#i haven’t even considered that they might have bad news for me today

[bisexualsfromouterspace]

back at the doctor’s office :(

#feeling anxious but it’s gonna be good news right??? #i haven’t even considered that they might have bad news for me today #it has to be good what else could it be #gabby.txt

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence. 

Your termination is effectively immediately. 

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered. 

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months. 

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it. 

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business. 

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember - 

They’re all at work. 

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go. 

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye. 

Onigiri Miya, it reads. 

Japanese comfort food. Family owned. 

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more. 

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then. 

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?” 

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service. 

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.” 

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is. 

At least the delivery is quick. 

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically. 

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya. 

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself. 

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!” 

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs. 

That the food is good is an understatement. 

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing. 

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next? 

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it. 

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep. 

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible. 

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch. 

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning. 

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong. 

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?” 

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?” 

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?” 

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.” 

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.” 

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?” 

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles. 

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.” 

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!” 

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain. 

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot. 

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby. 

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life. 

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders. 

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time. 

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat. 

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week. 

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate. 

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news. 

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.” 

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star. 

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you. 

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you. 

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way. 

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.” 

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen. 

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“ 

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately. 

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny. 

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass. 

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up. 

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them! 

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart. 

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you. 

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.” 

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri. 

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.” 

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?” 

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.” 

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back. 

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?” 

He gives you a look. 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.” 

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” 

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you. 

“Is this…?” 

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.” 

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.” 

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

[somekindofpoet]

Missed Connection 3

Summary: A flight delay causes a chance meeting between R and Jenna Ortega

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: Listen, for my fellow Californians, I am aware there is little to no grass on Mt. Hollywood, this is fiction and I will make grass grow wherever I want it to!

Part 1 Part 2

“Dani, she wants to hang out with me today.”

You’re pacing in your apartment, AirPods in your ears, your voice just a touch below becoming shrill. 

“Okay, I fail to see the problem here.”

“She said she’ll pick me up tonight. Is this a date? I don’t know anything about anything right now.”

“Do you want it to be a date?”

You throw your hands up, “Of course I want it to be a date! Have you seen her?”

Dani’s laughter crackles through your headphones, making you groan. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just having a tough time feeling bad for you. Hang on- DO YOU HAVE A FUCKING BLINKER, YOU STUPID-“

You wince and turn the volume on your phone down as she yells profanities at some  anonymous commuter. Some of the things that come out of her mouth are enough to make you cringe, but you have to laugh at her antics. 

“Okay, sorry. LA. You know. Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah! You have accidentally run into the world’s It Girl twice, and now she wants to hang out with you. Who cares if it’s a date or not? Woo her if it isn’t, make your move if it is!” 

You’re going to wear a path in your rug if you keep pacing like this. You don’t stop.

“It’s not that easy! I’m awkward, dude. I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Dani sighs so loud you think she might hang up on you. 

“Let’s be real here. Besides knocking her off her feet twice, you haven’t had to make a move. She’s doing all the leg work for you. Just fucking put on something nice, and enjoy the ride!”

You know she’s right. Even if it isn’t a date, you have the privilege of hanging out with someone incredible. You straighten your spine and stop your pacing.

“You’re right. I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this! Don’t forget to tell me all about it as soon as possible. I’m living my dreams through you. Actually, you should ask if Emma is single for me; maybe have her pass along my number….”

“Goodbye, Dani,” you laugh, phone in hand.

“Think about it! We could go on double-“

You hang up the phone, ending the conversation. You have a few hours before you need to get ready. Whatever Jenna is taking you to do doesn’t require daylight because she’s not coming to get you until nightfall. 

You’re dressed and ready far too early. Your nerves are making you feel so queasy you wonder if this is a good idea. Maybe you’d rather sit in your apartment alone and freak out about the time you almost went on a maybe date with Jenna Ortega. The idea of that alone strengthens your resolve. You will do this. It’s not like she’s going to murder you…you think. 

In an effort to calm your anxiety, you leave your apartment and wait outside. Pacing has become your new thing, apparently, because you’re practically blazing a trail in the parking lot concrete. You consider calling Dani but decide against it. She’d probably yell about how lucky you were and tell you to buck up. 

An SUV pulls into the lot, but you ignore it, too busy with your worrying to notice. It isn't until it pulls up next to you that you give it any attention.  The black-tinted window rolls down, and your heart nearly leaps out of your throat. Jenna is smiling at you behind the wheel, her fingers drumming on it. She’s twenty minutes early.

“I was going to park and give myself about ten minutes to be nervous before I let you know I was here. So…you’ve kind of ruined that for me,” she says with an embarrassed smile on her face.

You stop pacing and stare. She’s nervous. You’re nervous. Suddenly the idea of her being anxious makes you feel it less. You walk up to the car and rest your hands on the window frame.

“I came out here because I was too anxious to sit in my apartment for another minute.”

Her face relaxes as you speak, realizing you’re both feeling the same way.

“Well, get in then. Our simultaneous meltdowns will have to happen on the way up.”

You open the car door and climb in, the window rolling up as you close the door.

“Up?” You ask, buckling your seatbelt.

“Up,” she parrots back, not giving you further context.

“You haven’t told me what we’re doing.”

“There's a meteor shower tonight,” she says as she pulls out of your parking lot, the music from her car radio playing quietly.

You turn to watch her, curiosity getting the better of your nerves, “Yeah, there is. I’m surprised you know about that.”

She scoffs, “Why? You think actors don’t like the sky just as much as anyone else?”

“No,” you laugh, “no, of course not. I just figured you’d be so busy. When do you even have time for stuff like that?”

Her eyebrows raise, and she tilts her head to the side, glancing over at you. “Right now.”

You nod, feeling a little stupid. You chalk it up to still being starstruck. At least in the car, it was impossible for you to accidentally tackle her this time, though the image of purposefully falling on top of her isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever thought of. You widen your eyes at the thought, chastising yourself for how out of line it was. You still don’t really know if this is a date.

You look over at her and catch her chewing her bottom lip. She’s still nervous. The thought of that makes you feel giddy. Her eyes leave the road for a second to look over at you, and she smiles again, looking back out the windshield.

“I think you’re going to like this. Well, I hope you do, because if not, I’ll overthink it for the next lifetime.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll like anything you have planned,” you blurt out, immediately regretting the way your voice goes up an octave.

She just continues to smile, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. A song you recognize starts playing through the speakers, and you hum along to it, trying your best to look out the window and not stare at her as she drives. It’s more difficult than you had imagined it would be.

When her car pulls into the Griffith Park Observatory, you know you’re totally screwed. Either she has you perfectly pinned, or your tastes in a fun night out are so similar there's no way you’re not going to fall in love with her.

She parks her car and turns to you, “This is it. Is this okay?”

“Okay? Jenna, this is fucking great.” You reassure her, maybe a little overenthusiastically. 

The reaction she gives you makes your being a bit of a fool worth it. The tension in her shoulders you hadn't noticed before dissipates, the shallow lines between her eyebrows smooth out, and her eyes crinkle in the corners. She gets out of the car, and you follow, waiting at the front while she grabs something from the back seat. When she rounds the car, she’s carrying a rolled up blanket and a tote bag. You can hear glasses clinking and can’t help the devious grin that takes control of your face.

“What do you have there?”

She shrugs, making her way past you toward the park, “Come find out.”

You follow her, jogging to catch up. She leads you down a path behind the observatory through a thin clutch of trees. You’ve been here enough to know where she’s going; everyone in LA hikes Mount Hollywood at least once. It’s late enough that there aren’t many people out, and in casual clothes, Jenna blends in with the rest of them. 

You’re content to walk beside her, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. In fact, you know you’re the luckiest person in the world because she steals glances at you every few minutes as you walk. She turns off the path toward a grassy hill and stops, unfurling the blanket and laying it out. She sits, arranging the bag in her lap, and you take your place next to her, your shoulders brushing. 

She pulls a bottle of wine from the bag, holds it up for you to take as she digs around the bottom of it. You laugh, eyeing the label.

“Ma’am, I don't think you’re old enough for this. Am I supposed to drink it alone?”

She frowns at you, her arm up to her elbow in the bag, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Okay, okay. Jenna Ortega is a bad boy type, huh?”

She snorts, “Oh yeah, a bottle of wine on a blanket really screams bad boy.”

She stops looking at you and opens the bag with both hands, peering inside of it with a frown.

“Slight problem, though,” she pulls out a corkscrew and hands it to you, returning to the bag. “I think I forgot cups.”

You raise an eyebrow and smirk, using the corkscrew to open the bottle. With the cork dislodged, you take a swig from the bottle and grin.

“We don’t need them, here.” You hand the bottle over to her, and she sets the bag aside, watching you closely.

She takes a sip, her eyes still on your face. She seems to be looking for something there, but she gives no indication of what it is. After a moment, she hands the bottle back to you and leans back on her elbows, her face pointed to the sky.

“It’s starting,” she says, pointing up.

You drink another gulp and mirror her, resting the bottle on your side. You watch the pinpoints of light streak across the sky, their tails turning white as they burn up. Thousands of them shower over you, and you almost forget where you are until Jenna’s pinky brushes yours, and suddenly the falling rocks in the sky are not even close to the most interesting thing in the world. You turn your head to look at her, her eyes still on the sky. 

The flashes of the meteors spark in her eye, and the moon shines down on her cheekbones, and suddenly you feel the need to drink more wine. You turn and take a healthy gulp, offering the bottle to her. She smiles politely and takes it, drinking from it twice before resting it between you and wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She tilts her head back again, her posture relaxed.

“You’re supposed to be admiring the meteors, y/n.”

You feel heat rise into your cheeks, and your eyes widen in embarrassment. You jerk your head up, and she giggles at your side. You reach for the bottle at the same moment she does, and your fingers brush again, quickly turning your attention to your hand. You look up, and she’s already looking at you, her expression shy. She hands you the bottle, and you drink, passing it back to her.

In an effort to relieve the clear tension that you don't know how to handle, you break the silence.

“So what’s it like?”

She swallows, rests the bottle on her leg, “What’s what like?”

“Fame, fortune, the love of the masses?”

She sighs, “It kind of came as a surprise. I know that sounds stupid because of my job, but it really did.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid.”

“No, it definitely does. And I’m grateful, I really am. I just wasn’t ready for how insane it was going to be.”

“I mean, there have to be perks, though, right?”

“Of course there are. Actually, I’m going to the Met Gala next week. That’s a major perk.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “That sounds terrifying. There’s a reason I stay behind the camera.”

Jenna sits up and looks down at you, a spark of an idea in her eye. You frown, waiting to hear what she has to say.

“You should come. To the Gala.”

You snort, “Absolutely not. Jenna, no way.”

But it’s too late. She's excited, nodding, pushing the wine bottle into your hands.

“Yes way! Come! It’ll be so much more fun if you’re there.”

You take another drink, smile around the mouth of the bottle, “I’ll consider it. But only for work. There is no way I’m going anywhere near that red carpet.”

“It’s not red this year.”

“That does not change the situation.”

Jenna does not drop the idea for the rest of the night. The meteor shower is quickly forgotten as you both take turns sipping from the bottle of wine, talking. She tells you about the dress she’s wearing to the gala, gushes over it for longer than you realized anyone could speak on a garment. You enjoy it, watching her talk animatedly about her stylist and the designer. As the bottle empties and inhibitions lower, you both grow more comfortable with each other. The awkwardness from the beginning of the night fades away, and you quickly find yourself at ease with her again. 

You’re not sure what time it is when she orders an Uber, both of you laughing and stumbling back to the parking lot. When the car stops at your apartment, you want to kiss her. You want her to show you a sign, any sign that it’s okay. You don’t give yourself enough time to make a stupid mistake, though, and end up jumping out of the car right as she leans toward you. 

You dip your head down into the car, “I had a lot of fun tonight. I’ll see you soon.”

She looks up at you, her eyes hopeful, “Get ready for New York. I’m going to convince you to go if it’s the last thing I do.”

You smirk, shaking your head, “Good night!”

You shut the door and watch the car pull out of your lot, a lopsided grin on your face. When it’s out of sight, you head inside, ready to tell Dani the whole story. And maybe try to find a reason to work at the Met Gala. One that has more to do with your portfolio, and less to do with brown eyes and freckles.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you

[misguidedasgardian]

I need to (5)

... Get warm

MASTERLIST

Summary: The last froze of the season takes you, a sweet summer child, by surprise 

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: There are mentions of them being Minors! at some point in their relationship, cursing, cheating, angst, depression, mentions of a inappropriate picture, inappropriate relationship, reader gets a minor injury, might miss some warnings 

Wordcount: 3.2 k

Notes: Uffff I really hope you like this chapter muahaha If you liked cregan by now, with this? will get you on your KNEES muahahaaaaaaaa

You woke up with a bit of  headache, but gods you loved so much being eighteen, a cup of coffee and you were going to shake up the hangover 

Sarah and Jace were already having breakfast, breakfast that Jace had cooked, you refrained from making jokes, as he was clearly trying to impress Sara and it was working considering you could hear her compliments and giggles from the hallway

Last night Jace has given you one of his track team shirts from the high school you went together and some cotton shorts, and you joined them in the bar next to the kitchen

“Mornin’ “, you giggled

“Morning”, chanted Sara

“Coffee?”, asked Jace, offering you a cup, “how you like it”

“I knew I chose you as my best friend for a reason”, you chuckled.

“Gods what a party last night uh?”, laughed Jace, “it was even cooler than homecoming”

“That it was”

“I haven’t been to a party that good like… ever”, you said with a smile, and then you felt a bit embarrassed when you remembered that you were dancing so unapologetically that someone grabbed you by the hand and made you dance in the middle of the huge group that had formed and you danced 

“After last night, you earned the nickname the she wolf of old town”, Jace laughed 

“Ahhh, very funny”, you mocked, taking a sip, “but that is a super cool nickname and I will take it”, you laughed 

“Hey the forecast says it will snow today”, said Sara

“Uh, love that”, you said with a wide smile, “hey, do you both like action movies?”, you asked

“I know why you are asking… and NO!”, said Jace, pointing at you with a fork

“Please Jacey!”, you begged childishly, “please, please!”

“What?”, asked Sara

“The new Arthur Dyne Movie”, you said with a smile, “the fourth one!”

“Please don’t make me, I’ve seen it a thousand times!!”

“You can’t possibly get bored! the action sequences? the lights? the music? the scenery? They are a masterpiece!”

“You know what? Cregan likes that sort of thing, ask him”,

“I like what?”, he asked, genuinely interested, looking straight at you, coming from the bedroom

“(Y/N) Wants to see the new Arthur Deyne”

“I love those movies”, he said, taking a cup that Jace offered, he looked at you and smiled softly, “I will take you”, he said

“Great”, you smiled widely

. . .

In the middle of spirit week, you had been swarmed with work from your courses, and dived right into it, and that, and your new and big group of friends, and all the excitement of the competition, and the activities… 

You didn’t even had the time to think about the unmentionable 

Everytime you thought of him, the wound still felt fresh, you felt like someone squeezing your heart inside of your chest 

But that was only when you remembered him

It wasn’t all bad, he was also your friend, and even though he was selfish and an narcissist, you missed having someone by your side, he was your boyfriend, before he went to school he was focused, he cheered you own, to his own agenda, but still, he was someone you could talk to, debate with, someone smart who always had something interesting to share with you

Yes he judged you once when you told him you wanted to watch “how to lose a knight in one moon”, he was a snob, but still.

At one point, you were good together, when you arrived at Dragonstone, you had taken the castle by storm, well, at least, he had, with you helping him a bit

But you had to learn that that happens, people separate, they grow out of each other.

For you, the moment you saw with another woman it was over, you were just sad because when you started dating, and were two sixteen year old horny kids, you had a good time, Aemond was you friend, you trusted him, you felt comfortable with him, he was quiet, mature, and somewhere along the line he became so full of himself 

In highschool he was different, he was sweet and kind. He had changed so much.

Was the baby his?

That was certainly going to put a bump on his career

And his reputation 

You felt your phone ringing, and you jumped, cursing yourself, you didn't even know why you always jumped when your phone rang, you believed that piece of technology to be some sort of portal through which the unmentionable could get to you, but he hadn’t you had blocked everything related to him, but still

When you picked it up, it showed you the strange number calling again, you hang up before you even picked it up  

You tried to go back into sketching what you were seeing for your “representation” class, and then, your phone rang again

And again, it was the same number. You groaned, this time, you picked up 

“Thank you for the enthusiasm, but i’m very happy with my current internet plan, thank you”, you snapped 

“I’m glad to hear it”, you stopped in your tracks, as you recognized that voice immediately, “but that is not why I’m calling”

“Dean Rhaenys”, you whined, “I’m so very sorry”, she chuckled darkly over the phone

“It’s alright, how is Winterfell?”, she asked

“It’s everything I’ve dreamed off, but a bit chilly”, you admitted, you hear her chuckle

“I’m happy for you”, you could tell, you could almost see her smiling, “look, I reached out to you for something, quite important”, you looked around and walked until you could sit in a bench, away from all the passing students, the bench was cold and you shivered, even with a thick jacket, scarf and beanie, the cold clang to your body

“Did something happen?”, you asked, inviting her to continue

“Normally, we, as a school, wouldn’t meddle in student’s relationships”, she said strangely, “but, 

we couldn’t help but notice that you entered our campus in a relationship with Aemond Targaryen”, she continued

“Yes I was”, you told her

“... Is that the reason you left our school so suddenly? you mentioned, in our last interview that you chose this school for love and you didn't have that love anymore”, geez she was smart and quick, nothing escaped her

“It was, we… broke up”, you choked out

Even though you were freezing, you felt your neck sweaty, you looked around with urgency, but the courtyard was mainly empty at this time of day

“Is the reason for your split, the inappropriate relationship he was maintaining with a member of our staff? Professor Alys Rivers?”

Breathe

You could lie, I mean, she wasn’t looking at you

But the thing is, that in the seconds you took in answering, she already knew the answer

“Yes”, you said back, it was of no use lying to her

“Like I said, this faculty does not care about relationships between students, but is much different, when it is brought to our attention that is a professor is in a relationship with student, even though they don’t belong in the same department”

You took a shaky breath

It was out 

“I didn’t do anything”, you whispered, “I saw them with my own eyes and…”

“A picture started circulating”

“What picture?”, you whispered

“The picture consisted in both of them engaging in sexual activities, on school grounds”

No

No, no, no, could it be? no, impossible, you didn’t send it to anyone, nobody hacked you. A certain anxiety started to take a hold on you

What if?

What if it was an accident?

What if that night you drank too much margaritas with Jason and Cersei you actually shared it? like you whined you wanted to do…

What if you were so dumb you sent it to your insta stories just for a mistake??

You started to second guess every time you grabbed your phone

“Oh”, you whined, tears welled in your eyes

“Well, Alys Rivers had been terminated, she does not longer works at this educational establishment”, she said severely, “she threatened to sue, for her state of pregnancy, but we had no choice but to share the picture, she refrained from suing us, if we didn't include this on her record, but she mentioned, that you were the one that took it”

If I fall, I’m taking you with me

That how it goes

You paused

“If I was the one, would I be in trouble?”, you asked, and there was silence on the other line

“No, the source of the picture was untraceable, as the inter phone connection service leaves no trace”, she said calmly, she wasn’t even mad, but she sounded tired, “we just needed corroboration on the story”, she said sincerely

“Please, I know it doesn't sound believable, but I didn’t share it, i swear, I never meant for anyone to get fired, please you have to believe me, I just wanted to leave I never meant for this to happen, this isn’t some sort of revenge”

“Did you show the picture to anyone?”, she asked

Maris… 

“No”, you said simply, you lied, you couldn’t tell her 

“I appreciate your honesty miss”, she said softly, “but we cannot allow this kind of behavior in our school, teachers having relationships with students, even though they share no classes, is unacceptable”, you breathed a sigh of relief

“What is going to happen?”

“We fired Professor Rivers, but sadly, Aemond’s family threatened to sue us”, she said, “so he remains in our school, if we allow him to continue his studies, he won’t pursue a defamation claim, and your name as the author of that picture will remain hidden”

There was another silence

“I know you are not looking at me right now, i know you might not believe me, and I wish I could take a polygraph test, but please, I want you to know, that I did not send that picture to anyone, is the last thing I wanted”

“I believe you Miss (Y/N)”, she whispered, you took a long breath, “because we have other students coming forward, as witnesses of the affair, and they also might have taken pictures”, you sighed another breath of relief

You might not have been the one to blame

“I’m so sorry, for everything”

“This is no way your fault”, she said, “I wish you would have said something sooner, in fact”

“Like I said, I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble”

“So altruistic”, she said, “and kind, that is exactly why I send that letter to the Dean in Winterfell, telling them to accept you”, she said kindly

“You really did that for me?”, you asked

“They normally don’t take students half year, but they made a exception for you”

“Thank you, this school really is what I always dreamed of”, you confessed

“I’m happy I did then”, she said

“I’m sorry for what happened”

“You don’t have to be, things tend to fall for their own weight”, she said, “well, I just called to corroborate the story, thank you for being truthful and insightful”

“You are most welcomed”, you said

“I wish you the very best miss”

“You too”, and just like that he hang up

You took a shaky breath, looking around, you didn’t know what to think, what to believe, you checked your phone, the picture, all your socials and search history, your emails, all of it

There was no trace of you ever sending anything

To anyone

Nobody could… nobody had even got close to your phone

Aemond got bored of doing so, because you never talked to anyone, and it was actually kind of boring

You then looked up, like a bulb had turn on over your head

Holy shit

You ran back to the cafeteria, where you knew your friends were finishing eating their lunch

They all looked at you wide eyed

“What is it?”, asked Jace

“Do any of you know how to hack a phone?”, you asked quickly 

“You are scaring me”, chuckled Jace, you looked at Cregan who was looking back at you 

“I need to know, the history of the things I’ve send through airdrop”, you whispered, “or if a picture have been sent and trough what”

“That is very specific”, muttered Ben, “but I think I can help you out”

“Great”, you grabbed him and took him with you without saying another word

Until you were alone in the library

“You can’t show this picture to anyone”, you muttered, “not one person”

“Alright, you are starting to scare me”, and then you showed him

“This is your boyfriend with the teacher?”, he asked, and you nodded, “Geez”

“This photo got leaked, and I didn’t send it to anyone”, you insisted, “I don’t know what happened”

“Do you actually know this is the picture that got leaked?”

