anyone who would witness this conversation could tell immediately that Naomi is nervous. Taylor hates it. Taylor hates how nice she is. 

“Well, I was raised in southwest London and my family never could afford to travel. So to me, all of that sounds lovely.” Taylor says nothing.

“Daddy, can you help me with Flint’s collar?” Eleanor suddenly yells, already is a good six hundred meters in front of them. Joe immediately nods, starts jogging towards his daughter. Taylor and Naomi are now left behind, slowly continue walking down the street. And without taking a closer look at Naomi, Taylor can feel how happy the other woman seems to be that she has some alone time with Taylor now. 

“It sounds ridiculous, I’m sure, but you have no idea how scared I was to meet you.” Naomi then says and Taylor wishes she never would’ve started this topic. She doesn’t know anything about Naomi and she wants things to stay this way. “When I was younger I had all of your albums at my house and... I really admire you a lot.”

“Thanks.” Taylor answers, as emotionless as possible. And she can sense that Naomi feels the cold that she radiates right now. How can Joe expect her to bond with his new girlfriend on Christmas? How can he think that her love for him has ever diminished? It never could. And he used to know that. The silence between the tall blonde woman in the big black coat and the smaller woman in the red puff jacket gets louder. Taylor feels uncomfortable and she for sure knows that Naomi feels the same. 

“I know you hate me.” Naomi then says and Taylor sighs. Her anger gets more with every single word she says. 

“I don’t hate you.”

“No, I mean.. I get it. And I feel so sorry for...”

“What do you feel sorry for?” Taylor asks, a bit too aggressive for her usual self. 

“I’m sorry that Joe is making us meet over Christmas. It wasn’t my idea. I hope you know that. But I think he just... he wants things to become easier. With us. With you and your daughter. I think he just wants to finally have some peace.”

Naomi’s last sentence rips Taylor’s insides apart. She knows that she’s right. That she just said what Taylor sang years ago. Joe just wants to have peace in his life. With a partner who can give him that. With her as an ex- girlfriend and with his child. That’s all he wants. Taylor and Naomi just keep walking down the street, nothing but the gravel under their soles can be heard. 

“You know, I will never become someone for him like you were.” Naomi then says and Taylor starts to feel sick. She can’t believe that this woman won’t stop talking. It almost feels painful hearing her voice in her ears. “You... you were his first real love. Whenever we talk about these things...” she sighs, then looks back up at Tay. “He speaks a lot about you and I think there’s just so many things he’s still digesting. Please don’t ever think that..”

“Naomi...” Taylor then interrupts her because she feels like throwing up. She can’t believe that the little person next to her is opening up to her if it she was an old friend. And maybe, exactly that kindness is what drives her insane. Because deep down, Taylor knows that Joe deserves someone as caring as that. Someone who helps him heal the wounds that she created. “I don’t hate you, Naomi. But I also need you to respect that I need time. Can we not talk about Joe anymore?”

Naomi looks at Taylor with big eyes, immediately nods. She seems intimidated by the tall blonde woman and Taylor can feel how guilty she feels. Naomi shakes her head, then turns to Taylor. “God, Taylor, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just thought maybe it would be the right way to just.. be really honest with you, but you’re so right, it was super insensible, and...”

“It’s fine.” Taylor then says, enjoys the sudden silence between them more than she expected. Taylor slowly looks up, can see Joe walking hand in hand with Eleanor. His hand lands on Eleanor’s head, and even from far away, Taylor can hear that she’s singing her favorite Christmas song. Taylor can’t help but smile for a second. Maybe, just maybe, it was all meant to be this way. Taylor still remembers ten years ago, when she first moved to New York and discovered slowly that with the lifestyle she chose, having a family and a committed relationship would be impossible. Maybe, just maybe, she was right back then. Taylor sees Joe jogging backwards, making Eleanor laugh. He seems so happy today. Playing with Eleanor, knowing he’s found someone who can give him the kind of life he was always used to, before her. The kind of life he craves. Taylor suddenly feels a new feeling in her chest. It’s a feeling she read about multiple times but never had experienced herself before, in the truest form she could imagine. She just wants him to be happy. Even if it means that she’s not part of his life anymore. At least not in the way she used to be. And she wants him to ‘digest’ whatever she did to him. Wants someone to help him heal the scars that she gave him. 

“Look at that house, baby, oh my god.” Taylor squeaks for the fifteenth time in the past hour, stops in the middle of the street again. Joe grins, takes a step back to see what she’s looking at. A tiny house in brick stone with a French balcony right on the canal. He looks down at the blonde woman and laughs. She quickly reaches for her crossbody bag, takes out her phone and takes a picture. He can’t help but laugh. 

“We’ll  go home on Sunday and you have two hundred pictures of dutch houses on your phone.” Taylor grins, but doesn’t let him stop her. She just continues to take pictures, then buries her phone in her bag again and reaches for his hand once more. In nothing but her jeans shorts, white sneakers and huge sweatshirt, Taylor walks next to Joe. It’s a lukewarm summer night. With both hands now clinging onto Joe’s, they just continue to walk down the small street somewhere here in Amsterdam. 

“I’m just in awe that there’s people living here, in this.. dream city. It’s so cozy and gorgeous. I just… Joe, I could cry how romantic this is.” Joe, who’s still walking hand in hand next to her just looks down at her with a big smile. His blonde hair a bit too long. His beard grown for his upcoming movie role. He just smiles, gets closer to her and presses a gentle kiss onto her lips. She tastes like the rose chapstick she applied earlier. 

“I’m glad you like it.” he then says, continues walking down this lane. Taylor’s eyes are everywhere right now. She’s smitten by the city, smitten by the fact that she’s experiencing this. A weekend in a beautiful European city with the love of her life. No big black cars. No security around her. She feels so free with him, so safe, so… alive.

“Thanks for taking me here and organizing everything.” She mumbles. The sun is slowly setting and she’s glad she put on her sweater. “You’re very welcome. We’re almost there.” Joe says, keeps looking at his phone to make sure they’re not missing the right lane. “I think we need to go that way.” He says, points to a tiny alley on the left. Taylor looks at him and then back at the tiny street and just laughs. “God, I fucking love Europe” she laughs, holds onto his hand a bit tighter as they make their way through the alley. Joe looks back at her and she’s amused, carefully watches her steps on the cobblestones to not trip or fall. 

“Where are you taking me? Do I have to be scared?” She asks, and Joe laughs. 

“I’m taking you out to dinner, I already told you that.” he says all smart and Taylor just shakes her head. 

“I’m really hungry. Where are we...”, within a few seconds Taylor gets quieter because she’s speechless. Just as they left the  tiny street, a massive canal with a beautiful bridge that fully lid up by small lights is right in front of them. And Taylor feels like she’s in a movie. “Beautiful here, huh?” he smiles and Taylor remains speechless. 

“Do you see this restaurant?” he asks, points to three small tables that are located right on the bridge next to the canal. Taylor just looks up at him, can’t believe he picked this romantic little restaurant for the two. 

“Are you kidding me? This is... oh my god.” With a proud smile, Joe starts walking closer to the small restaurant. Just as they stand in front, Joe starts speaking to the waiter who then accompanies Taylor and Joe to their outside table - a tiny round table on the small bridge right over the Amsterdam canal. Taylor, who truly seems to be at a loss for words just sits down together with Joe. And the blonde haired man has to laugh at her reaction. Her eyes as big as the eyes of a child and her jaw still dropped. 

“Do you like it?” he asks laughing, knows the answer himself. Taylor still looks around, unable to process how beautiful her surrounding is. She’s used to big city lights and massive crowds. But what Joe is presenting her here is quiet and calm beauty. The sunset over the old Dutch roofs. The view over the canal right from this little bridge. People who pass the street on the other side with their bikes. It’s quiet and small and beautiful. 

“Joe, this is... this is by far the most romantic restaurant I’ve ever been at. How did you... how did you find this?” she asks, her phone already in her hand, taking pictures of everything around her. And Joe can’t help but smile. This was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to make this special, wanted to show her some of the most beautiful places in the world he knows. He wants to take her to all of them. The special ones and the common ones. 

Just when he was about to open the menu, Taylor tells him to smile at her and he does so. The picture she just took of him makes her smile. He seems so happy, his eyes radiating in this picture right in the centre of this beautiful scenery right here at this restaurant. Taylor looks at this picture for a minute too long. 

This is it. This is her entire happiness. 

With a happy smile, Taylor puts her phone back into her small YSL purse and opens the menu like he just did. “What are you going to eat?” Taylor asks him and Joe smiles slightly, then looks back up at her. 

“Well I’m not sure yet but I already know what you’re gonna get.” Taylor laughs, 

“Okay and what is that?”

“Number 21 - truffle pasta with side salad. Dressing on the side.” Taylor looks back up at him and laughs in surprise again. He just knows her too well.

“Why the fuck do you read me like a book?” she jokes, and Joe can’t help but stare at her for a bit longer. She really does look incredible in this light. Her bangs a bit messy, her hair in a bun. She looks cozy in her sweater. But most of all she looks... happy. 

“I guess I just know you very well.” he says, and Taylor closes the menu and looks back up at him. It’s a loving look, an intimate one. She slowly reaches for his hand across the table and Joe also puts the menu aside. 

“You do. You really do.” she just mumbles and he feels like drowning in her eyes. Just when Joe was about to open his mouth, the waiter had already made his way to them and Joe orders - both main menus and two glasses of the Chardonnay. Taylor’s favorite. 

“Do you ever think about what our lives could be like, living here in one of these tiny houses.” Taylor then says, her eyes on her surroundings. She sounds so dreamy as so often. Her heart is the heart of a little romantic. Joe still holds her hand on the table, strokes the back of it slowly. His eyes are just on her. “Maybe you would be working at the Amsterdam theatre of arts. I would be a writer. We’d both may struggle financially but live in a tiny old flat. You would get me tulips every weekend. We would eat a lot of cheese.” Joe starts laughing then, still looking at Taylor. 

“I don’t think that’s what actual Dutch people  do on the daily, babe.” he laughs, as the waiter already approaches their table and serves them two glasses of wine. Not even for a split second, Taylor lets go off Joe’s hand. With her other hand she’s reaching for the wine glass. 

“Cheers baby. To us. Two years.” she smiles and he does the same.

“Two years. Almost.” he says and she laughs slowly.

“Oh come on, do you really think I’m breaking up with you two weeks before our anniversary?” she laughs and he just shrugs his shoulders. 

“You never know.” Taylor just shakes her head. He is silly at times. 

“But for real now, what if we quit our lives and move to Amsterdam and become ordinary people?” she asks him and Joe has to laugh once more. She really seems to be obsessed with this idea . 

“I don’t know, I like our lives.” he says, feels a sudden nervousness overcome him. It’s the first time since this weekend. The first time that it comes boiling up and scaring him a bit. 

“I mean... our lives are not normal or easy. I would like normal and easy for a while.” Taylor says, looks around herself once more. She can’t wait to send pictures of this beautiful location to her family and friends. They won’t even believe how lucky she’s been. 

“I think normal and easy is not for us. We’re not normal or easy and I love that.” he says, takes a sip off his wine glass. Taylor laughs and looks at him then. 

“No I am not normal or easy. You are though.” she jokes but Joe doesn’t react to her. She knows that it’s one of her weaknesses. Laughing when she’s nervous. Turning things that scare or worry her into a joke. Joe, who still hasn’t replied yet, just keeps staring at her. She’s so uncomfortable all of the sudden. And she never is, especially not when she’s with Joe. 

“You are normal and you are easy too. And I love you.” he says then and Taylor looks back at him. She can see so much in his eyes, in these moments. So much love and kindness, but there’s also something else. He’s holding something back. Deep down, she can feel that. 

“I know you still think you’re a burden and your life’s all complicated and all that..” he then says and Taylor freezes. There’s not been many times where he’s blurted something like this out. Without thinking twice. Just like that. Taylor swallows. Why is it that he can read her mind like that. As If she was an open book to him. “But have you ever thought for a second that you’re the only one out there I ever want to be with? I.. I don’t care about anything like that. All the.. all the complications or the not easiness or the abnormal things about your life. It’s not like that for me. I can’t ever see myself loving someone else again.” He says, ends his little speech with a smile. And Taylor just sits there, at the restaurant, holding his hand. She looks at his face but his words feel too overwhelming for her to process them. She’s had relationships before. But she’s never heard words quite like these. 

“Do you understand me?” he jokes at her speechlessness then, “I can’t be with anyone else ever again. You changed me.” 

“I changed you?” 

“You did.” Joe looks back in her eyes and he can see how deeply emotional she is. This is it, he thinks.

“You changed me, Joe. In so many ways.” He smiles, takes a deep breath, holds her little hand a bit tighter. 

“I know we never spoke about this in all seriousness, but…” he stops again, looks at her hands, before looking back up at her again. He feels shaky all of the sudden. His hands become a bit more sweaty than usually. “But.. how would you feel about.. things getting more serious in the future.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“How would you feel if I asked you to marry me?” Taylor sits there, a soothing evening breeze passing her face. She just smiles at him, doesn’t say anything. Then, without her controlling it, Taylor starts laughing. Loudly. Joe swallows. This was not quite the reaction he was hoping for. 

“Baby, are you proposing to me? Or what is this?” Joe takes a breath, then laughs with her. He’s a bit insecure, but he’s shaking it off quite well. Acting school seems to have paid off.

“I’m not, I just wanted to speak to you about it. I mean… do you ever want to get married and have kids, or what are your plans in like… years down the road.” 

“Of course I want to marry you. And I want us to have tall blonde weird ass kids.” she smiles across the table, “but.. we’re not there yet. I mean, we’re not even thirty yet. I just.. I definitely need a bit longer.” She laughs and Joe nods. He also takes a sip of his wine glass now. He definitely needs that. 

“Do you feel differently?” She asks him then and he shakes his head. 