“No… but what are the chances? they said it was a sex picture taken in the school”

“Let’s check”, he whispered, connected your phone in his computer and started typing 

“Hey what’s going on?”, asked Jace, as he came close with Cregan, you smiled nervously

“A picture from my phone got leaked and someone got fired”, you explained, Ben looked at you, “and I didn’t send it”, you explained, “I don’t know what happened”

“In the information from the picture, it says that it was send one time, through airdrop, to “Maris’ phone bitch”, he said, arching an eyebrow

“Fucking Maris?”, you whined, “I almost got sued because of her!”, you whined

“IS THAT “THE” PICTURE?”, asked Jace, you nodded

“What’s in the picture?”, Cregan asked 

“NOTHING!”, said Ben, Jace and you at the same time 

“Delete it”, said Jace, “deny it all, airdrop doesn’t leave a trace, not when you receive it”, you looked at Ben and nodded, and he deleted the picture 

Jace looked at you

“Its over”

It was certainly not over yet…

. . .

One of the competitions of spirit week was “dressing” your faculty, or at least only the hall, in a certain way, with a certain theme

Your building was the newest one, it was in a major part concrete, glass and metal railings, so you and your classmates had said that you would place plants, wallflowers, and dressed the main hall with greenery and flowers, plants in pots, making it look like “nature” took over

It was going on beautifully, so much so, you as the whole class were going to ask the directors of the faculty of Architecture, design and arts to leave it like that once it was over

You had proposed the idea, so you were most looking forwards to the competition

You were standing over a chair, trying to place one of the bindweeds over the wall, in the tip of your toes, playing with your own stability, but you were so close

“That should go up”, you heard behind you, and when you did… you froze

That voice

You lost your balance, frightened out of your mind, and you fell off the chair

you managed to use your hands to tray to stop to smash your head on the concrete of the floor, but your ankle falled in a bad position, trying to catch you, and you ended on on your side on the floor, in a huff of pain 

“Are you alright!?”, your classmate that was with you hanging the bindweed ran to your side, jumping off the chair graceful as a gazelle, and checked your ankle

But you only looked up, scared

There she was

Looking down her nose at you

Those haunting green eyes 

“Alys”, you called, scared

“Does your ankle hurt?”, asked the sweet girl you looked at her apologetically

“A bit”

“Oh, that was a pretty nasty fall… I hope is not broken”

“Professor Alys”, called the secretary of the Arts department, “the director of the school of arts will see you now”, she said with smile, completely ignoring you, and Alys gave you one last nasty look before walking away from you

No no no no no

No please

“She is for the post of a new arts professor for the Art academy”, whispered the girl you were with, you looked at her in horror, “she looks kind of witchy doesn’t she?”, she asked innocently 

She help you stand up, and you whined in pain 

. . .

A sprained ankle

FUCK!

Sara gave you a pack of ice and you smiled softly at her as you placed it in your ankle, you called her and she came to the infirmary with you, and then she decided, as Jace offered her, to bring you to the boys apartment.

Outside was snowing, it was awfully chilly

“Do the girls live here now?”, mocked Ben as he entered the place with Cregan, the later one greeted you -who were pitifully seated in their sofa- and then kept going to his room, probably going to change after practice

He and Ben where in the football team

Jace was in trials, the season was about to start. You were looking forward to that.

But then you remembered…

You sniffed, remembering Alys… fucking Alys

Was going to teach in your faculty

Right next door

If you were truly unlucky you could ran into her every day

Every fucking day

Tears fell down your eyes, you wiped them instantly, but it was too late

“Does it hurt so much?”, asked Sara, truly concerned, you shook your head

“What’s going on?”, asked Jace

“I saw her today, Alys”, you whined

“Who is Alys?”, asked Sara

“My professor of plastic arts in Dragonstone”, you told her, “she slept with my boyfriend, he cheated on me with her and knocked her up”

Sara opened her mouth widely, surprised 

“What?”

“It was horrible, but… my roommate stole a picture I took of them with my phone and she got fired”, you whined, “its my fault, and now, she is applying to the post here, at this school…”

“What the fuck?”, asked Jace

“She knows I took it, she hates me!”, you said, “she is going to make my life miserable”

“The witch from the picture?”, asked Ben

“The Dean told me they couldn’t put that on her record”, you said, “nobody knows about it”

“And she will join the department”, said Ben

“I never meant to get her fired, but I can’t see her here everyday!”, you whined, “she can make my life miserable, but I can’t do anything… she will know it, I could get in trouble… and… its my fault she got fired, I didn't mean to”

“It's her fault! you didn’t make her bang your boyfriend!”, said Sara

“I left the school, I didn’t tell a soul, I mean, only one person… I don’t know what to do”, you whined

"She is in arts, you are in design, she won't touch you", said Sara, "we will be your buffers..."

"Yeah, lets learn her schedule and avoid her, its called antistalking", said Jace

Unknown to you, Cregan was listening. But he came back to his room, grabbed his phone and dialed a number 

“Uncle Bennard”, he greeted, “I’m good thanks… Do you have a meeting with the board of the school today?”, he asked, “Alys Rivers can’t teach in this school”, he nodded, “she does not share the morals and profile of this university… yes… I’m certain of my words… thank you”

And he hanged up the call 

He got out of his room and you all looked at him, you wiped your tears and smiled at him, sincerely, not knowing of what just happened

“Anyone in for a marathon of the Arthur Dayne movies?”, he asked, “let’s order pizza”

“YES!”

“WUHUUU”

"I'm already on it!", offered Ben

“For fucks sake”, whined Jace

more notes : I’m running out of creating counterparts of movies and such… real ones might pop up

😂

“Sea Snake” = Titanic

Maegor with Cyrese and Tyanna = John F Kennedy, Jackie and Marilyn 

How to lose a knight in a moon = “How to lose a man in ten days” 

The she-wolf of old town = The wolf of wall street

THE ARTHUR DAYNE! hahaaa = John Wick

taglist! ❤️

@mxtokko @princesssterek @thefandomimagines @iamavailablesstuff @misspascalpunk @sweethoneyblossom1 @ipostwhtifeel @lunamoonbby @ahristata @watercolorskyy @yazzzmints @n4tforlife @littleshadow17 @alexa4040 @speedyballoonpainter @hc-geralt-23 @rayrayredpanda @eralen @yentroucnagol

#misguidedneed #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #cregan stark #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan #jacaerys strong #sara snow

[edosianorchids901]

Forget How To Feel

Ace Omens Hugfest 2024 prompt - "a silent hug"

St. James’s Park, 1860

“Ooh, and I thought perhaps we might go to the theatre soon! That would be lovely, wouldn’t it? We could go see Hamlet again.”

Crowley grunted in response to the enthusiastic chatter. His only audible contribution to their meeting so far, aside from grunts of agreement, was the tap of his new cane. The silver snake head handle wasn’t exactly comfortable to hold, and definitely not practical, but it looked cool. Very fashionable.

“Or-or-or perhaps something a bit more cheerful,” Aziraphale said with a sideways glance at Crowley. Crowley averted his gaze, studying the ducks instead. They seemed a lot happier than he was. “I know Hamlet isn’t precisely your favorite thing. I do adore it, especially because it reminds me so much of your kindness.”

Crowley hissed softly.

“Well, it was kind. And don’t argue with me, Crowley.” Aziraphale stopped, and Crowley jammed the cane down to slow himself without toppling over at the sudden change. His legs hadn’t been very reliable this week. “Actually, I would feel somewhat better if you argued with me. You haven’t said a single actual word, and I’m not sure whether it’s because something’s wrong or if I’ve simply been babbling too rapidly for you to sneak in a response.”

Aziraphale waited for him to reply. Crowley stared at the ducks and didn’t reply.

When Aziraphale just kept standing there, waiting, Crowley finally caved. “S’ not you. But nothing’s wrong.”

“Something certainly seems wrong. I-I am aware that I’m often chattier than you, but you usually at least, well. Chat.” With a little sigh, Aziraphale searched his face. Crowley found himself grateful for the new sunglasses that shielded his eyes from the side, too. “Quite frankly, I’m starting to worry.”

There it was. The phrase that would always get him to reply at least a bit, even if he masked the worst of the trouble. “You don’t need to worry, angel. I’m just… kinda down. S’ not a big deal.”

Ducks splashed in the water, totally absorbed in their own lives. It looked peaceful.

“Yes, well. You’ve been ‘kinda down’ since that whole incident in Edinburgh.” Aziraphale swallowed hard, twisting his gloved hands together. “Of course, it’s not that I can blame you, considering the trouble you were in. I merely wonder if I could be of assistance.”

After a minute, Crowley shrugged. Then he looked around nervously for observers. No one seemed to be paying any attention at all to them. “D’ya think ducks ever have a bad day? Or are they just, y’know… happy as a duck, as the saying goes?”

Aziraphale gave him a baffled look. “I’m not entirely sure that is a saying, my dear. Although I’m not always entirely on top of slang…”

That was an understatement. Normally, Crowley would have teased Aziraphale a little about that. Right now, it seemed like too much work.

When he didn’t answer, Aziraphale gave a little huff. “Well, would you rather we met up another time? If you’re having a bad day?”

“I didn’t say I was having a bad day. I was just asking about ducks,” Crowley protested despite knowing that Aziraphale would never buy it. Aziraphale gave him a look. “Okay, okay. Yes, I’m having a bad day. But I just want to…”

He snarled in annoyance, unable to admit it. He just wanted to be with Aziraphale. Not doing anything, not talking. Just together, where the world didn’t feel so bleak.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly. “Well, in that case, I’d be more than happy to stay together. We don’t have to talk, if you’d rather not. Why don’t we go sit on the bench for a bit? It’s actually quite a nice day, sun and everything.”

“Nnnh.” Crowley glanced towards their usual bench. It was usually comfortable. “My legs are killing me today. Sitting on wood doesn’t sound terrific. But I don’t really wanna walk back to the shop, either.”

“I could carry you.”

“I am not letting you carry me. That would definitely make people look at us.”

“No, I mean…” Aziraphale snuck a quick look around. “Not in this form. You could turn into a serpent. We could even sit on the bench like that, if I’d be a more comfortable place to rest.”

Biting his lip, Crowley regarded the angel beside him. Aziraphale was definitely the most comfortable place around, no question about that. “People would still look at us.”

“And then they would assume that I’m merely an eccentric, taking my pet snake out for a walk on a nice, sunny day.” Aziraphale held out his arms. “Shall we?”

Crowley snorted. “You’re not even gonna let me sit down first?”

“We can, if you feel like walking.”

Oh. He really, really didn’t feel like walking.

With a soft hiss, Crowley leaned his cane against the fence and laid his hands on Aziraphale’s forearm. “Okay. Okay. But I swear, if you let any humans pet me…”

Aziraphale beamed. “No humans petting you. I promise.”

Reassured, Crowley shifted into his rarely used snake form, coiling around Aziraphale’s arm as he did. The pain in his legs morphed too, distributing to most of his body. But at least it was different, and less intense.

He opted for a pretty big snake, big enough that he would probably scare most observers away. Aziraphale cooed and hugged him close, supporting him carefully. “Oh, my dear. You’re so adorable in this form.”

Crowley hissed his disapproval.

“My apologies. You’re… very striking. Handsome. Stunning. Also quite large.” Chuckling, Aziraphale shifted Crowley’s weight to one arm, then picked up his cane. “Shall we?”

That didn’t mandate a reply, so Crowley didn’t bother getting one. He was too busy being a snake, enjoying the way it sanded the sharp edges off his mood.

It shifted his priorities. Sure, he was still depressed and exhausted and in pain, not to mention constantly worrying about everything going wrong again. But all of that receded. All the snakey side of himself cared about was warm angel, and he definitely had warm angel.

“Here we are.” Aziraphale sank down onto the bench. He leaned the cane nearby, then wrapped both arms around Crowley’s coils. “Would you like me to talk at all, or be silent?”

Right now, talking was too much to process. Crowley hid his face under Aziraphale’s fluffy cravat thingy.

Aziraphale gave a soft chuckle and stroked his coils, then simply wrapped his arms around Crowley and lapsed into silence. Crowley emerged from under the cravat, resting his chin on Aziraphale’s arm.

The previous pileup of anxious worry faded, retreating deeper into the background as he sank into the comfortable lack of conscious thought. Right now, none of that seemed to matter much. He was with Aziraphale, being hugged to incredible warmth. Nothing could be more important than that.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ace omens hugfest 2024 #snake crowley #disabled crowley

[lovelyhan]

— again and again (a teaser) ⟢

pairing: mingyu x reader

summary: your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.

word count: 1.7k words

tags: exes, fake dating, pining, idol!gyu, vet!reader, mild angst, fluff, smut (in later scenes; the teaser is completely sfw)

warnings: some medical jargon, mentions of shots (for pets)

notes: omg this is so long for a teaser, but it's fine LMAO i'll be away this weekend, so i thought i'd treat you guys to a little something i'm currently working on ^__^ i hope you like it!

When you hear the telltale ring as the call connects to its intended recipient, you wonder why you even considered this idea in the first place. Not to mention, you’re getting a nasty case of phone call anxiety—one that you haven’t felt in god knows how long. Maybe it’s because of the identity of the person you’re calling that your nerves are all over the place. 

In fact, you’re not sure if he’s even going to answer. There are a million and a half reasons why famous superstar Kim Mingyu won’t be able to pick up your call. He could be shooting for a music video or some fashion magazine. He could be in the middle of an interview. Or he could be out spending time with his members like tends to these days if his recent Instagram posts are anything to go by. 

But you try anyway because your mother sounded so hopeful in the phone call you just hung up on five minutes ago (The rice wine he got for us last Christmas was splendid! He’ll bring some again for Chuseok, won’t he?), that you just didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

So, because you can’t take back the pretty white lies you uttered (Uh, of course he will. Gyu told me he missed everyone back at home, too. Especially Namja), you’re attempting to rope Mingyu into the charade even if the odds are against you.

The first call doesn’t go through. Neither does the second. 

By your third try, you’re about to accept the fact that you’re going to have to make some due corrections to what you told your mother until you hear a groggy, “Hello?” on the other line. 

You nearly fall off your seat at the throaty sound of Mingyu’s voice, but you’d rather not get weird looks from your receptionist, so you breathe in as deeply (and quietly) as you can before mustering a smile that he won’t even be able to see.

“Hey, Mingyu, it’s me,” you begin, a bit proud of how your voice didn’t even falter. “It’s been a while. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

He doesn’t respond for a while, and the prolonged silence makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Did the call fall through? Did he not hear what you said? But just when you’re about to repeat the words—

“Kind of,” Mingyu grumbles, and you try not to think about how sexy his morning voice sounds despite it being two in the afternoon. “We finished taping a variety show today and I figured I’d get some sleep. It’s midnight right now.”

Well that’s news to you.

“Oh. You’re not in Korea?”

“Nah. We’re in New York for some brand collaborations,” he says, and you hear some rustling in the background, followed by a yawn. “Though I doubt you’ve been keeping tabs on us.” 

Okay, he doesn’t have to call you out like that.

Sure, you still catch posts from Mingyu, as well as the other twelve members of SEVENTEEN from time to time, but…after breaking up with him (on good terms, promise!), you thought it’s best if you didn’t see too much of them anymore. The block and mute buttons are your best friends, and while you didn’t use them on the members directly, gossip outlets were your regular targets.

So to speak, it’s been a peaceful six months since your break up with Mingyu. 

Until now.

“Do you need something?” he asks, and you realize you didn’t respond to what he said last. “Whatever it is, I might not be able to help you out right away. We’re holed up here until next month.”

Well…that’s all the confirmation you needed.

“I see,” you sigh, trying not to sound too disappointed. “It’s— It’s okay.”

“So you do need something,” Mingyu points out, voice much clearer now than it was two minutes ago. Like he was more awake. “What is it?”

“Nothing you should worry about, Gyu,” you reassure before making a face, not realizing how easily the old nickname just slipped out. “I’m sorry for waking you up. You should go back to—”

The sound of him whining at the other end sends another rush of vertigo through your entire being. “Come on, I’m awake anyways right? You know how hard it is for me to fall asleep again.”

“If I’d known we weren’t in the same continent, I wouldn’t have called altogether,” you say before quaintly adding, “Shit. This counts as an international call, doesn’t it?”

There’s someone else in the room with him, you think—a quiet drawl of Mingyu-hyung, what time is it? You immediately recognize it as Seungkwan. 

“Five minutes from midnight,” Mingyu says, and Seungkwan asks another question that you aren’t able to catch. “Who am I talking to? Bookkeu and Bobpul’s worst enemy.”

“Hey!” You scowl at him. “They never even whined when you and Seungkwan brought them to me for their shots!”

“Noona? Why are you calling this guy?” Seungkwan says a bit more loudly for you to hear. “Didn’t you dump him already? Good choice, by the way.” 

This time it’s Mingyu’s turn to utter out a semi-offended, “Hey! Mind your own business, Seungkwan-ah.”

A few minutes of bickering with his dongsaeng later, you figure that Mingyu must’ve gone outside of their hotel room for some privacy. You can vaguely hear the sound of the wind blowing on his end before he heaves a deep sigh.

“Sorry about that.” He coughs awkwardly. “Anyway, if you’re not going to tell me about what you needed help with, how are you? Is the clinic doing well? Did your receptionist finally ditch her shitty boyfriend? Does that one guy with a husky still hit on you?”

You’re a little overwhelmed by the sudden influx of questions. Last you checked, you haven’t spoken to Mingyu since you greeted him on his birthday over a quick text message. But then again, your ex does have a talent for completely ignoring the time that exists in between interactions. Mingyu’s always been amicable for conversation, idol or not, boyfriend or not. 

The mere thought that he hasn’t changed at all makes your heart ache in more ways than one.

You manage a quiet laugh. “I’m fine. The clinic’s fine. Chae has a new boyfriend now. He even helps us sort out new products on the shelves sometimes.”

At the mention of her name, your receptionist whips her head in your direction, one brow raised. You shake your head with a smile, gesturing that this is nothing she should even be remotely concerned about. 

It’s just Mingyu after all.

“Okay, how about the guy who—”

“I turned him down when he asked me out for lunch last week.”

He whistles. “Ouch. And he’s been trying to get with you all this time.”

“I don’t usually date my clients, you know.”

“Yeah? I must be special then.”

Then comes the silence—so thick, you can cut through it with a knife. 

“Uh, so I have a patient coming in an hour for a castration procedure,” you tell him a bit awkwardly. “Gotta prepare everything before the owner arrives.”

Mingyu sighs, and you can almost imagine him pouting. “You’re really not gonna tell me? I can still help you with whatever you need even when I’m out here. Unless it requires me to, you know, physically be there.”

You chuckle. “That’s the thing, Gyu. You can’t help me because I need you to actually be here.”

“Oh. Why? What for?”

You inhale sharp breath through your nose, closing your eyes as your face warms with embarrassment. Chae is definitely looking at you funnily from her station now, but you tell yourself not to give it too much thought.

“Mom asked if I was bringing you with me for Chuseok,” you admit. “I haven’t been home since Christmas, so… They kind of have no idea that we aren’t together anymore.”

Mingyu falls silent for a while yet again, and you realize that your anxiousness spikes whenever he isn’t talking like there’s no tomorrow. You wonder if he’s figured out what you’re trying to insinuate and is silently berating you for the lapse in judgment. But when Mingyu bursts out laughing on the other end, you suddenly don't mind being on the receiving end of his silence after all.

“No way,” he gasps between chuckles. “You were going to ask me to pretend to be your boyfriend over the holidays, weren’t you?! One of the fans wrote a story about the exact same thing once, except it’s between me and Wonwoo-hyung. It was in English though, but Vernon translated it pretty well.”

…Kim Mingyu admitting to reading fanfiction about himself and Wonwoo aside, you groan. “What am I supposed to do? My family loves you. I’d rather not dampen the Chuseok spirit by saying their favorite son has unfortunately made his unannounced exit half a year ago.”

“So you’re willing to pretend we’re still together just to keep them happy?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like you’re an ex I should be ashamed of, Gyu.”

“Because I’m an idol that millions are vying for?” 

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because out of all my exes, you’re the only one that Namja actually likes. That’s pretty much the highest honor you can receive in your entire life.”

Your heart does a little flip when Mingyu barks out another light-hearted laugh. You tell yourself that you’re only reacting that way because…it has been a while since you talked to him. That, and Mingyu was always so smiley whenever you brought up your ten year-old retriever.

“Point taken,” he says. “I’d totally be down to help you out, but…yeah.”

“I knew you would be,” you reply, a sad smile ghosting your features. “That’s why I called.”

Silence settles over the line once again, but it’s, by no means, awkward. It’s more…sentimental. Like two old friends reminiscing about the good memories you shared. 

Huh. You’re friends with Mingyu…

“Anyway, thanks for catching up with me, Mingyu,” you tell him before you end up saying something you’re not supposed to. “I’ll get going now. Good night.”

“Hey—”

You end the call before he can have the chance to make you falter.

end notes: like the teaser so far? leave a reply if you haven't filled out my taglist form yet and would like to be tagged once the full story is up!

edit: the full fic is up here!