“No, no I fully agree with you. I mean.. I’m 27. Way too young.” he mumbles, and Taylor reaches his hand again. 

“Hey, look at me.” she says then, almost whispering because she knows he will hear her. “It’s you and me until the day I die. No matter if you love someone else or.. if you hate me. I will always love you, even when you don’t love me anymore.”

A dog barks at the end of the road. The soft snow underneath her boots creak slightly. For the first time since minutes, Taylor looks up in front of her again. Joe and Eleanor are still a good three hundred meters in front of them, have now started to pick a snowball fight. Just the two of them. And the tall man seems unlucky, seems to have taught his daughter very well. Every now and then, he acts as if Eleanor’s snowball hit him very hard. Harder than humanly possible. And Eleanor loves it, giggles excitedly while speaking to Flint about her next move. 

You left me. You left me. You left me no choice but to stay here forever.

Taylor feels her body vibrating. She immediately stops, turns around at the woman next to her. “Uhm Naomi, can you.. can you walk up to Joe and tell him I need to finish something really quick. He.. he’ll know. See you later.” Naomi nods a bit confused, and it’s only then that Taylor notices how insecure the woman seems. She’s looking at Taylor, trying hard to understand her. Trying hard to read her. It’s this moment, in which Taylor understands that it’s also not easy being in her position. She’s the one who wasn’t there. Who hasn’t lived through the past years. 

But Joe and her did. Every second. 

More determined than before, she then turns around, already picks her phone as soon as she’s a few meters away from her. Within a matter of seconds, Taylor opens her recording app, stares at her phone for a few seconds and closes the app again. She then goes back to her picture folder, scrolls up for a few seconds. Right until she’s found it. Found something she didn’t want to see for a long time. 

07.54pm, Amsterdam, Netherlands, September 4th, 2018. 

Her phone still reminds her. Taylor stares at this picture for a while. Joe indeed, looked so happy. Sitting in the small restaurant by the canal. Holding her hand. Believing that they were forever. Having his mum’s ring in his pocket. Little did he know then that this evening would be the first time she would refuse his proposal. Taylor touches his face on the screen for a few seconds, then closes the app again. She goes back into her recordings, holds the phone close to her and begins to sing quietly. She doesn’t want anyone to notice her. To notice her singing nonsense into her phone - which has been the only dealing mechanism she’s ever known. She closes her eyes, right on this snowy winter day, and she’s back. Back in Amsterdam. Back in summer. 

“Help, I'm still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right..”

#taylor swift #joe and taylor #joe alwyn #taylor swift fanfiction #joe and taylor fanfiction #lovebound #fanfiction #Christmasbound #right where you left me #amsterdam

[blossom-hwa]

Light the Pyres |Burn| - SUNGYOON

This chapter hurt so much I'm really sorry

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, implied death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 7.9k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Rise >> Burn

Golden Child Masterlist

If times were normal, three weeks stuck in the same space with anyone but Daeyeol or your mother would probably drive you insane. Only seeing one other person’s face for days after days on end? You’d almost rather be alone.

But whether it be because you have shared memories and common grief or simply because you’re compatible human beings, Sungyoon isn’t difficult to live with, not in the slightest. You don’t fight over food or water or living in the same space. His voice doesn’t grate on your nerves, even after a week of him being the only person you can talk to. He isn’t almost pleasant company anymore – he’s just pleasant.

Maybe even a little more than that.

Over one, two, then three weeks, you come apart to each other, exposing small bits of yourselves from beneath threads frayed by the apocalypse. Sungyoon craves coffee more than anything in the world. He used to be the fastest runner on his high school track team. He tells you his favorite color is black, and just to keep the conversation going you decide that black isn’t a real color since it’s technically the absence of all color, which sparks a debate that maybe grows a little too loud every once in a while but by the end, you’re laughing at Sungyoon’s indignant expression that slowly cracks into a smile.

Laughing. Not smirking. At something not morbid or deadly.

It feels almost surreal, being able to smile at a topic so inane.

“What’s your credibility, huh?” Sungyoon asks when you’ve stopped laughing, having given into a grudging smile himself. It makes his face look sweeter, gentler. “What makes you an expert on colors or the absence of them?”

“I did mechanical engineering in university,” you say, leaning back against the wall. Memories threaten to flood your mind but you keep them at bay, closing your eyes against the onslaught. “Took a few chemistry classes as a requirement. We learned about colors at some point.” You open your eyes and shrug. “It was kind of interesting, but not enough for me to change my major.”

“Mechanical engineering,” Sungyoon echoes, staring up at the ceiling. You kind of have to give it to him – you might be bored sitting around in this empty house sometimes, but he’s confined to the bed if he isn’t using the bathroom and he hasn’t complained yet. “That’s cool. Is that how you got that car to work before?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, a slightly bitter taste in your mouth at the memories of your almost finished second degree. “Mom was a mechanic. I grew up around cars and machines. I was almost done with my master’s when…”

When the apocalypse began and I started out across the country to find my mom.

From Sungyoon’s silence, you gather that he understands what you haven’t said. He also seems to understand you don’t want to talk about it and thankfully changes the topic. “I did sports medicine,” he says. “And I minored in music.”

You sit up. “Music? What did you play?”

“I can play a little piano, but I mostly sing – sang,” he corrects himself, a faraway look coming into his eyes.

You don’t miss the switch from present to past tense. Mood dampened, you both sit in silence for a moment, mourning the loss of your lives before they’d barely begun.

“I used to play piano,” you finally say, trying to salvage the conversation. “I wonder if it’s still at home,” you mumble, more to yourself than anybody.

“If it’s any consolation, people aren’t really looking for valuables at a time like this.” Sungyoon gives you a lopsided smile. “Assuming… well, even if people have broken in, I don’t think the piano would be the first thing they were looking for.”

You know Sungyoon means to comfort you, but the implication that anything happened to your house, to your home makes your heart stutter. It’s not a strange thing, people breaking into houses. Oftentimes they’re already open, the occupants either dead or fled. 

But it’s your house, your home, and the thought that anything might’ve happened to it with your mom there flips your stomach.

Hypocrite. You’re sitting in one of those stolen homes right now, but you have a problem with people sitting in yours.

“Y/N?”

You look over to see Sungyoon staring back, concern in his expression. Swallowing, you try to smile. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You just went quiet for a bit.” He raises an eyebrow. “Thoughts?”

What do you say? Do you tell Sungyoon what you’re really thinking? Do you tell him you’re terrified of coming home to a house that’s been ransacked and laid bare? Do you tell him you’re scared of finding your mom in an empty home with nothing around her left, that you’re even more scared of finding an empty home with no mother inside?

You curve your lips, trusting Sungyoon won’t ask even if he sees that the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “No,” you lie. “It’s nothing. So.” You look at him, your smile turning a little more genuine. “You sing?”

. . . . .

He does. He sings.

Beautifully.

His voice breaks sometimes, of course. Weeks of forced silence have taken tolls on both of your throats, and even speaking hurts if you talk too long. But the longer he sings, the longer his song fills your ears, the stronger his voice grows, rich and powerful even in his hushed melodies. It wraps around you like a blanket or a shawl, warming your skin in a way even the sun can’t.

When he first spoke to you so many weeks ago, told you not to hurt yourself by kicking the car down that one horrible day, you thought he could be a singer, thought that his voice was smooth, clear. Like Daeyeol’s. You hated it then, when it only reminded you of your best friend and what he was no longer around to do, what you had lost trying to save this boy with a nice voice who didn’t deserve it.

You still hear hints of Daeyeol’s clarity in Sungyoon’s quiet song. Even more obvious is the love of music in Sungyoon’s eyes that perfectly matches that of your dead friend. The few times Daeyeol hummed old songs to get you to sleep when the sun was still up, he always wore that look in his eyes. It fit him like a second skin, that soft love for music dancing in his expression, and you would try to keep that look in mind as he soothed you into sleep. It brought you both back to better times, when death didn’t lurk around every corner.

It hurts a little to see this look in Sungyoon’s face, for sure, but it also soothes another pain, the pain of knowing that you’ll never see Daeyeol ever again until it’s your turn to go. Because even though you’ll never gaze on his face again during your time on this earth, you’ll still see bits of him, hear parts of him in Sungyoon’s eyes and voice. Where that reminder might’ve felt like a stab in the chest before, it now smooths a blanket over your body, wrapping you in the knowledge that Daeyeol will always live with you, in your memories and in Sungyoon’s voice.

Sungyoon doesn’t ask why you’re crying when he finishes his song, even though he can definitely see you wiping away tears from your perch at the foot of his bed. You don’t make an effort to hide it, really – you’ve done worse things in front of him than cry, and besides, he looks a little teary himself. For a moment, you only sit in your respective positions, trying to rein in your tears until he breaks the silence again.

“That was my sister’s favorite song,” he whispers. “She played it so much that Bomin once threatened to delete it off of her playlist.”

You swallow at the mention of his sister and her boyfriend, guilt snaking its way up your chest. It’s a little easier to ignore right now, though, especially when you realize that this is the first time Sungyoon’s put a name to either of the two people you shot. “Bomin was her boyfriend?” you ask.

He nods. “I never said?”

As you shake your head, it only just occurs to you how little you know of Sungyoon’s family. You haven’t said that much – he knows about your mom and Daeyeol, but little of anyone else – but even that seems like a lot compared to what little he has (more like hasn’t) said about his family. You don’t even know his sister’s name.

You’re not even sure you want to. Putting a name to dead faces, faces that you shot bullets through…

Swallowing, you shake your head again, this time more trying to clear your head than say no. “No, you never mentioned it.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Bomin was Sumin’s boyfriend. Sumin was my sister.”

Bomin. Sumin. The addition of two names to your repertoire (and the past tense for Bomin) nearly makes your head spin. Bomin with dyed, pale hair, Sumin with dark. Bomin with chiseled, handsome features marred by white skin and dark veins. Sumin with a round, soft face and eyes that probably would’ve looked lovely with a smile had they not been shrunken with disease.

You didn’t know either of them at all, which just makes the fact that you put a bullet through each of their heads even worse.

In fact, you pressured Sungyoon into letting you do it.

Both of you agreed not to apologize anymore. But the only words hanging on the tip of your tongue consist of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sungyoon, I’m sorry –

“It wasn’t your fault.”

You blink. “What?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Sungyoon’s eyes bore into yours softly, understanding and reproachful all at once. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? Bomin and Sumin.”

Despite everything, a wry little smile curls the corner of your mouth. “Was it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who saw what happened.” Sungyoon shifts on the bed, sitting up against the wall. “You didn’t kill them, Y/N. The zombies did.”

“See, I know that.” You stare at your hands, the smile wiped from your lips. “Logically. But –”

“Your brain won’t let you,” Sungyoon finishes. “Yeah, I know. It’s the same with me and… you know.” He leans forward, fixing your gaze with his. “So I’ll keep saying it until your brain finally figures it out. Okay?”

The tears try to come again, but this time, you hold them back. “Same for you,” you manage, hoping the wobble in your voice isn’t as prominent as it feels to you. “It wasn’t your fault. It never was. And I’ll keep saying that until you know it too.”

Sungyoon turns away. You don’t try to follow his gaze, to probe at his expression. You don’t need to.

It’s enough, this understanding that hangs quiet in the air.

. . . . .

On week three, when Sungyoon’s finally started to limp around the house, Lady Luck puts you in her good graces and you find a source of transportation far better than your legs. You don’t thank her too much, though, since you literally found the two bikes after being chased twice around the same building by a small, though vicious group of zombies.

Even then, a little bit of excitement sparks in your still-racing heart when you pedal up to the front of the house and dump the first bike indoors. Sungyoon pokes his head out through the bedroom at your call.

You grin. “Remember how to ride a bike?”

It takes a second dangerous trip to bring the other one back but you manage, since Sungyoon is still slow on his feet. When Sungyoon feels ready to try it out, you watch closely as he slings himself onto the cracked seat, ready to catch him if he falls.

He does, twice. But the third time, he actually starts wobbling up and down the front of the house, pedaling slowly but steadily.

A cry almost escapes your throat when he turns around on the street, pedaling back with sparkling eyes and lips curving in a rare smile of success. But though you stifle the sound, you can’t help but run up and hug him when he dismounts, one hand holding the bike steady as you wrap the other around his chest.

Sungyoon’s breath catches. The little gasp in his throat reminds you of what you’re doing, that he might be uncomfortable, and you go to apologize and pull away, insides curdling with embarrassment.

But then he wraps both of his arms around you, bringing you in closer with a gentle, uncertain grip, hands locked loosely at your waist. And it’s your turn to catch your breath at the subtle warmth of Sungyoon’s thin body, a warmth more comforting than even the rays of afternoon sun beginning to set in the sky.

Human touch. Human comfort. Human warmth. You bury yourself in Sungyoon and he buries himself in you, earlier excitement forgotten in favor of the comforting warmth of the other’s touch.

You don’t say anything about it, even after you let go. You only part naturally, smiling at each other as your arms fall to your sides before finally reentering the house. Sungyoon goes back to lying on the little couch, resting his leg, while you carefully stand the bike by the door and go to find something to eat. Conversation is quiet. Not awkward, not stilted, just quiet. You still don’t mention the hug.

But later that night, after you’ve barricaded the door and freshened up as best you can, Sungyoon is still sitting up in the bedroom. You pause in the doorway. “Sungyoon?”

“It isn’t comfortable on the floor, is it?” he asks, voice strangely stilted. He doesn’t wait for an answer before rushing on. “Come up here. It’ll be easier on your back.”

It takes several moments to process his words before you start protesting, saying the floor isn’t that bad and that you read something about how sleeping on hard surfaces is actually better for your back, but your voice dies away when Sungyoon holds out his arms in the dark, shifting to make room for you on the threadbare mattress.

Something about this feels like it should be wrong. Taking comfort in someone who isn’t Daeyeol or your mom or even one of the friends you left behind, probably never to see any of them ever again. You’ve only known Sungyoon for a matter of weeks. Daeyeol you knew for over twenty years. Your mom, even longer.

And now you’re taking comfort in someone when none of them are around to experience it themselves. Guilt simmers in your chest.

But walking into Sungyoon’s arms sweeps it away.

His touch is just as soft and unsure as it was earlier under the afternoon sun, but if anything, it feels warmer in the dark. And as you gain a little courage, letting him curl closer into you as your breaths begin to even from exhaustion, the touch becomes a little more certain, a little firmer and stronger as he loosens against your body.

One brave hand reaches up, tangles briefly through Sungyoon’s hair. “Goodnight,” you whisper.

He squeezes you once, gently. “Goodnight.”

. . . . .

The fourth week has passed by the time Sungyoon walks without a limp. You really would have wanted to go the first day he could put weight on his leg, but if you had, you wouldn’t have found the bikes. And considering the fact that you only have two bullets left, you’re thankful for a method of quick escape.

“We need to get out of the city,” you say, swinging one leg over your bike. “There are too many zombies here. Just follow me, I think I’ve mapped out how to get to the highway. It’ll probably be smoother from there.”

Sungyoon nods. “Let’s go, then.”

Your heart pounds as you pedal down the streets, quickly, quietly. The rusty bikes creak a little under your weight and with every weird noise you tense, pedaling faster, but street after street, you and Sungyoon ride without too much trouble.

Until you turn a corner and the faint sound of dead groans echoes from farther down the street.

Both of you stop. Sungyoon looks over. “Is there another way?”

“I mean, probably.” You swallow. “But they’re in the direction of the highway and regardless, we’ll have to go past. I don’t… I’m not sure…”

The groans grow louder.

“Let’s see if we can loop around,” you decide, trying to picture the general layout of buildings. “Just… be ready to ride fast.”

Sungyoon almost smirks. “That wasn’t a given?”

You hit him, even as you stifle a smile. But that smile disappears quickly as you ride closer and closer to the sounds of groans.

The first zombie lurches out from behind a collapsed home. It stumbles over the sidewalk, clawing forward, but you and Sungyoon move too fast and leave it quickly behind.

But then a second pops out in the distance. And a third.

Behind you, Sungyoon mutters a curse. You don’t blame him. Much worse words are running through your mind. “Through the cars,” you hiss, weaving between several vehicles stranded on the road. “Harder for them to get us.”

The sound of limbs slapping against metal and glass makes you want to hurl. Groans and shrieks echo off the sides of the cars, overpowering the creaking of your bike and filling your ears with their sickening sound. You pedal fast, fast, faster, swerving between a last car into open road –

Sungyoon races past, surpassing you as a zombie just misses grabbing the wheel of his bike. You pedal harder to catch up, staring straight ahead towards the entrance of the highway that’s finally in sight.

Something brushes your arm. You shriek, almost tipping off balance as dead white fingers flash in your peripherals, but a backwards glance from Sungyoon forces you to stay upright and you pedal forward with a last rush of speed, rolling onto a smooth, zombie-free road.

You ride for what feels like hours until you have to call it quits. Stumbling behind an abandoned truck, you collapse in the shade, legs shaking with exertion and adrenaline. Sungyoon follows quickly, dropping his bike onto the asphalt to sit next to you.

For a moment, you only sit in silence, panting under the hot sun.

Then you heave a shaky breath and start to laugh.

It starts out as a gasp, really. That first breath doesn’t fully go out the way you want it to and you wheeze a gasp, then another, and another and another until your wheezes turn into breathless laughter that treads the line of hysteria but then Sungyoon is starting to laugh too and all you can do is revel in the fact that you can laugh, snort, giggle because you’re alive. You made it out of that infested city alive, alive despite that horde at the end, and God, now you’re trembling because even though you’ve had close encounters with the undead before, you can still feel cold, peeling skin just dragging against your shirt –

You start crying.

Adrenaline seeps out of your body like blood from a wound. Your stomach hurts from laughing. Your eyes ache with tears. You keep feeling that feather light, deathly cold touch brushing your arm, almost like a wisp of wind curling against your skin but so much colder, like ice freezing your veins even under the burning sun.

Cold. Cold. Cold. And no one, not Daeyeol, not your mother, no one to help you out of this icy sun –

Sungyoon’s shaking arms wrap around you, and you remember what it feels like to be warm again.

You grip him tight, tight, tighter, holding onto this last piece of human life. Everyone else you know is dead or probably dead and only Sungyoon is a constant, still here and alive despite the fact that you could’ve split up all those weeks ago.

Until the day you die, you’ll be grateful you chose not to.

He holds you and you hold him until both of you finally stop trembling in the hot shade of the truck, but even then, you latch on just a little bit longer, memorizing the weight of his thin body pressed against yours. Hunger has hollowed his skin and yours, eaten away the muscle that used to cushion your bones, but Sungyoon’s arms still hold a fragile strength that slowly bleeds into you, giving you the courage to wipe away the tears.

That night, after hours of riding on quiet roads, no silent, tentative question hangs in the air like it always has when Sungyoon slumps against your sitting figure, head falling into your lap as you fight to keep your eyes open for first watch. Without hesitation, you tangle your fingers through his curly hair, soothing him into sleep.

Sungyoon is your warmth, just as you are his. Reminders to each other that even in this blackened world of death and ashes, both of you are still alive.

. . . . .

The closer you get to home, the harder sleep comes. You don’t know why. It should be the opposite, right? You’re closer to your goal. Closer to your mom.

But that also means you’re closer to uncertainty. Closer to the Schrodinger’s cat-type limbo where you don’t know whether or not your mom is still alive. Only with Schrodinger’s cat, there’s an exactly fifty percent chance that the animal is dead. Or so you think. It’s been some time since you had time to think about quantum mechanics.

Doesn’t matter. Odds are now, the scale’s been tipped a little further in that direction. 

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s dead.

Scratch that. You kind of know what you’ll do. Scream. Cry, probably. Either that or just go silent.

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s just disappeared.

Because then there’s Schrodinger’s cat again, constantly hovering between life and death. Knowing at least gives you facts – you’ll be certain as to whether she’s dead or alive.

Not knowing will rip you apart.

Sungyoon decides it’s enough when you wake up the third time during his second watch, chest heaving from nightmares where you return home alone and there’s no one. Not him, not your mom, not even a single zombie. There’s no blood on the floor or anything to indicate struggle. The house is perfect, just as you left it when you went back to university the last time.

But it’s empty. Cold.

And only silence answers your calls.

“Okay, that’s it.” Sungyoon’s tone is softer than his sharp words. He gently grips your shoulders, pulling you up in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What are you dreaming of?”

You shiver even in his hold, remembering the chill of the empty house, the choking silence that greeted your calls. How do you begin to describe that, the fear of not knowing whether or not your mother is alive?

Then it hits you.

Sungyoon will understand. He has to. He walked back to a zombie infested city on an injured leg to find his sister and her boyfriend, Sumin and Bomin, all the while not knowing if they were alive or dead.

“What if she’s not there?”

His grip slackens. “What?”

You swallow. “What if my mom isn’t there?”

For a long moment, both of you stay silent. In the dark, you can’t even make out the expression on Sungyoon’s face.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “What will you do?”

Fear ices your throat. You can’t speak. What will you do? If it turns out you came all this way, across an entire country, for nothing?

“What did you do?” you manage once it feels like your vocal cords have thawed. “When you went back and…?” A wince of guilt and shame keeps you from saying more.

Sungyoon falls quiet. You recognize this silence not as brooding, not as angry, but thinking. Contemplative. It eases the tightness in your chest.

“It felt like everything was lost to me,” he finally says. “They were all I had left. When it finally hit me that they were gone…” He shakes his head. “But that’s not what you meant, right? You’re asking about before. When I didn’t know.”

You nod, curling closer into him. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” Sungyoon says. “Honestly, I don’t know how I dealt with it. All I know is that it was eating at me so much that I had to go back and find out myself. So I was an idiot.”

There’s a little smile in his voice, a twitch of the lips that you can hear in his last few words. Your mouth almost curves, too. “But what if we go back and I still don’t know?” you ask. “What if she’s just… gone?”

“It’ll be your choice whether or not you want to leave it at that or keep looking,” Sungyoon answers after a pause. “I can’t make the decision for you. But…”

You look up. “But?”

“You know what kept me going after all of that?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “The fact that you offered to let me come with you, despite what had happened. It was the fact that someone, more or less a stranger, gave me a place with them.”

“Really? I honestly thought you were going to laugh in my face as soon as I said it,” you admit. “I’d just… done that, and a few hours later, I was asking you to walk across an entire country with me.” You wince. “Not exactly bonding material.”

“I won’t lie, I kind of considered it.” Sungyoon seems to shrug in the darkness. “But even then, I knew you weren’t evil, regardless of what happened. You still lost a friend. You were still trying to stay alive. And when you talked about your mom…” He sighs. “What I’m saying is you were there for me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens softly. “And whatever happens when we get to your home, I’ll still be there for you.”

The lump in your throat refuses to let you speak, so you only sink further into Sungyoon’s body, trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape your eyes. He seems to understand. His fingers rise and card through your hair, stroking smooth against your scalp.

If this is how Daeyeol felt every time you did this when he was sick, you now understand why he asked for head pats whenever he wasn’t doing well. It soothes you, even if one or two tears do make their way down your face at the thought of your best friend.

Fuck. You close your eyes. Daeyeol would have found a good friend in Sungyoon, you’re sure. Your mom would probably love him too. More than anything, you wish they were here.

But you still have someone. You have Sungyoon. You have someone you trust, someone you rely on, someone you can hold close at times like this when you start to spiral and can’t force yourself out of your mind.

You’d like to say that Sungyoon feels the same.

“Is that okay?” Sungyoon asks softly, breaking into your thoughts. His fingers keep stroking your hair gently, softly.

Your eyes are starting to close again, weighed down by sleep. Nightmares might be waiting, but Sungyoon’s words and warmth make you think they might stay at bay. You nod against his chest. “Yes,” you murmur. “More than okay.”

“Good.” His hands don’t stop. “Now sleep. There are only a few hours before dawn.”

You don’t need to be told twice, only curl further into him and shut your eyes. As sleep finally begins to roll over you in waves, you sigh. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His breath stirs your hair. “For what?”

A small smile curves your lips.

“For being here.”

. . . . .

The buildings start looking familiar two weeks and five zombie attacks later. There are more undead here, probably because you’re closer to the site of the explosion. Even though you’re still several states away, the virus spread more quickly here than on the other side of the country.

At some point after the third attack, you try to apologize while patching up several scrapes on Sungyoon’s arms. There isn’t even time to stay – you need to keep riding, find a place to take shelter for the night before zombies find you. He doesn’t deserve this.

“You don’t either,” he points out. “Neither of us ever deserved this.”

“But I have to deal with it to get home. You don’t.”

“And I signed up for the ride.” Sungyoon pats a bandage more firmly in place before taking your outstretched hand and standing up. He squeezes your fingers. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Your heart pounds painfully as you ride down the last stretch of highway, faded signs bearing the name of your hometown. Everything almost looks the same, if you ignore the dried blood spattered along the sidewalks and panes of shattered glass on the streets.

And the zombies milling about at the base of the exit.

Sungyoon stops when you do, frowning when he sees the faint outlines of white skin and blackened veins. “Great.”

You snort, hysteria building in your throat. “Great” is the perfect way to put it. So close, yet so far – separated from your home by a throng of the undead.

There are only a few right now. From here, up on the highway, you can only count four or five. Zombies don’t move fast and if it’s just those few, you could probably outstrip them.

But they’re definitely not the only ones. And you have no way of knowing just how many are left in the city.

Think, think, think! You hit your head lightly. You grew up here, explored the entire city, walked all the roads by the time you went off to college the first time. Even though things have probably changed, they can’t be too drastically different. Any small nooks, any back roads or alleys you can find where zombies aren’t likely to be…

“What do you think will be more zombie infested?” you ask. “Residential roads or the actual city?”

“… City,” Sungyoon says. “More densely packed people, right?”

You bite your lip. He’s right. The highway leads to a road that cuts straight through the middle of the city and it would probably be faster to follow it straight down and just make a few appropriate turns before reaching your home, but it’ll probably be safer to take the longer local path.

Local it is. God, you hope your sense of direction is as good as it used to be.

“We’re going straight down now before more zombies come,” you say, swinging a leg over your bike. “As fast as you can. We turn left at that first traffic light and then be ready to follow me.”

The downward slope of the highway gives you a burst of speed you dearly need once you reach the road. You speed past abandoned cars and several milling zombies that turn to give chase, but you and Sungyoon are already turning left, racing down a street of empty shops and cafes. You used to hang out there with Daeyeol and a few of your friends before –

Not the time. You pedal faster. The groans of chasing zombies has grown fainter, which is good, but there are definitely more.

As if on cue, several sets of gangly, white limbs pop out from behind a building, lurching towards Sungyoon’s bike. He swerves around a car and you grit your teeth to avoid crying out. “Keep going!” you shout, pedaling faster. Faster.

Street signs whiz past. You almost miss the first turn, jerking sharply to the right at the last minute. Sungyoon curses and you look back but he’s following, still following, weaving around zombies and cars as he keeps racing forward.

Right. Left. Straight. Left. More zombies join the chase, relentless even as you and Sungyoon leave them behind, legs straining to keep the speed. 

Left, left, straight. Pedaling uphill is a pain. Your thighs burn and your chest aches but then you’re rolling downhill and you catch your breath before straining once more.

Straight. Right. Right. Left. You pass by your old high school, grass trampled and overgrown in the front.

Left, right. You race down a street lined with houses you used to envy – if you lived closer to school, you wouldn’t have had to get up early for the bus every morning.