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt smut #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #mingyu #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan

[lumosandnoxwriting]

flashback to my mistakes || George Weasley

Title: flashback to my mistakes Pairing: George x Reader Summary: George never planned on proposing marriage. Not after he broke the heart of the only woman he ever saw himself marrying. But when he’s up for Captain and the only thing standing in his way is a less than stellar reputation, he’s willing to do anything to overcome that. So when Fred suggests a fake dating scheme like all the romance books his girlfriend reads, George immediately agrees. What better way to show people he’s a serious role model than a lifelong commitment? Too bad the only woman he could even stomach pretending to be engaged to hates his guts. Or does she?

A/N:And here it is! The first part of my new hockey!george series! Hope you enjoy!

-

“Weasley,” Coach Morris greets as George steps into his office. George nods in response, settling into one of the chairs facing Coach’s desk when the other man motions for him to sit. “Thanks for coming to see me on such short notice.”

“Of course, Coach,” George responds, keeping it brief. He’s trying to exude a casual, confident aura to hide the fact that he’s freaking the fuck out on the inside. Getting called into the Coach's office during the season is one thing, but having him schedule a last minute meeting a week before pre-season is utterly terrifying. The fact that his Agent and a representative from Legal aren’t in attendance is the only thing keeping George from a full on panic attack. 

As long as his spot on the team is safe George doesn’t care what Coach might have to say.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you in today, and as much as I want to see you sweat a bit I’ll leave the torture for the ice,” Morris teases with a laugh. George doesn’t think he’s heard Coach laugh in the five years he’s been with the Rebels, so he manages to squeak out a chuckle. “As you know, Crawford retired at the end of the last season and the team is in need of a new captain.”

George clenches his fists, feeling like his stomach might fall out of his ass. As the center to Crawford’s right wing, George had been devastated when they lost in the second round of playoffs and Tyler announced his retirement in the locker room after. Losing a teammate is always hard, but Tyler had become like a big brother to George and he didn’t even think about the fact that he wasn’t just losing a good friend, but a captain as well. 

Until now. 

“I haven’t really thought about it,” George says honestly when Coach doesn’t continue. “I was more worried about who was going to replace Tyler on my line.”

Coach laughs again, shocking George just as much as the first time. “Well at any rate, the team is in need of a solid Captain. We lost a few other vets to trades and we’ve got a slew of rookies coming in who will need someone dependable to look up to as a role model. And to be honest with you George, your name has come up more than once.”

“Oh, wow,” George stutters out. “Just being considered for a position like that is an honor, Coach.”

George is not the most senior player on the team, so the fact that his name has been brought up in these discussions is truly a shock. He’s spent the last six years in the league working his ass off to try and make a name for himself playing the sport he loves. His rookie year he was placed on the third line, and every spare second of his time has been spent trying to improve in the hopes of moving up. 

It’s why he’s still around, even in the off season. Even when the team is on break George is training. Whether it’s in the weight room or on the ice, George is always working hard to stay fit and on top of his game. And clearly it’s paid off, since he was promoted to second line during his second season, and half way through his third Coach bumped him up to first. The feeling of being the first person on the ice is like nothing he’s ever felt, and George has worked his ass off to keep that privilege. 

And just the thought of having that capital C on his jersey as well has George feeling higher than any drug ever could.

“Final decisions haven’t been made yet, but I wanted to pull you in to let you know you were being considered because, well,” Coach pauses, and George thinks he might throw up. “Some of the administration thinks you’re still a little too fresh. You know I don’t like to listen to the shit some of those magazines publish, but not everyone who makes these decisions is the same way. And what you do or who you do off the ice is none of our business, but that doesn’t mean that the admin team likes hearing about the wild parties you go to and the girls you take home. Like I said they’re really looking for someone dependable and who can be a good role model to the younger guys on the team. We got so close to the Cup last year, and this year we’ve got the talent to get there, we just need the leadership to guide us.”

George nods in understanding. “Of course, Coach. I appreciate the heads up and the ability to show you and the rest of the admins that there’s no other man for the job but me. All that shit is in my past, I promise.”

“Good.” Coach starts to ruffle through the paperwork in front of him, and George takes that as a goodbye.

He shuffles out of the office and heads back down towards the parking lot, already trying to formulate a plan. 

Now that him being Captain is on the table, there’s no way he’s stopping until that capital C is his.

-

“So let me get this straight,” Fred starts, his familiar voice tinged with the tinny sound of a FaceTime call. “Coach said you’re on the short list for Captain, but some of the higher ups don’t think you’re a stable enough role model.”

George nods, taking a sip of his beer. “Precisely.”

“So now you’re trying to think up some kind of plan or scheme to convince everyone that your fuck boy days are in the past and you’re ready to be the team Daddy?”

“Yup, you got it.”

Even through the grainy call George can see the mischievous glint in his twin’s eyes. “Then you’ve come to the right place, little bro.”

George grins, but he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The only downside of his job and his dedication to it is that it keeps him from seeing his family regularly. When your job keeps you busy for eight months of the year and you spend the other four months training for that job there isn’t much time to fly across the country for a visit. His parents and siblings still live in the small town in Washington where they grew up, and not having them close by makes the big city feel even bigger. 

Under normal circumstances, Fred would be here on the couch with George. And they’d be sipping beers and scheming together. But a FaceTime call will have to suffice.

“So the partying has to stop, obviously,” Fred starts. “Or at least how publicly you do it. Same with the puck bunnies and trust me, I know, it wounds me to even say it. If I could get pussy that easily I would be fucking drowning in it, but if you want to project a new, focused and reliable persona you can’t be banging a new chick every night.”

“I came up with that on my own, genius,” George huffs. “But I don’t think that’s enough to really get through to everyone that I’m ready to be Captain.”

“And are you?” Fred asks. “Ready to be captain, that is.”

“Of course.” George is firm in his answer. “I know I can do it, and I’m just going along with some stupid scheme to show everyone else I can do it too.”

“Alright, bro, as long as you’re sure.” Fred pauses as they both think. An idea must hit him, because suddenly Fred’s eyes are lighting up. “Fake dating!”

George raises an eyebrow in question. “I’m sorry, what the hell did you just say?”

“Fake dating, it’s a book trope or whatever. Angelina is always talking my ear off about the newest book she’s reading, and it’s a pretty popular story line. You know, someone wants to make their ex jealous, or they need a fiance to get their inheritance. Bam, fake relationship.”

“Huh. That’s actually not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” George responds, his surprise evident in his tone. “A fake fiance would be the perfect cover. Shows my partying is behind me, and I’m ready to be serious and settle down. And then once I’m Captain and things have blown over, we’ll have an amicable break up and everything will be right with the world again.”

“And that little brother is how the master works,” Fred grins. “Now you just gotta find a girl. Maybe one of our past hookups.”

George frowns, shaking his head. “No, it’s gotta be someone I feel comfortable around and who I know won’t go blabbering to everyone about what’s happening. It has to be someone I might actually consider spending the rest of my life with. Some random puck bunny is not that.”

They both sit in silence, sipping on their beers as they try and figure out who that girl might be. And when they both suddenly make contact, there isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that they truly are identical twins. Because George can tell by the look on his brother’s face that they’ve both come to the same conclusion. 

“Y/N,” Fred is the only one brave enough to utter her name. 

And as much George wants to admit that his brother is wrong, deep down he knows that he’s right. Y/N is the only girl George has ever loved, and leaving her behind is the only regret he has in life. Fuck, even all these years later, just thinking about her makes his chest ache. Swearing off commitment and marriage isn’t something George ever even considered until he broke things off with Y/N. He only ever wanted those things with her, and just the thought of even pretending to feel those things for someone else makes him sick to his stomach.

“When’s the last time you talked to her?” Fred asks when George doesn’t say anything. 

“The day I left. I’ve tried to reach out a few times, but,” George shrugs, taking another long drag from his beer. “She never picked up or responded.”

“She still lives in town. If you just show up she’ll probably be so shocked she’ll have no option but to hear you out.”

George nods, reluctantly agreeing with his brother. “Looks like I’m coming home.”

-

“Everything looks the same,” George rumiates wistfully, his eyes roaming over the buildings they pass as Fred drives. 

He hasn’t been back home in nearly a decade, and yet his hometown looks as if it was frozen in time. The ice cream parlor on main street still has the same faded red and white awning, and George swears the chalkboard out front boasts the same specials it did when he used to take Y/N there after school. 

The memory of Y/N reminds him both of why it’s been so long since he came back, and why he finally did. Every inch of this town is covered in memories of Y/N, and every reminder of her cuts George down to the bone. Deep down he knows that letting go of her all those years ago was the best decision for both of them, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“Well here we are,” Fred announces, pulling George out of his thoughts. But once he realizes where exactly they are his stomach drops. 

Parklane Community Center, is still plastered on the front of the familiar building and George thinks he may actually throw up. This is where he learned to skate, where he joined his first PeeWee league and where he led his high school team to the state championship four years in a row. 

This is also the place where he first met Y/N, when they were both six year olds teetering on brand new ice skates. They’d held onto each other, rather than the orange traffic cones all the kids had been given, and that was the start of a beautiful friendship. Y/N never did anything with those lessons like George did, but she was sitting in the stands cheering him on at every single game he played on that ice. 

When they were in middle school George took Y/N to the community center for open skating on their first ever date. They’d held hands as they glided across the ice and every time she so much as stumbled George was there to catch her. After they got done on the ice they drank hot chocolate at one of the tables, their free hands still intertwined. 

Their first kiss happened here too, right before George tried out for the local travel team and he was practically vibrating with nerves. But as soon as Y/N’s lips touched his all those nerves melted away, and George became the youngest member of the team.

Every moment that lead to George playing in the NHL took place here at this rink, and Y/N was there for every single one of them. 

“Here? You’re sure?” George asks once he’s able to speak. 

Fred nods, giving his brother a sympathetic look. “Yeah, she teaches lessons on the weekend.”

Taking a deep inhale George closes his eyes, needing to take a second to center himself. Not only is he about to see the love of his life for the first time since he broke her heart, but he’s about to ask her for the biggest favor known to man. He can do this, he knows he can. He’s just not sure if he’s ready.

Once his eyes pop back open Fred claps him on the shoulder. “You got this, man.”

Giving his brother a nod in thanks, George braces himself, throwing the car door open and stepping out into the parking lot.  

Here goes nothing.

-

It takes George several minutes to actually make his way to the rink. 

Greg, the same janitor who was in charge of the facility when George was a boy, spotted him the second he came in the door, and pulled him over into a conversation. Which ended up being a good thing, because the morning lesson was just finishing up and while they were chatting a flood of parents with their kids came rushing out of the double doors that lead into the rink. So what started as an annoying inconvenience actually turned into a blessing in disguise, because George definitely did not want to see Y/N for the first time in front of her students and their parents.

With a promise to come back soon, George parts from Greg. He stands just outside the doors to the rink for a few seconds, just taking a few more deep breaths. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as he approaches the rink, and it almost brings him to his knees. 

There’s a long figure out on the ice, and George doesn’t need to look for long to know it’s Y/N. He’d recognize the outline of her body anywhere, and she’s just as beautiful as he remembers. She’s just gliding along the ice, not really doing anything fancy and George creeps closer to the boards. He’s drawn to Y/N, and he’s far too weak to resist the pull.

Suddenly Y/N turns on her skates, and George is face to face with the woman he loves. 

Y/N stops, a strangled gasp leaving her lips as she takes in the man standing less than ten feet away. Anyone else in her position would assume that it’s Fred just stopping by to be annoying. But Y/N spent years studying the slight differences between the twins, and there’s no doubt in her mind that George Weasley is standing there. At the rink. Looking right at her. 

Holy fucking shit. 

He looks older, more mature and even in the faint light she can see the slight crook in his nose after it got broken in a game last season. All the times she imagined this moment, never did Y/N actually think it would ever occur. She’s spent years wishing George would come home, but now that it’s here she’s not really sure how to feel. 

Especially considering the way things ended between them. It almost feels like some weird twist of fate, that George should show back up in her life here at the rink, considering it was this very spot where he left her all those years ago.

-

“There you are,” Y/N greets as she steps up to the boards, a wide smile on her face. She’d been trying to get in touch with George for the last few hours, and when he wasn’t at home she knew there was only one other place he’d be.

The rink.

When George just keeps skating Y/N yells out. “Hey! I’m talking to you, George!”

Ice sprays out as George comes to a sharp stop, giving up on whatever drill he’d been running. He doesn’t even bother to mutter an apology, but he does slowly make his way over to where Y/N is standing. 

“What’s up?”

She frowns at him. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nothing, I’m just in the middle of something.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N bites. She hates getting short with George, but it seems almost necessary lately with how moody he’s been. In all the years they’ve been together George has never been this distant, and it’s starting to worry her. After they managed to survive freshman year of college apart, Y/N figured the next three years would be a breeze. But now George is about to leave after Spring Break and she can’t help but feel like she’s about to lose him for good. 

Softening her tone, Y/N reaches out to grab George’s hand. “I can’t help you deal with whatever’s going on in that head of yours if you don’t talk to me about it, Georgie. You and I against the world, remember?”

“Do you remember that guy Jameson? The Agent who signed me at the end of the last season?” George asks instead of responding to Y/N’s concern. He’s been torturing himself for days on how to have this conversation with her, and even still he’s not ready. 

Though George isn’t sure he’d ever be ready to break up with the only woman he will ever love. 

“Yeah,” Y/N answers skeptically. 

“He called me, the other day. Said some teams have been interested. Chicago’s going to draft me next week.”

“George, that’s amazing!” Y/N cheers, jumping up and down in excitement. But when she goes to hug George and he steps away from her embrace, all that joy drains from her body. “George?”

“It’s still not a guarantee, they’re offering me a contract for after graduation,” George explains. “It’s provisional, if I let myself slip they can still withdraw, and then I’ll have to reenter the draft as a free agent after graduation.”

“Okay,” Y/N drawls, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She has a feeling that she knows where this is going, but part of her is still hanging on. 

“I need to focus on hockey, Y/N. This is my only opportunity to prove to myself and everyone else that I’m good enough. That I can compete on a professional level.” George exhales sharply. “I don’t have time for distractions.”

“Distractions?” Y/N squeaks out, her voice already thick with emotion. “That's all I am to you, George? After everything we’ve been through together? I’m just some stupid distraction.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” George apologizes, but he can’t even look her in the eyes. “But this means everything to me, you know that.”

“Of course I knew that,” Y/N says defeatedly, her voice breaking. “I just thought I meant more.”

George keeps his head down as Y/N leaves him behind, both of their broken hearts spread out on the floor.

-

“Hi,” George greets, breaking the silence. 

“Really?” Y/N asks, voice firm. “Eight years and all you can say is ‘hi’?”

Her tone stings, but George knows he deserves it. He spent so much time thinking about what it would be like to see her again that he didn’t even consider what he might say to her once he did. Just add it to the list of fuck ups he’s been accruing since he walked away from Y/N all those years ago. 

“I’ve never been good with words,” George explains with a shrug. “And unfortunately there isn’t a book out there called ‘what to say to your ex-girlfriend when you come to ask her for a favor eight years after you broke her heart.’”

That intrigues Y/N and she skates closer to George. “You finally came home after all these years to ask me a favor? What are you, dying?” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N feels her stomach sinking. “Holy fuck, George are you dying?”

George is ashamed at how good it feels to hear the genuine worry in her tone. Having her worry that he’s dying is the actual bare minimum, but he’ll take anything he can get. 

“No, nothing like that,” he assures with a grin. “Just hear me out, please?”

Despite the million reasons why even entertaining George is a bad idea, Y/N finds herself nodding in agreement. Because she’s felt a lot of things for George Weasley since he broke her heart, and unfortunately for her love seems to be the strongest. She never stopped loving him, and even after all the years she has a hard time denying him anything.

Once she’s off the ice George helps her put her skate guards on, a simple action that has her cheeks flushing and butterflies threatening to erupt from her tummy. Y/N also takes the hand that George offers, letting him lead her over to the bleachers. Once they sit Y/N keeps her distance, sitting far enough away that they aren’t touching but so she can still feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“There’s a strong possibility that I’ll be the next Captain of the Rebels,” George starts slowly, trying to find the right words. “Morrison, my Coach, said I have a lot of support. But some of the other higher ups don’t know if I’m the best role model for the team.”

“Okay,” Y/N says, her tone questioning. Clearly she’s not as devious as George and Fred, since she has no idea why George is telling her all of this.

“So I’ve been trying to clean up my image, you know? All the partying and stuff.” A knot has lodged itself in his throat, and George swallows thickly. “But I don’t know if that’s enough. Captain is a serious job, and I want everyone to know that I’m serious about it.”

“And that requires a favor from me, how?”

George sighs. “Well Fred and I were talking,” he stops, unable to keep from chuckling when Y/N mutters a quiet "this can’t be good.” “And he suggested this uh, fake dating scheme. He said Angelina reads a lot of rom coms that include it. Basically, Fred said that the best way for me to showcase that I’m a serious guy and a good role model is to uh, ask someone to be my fake fiance.”

Y/N is silent as she lets George’s words soak in, and once they do her jaw nearly drops. “Are you seriously sitting here right now asking for me to pretend to be your fiance? After everything we’ve been through?”

“There’s no other woman in the world I’d ever imagine wearing my ring, Y/N. When I think about marriage, even fake marriage, you’re the only woman that comes to mind.”

The honesty in George’s voice punches her in the gut. This is such a bad idea, and yet Y/N finds herself considering it. Because despite the pain and the years apart, sitting here with George still feels like home. All of her efforts to push him from her mind, to date other people and move on have always failed. Everything has always come back to George Weasley. 

Realistically she knows that this is just going to end in heartbreak again. As soon as George gets what he wants their little charade will be over, and she’ll go back to having a George shaped hole in her life and in her heart. But the smallest part of her, the part that has read those same rom coms and knows the fake dating always turns into real dating, holds out hope that this may be their second chance. 

Either this is the way she rids George from her system for good, or this is the way she keeps him in her life forever. 

And Y/N will never forgive herself if she doesn’t find out which it is. 

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gives George a curt nod. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

The smile that takes over George’s face takes her breath away. “Really? You will?”

“Yes, George. I will.”

Immediately George drops down to one knee and Y/N lets out a sharp gasp when he produces a small velvet jewelry box from his pocket. This is not how she ever imagined a proposal from George, but if this is all she’s ever going to get Y/N will take it. 

“In that case,” George starts, opening up the box to reveal a gorgeous, simple diamond ring on a white gold band. “Y/N, will you pretend to be my future wife?”

#George Weasley #George weasley imagine #George weasley fic #George weasley fanfiction #George weasley fan fiction #George weasley AU #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter au #gw #golden

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 8 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in previous/later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: laura is purposefully mean, oc sprains her wrist, oc's mother is a bitch, lots of angst, some sort of miscommunication between oc and jungkook (what's new) (nothing bad this time I promise), probably some curse words as per usual

☆word count: 12.6k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: Some more angst, but a silver lining in the end I promise. Thank you to @moonleeai for her beta reading on this fic, I won't ever thank you enough, you're the best <3

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, September 22nd

                You’re tired. Tired and anxious, especially as nationals are coming in two weeks. Two weeks. It’s unbelievable – it feels like the auditions were yesterday. And you don’t feel ready at all with the choreographies. You’ve mastered them a while ago, yes, but you’ve mastered them alone. Now, you have to practice with the rest of the crew, no matter how much you’ve been trying to avoid Jungkook.

But also, you’re tired and anxious because your mother has been on your back. Indeed, she believes you’ve been investing too much time in the crew, and that you’ve been neglecting your studies. You haven’t, of course, but your mother can’t accept the fact that you are juggling both dance and law. At least that’s what it feels like to you, so whenever she scolds you you just let her talk, tuning her out until she leaves you alone.

Today is no different. You haven’t really been listening to what she’s saying, but all that you know is that she is making you late for dance practice.

“Like, you think dancing will ever bring you any good?” she’s saying. “The type of dance you dance is not something you’ll make a living out of, and I can’t believe you haven’t understood that yet.”

You sigh, and you focus on her where she’s standing in the doorway of your room. “That’s kind of funny coming from you, a professional ballerina.”

Red splotches dot her cheeks. “Ballet is a far more lucrative discipline than whatever you call dance, Y/n. But of course you wouldn’t know.”

You can’t resist but roll your eyes. “Listen mom, I know you don’t like the crew. But I’m an adult and you can’t do anything about it. I have practice now, because we have nationals in two weeks, so can you just please let me go?”

“What are you going to do if I stop paying for your college, uh?” she spits. “You’ve been using my money forever. Your crew doesn’t even pay for the studio.”

“If that’s a problem to you, we can pay”, you say, folding your arms on your chest as you cock an eyebrow. “We’ve suggested it plenty of times before, and you keep refusing.” That makes you shake your head a little, and you add, “And we both know dad wanted to pay for my college. You’re the one who refused.”

You might be a little too bold. It is true that your father had once suggested he could pay for your tuition, considering that you are studying to be a lawyer like him. But that was years ago, and you have no idea if the offer still stands.

“He’s not even your father,” your mother chooses to say, as if you don’t already know.

It just makes you shrug your shoulders. “He’s been more of a father to me these last few weeks than you have been a mother. At least he supports me and my interests.”

She’s insulted. It’s clear as spring water. Brows so furrowed over her eyes that they’re almost touching, fists clenched so hard you can see white on her knuckles. “I…”

But she has nothing else to say. She knows just as well as you do that what you said is true. Your father, even if he isn’t your biological father, has always supported your dance passion. He never once questioned it, never once made you feel lesser because the type of dance you chose isn’t as “elegant” or “classy” as ballet. He also supported you when you decided to join the crew, even if your mother was fully against it.

“As I said, we’re adults, and I have engagements with the crew,” you continue. “So I’m going to go now, and if you want to talk like adults about me paying you for tuition or for the studio, we can do that another time. Alright?”