Straight. You pedal past a small plaza. Clubs used to congregate in the restaurants for end of year celebrations. It’s where you went with your friends on the last day of high school and where you had dinner with your mom the next day after graduation.

Mom. Mom. You go right, then left, racing past aching memories, all the while conscious of zombies groaning in the background and Sungyoon panting by your side. Mom, I’m almost there. Almost home.

Please be there.

The last street comes into sight. You swing around a last building and a last car, finding yourself on a familiar street that you haven’t seen in years. You pedal slower, slower, until you stop in front of your house.

Memories almost paralyze you. This was where you met Daeyeol when he first moved in. This was where you almost got hit by a speeding car when you were out playing as a child. This was where you walked from every day to the bus stop for over five years to get to school –

Sungyoon grabs your wrist, glancing behind. Already, the sound of groans is growing louder. “Is this it?” he asks, nodding at the front door.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze your eyes shut, shake yourself out of your daze. “Yeah. Come on.”

With each step forward, you feel like you’re walking back in time. You grow younger and younger, smaller and smaller, until you’re finally pulling out the house key you’ve kept in your bag for so long, waiting for this moment –

You stop, key held uselessly between your fingers as you take in the scuff marks around the doorknob and the lock.

The door has already been forced open at least once.

Sungyoon notices the marks, notices your silence. He pulls open the door anyway and shoves you inside, slamming it shut behind you.

He plucks the key from your hand. Locks the door with a faint, familiar click. 

You look around in a daze, taking in overturned furniture, books and magazines strewn over the floor, cabinets left open from what you can see in the kitchen. Clouds of dust spring up where you step.

You sneeze. The sound brings you back to the present.

Your home has been ransacked. Someone broke in and took what they thought was worth taking, leaving behind furniture and books and the piano standing against the wall. Someone broke in and either spared your mother or killed her –

Or she wasn’t there in the first place.

You can feel Sungyoon’s eyes following your movements as you step forward, slow and cautious. Dust itches your throat and burns your eyes but you keep moving, surveying the damage. “Mom?”

There’s no sign of human life. Not a footprint in the dust, not a handprint on the wall. But there’s also no blood. No sign of struggle.

So where is she?

“Mom?”

Panic seizes your chest and you walk forward faster, looking into the kitchen as if she’ll be hiding somewhere there. When she doesn’t appear, you turn into the bathroom, the bedrooms, but only a mess of dust and objects meets your eyes. “Mom?”

No one replies.

She’s not here.

You try to reason it away. Maybe she’s out looking for food. Maybe she’s hiding. But you don’t have a basement or second floor so there’s nowhere she could be, and why would she be hiding, anyway? As for food…

Dust comes away on your fingertips as you drag them along the floor. Somewhere along the way, you sank down against the wall, alone in the hallway. Bits of dust rise with every breath you take.

If she was just looking for food, the house would still appear lived in. There wouldn’t be so much dust and dirt everywhere.

But she might have had to leave when people broke into the house. Right?

Or not. You swallow, tears starting to flow down your face. There was no sign of struggle, no blood or cracks in the wall. Just overturned furniture, probably from someone’s careless movements while looking for necessities.

Which means she isn’t here.

Not here. Not here. Not here not here not here not here – you came all this way and survived so many attacks and even lost Daeyeol and she’s not here –

And –

Daeyeol –

A cracked, broken sound emerges from your throat and your pounding head falls into your hands. You came this whole way and watched Daeyeol shoot himself just to find the dusty, empty house from your nightmares –

“Y/N.”

You turn your head to see Sungyoon in the hallway, holding a piece of paper in one hand. His face is pale.

He holds out the paper before you can work through the lump in your throat to ask what’s wrong. “I think you should read this.”

. . . . .

It’s long past dark and you still can’t sleep. Sungyoon drifted off about an hour ago, but even though you lie under the same sheet next to him on the floor, not even his warmth can lull you into dreamland this time.

Well. Probably more like nightmare land. The piece of paper crinkles in your hand, as if to remind you of what you’ve lost.

You try to close your eyes against the words that seem to flash in your vision. No use. They’ve tattooed themselves to the backs of your eyelids, trembling letters written in your mother’s familiar scrawl…

Y/N, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’m most likely dead.

Why did she feel the need to apologize for being dead? If anything, it’s your fault for not getting here fast enough.

Of course, there is the chance that I’m just out looking for food and will come back soon, but if I’m not home by night, it isn’t likely.

Night has gone and passed. It’s probably closer to morning.

Every time I leave the house, I put out this note. That way, in case you manage to find your way back, you’ll have this much left from me.

Tears start to build up again behind your still puffy eyes.

I heard you on that phone call. I knew you would come back or at least die trying. Because that’s who you are, Y/N, my strong, darling child. Brave to the last.

Brave. Ha. If only she knew how much you relied on others to keep you sane. First Daeyeol, then Sungyoon…

I miss you. Every day I miss you. But I have hope that you will come home one day, return to this house, even if I’m not there to welcome you.

She wasn’t.

If you are reading this note and I am not there, don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. Nothing is certain, especially not our lives, not mine, not yours. If it was my time, then it was my time. Don’t hurt yourself, thinking you should have gotten here before.

But you could have. Maybe you should have. Sungyoon certainly thought so, judging from his silence as you read the note. He read it too, before you, and you know he was thinking you should have left him and his fractured leg back at that house in the city infested with zombies, left him and come back four weeks earlier to hopefully find your mother, alive and whole –

You don’t think you could’ve chosen differently, though. Sungyoon was there, right in front of you, injured and broken and you couldn’t just leave him behind. Even if your mother had still been here then (which you don’t think she was – the thick layer of dust all over the house speaks of over a month of disuse), would you even have made it back? Or, alone, would you have fallen to the trap of your own mind?

And even if you had returned in time, how would she have thought of you, knowing you left an injured person behind? You wouldn’t have been able to keep it from her. It would’ve spilled out, sometime.

Your heart clenches. Even though there logically wasn’t much you could do, it still hurts to think that you might’ve had a last chance to see her before she went.

Always remember that I love you, Y/N. You have always been the pride of my life. You are strong and brave, and if anyone is to survive this disaster, I pray it is you, both as my child and as a ray of hope for the future. We know something like this can’t happen again. I know you. I know you will help prevent it.

The tears start to spill. Again.

I love you. I miss you. I hope I will see you soon, but not before it is truly your time.

- Your loving mother

Tears fall harder, faster. You turn, pulling yourself out of the blanket so you won’t wake Sungyoon, and sit there, shaking with silent sobs.

I love you too. And I miss you even more.

You have little left of your mother but this note. All her clothes were taken from her room, the sheets of her bed pulled away, even her toolbox laid empty. Trinkets from shelves and tables lay smashed on the floor, fallen from careless searching. A few framed pictures survived. Little more. You don’t even have her body – you can’t even bury her, your mom, your hero, you can’t even give her the same respects you paid Daeyeol –

Your watery eyes light on the shadow of the piano, hidden in the darkness. The lid covering the keys is still closed, protecting them from dust, just the way you left it when you went back to university.

As if in a trance, you stand, walking towards the piano and settling on the dusty bench. You haven’t grown in the years since you’ve been at school and it’s still pulled the same distance back, leaving just enough space for you to stretch your hands out on the keys once you’ve lifted the lid. Dust billows and you cough, batting it away, but you put your hands back on the keyboard.

And begin to play.

It’s your mother’s favorite piece, a sonata’s slow second movement that she said never failed to calm her after a long day. But you don’t play it well – your fingers slip. You don’t remember all the notes. Rhythms are wrong, the melodies stilted, and you stop playing, resting your elbows on the edge of the instrument as you grind the heels of your palms into your eyes, tears beginning to pound once more. You couldn’t bury her so you thought you could give her a little music, but holy fuck, you can’t even properly give this tribute because you can’t play the fucking piece –

Sungyoon sits on the edge of the bench. You jump – you never realized he was awake, and you open your mouth to apologize for waking him up – but he just looks at you with a softness you can feel even in the dark. “Keep playing.”

Fingers trembling, you put them back on the keyboard. It doesn’t get better – missed notes and wrong rhythms still plague the piece – but Sungyoon nudges you every time you falter, pushing you to finish. And when you do, tears falling to the dust onto your lap, he pulls you over and wraps an arm around you, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you cry.

He holds you until the sun rises and you finally fall asleep.

. . . . .

As much as you want to leave as soon as you wake, you stay at home another day. Both of you need a break before you keep going west, now that there’s no time crunch, and there don’t seem to be many zombies walking up and down the street. As long as you and Sungyoon keep the window blinds shut, you consider yourself about as safe as you can get.

The security helps a little. Takes away a bit of anxiety. But wherever you go, no matter how messy the rooms are, you always know that you’re in the same house you grew up in. Just with the most important people of your childhood missing.

But Sungyoon is important, and Sungyoon is here. It helps, a little. Though when you find him staring at the few family photos left on a table, photos with you and your mother and one even with Daeyeol’s family, you have to leave the room because it just reminds you that Sungyoon lost everyone and has little beyond his sister’s earrings, as far as you know, to remember them by. And he had to take them from her body, when in any other “normal” situation of death he would’ve left them in for her burial…

Sungyoon cried over the earrings several weeks ago. Just looking at the pictures, comparing the memories they hold to two little gold hoops that can’t even fit around Sungyoon’s fifth finger, almost makes you want to smash the frames to the ground.

You almost don’t take them with you. It’s only when Sungyoon holds out the thin frames that you remember them, two-dimensional faces of people you lost, smiling with a joy that you don’t think you’ll feel ever again.

“You’ll want them,” Sungyoon says quietly. “It hurts now, but you will. Trust me.”

The weight behind his words convinces you.

In the end, you put them in your bag, stuffing your mother’s note into one of the frames. Sungyoon helps you cushion them with your spare clothes. When you’ve finally packed them away, you walk with him to the front of the house before hesitating in the doorway.

Sungyoon glances at you. “Ready?”

You don’t turn around, but you let your eyes wander over what of the living room you can see from here. You’ve left this house many times, both times when you went to university and every time you left after a break, but you always came back. Even when everything happened, you came back. You still came back.

This time, you don’t think you’ll ever return.

“Y/N?”

You hear Sungyoon, but you still say nothing, riveting your gaze to the door. Once you leave this house, you won’t come back. You can’t even hope for it.

But you think it’ll be okay, because home isn’t just a place. It’s with people, too. And though you will never forget your original home with your mom and Daeyeol, you think you’ve found the beginnings of another home with Sungyoon.

You take Sungyoon’s hand, tangle your fingers through his. He looks at you with some concern but you don’t look back, just blink your eyes and take a breath.

You’re leaving your original home for a less certain one, a home bound solely in human attachment without the solid root of a house. It’s a little tenuous, a little shaky, but with your hands joined like this, you think there’s a possibility things might be okay.

It’s a chance you’re willing to take.

“Yeah.” You finally look up, squeezing his fingers once. You twist the doorknob. “Let’s go.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain two characters to stay alive)

#kpopscape #golden child #golcha #gncd #sungyoon #choi sungyoon #golden child y #golden child sungyoon #golcha sungyoon #golden child scenarios #golden child imagines #golden child oneshots #golcha scenarios #golden child sungyoon scenarios #golden child y scenarios #golden child x reader #golcha x reader #choi sungyoon x reader #golcha sungyoon x reader #golden child sungyoon x reader #angst #fluff #apocalypse!au #tw cursing #tw death #tw blood #tw suicide #light the pyres #light the pyres |burn| #scriptura-delirus

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues

sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes to bag punches you

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none. heavy handed use of italics

ship: Dousy (Daniel Sousa/Daisy Johnson), background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

ahaha.. and the fun begins (the cryptic-ness is for a reason i promise)

“Ow!!” Daisy exclaimed. This was the second time today she had gotten distracted and let the punching bag swing into her. Sans Bobbi or Mack, her usual workout partners, there was no one to hold the bag still while she was pummeling it. Her side of the gym was entirely void of people, most opting to use the treadmills or other cardio machines lining the wall of large windows that faced the forest to the south, or stick to circuits on the resistance machines throughout the middle of the gym. The universe seemed to be telling her to get in some boxing, so she walked over to the bag with the intention of punching until her arms hurt.

Now her nose hurts, too.

“You need a spot?” May asked, silently crossing the padded floor to Daisy.

She nodded. Waiting for May to get into position, Daisy stretched out her arms over her head and across her body, twisting her torso to feel her abs stretch. When May gave her a thumbs up, Daisy started to punch the heavy bag again, this time with a little more force now that she knew it wouldn’t fly back and hit her in the face.

“Something on your mind?”

“No,” Daisy grunted. “Just slacked off the last few weeks. With everyone gone on break there wasn’t as much of... everything, I guess, to keep me in a routine.”

May nodded. “Breaks can be tough. No classes, schedule disrupted, more free time than you know what to do with. I get it. If you ever want a time-filler, text and I’ll be there.”

Daisy nodded, going back to silently punching. The breaks weren’t all bad. They only happened eight times a year, five two-week breaks and three three-week breaks. Enough time that those with families and lives outside of SHIELD could visit and vacation, but not fall behind. Plus, it gave Daisy the campus pretty much to herself. Only about forty students stayed at The Academy over breaks, and it seemed to decrease every time.

Another good thing about breaks was that Daisy got to know more people personally. Whether it was how the tall, fifth-year red head took her morning coffee or that the new group of first-years liked to run the same trails through the forest as she did. So, when an entirely new face had cropped up out of nowhere, Daisy was intrigued. He walked with a limp, had nice hair and kind eyes. She didn’t recognize him, and despite the fact that he had arrived the same day as the rest of the first-years, he was definitely the oldest of the pack. That was unusual, Daisy had thought, SHIELD almost always recruits directly out of high school or college. The last time anyone over the age of twenty-five had been accepted to the Academy was when Daisy herself had started. However, that was a bit of a… special situation.