It’s insolent, the way you say it, but you know nothing else works with your mother. Sometimes, you feel like you’re the more mature one out of the two of you.

Scratch that – you are the more mature one out of the two of you.

Surprisingly, your mother lets you go for now. You expect that she will be on your back again soon enough, but at least you will be able to get to practice without being too late. And you walk quickly to compensate, so much so that you end up arriving before Jungkook and Heather, and you start stretching next to Jiho.

“Hey loser,” Jiho greets you, and you reckon the moment you see her, the annoyance your mother caused you goes down the drain.

Your relationship with her has been sailing smoothly now that you have decided to cut Jungkook out of your life. Now that you’ve actually taken steps to remove him from your heart too, which you’ll be forever thankful for. Maybe Jisung helped a little too, making Jiho realize that pushing her happy relationship in your face was the wrong thing to do. She and Hobi have chilled a little now, though you don’t feel about it the way that you did a month ago.

Now you’re just happy whenever you think about how Jiho got lucky. You know more than anyone else that she deserves that luck.

“Hey stupid,” you reply.

“Are you calling my girlfriend stupid?” Hobi asks, faking offense.

“We all know she’s stupid for you,” Scottie points out, and everyone laughs.

You love them. You love the crew with every single beat of your heart. You can’t imagine a life without them – if you had to choose, you’d cut ties with your mother before you’d even consider dropping out of the crew.

Heather joins you next, bright smile on her lips as Bridget files in behind her. You wave to Bridget and she waves in return, before moving to the spot where you’ve brought bean bags in for her.

After all, Bridget has taken a liking to attending dance practice, saying that it helps her to focus on studying. You have no idea how she manages to do that – loud music has always been a big distraction for you – but Bridget does it well. Sitting in a corner on one of the bean bags with her laptop on her knees, typing away as you all dance.

Jungkook doesn’t seem like he’s going to come soon, and Hobi suggests practicing without him. No one argues, and Lance sets up the music as you all take your places on the floor in front of the mirror.

You’ve done the choreography almost three and a half times when Jungkook finally deigns to show up, and you’re ready to throw hands when you realize why he’s late: he’s decided to bring Laura to practice.

Mind you, you’ve been good at moving on lately, or maybe you’ve just been good at pretending you’ve moved on. But seeing her in a space that she doesn’t belong in, in a scene that never should have been tainted with her presence makes your heart hammer in your chest, eyes going wide.

Jiho has the exact same reaction, mouth hanging open as she looks at Laura walking in. Laura has the decency to look shy a little as everyone just stares at her, and it’s with cheeks flushing red that she raises a bag she’s holding.

You only then notice that Jungkook is holding a bag too.

“We brought boba for everyone,” Laura sheepishly says, entirely avoiding the side of the room where you, Jiho and Lance are standing.

You exchange a look with your best friend, features slightly turning into a frown just long enough for her to notice. To outside eyes, nothing happened, and you’re back to looking at Laura a second later.

Though what you notice then is not her. It’s Jungkook. Jungkook is looking at you, as if he’s gauging your reaction. You meet his eyes, and you hope your emotions don’t show on your face.

Because quite frankly, the hammering of your heart aches, and you wish you could disappear.

Lance is the first one to break the silence that followed Laura’s words. And then everyone follows suit, moving closer to grab their own drink. All you can do is stay rooted in your spot, and you keep looking at Jungkook. He keeps looking at you too, and it feels like the moment has frozen for the two of you. It’s strange, as you have been avoiding him, but it does feel like the connection is still there.

You think it probably will always be there. You’ve just been better at accepting its existence doesn’t mean you and Jungkook were meant to be together anyway.

You stare at each other until Hobi nudges Jungkook, who blinks as if he’s been brought out of a trance. He shakes his head a little, gaze sliding to Hobi, and then he’s opening the bag he’s holding to hand the drinks he has.

You just stay there, teeth digging in the inside of your lips as you notice Laura has seen. She’s seen you and Jungkook looking at each other, and she’s frowning. When your eyes meet, it’s only for her to glare at you.

You wish you could tell her that he’s hers anyway, that she doesn’t have to hate you, but you’d never be able to step on your pride like that. So with your head held high you walk towards where they are. It feels decisive, like something is about to change – maybe the universe is about to shift back into position, after having spun off its axis since that night under the stars.

You think Jungkook senses you approaching, because he doesn’t even look at you when he tells Laura, “Babe, do you have the banana milk bobas?”

Her features turn solid, harsh. “I have yours, yes.”

You watch Jungkook. He’s furrowing his brows as if he doesn’t understand. “You don’t have Y/n’s?”

To hear him say your name makes your heart stop in your chest, and you reckon it hurts just as much as the hammering.

“I only got one banana milk.”

Jungkook’s gaze slides to you then. The room fills with tension, and you just cock an eyebrow as you hold his gaze. As if to say ‘she’s the one you chose as your girlfriend?’

“I asked you to get one for Y/n too.”

Laura just shrugs, and she fakes innocence. “Sorry, I forgot.”

It doesn’t really matter. It’s just a boba anyway, and you don’t usually drink anything while you practice, so you don’t upset your stomach. But the way Jungkook’s features fall, turning apologetic, makes you clench your fists until you feel the sting of your nails digging in your palms.

But you decide to be the bigger person, because you can’t really stay in front of them any longer. “No worries,” you let out, and you spin on your heels, moving away.

Jiho catches your gaze, and she looks livid. Way more than you are, because you reckon this little interaction almost made you faint.

“Wait, Y/n,” Jungkook says.

Now, you’re pretty sure you’re stepping on shards of glass as you turn back around. “Uh?”

“Take mine,” he suggests, and he even digs in Laura’s bag to hand it to you.

You shake your head. “Nah, it’s fine.”

He doesn’t insist, and Laura doesn’t say anything else either. But you see the way everyone is looking at each other: disapprovingly, and you think Lance and Jiho are about to say something. You shrug your shoulders to tell them that it really is fine, but it’s a lie to yourself.

The fact Laura purposefully didn’t get a boba for you does upset you. It’s childish of her, and maybe it’s childish of you to get upset over it too. But you’re human, and you aren’t flawless.

Lately you’ve been thinking you’re more flaws than qualities anyway. And you don’t think it’s your fault that your mind fills with the night sky and cataclysms again. You’re allowed to feel, you’re allowed to break.

You avoid Jungkook’s gaze after that. You try to ignore Laura too, but she has a smug look on her face. She knows what she did, and she’s happy about it. You didn’t think Jungkook would be able to like someone like that.

But he never really did like you anyway, did he?

You made progress over the few last weeks. You really did. You’ve barely been thinking about Jungkook now, but something about standing in a room where she is too… It’s unraveling your progress. You feel like you’re back on square one, back to the day he told you about her.

Right in this room, actually. And maybe you’re not on square one, maybe it was bound to end in that same place.

Dancing isn’t easy, under her watchful gaze. Under the smugness on her features. Under the remorse on Jungkook’s own features. He looks like he wants to apologize, like he wants to talk to you maybe.

But that boat sailed a long time ago, and you’re not going to speak to Jungkook alone outside of choreography talk anymore.

Bridget doesn’t seem too happy when Laura decides to sit next to her. She throws you a look, eyes going to the ceiling before they settle back on you.

It’s then that you realize just how much you really do love the crew, and the other friends you’ve made over the last few months. All of them… They’re your family. Who cares about a broken heart when you have a family like that?

Jungkook is kinder tonight, as he makes you practice. Well, he starts that way, until he seems to relax and forget that Laura is here, and that she was a bitch to you. Then he returns to his usual iron will, and he hammers the choreography into each of you, as if you don’t already know it.

But something about the way Laura’s been looking at you this whole time is starting to make you lose your cool. You feel anxious, though you reckon you really have been feeling anxious for days now. About nationals, about your mom, and of course about Laura and Jungkook.

Jungkook stops the music for the thousandth time. “Heather, try doing this instead,” he says as he shows the move he’s talking about. He’s still moving mechanically, but everyone has stopped noticing it now. “I think it’ll work better.”

She nods, and Jungkook starts the song again.

You’re not one to trip. You’ve never tripped on your feet, have always been agile. But for some reason your feet tangle during one of the steps, the one Jungkook changed for Heather, and all you know is that you’re down before you even had time to blink.

It hurts. Something hurts, and you don’t know if it’s the embarrassment or your body. You only know that tears are pricking at your eyes.

It only doubles up when your gaze meets Jungkook’s doe eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks.

He’s kneeling next to you, and you didn’t even notice him moving. Hands gently holding your shoulders as you try to push yourself up.

Pain shoots up your left arm, and you would have collapsed had he not been holding you.

“Fuck.”

“You’re hurt,” he says rhetorically, and he helps you as you sit up.

You feel everyone’s eyes on you. They look shocked, but what you really do notice are Laura’s eyes. She’s livid where she’s sitting, and you almost want to scream at her that this is her fault. That Jungkook wouldn’t be touching you if she wasn’t here tonight.

“I don’t know,” you reply, and your gaze moves back to Jungkook.

He looks concerned, infinitely so. He’s a little pale, and his big eyes scan your features a few times before dropping to your left arm. Your wrist has already started to swell, and you both look at it for a time.

“Do you think it’s broken?” he asks with a small voice.

You don’t know. You don’t know shit. All you know is that your heart is breaking again, always, and the tears you’re blinking back aren’t because of the pain anymore.

Aren’t because of the physical pain, in fact.

“Can you please stop touching me?” you ask.

He’s not looking you in the eyes, but you feel how he stiffens next to you. How his shoulders tense up, how his jaw clenches. His hands drop on his thighs, and then they turn to fists.

“Sorry. I just…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Maybe because he’s realized everyone saw him run to your side the moment you hurt yourself.

You know then that he does care. That whatever led him to choose Laura over you wasn’t because he didn’t care about you. Or maybe he only cares because you’re part of the crew, and you getting injured puts you all at risk of failing nationals.

Needless to say, you favour the former possibility.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” Jiho asks as she moves closer.

Jungkook doesn’t move, and neither do you. You just glance at her. “I think it’s just sprained.”

“You better get it checked out before nationals,” Hobi points out. “Just to be sure.”

You nod. He’s right, and the pain turns into anger. The blinding kind of anger. Because if this messes up your performance at nationals, you’re pretty positive you’ll murder Jungkook.

For choosing her, for bringing her tonight, for caring when he should be pretending he doesn’t care.

But he was there under the stars, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” you agree. “But no need to call an ambulance, I can just grab a Lyft.”

There’s no chance in hell you’re risking an ambulance bill when your mother has been pestering you about money earlier this evening. You have pretty good insurance, you really do, but you’re not going to risk having a higher bill than needed.

“I’ll go with you,” Jiho declares.

No one else says anything, because she’s obviously the only one that should be going with you, and a moment later you’re leaving.

You can’t help looking over your shoulder as you go. Jungkook is watching you leave, and you think you see him blinking back tears too. You might have imagined it though, and you’re gone before you can make sure.

Maybe he hasn’t forgotten. Maybe he still remembers how it felt, maybe he’s finally realizing the implication of his decisions.

You reckon you shouldn’t even be thinking about that. So you cling to the progress you made, and you pretend you’re not blinking back tears during the Lyft ride. Jiho holds your hand, the uninjured one, and she pretends she doesn’t see the tears either.

Sunday, September 23rd

                Laura has been crying for twenty minutes now. Jungkook thinks she should have seen it coming: after getting angry at him about you last night, she made his decision pretty easy.

He knew he was going to break up with her the moment she started insulting you to his face. And she knows what happened between you and him; he told her everything, not wanting to build a relationship over a lie.

Maybe that’s why she’s been crying so much. Sobbing, face flushed red as snot pours from her nose. She’s told him he’s an asshole and a liar at the beginning, but it hasn’t affected him like he thought it would.

No, he never lied to her. He only lied to himself, so much so that he refused to even acknowledge how he feels about you. But seeing you getting hurt yesterday – both by Laura and because of your wrist… It brought him right back to the night he chose her over you, and it made him sick to his stomach.

They are in Jungkook’s room. Laura is sitting on his bed, and he’s sitting in front of his gaming PC. His chair is turned away from the monitor, but the sound is on speaker, so he hears it when he receives a discord notification.

He looks over his shoulder to see that Taehyung wrote something, but Laura lets out a broken sound that grabs his attention again.

“I just…” she says as she sniffs and he turns back to look at her. “You fucking used me.”

He plays with his piercing for a few seconds. He does feel bad. He’s not immune to someone he cares about being hurt. And for all that she thinks, Jungkook does care about her. Platonically, that is. Because she is comfortable, she is like the sun in his life.

She was like the sun in his life.

Because he misses his night sky too much. He’s not stupid though: he can’t be with you either. He doesn’t want to do that to you. To run back to you with his tail between his legs begging for forgiveness. He just doesn’t want to string someone along when his heart is not into it.

“I didn’t,” he says, and it’s not the first time he’s told her that in the last twenty minutes. “I really wanted to be with you, but after the disrespect you pulled yesterday, I just don’t want that anymore.”

“You say that as if she doesn’t deserve it!” Laura exclaims. “She broke your heart.”

He shrugs. “We broke each other’s hearts.”

He knows it now. And he knows he’s mostly responsible for it. Because he was too proud, too immature to fully face whatever it was that was blossoming between you and him when you clearly were ready to commit.

Laura stays for a while longer. Crying, screaming at him, and Jungkook just does his best to remain impassive. It hurts him, it does, and in other circumstances he’s pretty sure he would have cried. He’s a sympathetic crier, and seeing Laura cry should be enough to make him cry, but somehow it isn’t. Somehow his gaze remains dry during the whole ordeal, even as he thinks of all the good moments he shared with her.

But it’s been just a little under three months, of them seeing each other. He’s known you for years now. The impact she has on him is just not the same as you, and he reckons he’s not an asshole enough to cry about you in front of her.

He’ll allow his heart to break for you later.

When Laura leaves, Jungkook walks her to the door. He even orders the Lyft for her, and when she begs him to not break up, he tells her he is glad he got to know her. At that she bristles, punches him in the chest and then she turns around to leave, without once looking over her shoulder.

His heart does ache for her then, and he reckons he does shed a tear about it. He wipes it quickly though, and when he turns around to head back upstairs, passing through the living room to reach the stairs, he’s met with a stunned Yoongi.

He doesn’t know how long Yoongi has been standing there, only that his older friend sports wide eyes.

“What happened?” Yoongi asks.

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head slightly. “I broke up with Laura.”

Jin pops his head out of the kitchen. “You did what?”

Valeria appears behind him, a sad smile on her lips. “I’m so sorry, JK.”

He’s stunned for a few seconds. Valeria does look concerned for him, but Jin has started smiling and Yoongi just looks confused.

“Don’t be,” Jungkook reassures Valeria, offering her a small, sad smile. “It is the right thing to do.”

Jin fully comes out of the kitchen, crossing his arms on his chest. “And why is it the right thing to do?”

Jungkook’s brow creases as he holds Jin’s gaze. “Uh?”

“Is there a certain someone that’s caused this… sudden decision?”

Yoongi seems like he’s just put two and two together. “Did something happen with Y/n?”

“Y/n?” Valeria lets out. She appears to be the one that is confused now. “The girl from the cottage?”

Jin grabs her elbow, slightly shaking his head at her as if to tell her not to talk, before turning his shit-eating grin back on Jungkook. “Good for you, bro.”

“Uh?” is all Jungkook can produce again before Jo and Taehyung appear too.

It’s the strangest thing. All his friends flocking in as if they sensed something important happened in his life. As if they sensed he might need them, or as if they too have sensed the shifting of the universe.

It has shifted right back into place, hasn’t it?

“Damn, what are you all doing here?” Taehyung asks as he passes by Jungkook, heading towards the kitchen. Jo is following him, and she and Valeria greet each other.

“Jungkook broke up with Laura,” Jin provides in a sing-song voice.

He’ll murder him. Jungkook will kill Jin in the most agonising way he can think of.

Taehyung stops in his tracks, and Jo bumps into him. She’s the one that turns with eyes big as saucers.

“What the fuck?”

It leads to a very strange conversation. They all sit in the kitchen, and since it’s still early afternoon Jin decides to make mimosa for everyone. Though the atmosphere feels heavy to Jungkook, somehow, it doesn’t linger too long as he speaks with his friends. As they speak to him too, and the conversation doesn’t linger on Laura for long either.

As if she didn’t even matter anyway. And maybe she didn’t. Maybe it’s always been about you anyway.

He knows it’s true now. But he’s too late, and he knows that too. He won’t ask anything of you again. Though he’s learned his lesson, and he won’t let his pride affect him anymore. It was a good defense mechanism for a time, albeit a dysfunctional one.

He’d rather leave it in the past.

Hobi and Jiho arrive as Yoongi leaves, and Jin is once again the one to break the news to the new arrivals. The glare Jiho has been reserving for him for weeks melts as her gaze matches the one Jo offered him earlier.

He reckons he’s getting tired of it, so he says, “It’s nothing, can you please all stop?”

He’s angry. He really does sound angry too, frustrated, embarrassed and annoyed. It works, but it creates an uncomfortable silence that he decides to flee this time around. He gets up from the table, tells them that he has to go, and he moves up to his room.

He decides to clean it then. To wash away every little lingering piece of Laura, and then he sits at his PC and games. He games for a while, until guilt catches up to him about not doing schoolwork today, and then he turns off his game to work on editing the pictures he’s starting to choose for the final project he’s already been working on since the beginning of the semester.

Pictures he took through the last few months appear on his monitor. They’re a collection of moments and emotions, and each picture tells its own story. He stills on the page for a time, watching the pictures without blinking, before he decides to add one to the others.

It feels like it deserves the centermost spot, and he doesn’t even hesitate as he reorders the pictures.

It’s late in the evening when his phone buzzes next to him. He hasn’t looked at it since he’s come up, and the text brought him back to reality,  quite at the same time his stomach growls to remind him he hasn’t eaten all that much today.

He pushes his hair back, before grabbing the phone. He tilts his head to the side in surprise as he sees Jiho’s the one that texted him.

[8:37 pm] Jiho: hey, i told everyone to let you tell y/n urself. plz don’t be an asshole again🙄

It does put weight on his shoulders, but he knows Jiho is right. He’s about to tell her so when he receives another message from her.

[8:38 pm] Jiho: but u better talk to her soon bc she’ll find out herself if u don’t. she’ll be at the studio tmrw night

Now he feels as if someone is crushing his heart in his chest. Anxiety floods his blood, and he wonders, is that how you felt that night before he told you about Laura?

He reckons he deserves the anxiety, but you also deserve him telling you. So he tells Jiho he’ll be there, before turning off his phone and resting it face down on the desk.

He keeps working on his project until late that night. Until the night sky glitters up above as he looks out his window, reminding him that some things are forever.

Monday, September 24th

                You think it’s early in the year for the weather to be so cold. Like the summer came and went in the blink of an eye, and it really does feel like it.

The summer warmth really feels like a distant memory as the cold fingers of the fall wind grabs at your hair, blowing it all around your head. It’s unusual for it to be so cold today, and from your weather app you know that it’s not going to last. It’s already supposed to start warming up in the next few days, but today it really feels as if you’ve time traveled to the autumn days that are looming over the horizon.

It starts raining a little before you get home, and you reckon you should have grabbed a Lyft to go back home. But you wanted to walk, and now you have to suck it up and live with the consequences of your choice.

Your wrist still aches a little, and the cold makes it feel worse, as if someone’s digging their fingers in your skin, right where it already hurts. You glare at it, as if it’s going to change anything. It’s not broken. Just sprained, and the doctor said you should be okay to dance at the competition, as long as you don’t go crazy with the hands motion.

Hence why you’ll be heading to the studio later tonight: you need to figure out how to adjust the choreography so you don’t hurt yourself more.

You sigh, though your house finally comes into sight. It’s a relief, it really is, until you see that your mother is home. You haven’t spoken yet since Saturday. She doesn’t even know you’ve hurt yourself, and you don’t see why she would need to know.

She’d probably just scold you because that’s the only thing she knows how to do.

You walk up to your house, wincing as a particularly strong gust of wind almost makes you lose footing. Luckily enough, you remain steady, and a few seconds later you finally reach the door.

You open it and step in, shutting it softly behind you hoping your mother won’t hear you.

Only, she’s sitting at the foot of the staircase that’s almost right in front of the door, just outside the hall, and a duffel bag lies on the ground next to her. It’s yours, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you take off your Airpods.

“What are you doing?” you ask her as you remove the platform boots you wore to college today. It’s hard to unzip them with just one hand, but you manage to succeed after a few tries.

Your mother just remains silent. Confusion moves through you even more, and you’re getting out of the hall when her eyes fall on the brace around your wrist.

“What happened?” she asks. The way she says it is curt, as if she’s asking just because she has to, and not because she’s concerned.

You know damn well she’s not concerned. And it’s not like you will tell her about Jungkook, Laura and the whole thing that led to you spraining your wrist. So you just shrug and say, “Nothing really, just a sprain.”

She nods at this, and then she kicks at the duffel bag next to her. “It’s going to make this hard to carry.”

“Why would I carry this?”

You’re stupid sometimes. Book smart, street stupid. Because it’s obvious. To outside eyes, what is going to happen is completely obvious. But you just stand there, watching her with an eyebrow cocked quizzically.

“Because you don’t get to live here anymore.”

You laugh. You genuinely start laughing, shaking your head. “Okay mom, of course.”

You walk around the duffel bag and her, and you’re halfway up the stairs when she speaks again. “I’m serious, Y/n. I’ve had enough of you living under my roof. I don’t have to be taking care of you anymore, not at your age.”

You freeze, before slowly turning to look at her. “What?”

“You can try living on campus or getting an apartment, I really don’t care. I’m giving you a month to be out. You can keep the furniture that’s in your room.”

She’s still sitting with her back turned to you, because you know she’s too much of a coward to tell you while looking you in the eyes.

“What the fuck?”

“You can keep practicing at the studio. And no, you don’t have to pay for it. And I’ll pay for your college until the end. I just don’t want you living under my roof anymore.”

You’re stunned for so long you think you’ve been turned into a statue. You don’t know what to say, and your brain can’t really process what she’s saying. “And you expect me to go right now?”

She nods, finally glancing at you over her shoulder. “Yes. I prepared a bag that should have everything you need.”

You scoff, and you start feeling like you’re going to be sick. Like someone pulled a rug under your feet, and you’re crashing to the ground.

“Are you fucking serious?”

She nods again, slowly getting up. “Yes, Y/n. Go live with your father for all I care.”

“He’s in California!” you burst. “College is a twenty minute walk from here.”

“You can find some housing that’s near college,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s not my business anymore.”

“By tonight?”

You’re seeing red. No, in fact, you’re way past the red, everything turning fully white as fury grabs you into its hold, blinding you.

“Yes.” There’s a silence, and then she adds, “I’m sure you could stay with the Hans. Or some other friends.”

You don’t remember the rest of the fight. You remember screaming, and you remember her screaming back. You remember going up to your room to make sure you really had what you needed, packing an extra bag yourself as she screams at you from the door to your room. Telling you how much she hates you and hates that you’re the reason why the love of her life left.

As if she’s not the one who cheated on him. And when you tell her so, she strides in your room and slaps you straight across the cheek. She’s wearing rings, and you feel your skin sting where one of the rings cut through your cheek.

A glance in the mirror confirms that you are already bleeding.

Then all you remember is walking to the studio. Carrying the bags, not even feeling their weight. You can barely even feel the ache in your wrist. You hide in the room you usually take for refuge, and it strikes you then that it might be your actual last refuge.

Because you don’t have a house anymore.

You want to call your father, you want to call Jiho, you want to scream and throw up and rage at the world. But all you can do is sit with your back against the mirror.

Jiho is supposed to come later anyway. You just need to wait for her.

You watch the sun lowering on the horizon, light moving on the floor as it slowly sets, a long time after you’ve gotten to the studio. You feel as if you don’t move, then maybe none of this will be real, that maybe you’re going to wake up from a really bad nightmare.

Your mother is a bad mother, she is, but she’s not a monster.

Your eyes slide to the bags. They’re in the semi-obscurity next to the door, because you haven’t turned the lights on. But they’re still there, and it’s proof that it really did happen.

That your mother is really the monster you prayed she’d never be.

Tears come to you then. Welling up in your eyes, stabbing into your heart, and you pull your knees to your chest, resting your head on them as you wrap your arms around them. As if holding yourself will stop you from breaking.

You reckon you’re already fragile. You’ve barely glued the pieces of your heart back together after Jungkook, so maybe you break a little harder.

Maybe the tears and the pain are tenfold what they would have been otherwise. Because you’re in pain. It physically hurts a lot more than Jungkook did. Because a mother is supposed to protect you, to love you unconditionally.

The last time you think your mom loved you was when you were eight and practicing ballet. Long before you gave up on it to focus on dance styles that felt more natural to you, with upbeat music that you could get lost in easier.

You remember the last day she told you. You won a competition, and when you got off the stage she gave you flowers and told you she loved you. She brought you to get ice cream after, and you stained your outfit as you ate. She yelled at you then, told you that you had to be better.

You never were good enough. You’d never be good enough to live up to her expectations, and you accepted that a while ago. But you never thought, never could imagine that she’d choose to kick you out.

Because that’s what happened. You’ve been kicked out of your house, kicked out of the home you grew up in. Kicked out of the memories of laughter and dancing around the kitchen with your father. Of Christmas wrapping paper and twinkling lights, of crying at the dinner table because you didn’t understand a math concept and your father sucked at trying to help.

You’ve been kicked out of the house where you and Jiho played Wii in the basement when you were younger, kicked out of the house that your father left from.

You’re spiraling. You know you are, and your breathing is turning erratic as panic wells up in your chest. What are you even supposed to do?

A soft knock at the door startles you. You don’t even remember shutting it behind you. All you know is that the sun is fully set when your brain focuses back on the present, and dusk has made the studio dark in shades of grey that match the bleak colour of your feelings.

You look at the door, but it’s lacking a window for you to see who’s on the other side. You assume it must be Jiho, and you really feel like crying in her arms for a time. So you get up on wobbly feet, making your way to the door, seeking your best friend’s comfort.

You almost let out a terrified scream when you open the door and Jeon Jungkook is standing on the other side, a halo of light surrounding him and blinding you coincidentally.

You blink a few times, as if it’s going to make him disappear, but you still see him once you hold your eyelids still.

He’s in front of you, wearing an oversized grey crewneck over a black t-shirt. He’s holding bubble teas, and glasses you’ve never seen him wear before sit on his nose. His hair is a mess around his head from the wind outside, and his eyes surveys you as you just stand there.

But he has no business being here right now, when you’re breaking. It just breaks harder, and he looks utterly terrified as tears well up in your eyes again, so much so that they start rolling on your cheeks.

He says your name, so softly you don’t really hear him. He says your name as if you’re made of glass, and maybe you are. Maybe you are and all that you know how to do is break and break and break.

Your face falls in your hands, and you cry, you sob, and it takes Jungkook a few hesitant seconds before he steps closer to you and wraps an arm loosely around you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a small voice.

You grab his shirt with your uninjured hand and press your forehead against him. He’s warm, and it hurts even more.

But you don’t have anything left in you that can break. Your mother made sure of that, he made sure of that all those months ago. All that’s left is an ocean of sorrow, and you fear you’ve just seen the surface.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” he asks again.

You say something through your tears, but you reckon it was inaudible. So you steel yourself, before asking, “Why are you here?”

He pulls you in, closes the door behind him. You fall in darkness again. “Why is it so dark?”

“Hold on,” you say though you’re still crying. You let go of his shirt before moving to the light switch. You keep your back turned to him as the neon lights flicker to life around you.

“Y/n, what’s happening?” he enquires once more.

You hate him. You hate him so much you want to turn around and move back to the comfort of his arms. Because then you can focus on the pain he causes, on the lava he pours into your blood. You’ve already gotten used to it, and it’s easier to handle that than whatever your mother did to you.

“My mother kicked me out,” you reply, using the sleeve of your shirt to dry your cheeks.

You’re surprised when no new tears meet those that have already cascaded down your face.

“What?”

You chuckle, ever so bitterly. “You heard me right.”

He’s silent for so long you turn around. And he looks so sad it only makes you break again, and fresh silver lines your gaze. Especially as his eyes fall to the cut on your cheek, that you at least managed to clean when you got to the studio. All you can do is hope he won’t mention it.

“What are you doing here anyway?” you ask as you blink the tears away.

“Jiho told me to come.”

So he’s not going to mention it, but you’re going to kill Jiho. You’re pretty positive you’re going to eviscerate her the next time you see her. It’s an emotion other than the sorrow, and you cling to it as best as you can, because right now it feels like preservation.

“I don’t need your help,” you say, folding your arms on your chest.

It makes your sprained wrist hurt, and you let your arms fall at your side almost immediately.

Jungkook just nods, and he pulls at his piercing, like you’ve seen him do a thousand times before. He glances at your bags next to the door, and then holds up one of the bobas.

“Do you want a bubble tea?”

It brings you back to Saturday, and goddamn him you’re crying again. “No.”

He takes a step towards you, then seems to realize he isn’t the one that should be comforting you. Not with Laura in the picture.

“I got your favourite.”

You know he did. You know Jungkook would always get your favourite bubble tea, because that’s just the person that he is. As much as he breaks, Jungkook cares too.

You inhale sharply, trying to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks. “Why?”

He seems like he wants to talk, to say something, but he remains silent. He just holds the bubble tea out between the two of you, and you watch it as if it’s going to blow before you finally walk towards him.

You grab it with shaky hands, before taking a long swig.

“Better?”

You don’t know how drinking bubble tea will make you feel better about getting kicked out, so you just remain silent. Jungkook figures you don’t want to say anything, and he just stands there, looking away from you as if to give you privacy.

For a few seconds, all you can picture is how he cared last Saturday.

“I sprained my wrist,” you tell him. And then you bristle at your sight as you look in the mirror on the wall.

Your face is flushed red, eyes bloodshot and nose putting Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer to shame. You look positively horrible, hair ruffled and all out of place.

“Yeah,” he replies flatly. He then worries at his piercing some more, and you turn your gaze away from the mirror. “Are you going to be okay for nationals?”

You realize the next time you might be in a bedroom is at the hotel for nationals, and you’re back to crying. “I don’t know,” you say, and this time Jungkook really hugs you, pulling you flush against his chest.

You hate that you’re crying in his arms, but he’s warm and solid, and right now it’s all that you need.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” he whispers reassuringly, brushing his hand on your back in a soothing manner. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I have nowhere to stay tonight,” you admit.

It feels as if he holds you a little tighter. “You can come over to mine. Stay in my room, I can grab the couch.”

It is a stupid idea, and it just makes you cry more. “Why?”

“I care about you,” he says simply.

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care and shouldn’t make you feel safe. But he does. He still makes you feel safe even though he broke your heart. Even though he’s hers.

You think about her. You think of her smug smile Saturday. And maybe it makes you a bitch, maybe it makes you worse than she is, but you say, “Are you sure the boys wouldn’t mind?”

He pulls away so he can look you in the eyes. “Yeah. They love you, they will be happy to help.”

You refuse to mention Laura. Not when you’re in Jungkook’s arms. Instead, you nod once, sniffling a little. And then you glance down at his chest, and at the wet spot you left behind. “Sorry about that.”

He looks down too, before shrugging his shoulders. “It’s okay. Let me grab your bags, I’ll call a Lyft.”

You’ve stepped in a parallel universe, haven’t you? One where Jungkook is allowed to take care of you, one where he felt the way that you felt under the stars that night. And you’re selfish. You’re selfish and you decide to let him do it. To let him care for you.

You’ll find a way to fix things yourself tomorrow. But tonight, tonight you’ll let yourself find comfort in his arms and presence. Then maybe the sun will never rise and tomorrow will never come.

Maybe you’ll be allowed to stay in his arms until eternity takes you in its embrace instead.

*****

                It takes you a lot of courage not to cry in the Lyft. Not to look at Jungkook and sob again. It takes you even more courage to sit on your side, miles away from him, with your bags creating a physical border between the two of you.

You’re weak, and you want him to make you feel weaker still. Until you die and can’t feel anything anymore.

The Lyft driver has some music playing on the radio, and from the corner of your eyes you notice Jungkook bobbing his head to the beat. He’s texted away on his phone for the first part of the drive, and you assume he’s informed the boys that you’re coming over.

You wonder what they think, and then you remind yourself that you don’t care. You really just need a place to stay.

You’re not surprised when you receive a text from Jimin, when you’re just a few streets away from their house. It confirms the fact that Jungkook told them, because as you open your phone, you read,

[9:07 pm] park.jm: hey, if u’d rather stay in my room, u’re welcome to it🤗 i’m not gonna be home tonight

You’ve remained friends with Jimin after the night you kissed. As a matter of fact, you think you’re way closer now, mostly because he’s dropped the flirty persona, and now you’ve started seeing the person that he is underneath.

Which is, a very caring and kind person.

You type back a reply, teeth pulling at the ever-constant dry skin of your bottom lip.

[9:08 pm] You: thank u💛 i’ll figure it out later [9:08 pm] You: if jk’s chill with it, i don’t mind staying in his room tho [9:09 pm] park.jm: sounds good!

You don’t say anything else, and neither does Jimin. That leaves you to focus on the music on the radio again, and on the splatter of the rain on the windshield and side windows. It only takes a few more minutes, and then the car is stopping in front of the house.

Jungkook grabs your bags as he thanks the driver, and he gets out before you do. You hesitate long enough for Jungkook to have walked around the car, and you figure you have nowhere else to go, so why not just do it?

Why not just claim Jungkook’s room as yours for the night?

It’s not a nice feeling. But it’s starting to take room in your heart, replacing the hurt that your mother left behind. You want to hurt someone, just so you can transfer the pain to someone else. You never thought you’d have it in you to feel this way, but it just feels like it’d be a relief.

Give someone else the weight to bear. You’ve had enough of it.

You’re trying not to think about your mother too much. You know the moment you’ll be left with your thoughts again you’ll crash, so you try to focus on the fact Jungkook’s waiting for you just outside the door.

It works. Almost.

You thank the driver, and then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. The only thing you notice is that some drops are clouding Jungkook’s glasses where he’s standing waiting for you, but he turns his back to you and walks to the door without saying anything.

It feels weird, but you still follow him. He waits for you by the door, and offers you a smile as you stop next to him.

“They shouldn’t talk to you about it,” he says as he glances towards the door. “And if someone makes a comment, I promise I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

That sounds a little excessive, and it takes you aback. You remain silent for a time, just taking in the noises and smells of the rainy world around you.

“I… are we going to hang out with them?” you ask.

You don’t realize you’ve used the word ‘we’ until Jungkook repeats it. “We can stay in my room, if you prefer.”

“I…” you trail off, nodding slowly. “I think I’d like that better.”

He offers you another sweet smile, a soft smile you haven’t seen in months now. “Alright then. We can go straight up to my room.”

You thank him with the smallest voice you can muster up, and then you’re walking into his home behind him, trying to hide behind his large frame so his friends – your friends – won’t see you.

Luckily enough, the living room is empty, even though the TV is on and playing some drama you know for a fact Jo has been watching with Taehyung. You wonder where they’re hiding, but you’re thankful you don’t have to confront them as Jungkook leads you to the staircase, and then up to his room.

You only relax when you step in the cool darkness of his room. Jungkook drops your bags by the door before turning his LED lights on, and they shine purple around you. You eye his room – it’s a lot cleaner then you saw it the last time you stood in it, the night he told you about the accident. Not that it was very messy then, but it looks and smells like Jungkook has just cleaned it.

It feels homey, and it makes your eyes well up again. Jungkook has his back turned to you as he moves to his PC, before sitting in his gaming chair. He turns to look at you, tongue playing with his piercing for a few long silent seconds.

You just stay by the door, fighting the tears in your gaze.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asks, gently, his big doe eyes casting softness on his entire aura.

You dry the lone tear that’s escaped the confines of your eye with your thumb, before folding your arms on your chest. “I don’t even know where to start.”

He offers you a sad, knowing smile, before glancing pointedly at his bed. “You can first get comfortable.”

You don’t know why, but it makes you chuckle a little. You reckon you might be going crazy, but you can’t even bring yourself to care.

“You’re just going to sit there?” you enquire.

He shrugs. “Would you rather me sit with you?”

Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you answer, “Are you comfortable with that?”

It’s the closest you’ll go to mentioning Laura tonight. If he wants to pretend she doesn’t exist, then you’ll follow his lead.

“Of course,” he simply says, and you watch as he moves to his bed. The floor creaks as he steps closer, and you watch as he rearranges his pillows so they can serve as a backrest. He then sits on the side of the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Come here.”

You bite at your tongue to refrain from saying something, instead nodding your head as you cross the distance between you and him.

It feels a little awkward sitting there, but Jungkook saves you by saying, “Do you feel comfortable confiding in me?”

You glance at him. His eyes are already set on you, and it makes something ache so deeply in your chest that you think you might actually be dying.

“I mean, I’d be better off talking to Jiho, uh?” You shrug your shoulders. “I… is it okay if I talk to you?”

He nods. “As I said earlier, I care about you. You can tell me anything if it can help make you feel better.”

You highly doubt it’ll help. You highly doubt revealing to the man that broke your heart that your mother hates you will help in any way. So you choose to say something else instead.

“You know my parents divorced, right?” You wait for him to give you an indication that he does, and then your gaze slides to the floor, before settling on a vague spot next to his gaming chair. “I don’t think you know the reason why. Only Jiho and her brother do, and I’ve never really told anyone else.” You steel yourself, taking a deep breath, before continuing. “My mother cheated on my dad before I was born? And uh… He’s not my dad. We learned when I was sixteen.”

A heavy silence follows your revelation. You’re too broken and exhausted to be ashamed, so you just shrug your shoulders. “That part doesn’t even matter anyway.”

You completely freeze when Jungkook grabs your uninjured hand, slowly forcing you to unclench your fist by gently pulling on your fingers. “You have the right to say it matters,” he carefully says.

You feel like falling in his arms again, but you let him play with your fingers instead. “It… it does matter. My mother has always blamed me for him leaving. Said if I never was born then he would have stayed with her.” You’re crying softly now, silently. “I think that’s the reason why she decided to kick me out today. She’s had enough.”

“I don’t have the words to convey how sorry I am that you’ve experienced that.”

You let out a broken sound, and then your crying is nothing but silent, with you sobbing as you hide your face in your hands. Jungkook wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. And he holds you as you break, as if the breaking has never scared him. You don’t know how he does it: the night you saw him break right in this room you fled like a coward.

“It hurts so bad”, you say through your tears, and the words cause a break in the sobbing. “Like, I never thought she’d go this far.”

He runs a hand on your back, waiting for you to continue.

“We barely even talk most of the time, but we got in a fight on Saturday before practice. Something about money. And it doesn’t even make sense because today she said she’ll still pay for everything, but she’s given me a month to be out of the house.”

The position in which Jungkook is holding you is a little uncomfortable, so you push on his chest, until he lets you straighten. You balk at the sight of tears on his cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” you ask, forgetting all about your own pain for a few seconds.

He chuckles sadly, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Sorry. I’m a sympathetic crier.”

It’s endearing. And you know the last thing you should feel when it comes to Jeon Jungkook is endearment, but you’ll allow it for tonight.

“It’s fine”, you reassure him. “I’m going to be fine.”

You say it as if he’s the one that needs comforting, and he catches on to it right away. “You’re not alone, you know?”

You blink back tears as one rolls on his cheeks. It makes him laugh awkwardly, and he quickly dries it, this time using the sleeve of his shirt.

And he has no business telling you you’re not alone. It makes you look away as you’re fighting the urge to yell at him. To yell at him for breaking your heart, to yell at him for not listening to you, for moving on so quickly.

He’s right though. You’re not alone. You have friends that are there for you, no matter how far away they feel like.

“It’s just…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders. “It fucking sucks that my mother hates me so bad. No matter what I do she just always hates me, and sometimes it does feel like everything is my fault.”

“It’s a natural way to feel after she’s blamed you for years”, Jungkook carefully replies, as if he too has heard the hidden meaning behind your words.

As if he too knows you’re also referring to how you lost him.

“But you know that it isn’t, right?” he adds. “People make mistakes. That’s what makes all of us human.”

“I just…” Now you break even more. You can barely breathe for a few seconds, and it feels like you’re burning inside, so badly you think all that will be left of you are charred remains. “I just wish my mother would love me? It’s so fucking hard to see happy families all around when all I’ve got is her.”

You’re talking about Jiho and her family. Jungkook probably doesn’t know, and you reckon it isn’t really relevant. Because Jiho’s family is not the only happy family in your vicinity. You see couples on walks with their kids all the time in your neighbourhood, you see some friends from high school getting married and starting their own little family. And you’d like to think your friends are your family – it does feel like it most of the time. But today it feels as if you’re back in that forgotten space where no one knows about you.

Where all that you are is the physical embodiment of breaking.

“You know, I still talk to my dad,” you add after you’ve fought a wave of panic. “But he has his own family now. He’s married, and they have a son.”

You glance at Jungkook, and he’s still crying. In silence, just letting his tears flow freely. His nose has turned red, and you want to reach out and ruffle his hair. You want to wipe his tears and hold him, making sure that he’ll never hurt.

But that’s not your job. So you just let out a small laugh. “Stop crying.”

He furrows his brows before chuckling. “Sorry.”

“We can stop talking about it if you want,” you suggest.

He forcefully shakes his head no a few times. “No. You need to talk, and you deserve to be listened to.”

You hate him. You wish you could show him that he’s ripped your heart from your chest, that he broke you that July night. When he chose not to listen to you, when his pride won over whatever emotions the starry night raised between you.

He’s sensed your unease, because he adds, “I’ll never do that again.”

“But why, Jungkook?” you ask, voice trembling. “Why did you do it in the first place?”

His hand moves between you as if he wants to hold you again, but his arm falls back to his side. “I was too proud. We can talk about it tomorrow?”

You scoff, but then crease your brow. Because if he’s referencing to a tomorrow, maybe he doesn’t expect you’ll have to leave again. “Why?”

“Because you’re vulnerable right now, and I think it’s better to process what happened today before we focus on what happened in the past.”

Jungkook sounds as if he’s majoring in psychology, and not photography. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Why?” you repeat, as if it’s the only word known to you.

“Because I think you still have a lot more to say about your mother. And I’d hate myself if I brought the conversation to me.”

“Jungkook…”

He shrugs. “I’m serious, I was a dick. And I don’t want to be like that anymore. So tonight we’ll figure out what we can do to fix your situation, and then we can talk some more tomorrow.” He offers you a tentative smile. It’s a little hopeful, like he wants you to stay.

And tonight, you’re foolish enough to believe you will.

“What should I do?” you ask after a while of silence. “I never thought I’d have to find a place to stay in such a short amount of time.”

He worries at his piercing, and then he’s getting up to walk to his PC setup. He turns it on, before glancing at you. “Come here.”

You hesitate, but when he moves the chair so it’s facing you, you figure it’s better if you just do as he asked. So you get up and cross the distance between you once again, before plopping down in the chair. Jungkook turns you towards the keyboard, and then he leans down to press in his password.

You catch a whiff of his detergent from so close, and maybe of some cologne, though it’s pretty faded. It distracts you from your ocean of sorrow, and you just watch him with wide eyes as he waits for the monitor to show its welcome screen.