Every morning, New Guy crossed through the computer lab and waved, smiling confidently at Daisy. His sudden appearance and amicable interactions confused her. Classes weren’t in session, but he always had a backpack with him. Maybe he had tutoring with one of the professors? A new student trying to catch up before the term even began — an enigma.

Once classes had started, he still came by everyday. Daisy liked to think it was because he wanted to see her. They had never spoken more than tired greetings to each other, and yet Daisy felt herself pulled towards him. She shook off the thought. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the last time she felt such a magnetic attraction to someone.

She realized May was studying her through the mirrors lining the wall next to the row of punching bags. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my form okay?”

May gave her a long look that clearly said, ‘You know that your form is fine.’

Daisy pulled her eyes away from May’s stare, announcing, “I’m going to fill up my water, do you need any?”

May shook her head, pulling out her phone.

Daisy bent down to grab her water and headed to the back of the gym, towards the locker rooms. A couple of reusable bottle-filler stations were stuck into the wall, right next to the PT rooms. Daisy couldn’t help but peer into the closest one as she listened to the sound of water streaming into her bottle. It was filled with floor ladders, yoga balls, sports med supplies... New Guy. Huh.

Wondering why he would be sitting in a dark PT room by himself, Daisy took a swig of her water before continuing to fill it up. He hopped off the table as the lights came on, a young doctor-type walking in a smiling. She was reminded of his limp when he walked towards her, shaking her hand and flashing a large smile. Cute, Daisy noticed. Wait, no, what?

Daisy promptly turned and headed back to the wall of mirrors, choosing to ignore the smirk on May’s face.

“Ready?” Daisy asked.

“Actually,” May began, “Why don’t we get in some sparring? You’ve been at this for over an hour.”

Daisy caught the glance May threw at the half-assed wraps on her hands and nodded. With only a few jitters, Daisy quickly helped May unroll the sparring mats onto the floor. Daisy had only sparred with Yo-Yo since she got back from Columbia visiting her cousin. Sparring with May was an entirely different level.

After some warm-up drills, May silently took charge and got into a fighting stance. Daisy rose up on her tip-toes, then rocked backwards. The grey padding beneath her looked a lot softer than it felt while being slammed onto it. A quick lunge from Daisy and a swift deflection by May, and the two women were off.

Across the gym, Daniel Sousa and the doctor were chatting, watching Daisy and May.

“They look like they’re barely breaking a sweat,” Daniel commented after May leaped off Daisy’s leg, flipping forwards and attempting to grab Daisy around the shoulders. Daisy rolled backward, throwing May over her and getting to her feet as the shorter woman jumped up into a wide stance.

“You’ll get back to that level,” The physical therapist assured him.

Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. I hope so. If not, I’m a damn good shot, anyway.”

The doctor chuckled before motioning back to the PT room. “C’mon, you still have thirty minutes stuck with me before I release you from daily therapy.”

“It’s only been three weeks?” Daniel questioned, confused. They walked through a black door to a small room. Grey cabinets on one side, a black table on the other, physical therapy tools lined up in organized sections.

“Most of which was just assessing you. You already know the exercises and stretches, and you completed the physical therapy recommended by your primary care physician before you came to us. You have the strength mostly back in your residual limb, at least to the point where sparring shouldn’t do any damage. I still expect you to show up at least twice a week. Especially since you’re starting field training with May.”

He smiled. “How do you know about that?”

“I have access to your file, Sousa,” She reminded him, “I also know you were late to her class on the first day. Not a smart move, in my opinion.”

Daniel cringed at the memory of heads turning his way, watching him limp to the only open seat in the very front. May’s comment— “Thoughtful of you to join us, Agent Sousa,” —still turned his face a slightly embarrassing shade of red when he thought about it.

Noticing his uncomfortable silence, the physical therapist put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was late to my first class, too. Professor Martin, advanced physiology. Granted, I was seventeen...”

Daniel playfully glared at her.

“...but I suppose that’s no excuse. Let’s get started.”

The rest of the day went by without Daisy or Daniel seeing much of each other besides a fleeting glimpse while changing classes. Not that they were looking for the other, or anything.

A few hours later, before dinner, Daisy was sitting on the counter in the girls’ dorm bathroom, watching Jemma curl her hair.

Jemma Simmons was one of the only people she immediately loved at SHIELD, and the first person she had trusted on Coulson’s team. Over the course of a couple months, they became closer than Daisy had ever been with anyone, spending almost every waking moment together. Over time, Daisy had grown to love the rest of the team, too, learning that they had also been hand picked by Coulson. Though, technically, Daisy hadn’t been chosen for the team. She was picked up as a consultant. But it didn’t matter, as the ragtag team had quickly been disbanded.

Knives shoved into your back can have that effect.

After the end of the team, Code-named Bus Kids, Daisy, Fitzsimmons, Tripp, and May and Coulson had come to the Academy to continue working with SHIELD. Daisy and Tripp were assigned as partners in their ops training, Fitzsimmons were partners in the lab, and May and Coulson still checked on them as if nothing had changed.

But people get busy, and it had been awhile since Jemma and Daisy had properly talked to each other.

“Does the bruise on my nose look like it’ll go away any time soon?”

Jemma glanced up through the mirror, shrugging. “It should. What did you do to it?”

Daisy fiddled with her hands, only answering when Jemma turned to face her fully.

“I kinda, uhm, got punched...”

The stern look Jemma gave Daisy quickly melted into laughter as the brunette added, “...by a punching bag.”

Reaching up to turn Daisy’s face towards the fluorescent bathroom lighting, Jemma gently ran a finger along the angry red splotch on the top of Daisy’s nose. She jerked her head a bit, wincing at the contact.

“You should be fine, I’ll grab some of the good anti-inflammatory meds from the medical storage.”

Daisy thanked her, hopping off the counter to grab an eyeliner pen. “So, how is Fitz? Is this a real date night or are you guys ‘just hanging out’?”

Jemma smiled at his name and rubbed her neck. Daisy smiled back at the subconscious reaction.

“You two are so meant for each other,” She teased.

Jemma tilted her face up towards Daisy, allowing her to start applying eyeliner.

“He hasn’t really defined it. We’re ‘going out’, but we aren’t dating.”

Daisy finished the subtle cat eye, shaking her head. When would he learn that Jemma would only believe they were together if he said, ‘Hey, Jems, I’m completely and totally in love with you and I want you and I to live happily ever after!’

Daisy watched Jemma inspect herself in the mirror, touching up her mascara.

“You look amazing. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see it,” Daisy assured.

Jemma smiled. Her Sheffield accent had gotten thicker over break, Daisy noticed, as Jemma responded, “He does, I know he does. We both just have trouble, you know? Voicing our thoughts and feelings.”

Daisy definitely knew…

“Well, he could do with a good reminder sometimes. If y’all are going to keep going on these not-dates, you might as well show him what he’s missing by staying just friends!”

Jemma laughed, smiling gratefully. She took one final look in the mirror, swishing her knee-length royal blue dress and fluffing her hair. “Okay, well, off I go. Have a good night, Daisy.”

Daisy gave her a thumbs up and went to watch out her window as Fitz handed Jemma a hand-picked bouquet of (slightly squished) wildflowers and took her arm to lead her to the parking lot.

Daisy sighed and turned away from the gold and pink sunset. She opened her personal laptop, immediately bombarded by three windows running programs. One was running an innocent algorithm to clean all the useless, unused files from her computer, one was a simulation that could (hypothetically, no harm no foul) hack the Pentagon, and another was trying to find video and audio feed from Los Angeles, four months ago.

Daisy’s gaze lingered on the last one, not expecting anything new. She sighed and picked up her laptop, deciding to go visit Mack in the garage. It was only seven on a Friday, he’d probably be there working on the run-down, close to falling apart Harley he had bought off an old friend for $200. Mack had been working on it for months. Daisy wasn’t even sure it had half its original parts.

A short trip across the grounds and a trek over a winding path cut through a field of thick tallgrass later, Daisy arrived at the garage.

The monstrous steel and concrete building was like a plane hangar and mechanics lab forged into one. Workstations around the edge were strewn with tools, motors, and half-finished pieces of tech. Shining black SHIELD vehicles and even two quinjets sat in the middle, outlined by rectangular blocks of tape and paint. Catwalks crossed the upper level so that mechanics could reach the tops of planes when necessary, though SHIELD planes hardly ever came to The Academy unless they were being used for a lesson.

Daisy followed the sounds of tinkering and the quietly moving shadows to Mack’s workstation. She carefully leaned against a nearby SHIELD van, not wanting to interrupt his work.

Now, to say that Mack wasn’t easily frightened was an understatement. Daisy had hardly ever seen the muscled giant of a man so much as jump. Ever since discovering this, Daisy had taken every opportunity to try to scare Mack. It was not going great.

Daisy pulled out her phone, silently thumbing through emails and checking Instagram. She was about to walk over and tap him on the shoulder when Mack turned around and screamed.

Clutching his chest, Mack exclaimed, “Tremors, what the hell?!”

“I just wanted to come check in,” Daisy giggled, happy that she had finally snuck up on Mack.

Mack stood with his hands on his hips, smiling wide, before cocking one thick eyebrow and gesturing at her face.

“What happened to your nose?”

“Punching bag won this morning,” She shrugged.

Mack shook his head, laughing in a deep rumble. “You wanna help me with this?” He asked, pointing to the small device on his desk.

She didn’t answer, just reached out to take a small screwdriver from Mack’s very large hand. He showed her how to twist it to create leverage without it slipping while he messed with some wires, and eventually he seemed satisfied.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Mack asked casually.

Daisy nodded, her grumbling stomach betraying her.

Mack eyed her up and down. “Sure. Well, I’m hungry, so let's get something to eat and then we can take the bikes out.”

Daisy liked the feeling of being on a bike, the wind in her hair and steady vibrations from the engine soothing her ever-present headache. Ever since this revelation, if Mack went out on his motorcycle, he invited Daisy to ride with him.

At first, Daisy had been skeptical. What was so great about a two-wheel speeding death trap? One of her best friends had driven a gleaming 1969 Dodge Charger, and she had enjoyed riding with the windows down, but it still wasn’t the absolute best experience of her life, like most motorcyclists claimed a ride could be. However, once Daisy had finally taken Mack up on his offer, she was never hesitant to accept another invitation.

In the canteen, Mack piled a plate high with salad ingredients and baked spaghetti, scooping some off into a bowl for Daisy once he got back to the table. She took a fork and picked at it, chewing the crisp lettuce slowly.

Once they were both finished, Mack put his plate and utensils on the circling dish belt. He let Daisy lead the way back to the garage. She immediately grabbed two helmets and Mack’s gloves.

“That leather jacket gonna be enough to keep you warm? I have a couple old flannels in my bag if you want one.” Mack offered.

Daisy picked at a loose thread on the worn black jacket, nodding and throwing a ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder. She quickly rifled through his duffel bag, pulling out a faded black and blue flannel and shrugging it on under her jacket.

Mack mounted his black and silver bike, Daisy choosing a smaller SHIELD one. She kicked the kickstand back with her foot, finding her balance. She followed Mack as he revved the engine and took off out of the garage. Daisy heard him speak into the helmet’s mic.

“I upgraded the bikes, bigger tires and a better visor. It’s more efficient. Plus, when I’m out on the highway, cars don’t push me around.”

Daisy gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the feeling of air flowing around her. She sped up as she reached the road. She felt as if she was flying high into the air, fighting the laws of physics. On the back roads surrounding the Academy, as familiar as the back of her hand, Daisy relaxed and let herself fall into autopilot.

She heard Mack in her ear, still talking about the bike. She had heard it all before, but there was something centering about listening to Mack retell the evolution of his bike for the hundredth time, like a kid who begged to hear the same bedtime story every night.

It was freeing, speeding down a deserted road on the bike, stars above and pavement below. Pine trees reached for the sky on each side of her. Shrubbery and grass waved to Mack and Daisy as they raced forward.

A slight burn pricked her eyes that she knew wasn’t from the wind. Daisy needed this after a stressful first couple weeks back in class. To be honest, it was what she needed all the time. Daisy was exhausted. Her powers may not be visible, but they were always on, always bouncing around her body. Times like these, though, Daisy felt free. Releasing the constant grip she had on her self-control, she let the vibrations of the engine flow through her. Slowly, surely, Daisy let her guard down. A whispering warble crept into her ears over the wind. She could feel the way the pavement below and the humid late-August air around her absorbed the miniscule quakes, bouncing lightly off the tall trees like a quiet laugh reflecting off the walls of an echo-chamber.

About an hour later, Daisy and Mack were rolling back into the garage. Daisy couldn’t hide the slight redness in her eyes, but the smile on her face told Mack he didn’t need to worry. The pair silently did maintenance on the motorcycles, re-fueling them for later use and checking for any loose parts on Daisy’s.

Daisy headed back to campus, refusing Mack’s offer to walk her back to the dorms. She would be fine on her own. Besides, Jems might be back by now, she could ask about Fitzsimmons’ date. Or she could wait until breakfast tomorrow and tease them both.

Daisy stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow slipped behind a building. Daisy felt her back tense, her hands curling into fists.

Any remainder of twilight light had faded while Mack and Daisy maintenanced the bikes. Daisy couldn’t imagine that any of the trainees that went to parties at the nearby universities were back yet, but no student in their right mind would want to simply walk around the dark campus of the Academy.

She kept walking, more alert. No sounds apart from her steady breathing and the rustle of grass beneath her feet reached her ears. She walked slowly toward where the shadow had disappeared. It looked as if it was headed to the biochem building. Daisy raised her hands, quietly running towards the white building, slightly crouched. She circled it once, twice, before deciding she had been imagining things, the shadow was only a trick of the light. It seemed so real though, so solid…

Daisy shook her head and crossed the courtyard, heading towards the dorms. It was late, and she had important things to do tomorrow. She was probably just tired from her ride with Mack.

Behind her, unnoticed by Daisy, the shadow quickly crossed the field behind the biochem building, slinking into the tallgrass.

The next day, Daisy woke to the sound of her alarm blaring 90’s RnB at six thirty AM, sharp. She quickly shut it off and stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning and dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after her encounter with the shadow.

The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, golden light filtering into her windows. It was early, but she didn’t have the energy to go workout. Instead, Daisy stretched on her bed and sent a quick text to Jemma asking to meet up later to gossip about her date.

She grabbed shorts and a cropped sweatshirt, quickly dressing and making her way to the bathroom. She clipped her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face and headed back to her room. Trying her best to cover the bruise that had turned from red-violet to a blue-ish tinted black, she did minimal makeup. It’s not like it could get any worse, she thought bitterly. The concealer wasn’t much use.

Deciding to ignore the bruise, Daisy stood up, grabbed her backpack with her personal laptop and journal and headed to the canteen.

There weren’t many students around campus this early in the morning. Most were either asleep or nursing a hangover in their dorms. A few dedicated trainees were scattered amongst the different buildings, either in the gym or studying on their favourite bench. Daisy made a beeline for the canteen, hoping that no one had drank all the fresh coffee yet.

She slipped through the doors, sending small smiles to the students she made eye-contact with, faltering when her roving gaze reached a set of twinkling eyes the color of coffee. Maybe, she thought, I should go over and talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?

She quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pastry cart. Checking to be sure he wasn’t sitting with anyone (she wouldn’t want to intrude), Daisy walked around to the back of the large room, sitting in a spot diagonal from him.

After a few minutes of silence where Daisy ate her bagel and pretended not to feel his eyes on her, she turned and faced him.

“Good morning,” she said.

He dipped his head and raised his paper cup of coffee at the same time in response.

Does he not want to talk to me? Daisy questioned herself. She tried again. “So, is the coffee good?” He glanced at her cup that she had been sipping. Daisy recovered, “You know, in your opinion. I love the coffee here, the slightly burned aftertaste goes well with cream and sugar.΅

To her relief, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s good. I don’t usually use cream or sugar.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Ah, more of a bare necessities, no-nonsense guy?”

His nose scrunched a little in thought, as if he was assessing his entire personality to see if it aligned with Daisy’s coffee psychology. He nodded finally, elaborating, “I was in the army. Most of us drank it black while deployed. I never got out of the habit. But, to answer your question, I like to think of myself as low maintenance.”

He sent her a small smile that had her insides melting just a bit. Daisy hid behind the rim of her coffee cup, trying to think of a response. Luckily, New Guy saved her.

“How do you drink your coffee?”

Daisy lowered her own paper cup, clearing her throat. “One half and half, just a bit of sugar. If I’m super tired I’ll add more.”

“So you probably adapt easily and have a deep hunger for answers to all your questions?”

Daisy’s eyes quickly flicked down to her coffee, wondering if her coffee order really exposed that much about her. Daniel laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m kidding. I noticed how you’re always in the computer lab before class, and Yo-Yo told me that you use that time to research.”

Daisy felt a blush creep up her neck. Yo-Yo knew New Guy? And gave him information about her schedule?

Daniel quickly explained, “We see each other in the halls a lot. And we have a class together. She noticed me in the lab and thought I knew you.”

Daisy relaxed. Yo-Yo had become increasingly more friendly to strangers the longer she spent at the Academy.

“I remember the first time I met her. She was so angry that SHIELD had stopped her from exposing the police in her city as corrupt. Our team was sent in to help her finish what she had started, destroy weapons and take down the corrupt members of the department. It was fun,” She chuckled.

Daniel watched her through his thin clear-frame glasses. She winced a little as her nose scrunched with laughter, recalling another story about a mission gone awry that Yo-Yo saved.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“What?”

He pointed to the spot on his face that mirrored the position of the bruise on hers. “The bruise. It looks like it hurts.”

Daisy shrugged, “Not as badly as getting shot. But you know, sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes the bag punches you.”

Despite the playful nature of the statement, Daniel couldn’t help but hear alarm bells in the back of his mind. She had been shot?!

Daisy noticed the change in Daniel’s demeanor and switched tactics, “It’s just a bruise. I wasn’t paying attention and the punching bag flew back and hit me in the face.”

Daniel laughed, becoming more and more intrigued with the enigma sitting across from him. Well, at least this enigma was beautiful, even if she had lost a fight to a punching bag.

A look of pure confusion overtook Daisy’s features. “Excuse me?”

Daniel’s face flushed bright red. He said that out loud. Daisy was still smiling though, Daniel let out a nervous chuckle. The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Daisy was finishing her bagel when he spoke up again.

“It was good talking to you,” he said softly.

Daisy’s eyes wandered his face with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was.”

He resisted the urge to offer to walk Daisy to wherever she was going as she headed out of the doors of the canteen, coffee with one half and half and pinch of sugar in hand.

————————————————————————————

hi hellooo! whatd you think? comments and notes are appreciated! (will go back and edit this later, for now i sleep)

tag list: @jaanulore

#agents of sheild #aos #dousy #timequake #fic #angst #fluff #fitzsimmons #mackelena #philindaisy #jemma simmons #leo fitz #daniel sousa #daisy johnson #/ #melinda may

[tetsuroyaoyaoya]

✧ CAFÉ AU NAME ✧

pairing: barista!akaashi x f!reader

word count: 2,418

synopsis: you walk into akaashi’s back-alley coffee shop every thursday evening with a new book, a new order, and a new name.

The feathers of the duster glided over the counter, brushing off any loose beans onto the linoleum on the bar. Conscious of the time, Akaashi let his eyes wander over to the door expectantly. It was still an hour till closing time, but that’s not exactly what he was looking forward to. 

For the last two months or so, every Thursday evening, roughly an hour before close; in walked you. 

From the second you walked through the door, he was entranced by you, and his infatuation only deepened the more you visited his hidden little cafe.

Akaashi had never been one to have friends, besides ones he met through his old volleyball team, and there was definitely no girlfriend anywhere in the picture, so he didn't really know where to start when just one look at you made his heart tumble out of his chest.

And, becuase of course, there was another dilema on his mind; despite asking for your name every time he made your drink, he didnt actually know your real name yet. Every time you came in you had ordered something wildly different, along with a brand new name. The poor boy thought he was going insane.

The first time he had met you, it had been a sunny evening, and as usual, the shop was pretty much empty - only two customers and himself occupying the café. He was practically begging for something to do before the bell on the door chimed, signalling another entry.

For the first time in his life, Akaashi had to physically pause in shock as he laid eyes on you. He quickly caught himself out and slipped right back into his role, but the fact that you had caught his attention enough to distract him like that was baffling to him.

"Good evening. What can I get started for you?" His eyes followed you as you approached the counter gracefully, smiling at him before squinting up at the menu.

"Ah... hazelnut mocha? Yeah, regular size, please." Akaashi resisted the urge to chuckle at your indecisiveness.

"And a name for that?" You rained an eyebrow slightly, eyes darting around the shop, noting how empty it was. Akaashi has realised his mistake, but it was both a mistake of habit and just a petty excuse to learn your name.

"Elizabeth." Once again, Akaashi was rendered speechless. It seemed his surprise didn't go unnoticed either as you attempted to hide your giggle behind the book he hasn't realised you were holding. he tried to catch the title, but didn't get the chance as you had composed yourself before he could even blink. 

He cleared his throat and moved to the till, where he quickly tapped your order into the machine. He tried desperately not to blush when your hands brushed as you handed him the money for your drink, and decided to focus on making your drink instead of studying your face. 

However, because of this, he completely missed the way your eyes followed him as he danced across the bar, first for the syrup, then for the chocolate. It was as if you would miss the entire show if you took your eyes off of him. He moved so fluently it was if the process was ingrained into his body. You continued to watch as he allowed the chocolate to steam unsupervised while he prepared the espresso, savouring the scent of the coffee as he pulled the shots. 

You noticed a slight change in the sound to the steam, as did he, and without even looking he turned the lever to stop it, while also pouring the the espresso into the mug and swirling it together. The pouring felt like some sort of performance, with the way he held the jug so lightly, gently and precisely guiding the chocolate into the mug, wiggling it to make a gorgeous pattern on top. 

He placed the drink on a saucer, pairing it with a spoon and a little biscuit that he had pulled from seemingly nowhere. You smiled gratefully as he pushed it over to you, barely able to meet your eyes. 

“If you want a quiet place to read, the corner over there with the ferns is probably your best bet,” He nodded over to a little nook across the shop and you could see what he meant, it was secluded, and all other tables were faced away from it, but you could still see out over the entire store, especially with it being so small. 

“They’re fake... in case, you know... allergies?’ Giggling, you tucked your book under your arm in order to use both hands to carry the drink over to the table. A you did, Akaashi finally got a good look at the spine. 

‘Pride and Prejudice’

Elizabeth, of course.

“I’ll be here if you need anything.” With one last nod in thanks, you left the counter, allowing the barista to breathe again without the fear or stuttering or stumbling over his words. 

The second time he met you it has already turned cold, and frost was beginning to creep its way up the café windows. Luckily, it was nice and toasty inside the shop, and with an unlimited supply of hot drinks at his fingertips, it couldn’t be any better.

Except, it could. 

Akaashi was actually meant to be training up a new barista today, and yet he was distracted, thinking about a certain customer that he hasn't seen in a full week now. Who did he think he was? Falling in love at first sight only to possibly never see you again? It was just his luck. 

The owner was drawn out of his thoughts as he heard a hiss of pain, immediately looking over to see said new barista with a hand now covered in scalding hot coffee. He sighed, but quickly grabbed the cloth he kept in his apron pocket. Wiping the trainee’s hand, he instructed them to run it under cold water for as long as possible to make sure it didn't blister.

As they walked away, Akaashi faintly heard the door chime, and ran a hand through his hair in order to calm himself before speaking to a customer. 

“Hi, what can I- oh...” You stood across the counter, warm eyes peeking out from where your neck and mouth were buried in the biggest, fluffiest scarf Akaashi thought he’d ever seen. He heard a small chuckle and you reached up to unravel yourself from the bundle of fabric. 

“Stressed?” Your voice was soft when you finally freed yourself. Akaashi could only give you a nod and a small smile in response, aware of his trainee’s return to the machine. A quick once-over told him that they were fine and he could continue with their training. 

“What can I get you today?” It only took one look between the two baristas to understand the situation, and you immediately took pity on the owner, deciding to order something simple to be nice. 

“Just a latte, thank you.” The more experienced barista smiled at you gratefully, and put the transaction through the till before taking your money. 

“And a name for that?” He suggested playfully, mostly in reference to his mistake the last time the two of you met.

“Emma.” He almost laughed, eyeing the new book you were holding. A fan of Jane Austen then. Akaashi opened his mouth to say something else when he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass behind him. It was a good thing he turned away in a panic the second he heard it, or else he would have seen you jump out of your skin in surprise. 

The whole café seemed to become even quiter than it already was for a few moments, only Akaashi’s soothing murmer present in the silence. He once again made sure that the trainee was alright before instructing them to step away so that he could clean up the mess. He disappeared for a moment before returning with a sweeping brush. With a smile, albeit a nervous one, he told you to sit down to wait rather than remaining at the counter. 

“Get comfy, it may be a minute.”

The third time you returned to his little café, Akaashi was too busy already serving a customer to greet you immediately. He was so distracted that he hadn't even heard the chime of the bell on the door, which was unusual. What did attract his attention to you however, was the odd sniffle every minute or so to his left. He slipped his gaze over you in time to see you desperately trying to hold back a sneeze, nose scrunched in the cutest way possible, sleeve ready to catch it. 

With a quiet chuckle he quickly finished up with his current customer, handing the order over to his trainee, who had surprisingly improved by miles in the past week, and was now able to handle the standard drinks to an acceptable degree. 

As the customer moved on, he watched you with an amused smile as you practically waddled up to the counter, no scarf today, but instead a chunky sweater that more of less buried you, barely visible fingers clutching your book choice for this week - Sense and Sensibility. 

He raised an eyebrow expectantly and you rolled your eyes. Despite the scarf the previous visit, you had managed to catch a cold last week from the freezing wind you walked through to get to the café, and you still hadn't fully recovered yet.

“Afternoon, Elinor.” Your eyes widened as he guessed you name for this week before you even had chance to order, but it brought an excited smile to your face.

“Something strong... uh, a... ugh!” He snickered at your frustration and you scowled, a crease in your brow, but he couldn't take you seriously with the bright pink flush across your cheeks the cold had given you. 

“A cappuccino!” You announced triumphantly, but quickly calmed yourself in slight embarrassment as you realised you might have been just a tad too loud. Akaashi was clearly enjoying your playfulness today, but made no comment, thankfully.

“Chocolate dusting?” You perked up again at that, but remained sheepish.

“Extra, please?” He put your order through the till as he always did, and you stalked off to find your usual seat as he handed it off to the trainee. 

The fourth time you stopped by, the cold spell has finally disappeared, and the glow of the evening light shining through the windows was slightly warmer than it had been recently. 

Despite this, the sight of the improved weather was immediately dampened when you walked in, such a tired expression on your face that Akaashi physically stopped in his track out of worry. You always had such a happy smile that seeing you without it seemed so strange. 

At the look on his face, you tried your hardest to smile like you usually did, but you could both that it was horribly forced, and you gave up quickly. 

“Choose for me today, ‘kaashi.” He didn't know what surprised him more - the nickname or the fact that you knew his name in the first place. Obviously it was on his name tag that you saw every time you were in the shop, but he hadn't expected you to actually remember it. 