“Why don’t you look up some apartments? Figure out what you’d like to live in.”

It’s a good suggestion, but it makes you feel infinitely insecure. “I don’t know what I’d like to live in.”       

He glances at you, offering you an encouraging smile. “Do you want a studio, or do you want your room to be separated from the rest of your living area?”

You think about it for a time. You’ve always been used to having your own room, and you’ve always liked the comfort of a closed door when you sleep at night. So you reply, “I’d like to have a room.”

He nods his head, before focusing on the monitor as he opens the web browser, and then searches for a website where you can look through listed places to rent. He puts in some filters, asking you more questions to guide the search – like your budget, if you want an office, if you need a parking spot.

You’re so thankful to have him with you right now you think you’ll cry again. You succeed at blinking the new wave of tears away though, and then you start looking at the apartments.

A whole hour later, you’ve made a list of places you’d like to go visit. Jungkook suggests to go sometime over the weekend, but with midterms coming and having to practice for nationals, you feel like you’re running out of time.

It makes panic rise in you, and Jungkook quickly gets up from where he’s been sitting on his bed. In two long strides he’s already next to you, and he turns the chair away from his monitor.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he says gently. “You’ve got a good list, and I can help by visiting some of them if you want.” He slowly nods. “That could work. I could take videos for you.”

“Most of them are on the other side of town.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine, I can take the bus. I can visit a couple of them on the same day too.”

When you start crying, Jungkook grabs your hand to pull you up. You don’t resist, and you let him guide you to his bed.

“Sit.”

You don’t move, instead burying your face in your hands.

He says your name gently, pulling you in yet another hug. He’s firm next to you, warm and real, and in this moment you realize you don’t want him to be gone when tomorrow comes.

But he’s right, and it’s better if you focus on figuring where to live for tonight. Already, you feel a little reassured that things will work out.

He lets you go when your tears recede, and you let out a small laugh as you notice he’s shed a couple of his own too.

“You really are a sympathetic crier,” you tease, and it makes both of you laugh some more.

“Sorry.”

His hands are still on your shoulders, and your mind chooses this moment to focus on the spot where his palms trace warm spots on you. He notices the change in your expression right away, and he lets his arms fall to his side.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, and you let your gaze drop to a random spot on his chest. Mostly because his big eyes have started feeling like a safe haven far too much. “You’d really go visit some apartments for me?”

He sits on the bed, nodding his head. “Yes, of course. Unless you’d rather go yourself, which would be totally understandable.”

You kind of do, because you know you’ll need to see the places yourself to decide which one you want to build your home in. But Jungkook could pinpoint which locations are worth visiting…

“Maybe you can visit a couple and send videos?” you suggest, even though that’s what he already said he’d do. “And you tell me which you prefer and all.”

He smiles at you, a little hesitantly. “My opinion is not important.”

He’s right, it’s not. But at the same it is, so you only shrug your shoulders. “You’re not stupid, I’m pretty sure you can tell if a place sucks.”

“Right.” He laughs a little, that childish laugh of his you haven’t heard from him since the weekend at the cottage. It stabs into your chest a little, but you reckon you’ve cried way too much tonight to be able to cry some more.

Or maybe the way his eyes are crinkling at the corners, housing hearths of happiness that shine brightly as he looks up at you… Maybe that is the true reason why you don’t feel like crying anymore.

You look away, taking a deep, steadying breath. You don’t know what good it does you, but it’s easier to think when you’re not directly looking at him.

“What’s next though?” you ask.

“A trip to Ikea?” he proposes, shrugging his shoulders. “We figure out what furniture you need, what home appliances and all of that shit.”

“My mother is letting me keep the furniture in my room.”

He nods. “Then the bedroom is going to be easy. You might want a dinner table or a couch, or maybe just a desk?”

You decide to sit next to him before replying, letting yourself think about it for a time. “It’d be nice to have a little cozy living room area.”

You don’t see it, but he’s smiling softly as he gazes at your profile. “What do you have in mind?”

“Mmh,” you let out. “Maybe a cute little coffee table, and some plants? I don’t watch TV a lot, but I feel like that’s a necessary thing in an apartment.”

He chuckles. “You don’t need to have a TV. You can save up the money for other stuff.”

You’re too drained to feel stressed about the financial aspect, but you still say, “I hope I made enough money over the summer to be able to afford all of that.”

His expression turns somber. “You can always get a part-time job to help. And you mentioned you still talk to your dad. Is your relationship good enough with him to talk about money?”

For the first time tonight, you realize there might be a chance you’ll truly make it out of this situation. And Jungkook’s words remind you that your father suggested himself that you move out of your mother’s house. Maybe he’d truly be inclined to help.

“I could try,” you say after a few seconds of thinking. “I’ll call him tomorrow, see what he thinks about this whole situation.”

Jungkook offers you an encouraging nod. “Good idea.”

As silence fills the room around you once more, you find yourself yawning. You hide it behind the back of your hand, but Jungkook still notices. He chuckles a little, and you throw him a sheepish look.

“Sorry, I’m exhausted,” you admit.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

You hold his gaze for a few seconds. “As much as I feel like I still have a lot to do, I think sleeping would be better.”

“You’ll also feel better in the morning,” he says, smiling softly. “Trust me.”

You chuckle, because you don’t know if he’s right but you sure hope that he is. “Let’s hope so.” You look around, eyes settling on your bags by the door. “Is there any chance that I could take a shower?”

He’s up before you’ve even finished your sentence. “Of course. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

*****

                Jungkook has a hard time believing that you are currently sleeping in his bed behind him. He barely even dares look over his shoulder, afraid that you’ll disappear if he does. But each time he fails to resist the urge, you’re still there. Features serene in your sleep, arms wrapped around a pillow.

You told him you liked to hug something while you slept, and he made sure to tuck that piece of information in the safest corner of his brain.

When you came back from your shower, hair wet and cheeks red from the water – or maybe from crying some more – Jungkook had started a game with Taehyung. You told him that he could play while you slept, and he kept the volume to a minimum since then, though he reckons you’d probably sleep through a hurricane.

It’s unbelievable that you’re here. That you’re real, that maybe he’ll be able to fix things with you. He’s not foolish to expect he deserves to be the one that you love. He knows he’s lost that privilege a while ago. But he thinks that maybe, maybe you could be friends.

He finds a strange form of comfort in thoughts of friendship with you.

He’ll help you. He’s already decided he’ll do everything he needs to do to make sure you settle into your apartment comfortably. It’s what you deserve, and if you let him, he’ll make sure you forget about your mother.

He knew you had a bad relationship with her, but he has never suspected that it was so bad. And he didn’t tell you, won’t tell you either, but he’s glad that you’re out of that toxic environment.

Maybe it’ll allow you to grow and finally start healing. And he knows more than anyone on this Earth how much healing you deserve.

You don’t deserve any of the pain that you’ve been through.

Taehyung went to bed about twenty minutes ago, and Jungkook has just been looking at YouTube videos since then. He doesn’t want to go to sleep yet, mostly because he enjoys your presence, and he doesn’t want to have to go downstairs.

But he told you he would, so he will.

He’s not really paying any attention to the video unfolding on his monitor. As a matter of fact, all he can think of is that he understands you now, or at least he’s starting to. Starting to understand the complicated maze that is your heart, starting to know how to navigate its halls.

He can’t wait to talk to you more tomorrow. To tell you he’s not with Laura anymore, that he’s sorry for the pain he put you through. He’s anxious about it, and maybe that most of all is the reason why he doesn’t want to go downstairs.

Because there’s a high possibility that you’re just going to leave tomorrow, and he reckons he’d deserve it.

He sighs, blinking his tiredness away. He readjusts his glasses on his nose, tries to focus on the video, but he’s dozing off.

No matter how much he fights it, he knows he’ll just end up falling asleep in his gaming chair. So he turns off the computer, turning the chair around as silently as possible to glance at you. You shift a little where you’re lying, burrowing your face in the pillow.

Jungkook doesn’t think he is ready to feel the pang it causes in his heart, because he almost starts crying then. But he’s cried enough tonight – not nearly as much as you, of course. So he blinks the emotion away, and then he stands.

He moves towards his bed, walking around it to reach the empty side. He can’t resist but sit on it, and as creepy as it might be he just looks at you for a few seconds.

You’re real. You’re real and in his bed, under his comforter, like the place belongs to you. He thinks maybe it does.

Jungkook takes off his glasses, putting them down on the night table. He rubs his nose where the pads left little indents, sighing deeply before lying down. He knows he shouldn’t, knows he should just grab his pillow and go, but he wants to be in your company just a little longer.

He’s a fool, he knows he is, and he falls asleep in the next few seconds.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Soooo we're finally nearing the end of the angst are we?? I'm sorry I ended it here, this chapter used to be over 20k and I split it in two hahaha did we still like it??

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

Taglist (strike-through means dumblr is not letting me tag you my bad): add yourself to my taglist by following this link

@whoa-jo | @kelsyx33 | @sugaluvmyg | @mafameal | @allisonstonex | @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs | @nadzzzblog | @bloopkook | @synnfulqt | @ggukiepie | @quarter-life-crisis2 | @amylouisecullen | @chimchimmarie | @jk-190811 | @pamzn | @melodiesforari

#btswritersclub #jjk #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #the forgotten spaces ch 8 #the forgotten spaces

[miss-madness67]

The Law Firm (Sam one-shot)

Prompt: You start a new internship and your boss is kinda hot.

If I were to be even more nervous than I am right now, I would probably be shaking like a leaf. My hands are sweaty as I approach clumsily the entrance of the building. The first time I came here, was two weeks ago, when I had the interview for the internship position. If it wasn't for my nearly neat résumé, I might have not gotten the job. I tend to ramble a lot when I'm nervous, and it clearly was showing on the day of the interview. 

This is the moment I've been waiting for throughout my whole career; when I get to put into practice my knowledge about the law. Even if it means starting as an intern pouring coffee for my boss. Whom I have yet to meet. In the interview, they told me that I’d be working under one of the senior lawyers to learn and observe. Then, if I do a good job, they might consider promoting me to a junior lawyer. I am really excited about the things to come. Perhaps too much because as I climb up the steps of the building in a hurry, I almost fall over. A steady hand in my arm stabilizes me enough to gather my bearings.

“Oh, thank you, I'm sorry.” I don't know what I'm apologizing for.

“No problem,” I finish dusting off my pants and look up to the voice’s owner that saved me from embarrassment.

My face lights up a deep shade of pink at the gorgeous man who stares at me. He's quite tall, possibly the tallest of the people around us. His hair is long, shaggy, and brown. His eyes are warm and inviting. This man is possibly the most handsome one I've encountered in my whole life. When I come to the realization of this fact, I notice that he is still holding my arm and, as well as me, he’s scrutinizing my appearance.

With a light chuckle, he lets go of me. “We wouldn't want you falling to the ground, would we?” He points at the coffee I hold in my hand. Luckily, it didn’t spill.

“No, of course not.”

For a sweet moment, none of us say anything. Normally, I would thank him again and leave, but there’s something pulling me to make this interaction last longer. So I introduce myself with the most confidence I can muster. He seems to like my approach because he smiles brightly at me.

“I'm Sam Winchester.” The name tries to wake something deep in my brain, but my overly restless self cannot comprehend what it is.

“Nice to meet you! Are you new here?” I don't know what prompts me to ask such a question, maybe it's a desire not to be the only one starting today in a new environment.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to go inside.

“Well, you could say that.”

“Great!” I beam at him. “That way I won't be the only one.”

He can hear the relief in my voice. “Come on, I'm sure it won't be that bad.”

I nod enthusiastically, “I know, but I always get super nervous on my first day.”

Sam smiles sympathetically. There’s something akin to hesitancy when he says: “I’m sure your boss won’t be so hard on you.”

I shrug, “I haven’t met them, but I heard they’re fairly young. Well, at least my supervisor is, I had a meeting with the big boss the other day, Bobby. He seems like a good man.”

He chuckles. “Oh, yeah, Bobby’s great… as for your supervisor, don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t be too hard on you.”

“Well, I certainly hope so. If you haven't noticed, I tend to make a fool of myself easily.” I want to add something else, there's this little voice in the back of my head that is pressuring me to ask Sam Winchester out, even though I just met him. Maybe because he's handsome, or because he seems to be kind-hearted, but I cannot shut up my thoughts. Normally, I wouldn't flirt with him after just one meeting. This isn’t a normal day, and nerves affect me almost the same way alcohol does; they give me a false sense of security and make me say things that I probably shouldn't. “So, since we’re both new, why don't we meet up for lunch?”

His eyes widen comically, but before he can answer, a voice coming from afar calls his name: “Ah, Sam!” It’s a young man wearing a pristine black suit, and he’s walking toward us. I've seen him before, I think his name is Brady. He was the one who led me into Bobby's office for the interview. “Oh, I see you met the new intern. Hi there, how are you liking it so far?”

“Hello,” I greet, “I haven't gone inside yet.” I discreetly check my watch to see that it's still early. “Sam was kind enough to help me when I almost tripped.”

“I see,” Brady nods, “Sam, huh?” The question isn’t directed towards me because he's looking at the tall man. Sam gives him a warning glance. I cannot comprehend what is happening until Brady speaks again. “Well, it's good you’ve already met your supervisor. He was promoted just yesterday. Honestly, it saves me the trouble of making introductions.”

His words render me speechless. What the fuck did he just say? Did I just flirt with my supervisor? Which is basically having the hots for my boss. Sam looks at me with an apologetic glance. I cannot meet his eyes. Brady mustn’t notice the silence his comment created because he continues: “I'm gonna head inside, see you later!”

His happy pace doesn’t falter one bit. I'm considering that maybe he was aware of what his statement would do.

“I apologize for my previous behavior… I didn't mean-”

Sam doesn't let me continue, “you didn't?” He ponders for a moment. “That's a shame, we would've had a nice time.” I can tell by the way his eyes shine and his mouth forms a gentle smile that he is not teasing me, but actually means what he's saying. “Why don’t you come by my office at 2 p.m. and then we can go grab some lunch?”

He doesn't leave room for opinions because he turns around and walks inside the building without another word. What just happened? Do I have a date with my boss? I guess this first day isn't as crappy as I thought it would be.

#supernatural #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfic #spn x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester fluff #alternate universe #supernatural fic

[gumnut-logic]

Sweetapple Slices - Slice 2

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way | Slice 1 | Slice 2

@idontknowreallywhy asked a question and I tried to answer it, but Alex and Virgil refused to behave, so we have a fic, but no answers. Also, fic is sugary sweet goop.

Oh, and it should be noted that all these Slices are standalone fics within the universe - consider them slices of life with these two :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the read through. Again, I might need to offer her that dental plan. Also to @idontknowreallywhy for egging me on.

I hope you enjoy this romantic sugar fest.

-o-o-o-

“You know, isn’t all this stuff secret?” Alex gestured around him.

Virgil shrugged and tilted his head. “You looking to sell it to anyone?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “God, no! I wouldn’t-“

The rescue operative grabbed him by both arms. “Hey, I’m kidding. We know you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Alex froze. “We?”

Those gorgeous biceps relaxed just a little. “You don’t think we let just anyone onto our Island, do you?” And he arched a lovely eyebrow.

“You have such beautiful eyebrows.”

Both suddenly shot up.

Oh, did he say that out loud?

Eh, blame it on the concussion…from a few days ago now. The Tracy family had shown no sign of needing to kick him, or his mum, off this amazing chunk of rock. Today Virgil was off rota and Thunderbird Two was set for regular maintenance, so he had been asked down here to ‘keep Virgil company’.

So far ‘maintenance’ had consisted of staring up at the great green Thunderbird, staring around her hanger, an extended session of smooching under her tail fin, and now he was sitting on the edge of Thunderbird Two’s co-pilot seat caught between stunned amazement and the percentage chance of another snoggy in the corner.

Any corner. There were at least four in the cockpit. Did that roof hatch open?

Honestly, he had never thought this would be his state of mind when he finally got to see all of this up close.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time he had been aboard Thunderbird Two. But last time had been sudden and unexpected and his brain had been fretting over so many things.

Now he was so happy he was likely to blow a blood vessel or something.

“Yours aren’t bad either.”

What? He scrolled the conversation back a little. Oh, eyebrows. Huh. “Never thought about them much. Yours, however, definitely require thorough consideration.” He reached up a hand, and hesitating for permission, brushed a finger the length of Virgil’s left eyebrow.

Chocolate eyes eyed him from beneath. “This is new.”

Be daring. “All of this is new.” He withdrew his hand.

“You have a point.” As if in revenge, Virgil reached up and brushed a tangle of Alex’s messy blond hair behind an ear. “I can definitely get used to it.”

He also had the most beautiful smile.

Okay, he had to stop this line of thought before he grabbed Virgil and really embarrassed himself.

“Um, yeah.” He gestured vaguely around the cockpit. “How long have you been flying Thunderbird Two?”

Virgil sat back a little and let go of Alex. “Nine years as her primary pilot. Took over from my Uncle in ‘55. Though there has been some downtime during that time.”

“And you keep her maintained?”

“Me and Brains.”

“Who’s Brains?”

Virgil’s lips twisted. “You haven’t met him yet.”

Oh.

“Don’t worry.” Virgil reached across the dash and flipped a few switches. “He tends to keep to himself. I’ll drag him out of his lab later.” His finger retreated to his jawline. “I think you’ll like him.”

“I will?”

“You’ll see.”

Okay, be mysterious.

“Would you like some coffee?”

Alex stared at him. “You’re really asking that question? Even after how many times I’ve managed to steal coffee off of you.”

Virgil smirked as he stood up. “It was really only once and you were very amusing.”

“Amusing!”

Virgil was laughing as he strode over to a corner of the cockpit, hit some buttons, and revealed the holy grail of all coffee.

Alex couldn’t help but stand up and be drawn to it. Virgil had given him the plans to this creation from heaven, but between Siliwrap and Virgil’s visits, he hadn’t managed to find time to finish putting it together yet.

Besides there was something about the coffee being handed to him by a visiting handsome rescue operative that was its own kind of addictive.

And Virgil always brought plenty.

His drug dealer of choice, apparently.

“Hey, you still with me?” A hand was on his arm and Alex realised he had been standing, staring at the holy grail like a stunned mullet just a little too long.

Virgil had that worried medical frown on his face again.

He had done that a lot over the last couple days.

The man had enough bruises on his arms and legs to pop Alex’s eyes out of their sockets - something about a roof almost falling on him during the Gisborne rescue. Yet Virgil brushed it off as a day-to-day thing.

He was ‘fine’, don’t you ‘worry’, happens ‘all the time’.

But the scattering of bruises Alex possessed, the headache that popped up every now and again, and any slight croakiness of his voice and Virgil was all over him with that yellow scanner thing.

Speaking of which…

Alex grabbed Virgil’s wrist gently as he attempted to wave a randomly appearing scanner over Alex’s head. “I’m okay, Virgil.”

The wrist in his hand relaxed and the yellow light switched off. A gentle tug and Alex let Virgil’s wrist go and the man turned away, stashing the gadget back into wherever it came from.

It was very obvious that Alex had scared him by being caught in the earthquake.

Alex took that extra step closer, slipped up behind, and slid his arms around the man’s chest, resting his chin on Virgil’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”

Heavy lifting arms wrapped around his. “I know.”

“You do realise you have brought me into the presence of the machine that makes your glorious coffee. I mean, I should be kneeling on the floor, bowing in reverence.” A smile. “Give me something to hold so I can drop it in amazement.”

Virgil chuckled. “I doubt you could pick me up.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Virgil twisted himself around in Alex’s arms until they were facing each other. “I could say that you already have, but that pun line is groan-worthy.”

Alex did groan, but then Virgil’s lips found his and he was suddenly very much distracted.

Yes, this corner would do nicely.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alexander sweetapple #virgil tracy/alexander sweetapple #romance #nuttyfic

[aroacesafeplaceforall]

Arrrggghhh romance makes things so difficult

I have this friend, (he’s so sweet and nice and truly a really good person) who I think liked me romantically last year and also thought it was mutual… and it wasn’t and I tried to give him some hints without outright just saying “I’m not attracted to you” because at the time I hadn’t known i was aro and I’d have felt really bad, and i wanted to keep being friends with him. But it just kept making me really really uncomfortable being around him. to the point that i would dread getting a text from him. And so I just… slowly pulled away from him because i didn’t know what to do. Eventually he asked me over text if I considered him a friend and i said yes, why? Without even realizing that he was asking if I like him back at first! He didn’t text me for at least a few months and i avoided him at school. I felt absolutely horrible. I know I handled that so, so badly but i really didn’t know what to do and it was making me so uncomfortable, being friends with him while feeling like i was leading him on and that he was thinking about me romantically.

But he started texting me again over the summer and we have a few classes together this year and it’s been great, like i haven’t felt uncomfortable at all, until today and i got the feeling again.

I don’t want the same thing to happen again, but i hate feeling so uncomfortable like this.

Ack sorry for the saga but it’s really nice to be able to tell someone and maybe… do you have any advice?

Hello Anon! Sorry for taking so long but im proud to announce one of our new "advice givers" is taking the reigns here!

@cenlyra Has this to say

Best advice I have is to start talking to the guy about aromanticism and being aro, understanding that it might be a long, slow process to get him to understand and accept it, if he can.

If romantic attraction is anything like sexual attraction (I’m aroace, so I’ve got no clue lol), he probably can’t really control who he’s attracted to, or who he has romantic thoughts about. It’s all about whether or not he acts on it.

I had a close friend at one point who would tell me he occasionally had sex dreams about me, although he never acted on that at all and our relationship was almost siblingly platonic with no hint of romance or sexuality beyond friendly banter (he was also married and loyal to his wife). Eventually I got to be okay with that, once I was sure the no-sex, no-romance boundaries were in place and he was aware of my aroace identity (although an an allo, he still doesn’t quite understand). (this post)

#ask #asks #aromantic #aroace #asexual #aro #ace #aro pride #ace pride #lgbtqia #pride

[astxrwar]

wrapped in red

SUMMARY: You buy Beck a record for his collection on a whim. It's not a Christmas present, really. The fact that you give it to him on Christmas is irrelevant.

Future-fic oneshot in TTB!verse, courtesy of me writing this non-chronologically.

RATING: Teen

WORD COUNT: 4.5K

CONTENT: Christmas fluff. I cut the scene right before the angst because this is a present to Me And My Brainworms and also the three people who care about TTB!verse. Merry Christmas!!!

It’s an impulse decision, really.

The two-hour-drive home from seeing family brings you past Beck’s place before you reach your house. It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s nine-thirty at night and you’ve used most of your critical thinking skills navigating the chaos that is family holidays when you come up on the turn you’d have to take off of the main artery through town to get to his apartment. There’s all of a handful of seconds to attempt to think it through, and what you do end up thinking is mostly fuck it, whatever, and then you hit your blinker and veer off onto the side street.

It’s not until you’ve parked and gotten to the elevator and are at long last standing still, not moving at all, walking or driving, that you start to have doubts. The little red lights on the panel above the door flash to two and then three and then the elevator car stops and the doors open and you have another few seconds to consider just hitting the ground floor button and going home, going to sleep in your own bed for the first time in a week and texting him tomorrow, but—

But that defeats the purpose , an entirely too sentimental part of your brain decries, It’s Christmas today .

And— yeah.

Yeah.

There’s this kind of nervous energy gathering somewhere in your chest as you come up on his door, staticky and frantic and buzzing, pressing up to your throat. You have to steel yourself to even knock, breathe deep and set your jaw and prepare for— well. Anything. Beck isn’t predictable, even now; he hates surprises just  in general, and he’d explicitly and profusely expressed disdain and even outright derision for the holiday writ large. There is a nonzero chance he could take this as, like, an insult. Or a manipulation attempt. Or some other entirely negative thing you couldn’t distort your perception enough to even begin to anticipate.

You stand there for at least an entire minute before you work up the courage to knock. 

The tension you feel in all of your limbs right down to your fingertips is the strongest it’s been in months, almost as bad as it was the first time you ever came here, or maybe— maybe even worse. There’s an edge to it now that feels nauseous and clammy and disorienting, like you might actually be about to make a massive fucking mistake, a grievous and unfixable error, fuck up in some different and much more terrible way. That part— the miscalculating— that’s not new. What is new is the feeling like it might matter, if you do, in ways unrelated to your pride.

There’s a rustle of movement on the other side of the door and you imagine the jolt that you feel at the sound must have done something awful and entirely unhealthy to your blood pressure, and then the lock turns and there’s your heart rate, too, your pulse thudding somewhere in your throat and your brain suddenly and unhelpfully deciding it’s now convinced this was a bad decision.

Beck opens the door and the feeling doesn’t go away, but something else starts up at the sight of him; you realize dumbly that you haven’t seen him once since the semester ended all the way back in early December, and between his being in the last stages of finalizing his most recent research for publication and a presentation down in San Diego and you just dealing with regular run-of-the-mill finals week shit, you’d really not been alone besides the commute for— what, a month? 

And then, even more dumbly, you realize you’d missed him. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, just stands there, staring, expression impassive but not displeased, eyebrows raised, just a little; he’s just in jeans and a tee-shirt and that’s kind of another strange shock to your nervous system, because you’d seen him really only in work clothes for the better part of a month, too.

“Hi,” you say eloquently. You’re holding the record up to your chest with your arms sort of wrapped around it, probably too tight, and you have to remind yourself to relax before you fucking break it, or something; that would suck. 

“Hi,” he repeats, a little bit mocking, his mouth curving up just slightly at the corners. It’s probably embarrassing how fucking fast even just that tamps down a lot of your anxiety, has you feeling a lot more like smiling and a lot less like you’re exhausted and socially drained beyond recognition and grumpy as hell from being stuck in a car for two hours, but you just don’t care.

“Are you busy?” you say eventually, bouncing a little on the balls of your feet, that nervousness manageable, now, but not gone.

That gets this disbelieving almost-laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose and a more obviously raised eyebrow, “No,” he replies, like it’s a stupid question.

He steps to the side and gestures for you to come in; he doesn’t move, when you do, except to close the door behind you, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is, how your shoulder nearly touches his chest as you balance on one foot and then the other to work off both your boots

“I thought you were with your family,” he says, his tone mild and expression unreadable.

“I was,” you stack your boots in the tray next to his and follow him when he turns and moves deeper into the apartment; it looks the same as ever, impeccably organized and display-catalog clean, darkened except for the light on in the foyer and one tableside lamp in the living room. “I left after dinner, I just got back.” 

He pauses at the edge of the kitchen by the bar counter to shoot you this odd look that you can’t parse. “Have you even been home yet?”

“Well–“ you furrow your brow and prod at the inside of your cheek with your tongue and in no way attempt to manage your expression with whatever extremely limited amount of social awareness you still have access to after the elaborate and draining performance that is Family Holiday Gatherings, “No, I was on the way, and I���“ you trail off with a wordless shrug, feeling incredibly awkward again.

He does actually smile at that, one of those effortlessly smug and self-assured ones that used to annoy you and still kind of does, just less in a caustic and frustrated way and more just— fond. “And you what,” he says, resting his weight back on the counter and appraising you with this amused warmth in his eyes; he’s so relaxed, and it’s fucking distracting. He looks good. He always looks good.  “Just missed me that much, honey?”

“Actually—“ you sidestep the question because it’s safer than attempting outright denial when it’s almost kind of halfway true, and you instead just bite the bullet and say, “Actually, I have something. For you. That I wanted to— give you.”

That languid openness to his posture becomes something neutral and impenetrable so fast that it would be disconcerting, if it were anyone else. “Told you, I don’t do Christmas.”

 His expression is unreadable again, and he folds his arms over his chest, and you have to tap into some of that deep-seated and instinctual stubbornness and reactive spite to keep yourself from just saying nevermind. 

“It’s not a Christmas present,” you reply, defensive. “And look,” you’re still holding the record close to your chest, half-hidden in the draping edges of your unzipped and too-big winter coat, and you unfold your arms and hold it out flat in front of you. “It’s not even wrapped. So it’s not any type of present at all, Christmas or otherwise.” 

Beck raises an eyebrow and stares at you for a long moment, before his eyes flick down to your outstretched hands. 

“I was just at the store doing shopping for my family,” you say, talking before you even really mean to, that flighty and awkward nervousness driving you to fill the stretch of seemingly endless silence, “And I saw it, and you said once that you like Jeff Buckley because he’s a phenomenal guitar player, and so I just figured— I mean, I didn’t think I saw it in your collection. And I thought you might— like it. Like to— have it.”

He looks up at you again and it’s too dark in the kitchen for you to be able to tell if there’s warmth in his expression or if you’re just hoping for it; there’s not anything outwardly negative, at least, though that really doesn’t do anything to ease that anxiety, clammy and slimy and cold like a chunk of half-thawed dirt in your stomach, the kind that’ll sometimes get pulled up by the snowplows and just melts into gross muddy slush on the side of the road. 

He takes the record from your hands; it’s still wrapped in that thin sheet of plastic, and it glints a little as it moves, catching the low light from the living room. 

“I don’t do gifts, either,” he says finally.

“Okay, well, it’s not a gift. I’m not— gifting you anything, I’m just— giving it to you.” You can feel your expression furrowing deeper into a frown, and you reach your arms out again, motioning for it, “If you don’t want it, that’s fine, I have the receipt, I can just return it—“

“You know, you’re not supposed to try to take it back,” he says, and there— it’s obvious enough that you can see it, now, the faint beginnings of a smile, and something in your chest does this kind of traitorous and horrible flip at the sight of it, all that tension melting out of you, frost in sight of the sun. “Your etiquette is abysmal, honey. Frankly, it’s an affront to the spirit of the holiday.”

You can’t manage to hold onto your frustration at all of his stupid and entirely predictable mind games for more than a handful of seconds and you’re smiling a lot wider than you mean to be, “I can’t believe you were able to say any of that with a straight face.”

He scoffs and turns to set the record on the countertop, “Yes you can.”

Beck doesn’t say thank you. You don’t really expect him to, and it doesn’t even matter to you, anyways; your brain had responded with this terrible jolt of what felt like pure unadulterated dopamine just at the fact that he’d wanted to keep it at all, and for all that you know that’s probably a bad thing to be feeling, it still doesn’t register as one.

No, it feels—

It feels good.

He’s still turned, hands on the countertop, and he drums his fingers against the stone surface for a moment with this little pensive frown and then he looks at you, shrewd and searching, then finally says with this deeply aggrieved sigh, “All right, come on,” and turns back towards the foyer.

You stare after him for a long moment, uncomprehending. “What?”

He glances back at you with this indulgent and long-suffering expression, like he’s reluctantly entertaining a child. “I’m taking you somewhere, come on.”

“What— I literally just took my boots off,” you say, plaintive, still walking back over to the entry hallway anyways, nudging one of them in the shoe rack with your toe. 

“So?”

“So now I’ve gotta untie them and retie them, and it’s tedious .”

“This would be a non-issue if you’d untie them in the first place to take them off, like you’re supposed to,” he says, patronizing, prodding at you as he shrugs on his coat, and you know you must be doing a terrible job at suppressing your smile as you crouch to lace your boots up, but you just can’t bring yourself to care.

“Where are we going?” you ask, once then and then again as he locks the door behind you, okay but really where are we going, and then again in the elevator, come on just tell me where until he finally levels you with this vaguely frustrated look.

“Nowhere, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop asking,” he says, snappish and irritable, and you laugh aloud at that without even really meaning to. 

“Okay, so—“

“If you ask again I’m turning around.”

It shouldn’t be funny, probably, because you can’t tell if he’s serious or if this is one of those illusory and affected bits, but it is, maybe just because you’re really tired or maybe because you’ve missed him, Beck, the person, and this is just how he is. Not even pleasant, kind of an asshole, and it seems almost impossible to try to remember how it fucking bothered you, before, when now really the only things you feel are this kind of exasperated sense of affection and an entirely nonsensical desire to laugh. it’s bizarre and it’s bizarrely endearing that he can manage to be this abrasive on fucking Christmas, of all days, and that just makes something inside of you feel warm and bright and remarkably fucking fond.

“I was going to ask why, not where,” you say, stifling the sound of another laugh you fail to entirely repress in the sleeve of your coat as if it’s a yawn; he notices, you can tell by the brief glance that he shoots over, his eyes breaking from the road for a second and his expression shifting to something more exasperated than actually cross. “If that’s allowed. Why are we going somewhere?”

He frowns and says nothing for a moment and then flicks on his blinker to take a turn down this residential road you’ve never been on before. “Because you can’t follow fucking directions,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be acerbic but it doesn’t quite get there. 

You open your mouth to say something back probably along the lines of okay what does that even mean, except then you round this bend and the scene outside— which had mostly just been this murky field of gray-black broken up by the darker shapes of trees and houses and occasional glow of lights still on in the windows and on porches— the sky takes on this sort of whitish glow, on the horizon, getting brighter as you get closer to cresting the top of this gently sloping hill, and then—

“Oh,” you say, when you do, “Oh, wow.”

It’s got to be somebody’s yard, just another large, sparsely-wooded property with a house somewhere on it like the dozens of others you’d passed on the street, but it’s like the inhabitants had gone out and purchased a fucking neighborhood’s worth of Christmas lights— there are these long strings of those classic teardrop-shaped bulbs in red and green and white wound around the trunks of trees and then up through the branches, but then there’s other ones in purples and blues and oranges and yellows. there’s so many of those complicated little light-up images, too, scenes of reindeer hitched to sleighs and scattered around the yard that flash in a way that’s supposed to make it look like they’re moving, and there’s this big glittering Santa Claus over the tiny iced-over pond in the center of the yard and that’s gently flickering Merry Christmas overhead, glowing smiling snowmen and mismatched arrangements of presents and gently swaying snowflakes and even this toy train on a track that winds out and around the edges of the property. it’s all so fucking disorganized and overdone and bright and probably ridiculously fucking expensive and it’s just—

“You’re such a child,” he says, with another irritated and entirely overdramatic sigh; you’re not really paying attention, turned to look before he drives too far past it, but what he does instead is pull over to the side of the road and unbuckle his seatbelt and crack the car door and look at you, expectant and still vaguely aggrieved.

“Oh,” you say again. “Are— is this allowed?”

“Yes.” Beck gives you another one of those looks that’s meant to be insulting, like you’re being especially stupid. He pockets his keys and gets out of the car and you follow him, catching up before he crosses the street.

 “The town had to put up signs to designate parking,”  tells you, gesturing in the distance to a post further up the road, the contents facing oncoming cars and turned away from you, “These people have been doing this for years, drawing crowds and creating all this annoying fucking rush-hour traffic and— “ he shoves you out into the road to cross it when there’s no cars coming in either direction and rolls his eyes when you glare back halfheartedly, “—and giving me migraines.”

There’s hardly anybody here, now— nine-thirty on Christmas Day, the majority of people are probably overfull and half-asleep with blood alcohol contents on the wrong side of the limit to be driving— and you hurry over the salt-stained asphalt to the edge of the lawn, where there’s a strip of muddy grass to stand in, the rest of the yard cordoned off with rope. 

“This must be insanely expensive,” you say absently, when he comes to stand next to you. 

His expression twists in distaste. “I’m sure it is,” he says. 

You’re looking at the lights, watching the train work its way back around the track, and when it rounds the bend you realize it must have a shitty little speaker system inside because it makes these tinny chugging noises that you can hear as it gets closer, and you laugh aloud, delighted. “Oh my god, that’s so cute.”

Beck makes this derisive sound under his breath; you can see him, out of the corner of your eye, and he’s watching you. “Yeah, of course you’d like this stupid shit,” he says, still with that sort of long-suffering undertone, like this entire ordeal is exhausting; but there’s something else, too, beneath that.

You realize with this pang of uncomfortable warmth that this was intentional— he wasn’t going to drive past, he’d meant to do this, and this was it. The point. He’d brought you here on purpose.

The lights are beautiful, in a kind of haphazard and vaguely gauche way, reminds you of how the holidays used to feel when you were a little kid, like they had a little bit of magic to them, even with all of the chaos, and you’re almost positive he doesn’t share that opinion in any way. So the idea that he must have seen this and just thought of you— It makes something in your chest twinge and ache like a stress fracture, or like a strand of muscle pulled just a little bit too far. 

“Wow,” you say, after a while, your voice wavering just a tiny bit, “I thought you were actually incapable of ever just, like— doing something nice. Unprompted.”

He scoffs. “Unprompted. You got me a fucking Christmas present, even when I said that I wasn't going to get you anything, and now I’m — how the fuck was I supposed to level with that.”

You frown. “You don’t have to level with anything, it wasn’t a Christmas present.”

“It was, and now we’re not even, and it’s—“ he sucks in a breath through his teeth, “— annoying. ”

“Even,” you repeat, momentarily stunned, “That’s not— oh my god. It wasn’t like that. And it wasn’t a Christmas present, I didn’t even wrap—“ 

“It’s not a Christmas present because it’s not wrapped,” he cuts you off, bordering on outright ridicule in a way that doesn’t even feel mean, just makes you want to laugh. “You are so bizarrely fucking pedantic. you bought me a present, and it’s Christmas— you can’t talk your way out of that.”

“What, so, that was a Christmas present and this— isn’t?”

“It’s somebody else’s lights, it’s not anything,” he says, dismissive, “There’s no actual gift involved, honey.”

“Oh my god,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, “I’m not getting into an argument about the fucking scientific definition of what constitutes a gift—“

“Yeah, and that’s because you’d be wrong, obviously it’s—“

“- like there’s a consensus on what qualifies—“

“-- yes, it’s anything that can be physically given to someone, according to—“

��According to who? You?” Your volume has raised a not-insignificant amount and your words are laden with exasperation and he’s just as unaffected as ever.

“Yes,” he says, entirely too smug. “According to me.”

You let out this deeply aggrieved sigh, your breath pouring out in these little clouds of steam that glint multicolored in the glow of the lights. “Now who’s being fucking pedantic,” you tell him, and you try to keep yourself from smiling, but you only half-succeed. “I’ve given you two outs, and you refuse to take either of them.”

Beck says nothing for a moment. There’s this upturn to his mouth and this lightness to his expression; amusement, just a little bit. He looks back out on the lights and shoves his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs, effortlessly casual. 

“It irritates you, that I won’t,” he says, after a minute— an observation, a statement, not a question.

A muscle ticks in your jaw. He hums, considering, still just studying you. “You don’t want me to feel like I owe you anything,” he continues, and this— it’s phrased like a statement, but it doesn’t register as one.

“No,” you say, rocking forwards onto your toes and then back again, the grass beneath your feet soggy and muddied by the runoff from the street, the top layer kept  melted by the road salt and giving slightly until your heels make contact with the frozen ground underneath. “No, I just— saw something I thought you might like. You’re my friend, that’s allowed. It’s not transactional, but even if it was, you— this is—“ you gesture out at the landscape, the glow of the lights bright enough that your eyes can’t adjust to see past the edges of the display, everything outside the yard just this amorphous and unfocused gray. “You did the same thing.”

“Except I didn’t have to pay for this, honey, and you—“

“Oh my god,” you reply, exasperated, “If you want to run a fucking tab— I don’t pay you back for groceries, or gas, and I didn’t pay for anything when I came with you in November.“

“Well,” he says, like he’s considering it, and then he moves closer to you and his mouth twitches a little, “When you put it like that, now it kind of sounds like you’re the one who owes me.”

He’s got that wolfish and serrated-edged smile like he does when he’s walked you backwards into another stupid trap, and that’s it, really, you’re done, and you don’t even do a convincing job of scowling as you turn pointedly away, back to looking at the lights. “Fuck off, “ you grumble, “I can’t believe I really thought you felt bad.”

That grin takes on a satisfied slant that you can recognize even just looking at him as you are, sidelong, in glances, and you’re struck out of nowhere by how badly you want to kiss him.

There’s no snow, but it’s still really fucking cold, and when the wind picks up you shiver and shove your hands in your pockets.

“Zip your coat,” he tells you. “You always get cold and you still never zip your coat, I don’t know what you expect to happen.”

“You’re so—“ You do zip your coat. “— irritating.”

“And yet here you are,” his mouth twitches again, another almost-smile like maybe he can’t help it, “So either I’m not all that irritating or you have some kind of– dysfunctional masochistic impulse.” 

“The second one,” you say, not missing a beat.

Beck grins, and when he moves towards you your pulse does something ridiculous and inexplicable like this is still somehow new, at all, him touching you and drawing you into him and his arms around you, his chin on the top of your head— it’s not fucking new, and it’s been a year, it’s been over a year— and it feels like something inside of you is losing essential structural integrity like your ribs and your muscles and your organs are made of wax, weak and warm and melting.

You lean into him and rest your cheek against his chest and look out over his arm at the lights, your vision slowly slipping out of focus until the garlands wrapped around the pine trees and the little flashing reindeer and the circling toy train as it rounds the track again all blur into this shimmering mass of color, and when you breathe in the air is warmed by his body heat and everything smells like him, spearmint and camphor and just like him, the person, and it’s—

“I missed you,” you say, without meaning to.

Something happens to his posture and his breathing that’s different enough for some subconscious pattern-seeking part of your brain to notice, but so miniscule and so brief that you can’t even describe what it was. “Aw,” he says, that oversweetened condescension in his voice, “That’s cute, honey.”

“Shut up,” you reply, and then, with an almost-subconscious sense of urgency that feels a lot like fucking damage control that the more complex parts of your brain actively refuse to acknowledge, “I missed my friends, and you’re my friend, and— I got to see everybody else before I left, except you. I haven’t really seen you since—“

“Since the end of the semester,” he muses quietly; there’s a gust of wind as another car hurtles past, and you shiver from the chill; he adjusts his arms around you, drawing you closer, and you burrow deeper into his coat gratefully. He’s always so fucking warm.

“Not even,” you say, after a minute. “More like Thanksgiving break.”

He huffs out a breath that might have been a laugh. On top of the tallest pine tree, a golden star twinkles on-off, on-off; you wonder idly how the hell these people even got that thing all the way up there. “I saw you almost every day for three weeks after that.”

And he’s right, technically, because you’d seen each other in passing and in the lab and he’d still sometimes give you rides if your schedules aligned so that you didn’t have to walk all the way from the student commuter lot in the cold. But you’d both been so busy, then, and half the time there were other people around and even when you were alone it was only for these brief and limited moments—  it wasn’t the same or even really comparable to how it had been for those few days in November, or even just back when either of you had the time for you to be spending nights. And then the semester was over and he was swept up in finishing everything for the debut of his latest research and then he was out in San Diego and then by the time he got back you’d already left for your family’s place for a week. It’s not like you’d ever really stopped talking, but you’d still missed it. Him. Hadn’t even realized, really, until you’d seen him, hadn’t understood the scope of it until now.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, after a while, “But— I dunno, we were both so busy.”

He just hums in response, the sound lost to the noises from traffic in the distance and the whistle of the wind as it shakes the bare, skeletal limbs of trees and sways the strings of lights across the branches, but you can feel it still, vibrating in your head with the way his chin is resting on it. 

You turn your head from the lights until all you can see is the flat, monotone black of the fabric of his coat; you’re buffeted by a rush of air as another car barrels past, the wind strong enough to have you shivering, again.

“All right,” he says, “All right, let’s go, before one of those idiots sideswipes my car.”

He says that, but he doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” you say, “Okay," but you don’t move, either.

#quentin beck x reader #ties that bind #mysterio x reader

[aceofstars16]

The Return

Hey look, it's a new Gravity Falls fic! I wrote this a few days ago and edited it yesterday and today (I want to write other things but...we will see cause my throat is being stupid right now...I don't want to get sick...)

After 30 years, Ford is finally back in his own dimension. But things aren't quite what he expected. Filling in some gaps in ATOTS, mostly the end of the episode, before and after Stan and Ford talk. (Just me getting into Ford's head in that whole scenario)

You can read it on AO3 or below:

              Ford watched as Stan ushered Mabel and Dipper off to bed. His mind was buzzing with all that had happened, and his emotions were a whirling mess as he tried to wrap his head around the events of the day. A day that had started off in another dimension. Fighting Bill. Trying to right the wrong that he’d committed all of those years ago. And Stan had ruined it. Again. It seemed his brother had a pension for that.

“So…” Stan’s voice interrupted his thoughts, resulting in Ford looking at his brother. Something that, after all this time, seemed so foreign to his mind. Even more so considering his brother looked far different than the last time he’d seen him.

The smallest hint of sadness grew in his chest at once again seeing his brother looking so old. At realizing just how much time really had passed. He was so different then Ford remembered, but…at the same time, he was still Stan. With the same mischievous glint in his eyes, the same short fuse, the same stubbornness. And then same recklessness - doing things without thinking. Anger sparked in Ford’s chest at that thought. Stan had been so careless, and put the whole world in danger. However, despite his annoyance at Stan, Ford couldn’t push away the guilt over his first reaction at seeing his brother. Especially when he saw the bruise that was slowly forming on Stan’s cheek.

Ford didn’t want a repeat of the fight in the basement. And he knew if he tried starting a conversation with Stan, he was liable to do just that. So he opted for the only solution he could think of. 

“I’m pretty tired myself.”

The disappointment on Stan’s face pricked at Ford’s heart, even as he tried to ignore it. After all, at the moment, it was the best course of action.

A second later, Stan’s expression hardened.

“Seriously? I haven’t seen you in thirty years! And you just want to push me away again?!?” Tossing his hands in the air, Stan turned on his heels to head back into the house.

It would be best just to let him walk away but… “Stan, wait.”

His brother stopped and looked at him skeptically.

Trying not to think about how horribly things could go, Ford scrambled for a different approach.

“How…how about I see if I can find some clean clothes and then we can…talk?” In all honestly, Ford really did just want to sleep, and have a few hours to himself to calm his whirling emotions. However, he couldn’t entirely push away the notion that he should at least try to talk to Stan. After all, Stan was right about one thing: it had been thirty years since they’d last seen each other. And it would be prudent to figure out what their next step was as well. But to do that in a collected way, Ford knew he needed at least a few minutes to decompress first. If he didn’t, he was liable to snap at his brother again.

Stan let out a huff but after a moment, conceded. “Fine.” The smallest hint of a teasing smile grew on his mouth. “I mean, you do smell pretty bad.”

Ford couldn’t hold back the smallest huff of laughter. However, a movement later, he shook it off when he remembered why he was in the state that he was. “Yes, well…I don’t suppose you still have any of my old clothes around?”

For a moment, a shadow passed over Stan’s face, but it cleared up so quickly that Ford wasn’t quite sure it had been real or not. “Eh, yeah, there might be a box of your stuff somewhere around here.”

Ford met Stan’s eyes. For a moment, there was a connection between them. Like when they were kids. A sense of understanding, care, and concern. But it was gone before Ford could truly get a handle on the emotions and he quickly looked away and started heading inside. “Come along then.”

-----

 They ended up finding some of Ford’s old clothes in the back of Stan’s closet - or really Ford’s, seeing as Stan was sleeping in his old room. Ford would be lying if he said the old clothes didn’t bring back a lot of memories. Studying in college, researching Gravity Falls, running around in the woods chasing one anomaly or another. His old red turtleneck was in the best shape of all of them – aside from one of his old button ups, but that wouldn’t cover his tattoo. And there was no way he was going to let Stan see that. He was also grateful that his old coat was still in decent shape. In some ways, Ford clothes seemed to have aged better than Stan. Though there was a small hole in one of the arms of the turtleneck, and his old boots seemed to be permanently stained with mud, but it was better than the state of the clothes he had been living in for…he couldn’t even remember how long.

Despite saying he only needed new clothes, Ford had found himself insisting on a shower as well. Mostly because he needed more time to get his thoughts together. Though, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also itching get well and truly cleaned up. Sure, he’d had access to a shower in the parallel dimension – Fiddleford had seen to that – but that seemed like ages ago, and any time he encountered Bill, he felt far dirtier than he should.

Once clean, Ford made his way back into the hallway. Despite it being his house, the entire structure felt like a completely different place than he remembered. It no longer felt like home.

“That’s better. You look like a nerd again.”

Ford glanced over to see Stan standing in front of a mirror, a smirk on his face. Walking over, he looked in the mirror. And for the first time since he got back, he really got a look at himself and Stan. Side by side. They still looked the same – aside from differences in their hairstyle and…body shape. However, there was still that one glaring difference that once again reminded Ford of how long it had been since they’d been in the same room together: their age.

“Look at us. When did we become old men?”

Looking at Stan, Ford couldn’t help but be struck by another realization. “You look like Dad.”

“Ugh, uck, don't say that.” Stan made a face, looking at Ford and laughing.

For a moment, the connection that Ford had felt earlier came back, and he found himself laughing with his brother. But as before, it died as quickly as it came. As reality struck him once again. It was time to fill Stan in on the next steps. The ones that Ford had fought with himself over in the shower.

Letting out a sigh, Ford reminded himself of all that had happened. Not only returning – which in and of itself created a mess that was far more dangerous than Stan seemed to realize - but all that Stan had done while he was gone. Taking his name, his house, his life.

“Okay, Stanley, here's the deal. You can stay here for the summer to watch the kids. I'll stay down in the basement and try to contain any remaining damage. But when the summer's over, you give me my house back, you give me my name back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over forever. You got it?”

“You really aren't gonna thank me, are you?”

Anger flared up again in Ford’s chest. Thank Stan? For the mess he made? It took all his control not to snap at his brother again. So much for the time to himself helping him keep his cool. However, he did manage to hold his tongue.

Stan’s questioning look died, replaced by anger of his own. “Fine. On one condition: you stay away from the kids; I don't want them in danger.”

Stepping forward, Stan poked Ford’s chest, resulting in him having to lean back as Stan accused him of being the danger when Stan was the one that had put everyone in danger.

But Stan’s insensitivity wasn’t over as he continued. “Cause as far as I'm concerned, they're the only family I have left.”

After years in the multiverse, Ford was used to keeping his emotions in check, however, he still felt the sting of the comment as it penetrated deep into his heart. Thankfully, he managed to hide the pain, burying it underneath a layer of anger. After all, Stan was the one who had caused this mess, not him. Still, as he heard his brother’s footsteps on the stairs, the smallest hint of sadness wormed its way into Ford’s chest.

For a moment, he was looking at both of them in the mirror again. Twins who hadn’t seen each other in decades. Brothers who had once been best friends. Swallowing hard, Ford shoved the pain down as far as he could. He didn’t have time to dwell on those emotions. He had an interdimensional portal to check on, and make sure no one could ever use again. But despite his resolve, Ford found that he couldn’t make the pain go away completely. Just like he hadn’t been able to dispose of it all those years in the multiverse, when he’d wondered how his brother was doing. And if, by some strange miracle, he’d ever see him again. But those past wonderings were nothing like what had just happened, what was now his reality.

Letting out a sigh, Ford shook his head. He didn’t have time to dwell on his feelings, he needed to focus on his work. At least he had a goal that he could hone in on. Having a purpose had kept him sane for thirty years. It had given him something to focus on instead of the torrent of emotions running around in his mind. Hopefully this new goal would help him with these emotions as well.

One day at a time. That was all he could do. Get through each day until the summer was over and things could go back to normal – though he wasn’t entirety sure what normal was any more. No matter, that was a problem for another time. For now, he would cling to that future, the hope that some semblance of normal would return come the end of summer. It might be an uncertain thing, but right now it was the only one he had the energy to hold on to. So, he got to work.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stan pines #a tale of two stans #i think that's all the tags? I don't know i'm tired and bleh #ace writes things

[pantoneyoongi]

i think i loved you more. | kth

title ; i think i loved you more.  you don’t even think about me. 

description ; how could you love me and then walk away?

cast ; taehyung x you

word count ; 3.2k

tracklist ; chilly - niki, fools - troye sivan, consequences - camila cabello, the apartment we won’t share - niki 

tags ; best friends to lovers to exes, angst, it’s literally just angst, anyway surprise!! i didn’t think i’d actually finish this but here we are so i hope u like it 

present 

it would be a lie to say you haven’t thought about taehyung in years. it would be a lie because taehyung crosses your mind far more frequently than you care to admit, occupying his own little corner, sitting so comfortably there that he’s made a home out of it, the kind of thing you wish didn’t feel like such a constant in your life, and yet, it is. 

and while you’re relatively good at pretending taehyung isn’t a permanent facet in your mental inventory, a part of you still knows full well that he loiters. you should’ve fined him six months into it; either he start paying rent or move the fuck on out of your head. 

of course, then, you’d have to admit you never moved on as much as you should have. 

regardless, there are still times when he doesn’t linger in the recesses of your mind, when your thoughts decide to take a break from playing grainy film reels of memories that you can’t seem to burn. photos can be deleted but it’s much harder to erase the sight of his lips slowly curving upwards, until it grows into that big, goofy grin you love so much. 

loved. loved, so much. 

the point being, that for once you weren’t thinking of taehyung tonight. it’s a little difficult to be thinking of past love affairs when you’re too busy trying to find and squeeze yourself into a hoseok-appropriate outfit (how come yoongi gets away with wearing whatever the hell he wants but if it’s you it’s all, ‘i know damn well you can do better than that y/n,’ and ‘i know you did not come to this fancy ass restaurant in jeans y/n’ like? it’s blatant favoritism.) 

by the time you show up to whatever new instagram-aesthetic restaurant hoseok has been begging you to come with him to lately, you’re approximately ten minutes late. by your standards - it’s not so bad. yoongi might not even whine about being forced to wait for you to show up to order something more than drinks. 

(come to think of it, maybe hoseok doesn’t play favorites. you have to wear something nice; yoongi isn’t allowed to start eating without you. all things considered, you pulled the better bargain.)

“fucking finally,” yoongi groans, as you slide into the booth across from him. yoongi never does pass up an opportunity to complain. 

“it’s not even 7:30,” you wave him off. a waiter sets down a plate of calamari in front of you and you raise your brows. “and it looks like you got an appetizer anyway.” so much for waiting for you. 

“that’s because in five minutes they would’ve kicked us out for waiting any longer,” yoongi raises his brows back at you, eyes darting away only so he can gauge when hoseok is finally satisfied with the number of photos he’s snapped. 

“cut her some slack,” hoseok tucks his phone away. “she dressed like a person today. that probably took some time.” 

you stare at him. “that’s it? that’s all i get?” 

hoseok grins. “you’re ten minutes late, i can’t be honest with you or your ego will get too big. if i tell you you look stunning, next time you’re gonna show up twenty minutes late looking breathtaking.” 

“or i could show up on time in a hoodie,” you offer, cackling when his expression flattens immediately, unimpressed with you. hoseok knows you enjoy dressing up, it’s just that you’re too lazy to do it if he isn’t there to badger you about it. 

“here,” he passes you a menu, which you flip open and browse through as he starts chattering on about his day, complaining about how namjoon got on his ass again about something or another at his job. 

“i love him, i do, but that man is anal as fuck,” hoseok gripes, to which yoongi smirks and hoseok narrows his eyes back. lucky for hoseok, yoongi is too busy enjoying his calamari to be bothered to stop eating just to fire off sexual innuendos about hoseok and his love/hate relationship with his coworker. 

you glance around the restaurant. it’s a nice place, as expected given it was hoseok’s choice. it has a bit of an old-timey look, but what makes it stand out is the space carved out in the center, where you spot couples dancing together, or friends dragging each other onto the dance floor, laughter intermingling with the jazzy tune playing over the speakers. 

taehyung would like this place. 

for someone as mischievous and childish as taehyung, he liked jazz a lot. in retrospect it made a lot of sense - the sassiness in the notes, the moments when the music would take a surprise leap in another direction. it suited taehyung. he was whimsical and unexpected, a troublemaker and everybody’s favorite. 

including yours. 

.

.

.

sophomore year of high school 

“miss y/l/n,” mr. kang stops you in the hall. “have you seen taehyung?” 

you blink back at your teacher. “no,” you’re a little baffled why he’s asking you. how are you supposed to know where taehyung is?

mr. kang makes a displeased expression. he grunts. “that kid owes me homework. if you see him, send him my way, please.” 

mr. kang is an older, crankier teacher, but he’s also one of the most lenient. taehyung’s lucky the two of you got him for language arts; anybody else would’ve simply given taehyung a zero on his missing essay and called it a day. that’s all that crosses your mind when you head off, in search of your friend. 

it turns out, mr. kang stopping you in the hallway is the first in a long series of people asking you for taehyung’s whereabouts. you don’t consider yourself stuck to him like glue, but it seems the rest of the school does, the remainder of high school passing with questions of, hey can you pass this along to taehyung? or have you seen taehyung? or do you know if taehyung’s busy this weekend? as if you’re his keeper. but you’re only his friend. no one could ever be taehyung’s keeper. 

you wonder sometimes if anyone ever asks taehyung about you. you know of course the answer is no, because, for one, no one can ever seem to find taehyung in the first place, and two, nobody’s ever looking for you if they’re not already looking for him, anyway. 

you always knew taehyung was a troublemaker, but much like the rest of the school, he had you wrapped around his little finger. he wasn’t exactly the class clown, per say, but he could still upturn a whole class with a few well-timed, choice words, leaving teachers scrambling to get everyone back in order. he had a mischievous streak, but not enough to be considered a bad boy - just enough to have his grades dropping a little more than they probably should have, between the missing homeworks and the crammed studying he did right before his exams. 

but he was a good guy. he was your best friend. he made your goody-two-shoes life just that little more entertaining, and he loved to do just that. the only detentions you ever got were because he was involved in them, but they were far and few between, because taehyung rarely let you take the fall for anything. taehyung might’ve gotten you into trouble - but he also did his best to get you out of it. 

maybe that’s why you loved him. taehyung was balanced in an odd sort of way. or maybe it was just that he balanced you. 

you think maybe because of that you might’ve followed him to the end of the world and back if he’d have let you. 

.

.

.

junior year of high school 

“this is really weird,” you state, staring at the plastic baby in taehyung’s arms. sex ed is fine, maybe a little exasperating to get through considering half the boys in your class can’t talk about sexual organs without snickering or looking much more confused than they really should be, but this parenting assignment? 

this is really fucking weird. 

“i just wish it was cuter,” taehyung rocks the (again - plastic) child in his arms. “there’s no way you and me would pop out a baby this ugly.” 

you choke on your juice. you have never once in your life considered ‘popping out a baby’ with taehyung. your mind does work at quick speeds on a regular basis, but now it’s doing double time imagining a future with taehyung and - unnecessarily - the probable process that is required in order to have said child. 

stop. stop. this is so incredibly off limits. 

when you’re older - and taehyung is somehow yours, for a time - you learn that it’s actually really easy to imagine a future with taehyung. it’s easy to see him in your life for the rest of eternity because taehyung isn’t shy about wanting to spend his time with you. you were fully prepared to pair off with jimin for this assignment but taehyung gave you an offended look and said, “are you really ditching me for jimin?” 

you don’t think there’s anything wrong with jimin, considering jimin is a much better student than taehyung. 

but also it’s taehyung. so he has a point. 

taehyung passes you a napkin. he doesn’t look at you when he says it, but, “is it really that weird to think about?” 

“think about what?” 

he looks up. the smile that taehyung usually has playing on his face at all times is nowhere to be found. “you and me,” he says, softly. 

he looks like he wants to say more, but he stops there, eyes trained on yours. you feel like your heart is simultaneously frozen in your chest and racing at an unhealthy rate, pounding hard against your ribcage. you don’t understand him. you understand him completely. he knows you do. between the two of you, you’ve always been the smart one. 

but then he cracks a grin, unreadable, dark eyes transforming into those familiar, bright ones again. “yeah, you’re right,” he sighs as if you’ve even said a word. “i’m way out of your league.” 

you sock him hard in the arm and relish in his cry of pain. 

.

.

.

senior year of high school 

taehyung falls in love with you first. 

you don’t know it, until you do. until he’s catching you from tripping over your heels at the homecoming dance, both arms secure around you, breath catching because your faces are too close together and it makes him nervous. 

he wants to kiss you, and you can tell. 

he doesn’t. he simply lifts you back upright, cheeks dusted in pink and hands shoved back into his pockets, a teasing remark slipping past his lips that you swat at him for. 

he tells you to slip off your heels - “who cares, y/n? just dance!” and taehyung, like always, is good at convincing you to do anything. 

taehyung falls in love with you first. he kisses you on your doorstep when he drops you home after the dance. he falls in love with you first, and you can tell. 

but you fall in love with him harder, and when you get older, when you’re no longer a teenager in love, when you’re no longer distracted by the feeling consuming your chest, blooming into roses and lilacs and carnations, you’ll wish you weren’t able to tell. 

but you can. 

.

.

.

present

loving taehyung was a lot of things. 

it was secret glances from across the room. it was snickers bitten down, eyes alight with laughter you weren’t allowed to let out because your teachers were frowning down at you. it was those absolutely massive hugs only kim taehyung could give out - crushing you tight against him, leaving you basking in his warmth and that ever-familiar woodsy scent of his. it was screaming when he lifted you clean off the ground to spin you in circles, until he got dizzy and you both toppled to the ground - but taehyung was always careful in making sure you landed on him, a clumsy but soft fall, filled with giggles and crinkled, crescent eyes. 

loving taehyung was wishing he’d have let you go in the same way - clumsily, but softly. 

your eyes wander the dance floor. you spend too much time creating new memories with taehyung that will never happen. no one else knows the way you still wonder what it’d be like to pass him on the street, or bump into him in the grocery store. if he’d smile at you and ask how you’re doing, or if whatever look on his face at the moment would drop and suddenly he’d be unreadable, like he was when he left you. 

but they’re just fantasies. daydreams and idle passings. taehyung is your first love and he was your best friend to top it off. it makes sense that it’s hard for you to let go, even years and various partners after the fact. 

“did you just say seokjin’s having a kid?” hoseok near shouts, yoongi wincing at the volume and rubbing at his ear. 

“yeah,” he grumbles, digging at the food on his plate. “you don’t have to sound so surprised about it. you knew they were trying.” 

you open your mouth to respond, head turning back to pay attention to your friends, when you stop, lips still parted from a sentence that never quite hits the air. 

yoongi notices. he turns in the direction you’re looking, which makes hoseok turn in the direction he’s looking, and both of them immediately quiet. 

taehyung. 

passing fantasies, fleeting memories, all of them scramble in your head and form kim taehyung from across the floor. you were right. taehyung does like this place. 

there’s a girl wrapped around him, dancing with him. you hardly notice her, rather, it’s the way he smiles, eyes alight, mischievous as ever, closed-lipped smile turning slowly into a wide grin. 

he looks happy. it’s funny because it’s been years and you’ve promised yourself you’ve moved on and yet at just the sight of him you know it was wrong to keep him lingering in the back of your mind every day, pretending it’s just a habit from years of knowing and loving taehyung. 

he spins her around and you’re thrown back into a life that no longer belongs to you. he pulls her close and you watch a future you still dream of sometimes crumble into dust. his eyes shine and you feel the wind sweep away the ashes, your heart sinking low in your chest. 

maybe yoongi and hoseok are trying to talk to you. maybe you should pay attention, maybe you should listen, maybe you should react to hoseok’s gentle touch on your arm trying to get you to come back down to earth. but you don’t hear or feel any of it. you and taehyung were years in the making. it’s funny how easily that all went away. it’s funny how years pass and he looks so happy. without you. taehyung is happy without you. 

some part of you is slowly running reels through your mind. black and white and gray - the way taehyung kissed you, the way taehyung spun you in circles, the way taehyung curled up beside you in bed, tugging you close to his chest, murmuring about forever. 

the thing about taehyung is that you always knew he was a flight risk. taehyung doesn’t sit still. taehyung can’t even hold a single topic for longer than five minutes, so maybe it’s your fault for believing he’d love you for longer than he actually did. maybe it’s your fault for thinking he’d hold onto you, settle down with you. 

it’s just - you really thought he would love you enough to stay. 

the other half of your brain is running reels in color - reds and blues and greens, a child, a home, a ring. sometimes it shifts back into black and white, like one of those old-timey films taehyung loves so much, where things were oddly domestic, honey, i’m home - taehyung loved to swing open your apartment door singing those words. 

that apartment is someone else’s now. your furniture is gone. your clothes are elsewhere. his hoodies aren’t mixed with yours. 

it’s funny. it would be a lie to say you haven’t thought about taehyung in years. it would be a lie because you think about taehyung every single fucking day but when you see him across the room, tangled with someone else, you know. 

i don’t think i even cross your mind anymore.

.

.

.

they say there are three types of everlasting loves. 

one. your first love. puppy love, giddy, fresh and young and exciting. clumsy and filled with good intention. and generally never meant to last. but everything is new, everything is a first - and you never really forget your firsts. 

two. the person you will never be able to forget. the person you will probably love most, even if things don’t work out. the person who connects with you in a way that you never thought was possible, someone who aligns right next to you - until they don’t. until life gets in the way. until even loving them isn’t enough to keep things together. 

three. your last love. the person you choose, every day. the person you want for forever, the person who maybe doesn’