He couldn't help the strange feeling in his stomach, both in worry and... something else that he couldn't quite place the feeling of. 

“This one’s on me. Jane today?” Even with your mood, you were never without your precious book. A quick look at the cover told him that it was Jane Eyre today, his favourite. 

You opened your mouth to protest, but one stern look from Akaashi shut you right up. You gave him a thankful smile, a genuine one, and slowly walked off to take your usual spot.

Akaashi waited until you had your back turned to quickly switch places with his other barista in order to personally make your drink today. The other barista was shocked at his hurry, but shook their head with a smile at the action. They had witnessed enough interactions between the two of you to understand. 

The next week, Akaashi waited all day and all evening, so worried about last week and how you left without a word that he couldn't even focus on his work because he just needed to see you to make sure you were okay. 

But you never came.

He was upset, but you were probably busy, or something had happened, but the though of an incident of some sort only put him even more on edge than he already was. 

With a sigh, he exited the shop, adjusting the bag on his shoulder so that he could place the key in the door to lock it. He was about to turn the metal when he heard frantic footsteps behind him. Akaashi glanced back to see you, rushing as quickly as you could, jacket billowing behind you as you made it towards him. 

You came to a stop just next to him, hands on your knees as you attempted to catch your breath as Akaashi stared down at you in bewilderment. As you finally stood straight, you smiled heavily, breaths still laboured.

“Work meeting ran over,” you tried to explain, “you aren't closed yet, are you?” You could clearly see him with the key in the door, but he could hear the evident disappointment in your voice. 

“Depends.” Hope flooded your features and the absolute joy on your face would have made him give in if he hadn't already. 

“On?” Even if he didn't know it, you could see plain as day how dejected he looked today, and you had an inkling that it was to do with your lack of appearance. 

“Tell me your name.” The was a slight pause, before you giggled at the simple condition, causing Akaashi to turn his head away as to hide from you how contagious your smile really was.

“Y/N.” You held your hand out, having never been happier to introduce yourself to someone. 

“Keiji, nice to meet you.” He took your hand in his and shook it, lingering for a moment before letting to go to take the key out of the door and open it, gesturing you inside with a smile. 

You brought books to places with you to loose yourself in someone else’s fantasy, but maybe you had found your real-life fairytale. 

masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq #akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #barista au

[ptergwen]

last christmas

w/c: 2.0k

warnings: a few descriptions of dizziness

summary: someone might be able to get you back into the holiday spirit

a/n: hi hi hi i’m really excited about this :,) i’ve had the idea for a while and i like where it’s going! it’s based it off of the movie last christmas and this is only part one, so if it feels a little slow that’s why AND on that note i hope you enjoy

━━━ *:･。.

“you’re late,” harry comments as the coat room door bursts open. he’s not wrong, but he doesn’t have to announce it. you slip behind the counter while tying up your apron. “only ten minutes. besides, we’re never busy this early.” he presses his lips together and grabs a large cup.

that’s the face he makes whenever you say or do something stupid. you’ve learned a lot about harry in your year of working together. he’s a pretty laidback guy. funny, too. you’d consider him a friend and not just your coworker. the only time he isn’t chill is when your coffee shop has what you like to call its rush hour.

it’s in a pretty prominent area in london, and it gets packed every afternoon. people like to pop in for a muffin or some tea on their lunch break. with it being christmas time and all, the shop is way more chaotic than usual. the seasonal flavors clearly draw a crowd. you take that as a compliment since you came up with a few of them.

the point is, harry can get stressed and pretty mean. you’re afraid he’ll explode if you ask him a question sometimes. he turns super red. but, he also knows more than you do. he’s had to fix countless machines you’ve almost broken. you two make an interesting team. it’s just you and harry who work mornings.

your mouth drops open when you see the line of people squished into the shop. “oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. harry hears it and hums smugly. “rush hour came early. get out there.” you quickly take your spot at the register. a man with a fuzzy red sweater and judgy look steps up. “hi, sorry for the wait. what can i get started for you?”

the rest of your morning is exactly the same. you deal with the crabby customers, harry makes the drinks. it gets better once your other coworkers clock in for the day. orders get done faster, and you have someone to joke around with from time to time.

you and harry eventually switch because he’s bored of making hot chocolates. you’re in charge of drinks while he rings people up now. it’s not too bad at first. all you have to do is dump some mixes into water and call names. then, everyone starts shouting at you. the drinks gets harder, you keep messing up, and customers aren’t happy.

harry is about to tell you off when he sees you stumble. he rushes to your side before you hit the ground. you grab his arm with an apologetic smile. “thanks.” “is it...” you nod, not wanting him to finish his sentence.

he’s your only coworker you told about your accident. it happened last year, almost a full one to date. you got this job a few months after. harry has always been understanding of it all, and he accommodates you however he can. you’re grateful to have his support.

“i’m just a little lightheaded. i’ll be fine,” you wave him off. he clicks his tongue. “you can’t stand if i let go of you.” you’d try to prove him wrong, but you don’t feel like falling on your face in front of all these people. “go take your break, y/n,” harry says softer this time. you give in, letting him take you to the coat room.

━ ❆

it’s finally the end of the day. your shift ended fine, and now you’re walking out with harry. you’re laughing at something he said inside. you pull your coat up around your face, smiling as you say your goodbyes. harry looks off to the car you assume is his before returning it. he waits until you’re out of sight to get into the passenger seat.

“who was that?” tom asks before harry can even shut his door. “y/n. we work together,” harry replies casually and buckles his seatbelt. the car engine is the only thing holding off silence. he raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“why do you ask?” “dunno. looks like you’re friends,” tom says quietly, pulling out of the spot he parked in. “you haven’t mentioned her.” “i have. you’re never home when i do,” he deadpans. tom drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they stop at a light.

there’s that void begging to be filled again. harry gives him a small smile. “thanks for picking me up, by the way. you’re cheaper than uber.” “does that mean i’m getting paid?” tom looks over at him. “joking. anytime, bro.”

harry can tell he’s waiting to bring you up again. all he did was look at you, and he’s falling. he’s never been subtle about his crushes. harry knows the two of you would get on well, but he’s not sure if you can handle a relationship right now. this year hasn’t been easy for you. you should be focusing on your health, not his tool of a brother.

at the same time, you could use some cheering up. you haven’t sang along to one christmas song playing at the shop. tom gets so into christmas every year, so maybe some of his festivity could rub off on you. it’s possible to work on two things at once, right? you’ll be happy and healthy for the new year. that’s all harry wants for you.

he wouldn’t mind the same for tom, either.

“she’s in all day tomorrow,” harry sighs. tom scrunches his face up in the side mirror. “who is?” “y/n, div. i knew you were going to ask.” there’s no denying that one. “right. i’ll stop in for a drink.”

he smiles about it the whole way home.

━ ❆

the next day is just like the last one. harry seems more on edge than usual, but you don’t know what that’s about. he does let you stay on register today so the chances of you passing out are lower. that all changes when your next customer walks in. you recognize him immediately, even with a scarf covering half his face.

what the hell is tom holland doing in your café? he pulls his scarf down and walks up to place an order. you sort of forget how to act. “you... you’re...” you stammer, eyes wide on him. smiling, he presses a finger to his lips. all he wants is a coffee, and you’re about to get him mobbed. you raise your hands in defense and focus on the register.

“sorry. can i get you anything?” you try again, lowering your voice. he’s still smiling. “sure, thanks. i’ll try an iced peppermint mocha.” a smile takes over your own face. “cool, i suggested that one.” you punch it into the register, keeping your eyes on tom. “i’ll bet it’s good, then. i trust your judgement.” he sounds genuine but teasing at the same time.

“hey, harry.” tom waves at him while he makes something in the blender. harry unenthusiastically waves back before getting to work again. you turn to harry with your eyebrows knitted together. “you know each other?” “really well. we’re brothers,” tom replies, your eyebrows now raised to the top of your head.

“what? how come you never told me?” you almost yell at harry. he awkwardly dumps the contents of the blender into a cup. “it never came up.” “you don’t talk about me, baby bro?” tom jokes, getting his card out. you give harry one more look before turning back to him. “oh, don’t worry about it. it’s on the house,” you dismiss him.

“he’s a multimillionaire, y/n. i think he’ll be fine,” harry chimes in. “family discount,” you decide. tom chuckles and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “you’re a funny one. can i make it up to you somehow?” his eyes lock with yours. you feel fluttery, like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. there could be a few reasons for that.

“um, can i get your autograph?” you murmur out. “easy. do you have something to write with?” he watches you scramble to get a piece of paper. you pull a pen from behind the counter and hand them both to him. a line is starting to form, but you can’t even pretend to care. there are more important things going on.

harry starts making tom’s drink while he signs the paper. he leans on the counter, his tongue poking out. he’s so sweet for doing this. your alarm goes off before you can tell him that. you quickly shut it and peek over the register to see. harry comes up to you.

“isn’t that for your medication? you should probably go take it,” he says so only you hear. you shrug a shoulder. “i set it a few minutes early. i’ll be fine.”

“here we go.” tom grins and hands you the paper, then the pen. you put it down with another smile before looking over his signature. you’re confused when you don’t see one. instead, he wrote down a bunch of numbers.

it can’t be...

“it’s my number,” tom explains, glancing over at harry for a second. he scoffs and puts the lid on his drink. “i figured you’d like it more than my terrible cursive.”

your whole body feels hot. whether it’s from putting off your meds or getting hit on by tom holland, you’re not sure. you wouldn’t mind the latter, though. it’s the safer of the two. in all seriousness, the fact that he has any sort of interest in you is pretty insane.

“wow, for real? thank you.” you look at the piece of paper in your hands, then at tom. “does this mean i can text you?” he’s practically beaming at you. “or call.” “tom,” harry calls from the pickup counter. he rolls his eyes for good measure. “i guess your drink is ready,” you laugh out. tom adjusts his scarf again.

“i guess it is. i’ll talk to you later?” you hold up the piece of paper. “that’s what this is for.” he breathes out a laugh and turns to go. you’re about to call up the next customer, but he looks back at you. you shake your head. it’s going to be impossible getting through what’s left of your shift. “enjoy.” tom nods confidently. “i will.”

━ ❆

the first thing you do once you get home is call tom. your roommate is out with friends, so you’re spread out on the couch. all the lights are off to help the headache you got. with your luck, you’ll wake up with a migraine. you’ve become too familiar with nursing those. it’s given considering everything that happened.

tom picks up on the third ring. you hold your phone to your ear and sit up. “hello?” he asks sternly. you cringe at yourself for not texting him who you are first. “hi, it’s y/n. i probably should’ve texted.” his tone softens. “no, you’re fine. i was waiting for you to call.”

“were you really?” you lay your head back on the arm of the couch. he hums proudly. “tom holland was waiting for me to call him?” “he was.” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “he really enjoyed your conversation earlier.” sighing, you look at your reflection in the tv. “i did, too. i don’t think harry could say the same.”

“he hates having me around. i’m embarrassing, apparently,” tom laughs at his brother’s behavior. you press your lips into a pout. “is that why i’ve never heard about you?” “probably,” he confirms. it seemed weird that he wouldn’t want to tell the world his brother is spider-man. then again, harry isn’t like that.

“that’s nice, though. it’s like i’m the same me before the movies,” tom lightens the mood. “not that i know you, but i feel like you are,” you agree with a small smile. he’s grinning at his phone. “speaking of not knowing me, when are you free?” he smoothly transitions to the asking you out part. you were hoping you’d get there.

“saturday. why?” “i was wondering if you’d want to go out with me.” you hold the phone away from your face and silently squeal. tom didn’t need to witness that. “that would be fun, yeah.” “anywhere special you want to go?” he asks. he’s hoping there isn’t because he already has a place in mind. you actually don’t.

“surprise me.”

-

i made a new taglist form, so fill it out if you want!! the link is in my bio

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #tom holland smut

[sayonarasanity]

dandelion

summary:  Maybe, it was the fact that Levi was being a lesser bitch than usual recently, for almost four months actually and hell when he thought about it, Erwin was in fact relatively late to see the signs. But the signs were, to his credit, so transparent no one could blame him for not noticing them any time sooner. Because at first, he had believed that the reason why Levi was acting just a slightly bit kinder towards the people in the office, was perhaps the tea machine he had bought himself which was excellent at steeping tea and good tea always brought his spirits up. But now he suspects the reason might not be something that simple.

AO3

Erwin was quick to catch the signs.

The signs, however, were subtle also as fast to disappear. Like the bubbles on boiling water, there were plenty of them but only if you were observant and in Erwin’s case bored enough to catch them. And he didn’t even know if he was interpreting them correctly. Levi was, always had been quite a private man. Despite being friends with him for years there were still times he had to squint to pick up the altering lines of emotions on his face, or times he had to get him drunk for good for Levi to spill out what was bothering him lately. Fortunately, it wasn’t that hard to understand that something was in fact bothering him—he had a habit of being a bigger bitch than he already was at those times.

So maybe, it was the fact that Levi was being a lesser bitch than usual recently, for almost four months actually and hell when he thought about it, Erwin was in fact relatively late to see the signs. But the signs were, to his credit, so transparent no one could blame him for not noticing them any time sooner. Because at first, he had believed that the reason why Levi was acting just a slightly bit kinder towards the people in the office, was perhaps the tea machine he had bought himself, which was excellent at steeping tea and good tea always brought his spirits up. But now he suspects the reason might not be something that simple.

Apart from the tiny change in attitude, the first sign he caught was the umbrella or rather the lack of it.

“Morning,” he greeted as they both stepped inside the elevator. The rain had started simultaneously with the sunrise and hadn’t ceased since. It was a heavy one which caused the temperature to decrease a few degrees. And Erwin knew that this kind of weather was not Levi’s favourite. It was like the dark clouds were somehow linked to his mood, he was surprisingly fast to be affected by them, negatively. As an addition, he absolutely loathed being soaked and if he were to forget his umbrella or couldn’t find it before leaving the house then it was farewell to serenity for the day.

“Morning,” replied Levi, nodding and stood beside him as he pressed upon the button seven, leaving a drop of water slipping down through the buttons as he retreated his hand. And he combed his wet hair back, then used his hand to wipe the raindrops from his face which… didn’t work for both his face and his hand were almost equally wet. He must’ve walked the way from home to the subway then the way from the subway to work.

Erwin noticed that he had been staring not very subtly at Levi. “Forgot your umbrella again?” He asked, smiling to wipe the stupid look on his face.

Levi threw him a very brief glance and Erwin tensed involuntarily because here came the scolding. He was going to pay back trying to talk to a very soaked and a very grumpy Levi Ackerman—

“No.” Erwin blinked because he had actually answered and the tone of his voice was, well not the warmest of voices for sure, but it was at least neutral. “I lent it to a friend.”

“I see,” Erwin nodded, and the elevator stopped after seconds. And it was not until they both left the elevator, walk through the office and he chatted with colleagues on the way to his desk and hung his jacket then his umbrella that he noticed—

Yesterday, Levi had an umbrella.

It wasn’t raining yesterday but the weathercast on their phones was saying that it would start by the time they left work, hence Levi had come prepared, but it hadn’t rained. So, if he had lent it to someone it was either after work, which was unlikely, or it was this morning before he left for work.

Which meant, Erwin thought startlingly as he blinked at the soaked cloth of his own umbrella, that someone, his friend whoever they were, possibly had stayed the night. And the thing was just like how it was impossible to stop the raindrops in mid-air by mental force, it was just as unlikely for someone like Levi, who was so strict about his boundaries, and who had extremely firm rules about hygiene, to let a friend stay at his home. He didn’t even have that many friends, to begin with. Unless that friend was someone overly special, someone, whom he thought was worth flexing those boundaries. And through their years’ worth of friendship, Erwin had never encountered someone as such.

“No way,” he whispered, amused. He genuinely hoped that he wasn’t reading too much into it because Heaven knows he could use some fun especially if it was brought by famous Levi I-feel-nothing- Ackerman.

*

No matter how delightful to think it was, Erwin was not a man to jump to conclusions. The possibility of him making things up was obviously there, solidly. But it wasn’t like he was going to give up that easily. Gingerly, while trying hard not to expose himself, he followed the tell-tale hints as much as he could. Hints like him being more laid back, his features being more relaxed replacing the ever-present scowl every now and then. He was also somewhat absent at times and was looking at his phone more frequently than usual.

Levi was a firmly shut chest and not everyone had the key to open him. And contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a mean person per se. He was simply a little cold, distant and didn’t like to accept everyone in his life easily. Such demeanour was to be misinterpreted, rightfully so. But Erwin kind of saw it as a defence mechanism, plus for someone like Levi who had a complicated background, it was to be understood. To be honest, he was one of the nicest, tactful and merciful people Erwin had ever met and also the only one who had the ability to masterfully hide that softer side of him.

Yet, as the clues dropped bit by bit Erwin realized that recently he wasn’t that good at hiding it.

He was coming back from the kitchen having refilled his cup with fresh coffee just yet when he saw Levi sitting at his desk, his back facing him. Erwin’s desk was the one in front of Levi’s, just behind the divide that separated them. He took a sip from his coffee; the hot liquid burned his tongue, and the stream brushed his cheeks. And just as he lowered the cup and gulped down the coffee in his mouth, realizing that it wasn’t actually that fresh, he saw it.

The faint, barely visible, ghost of a smile on Levi’s lips while looking at something on his phone.

Erwin blinked a couple of times to make sure that it wasn’t the fog of the coffee that was playing with his vision. Then focused on his friend’s face to get a better look at it. It wasn’t like Levi never smiled, he did. Occasionally. But they were generally mocking, or amused, or belittling, and very rarely sneaky smiles. Not like this one which was curling the tips of his mouth upwards in an almost… oh, I’ll be damned, Erwin thought but it was clear as day, it was in an almost affectionate way.

As if noticing his shocked gaze, Levi locked his phone and just like that the tiny smile was gone, replaced by the regular scowl and blank stare. Hence, closing his mouth Erwin walked closer and sat down on his desk. Then placing his cup on top of the desk he looked at Mike, who was sitting next to him and was furiously typing on his keyboard. Yet, when he did notice his stare, he threw Erwin a questioning look along with a raised brow. But Erwin simply shook his head and got his attention back to his work.

Not yet.

*

The third and final sign which managed to persuade Erwin at the end was the phone call.

He was about to take a smoke break on the terrace when he saw Levi talking on his phone. Erwin wasn’t the type to listen to people’s conversations. He had very strict moral rules about the whole respect the privacy issues. But he was extremely bored and getting a little impatient about learning exactly what was going on with Levi—surely a simple way like directly asking him would solve his problem but he would very likely gain nothing with that. If Levi had wanted, he would have told him months ago.

So, he accidentally happened to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Use the shower too,” he was saying when Erwin stood behind him near enough to hear but far enough not to be noticed. “I don’t want you to get my furniture dirty.”

He couldn’t hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying. He eyed Levi who was drawing a breath from his cigarette at the moment and put one between his lips as he watched cautiously. Levi then blew out the smoke and pinched his nose, seemingly irritated. “No,” he said. “No, dumbass. How many times do I have to tell you? Put the whites and blacks separately. Or best, don’t even touch the laundry. You’ll mess up my shirts.”

He tapped the end of his cigarette with his index finger causing the ashes to fly away with the wind. He listened to what they were saying for a while, drawing one or two breaths from the smoke he placed on his mouth. And when he turned his head a little to the side, Erwin saw that tiny, barely visible smile on his lips again. “Do it if you think you can. Just don’t burn my kitchen.”

Miracle. Had someone cast a spell upon him? He was offering his shower, his kitchen and almost his laundry to someone who was clearly not an expert on any of these things.

“Alright,” he said pressing the butt of the cigarette on the metal trash bin near him. “Will you stay the night?”

Erwin felt his brows shot upwards upon his question and he watched with even more shock the blush, the knots of red appearing on his cheeks. Blush! Had he accidentally stepped into an alternate reality?

“Dumbass,” he said once more, and Erwin caught it in his tone this time. Affection. “Stay. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Only when Levi left the terrace without even a glance at Erwin and the trace of the smile still more or less evident on his lips, Erwin realized that he had forgotten to light up his cigarette.

Erwin didn’t really like gossip. He usually saw it as a waste of time, and he was too busy to involve in such dialogues anyway. So, he made sure to stay clear from the drama as much as he could.

But this time it was different.

He blamed it on the brain-numbing, boring texts that he had to redact and edit, and do the same each day to the texts which so very rarely changed in context. Boredom, he declared, was the perpetrator of his actions.

“Mike,” he whispered during the lunch break. Levi had left alone, saying that he had other things to do. “Hey.”

“What?” Mike asked, not taking his eyes away from the screen of his phone, locked on the game he was playing.

“I think,” Erwin started, checking his surroundings to make sure no one was near them. “I think Levi is seeing someone.”

Mike’s fingers on the screen froze and his eyes slowly travelled from his phone to Erwin. It lasted merely a couple of seconds for him to snatch the air pod from his ear, pause the game and move his chair closer to him. “Tell me more.”

And so, Erwin did. He told him about the lent umbrella, the affectionate smile, the little hints he picked up and finally the phone call he had just witnessed. Mike listened to him, humming and caressing his beard with his hand thoughtfully.

“What do you think?” Erwin asked, wondering if Mike had taken the same impressions as him or it was just Erwin who was actually reading too much into things because of the boring office life he had.

Mike hummed again, bending his lips down and squinting. “You said you saw him smiling affectionately?”

“Yes.”

“Was it creepy?”

“Well, no. Not really.”

“That should mean something, man,” Mike said. “Maybe he brought a cat?”

“He cannot possibly talk to a cat on the phone, Mike” Erwin pointed out. “And lend it his umbrella.”

Mike nodded, agreeing. Erwin rolled his eyes. It wasn’t his fault that he had no one else to gossip about Levi. “Who could they be then?” He asked. “Do you think we know them?”

Erwin shook his head. He couldn’t think of anyone Levi would be interested in. He never properly talked to the people in the office in the first place. “I don’t know.”

“We should find out,” Mike sounded excited as he said so and Erwin relaxed upon realizing that obviously, his interpretations were not that far-fetched.

“How?” To be frank, he too was very curious about the identity of the person who somehow managed to bring the softer side of Levi out in the daylight. Then, putting his more rational part into action, he said, “We can just ask him though.”

“But where’s the fun in that, Erwin?” Mike laid his head backwards and threw him a very disappointed stare. “We need some action and some movement here. I’m selling my soul to this computer every day in exchange for very little money. Also,” he raised a finger, eyes illuminating playfully. “Man, what if he is in love? Hilarious.”

“He is not a robot, you know,” Erwin said, feeling the need to defend his friend.

Mike shrugged and leaned back, turning himself left and right on his seat, lost in thought. “A wedding would do,” he murmured to himself then snapped his fingers. “Nile!”

“What about him?”

“He is getting married this weekend?” He raised his brows at Erwin like he couldn’t believe how he forgot the fact that their old friend was getting married to his very first love.

“Yeah,” Erwin nodded, stopping himself from wrinkling his face as if he tasted something sour in his mouth. “Right.”

Mike put his elbow on his desk and rested his chin on his palm, watching him. “You plan on coming?”

“Sure.” Marie was a rusty and old memory he had left in the past which he would cherish for the rest of his life. But no matter the history he was happy for them both.

“If Levi comes, he might bring the mysterious significant other too, don’t you think?”

Erwin hummed, not a bad idea. “Yeah, actually.”

Mike grinned and stretched his long arms above his head. “Let’s wait and see.”

*

Levi came to the wedding alone.

Mike and Erwin silently exchanged glances between each other throughout the ceremony but didn’t dare to talk about it out loud. Levi was most of the time busy with his phone, typing. And when he wasn’t they chatted among themselves about work, finance, politics and sports but it never came to anything about the significant others which the two men obviously didn’t have.

Towards the end of the night, after bidding their farewell and congrats to the happy couple Mike offered to go to a bar to have a couple of drinks. Erwin accepted as he had nothing better to do anyway other than maybe starting The Office all over again. He seriously needed something that wouldn’t make him remember his work.

To their surprise, Levi accepted the offer too. And an even bigger surprise came after when the three of them got into Mike’s car to get to the place he had been nagging them about. “A friend of mine might join us later,” he said. “Would that be a problem?”

A quick, excited and wide-eyed exchange of looks with Mike later, Erwin replied, “Why would it be a problem?” He smiled at Levi who was sitting in the back seat.

“It would be great!” Mike exclaimed, and Erwin glared at him, warning. “Do we know them?”

“No, you don’t,” Levi replied curtly. And that was the end of the conversation.

The place Mike took them was freshly opened, clean and not so crowded. They settled on a seat near the window, ordering their drinks. Erwin could tell from the way Levi traced his eyes around the bright floors, polished marbles, and the altering lights that he had liked it.

“So, who is that friend of yours?” Mike asked, his eyes following Levi like a lion slowly getting closer to its prey.

“You’ll find out when she comes here,” came the brief and clear reply. Levi’s eyes were sharp as if indicating that he wouldn’t fall for any of his wordplays.

“You’re no fun,” Mike muttered with dismay as he raised his glass to his lips.

“Ask me if I care.”

“Do you?” Mike asked with an annoying smirk.

“Fuck off.”

“Sorry, I’m late!” A loud, cheerful voice interrupted their bickering. Then a slender, brown-haired woman sat down next to Levi. There was a smile blindingly wide on her lips, oval-shaped frameless glasses were a little slipped down on her nose, and the eyes behind the lenses were a light shade of brown, almost hazel. Her hair was sloppily tied, and the strands that covered her face looked smooth.

And under the curious gazes of the two men, she leaned forward to leave a peck on Levi’s cheek.

Levi coughed and flushed, then tried to hide it behind his glass, taking a long sip from his drink. “This is Hanji,” he said after putting the glass down on the table, but he had failed at wiping the redness away from his cheeks. “Hanji, this is Erwin and Mike. My co-workers.”

“Hanji Zoe,” she beamed at them as she extended her hand to shake their hands. “Levi told me a lot about you.”

“Oh?” Erwin couldn’t help but be somewhat taken aback.

“Well, on the contrary,” Mike spoke up, voicing Erwin’s confusion. “He never told us about you.”

Hanji glanced at Levi who raised a brow at them. “You never asked.”

Wait. Was it really that simple? Seriously? After all the detective work he had done and the passion he had put into it. “You would’ve told us?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s kind of new anyway,” Hanji said, wrapping an arm around Levi’s shoulders. Erwin noticed the slope of Levi’s body against Hanji’s as if he were gravitating towards her. “We’re still trying to get used to it.”

The body language told a lot, Erwin observed. “Seems like you already have,” he blurted and when he realized what he had said the words were already out and heard.

Thankfully, Hanji didn’t seem to have found his statement absurd. “Oh, you think so?” she giggled, and her cheeks coloured as she directed her eyes at Levi. And she hummed softly when their gazes locked. “Maybe.”

Her lips remained curled upwards on the corners, and Erwin couldn’t see the expression in both of their eyes and neither of them spoke, but he felt like words wouldn’t suffice for whatever had been exchanged between them in those short seconds. He watched as Levi’s lips tremble and move, shaping a smile that was so small and so barely apparent. Then he contemplated about how easy it was actually to see happiness in someone who very rarely let his emotions surface. Like dandelions emerging on their own through the mere lawn, right next to the concrete pavements.

“I kind of think it’s creepy though,” Mike whispered, leaning against him.

Erwin snorted amused and finished his drink.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction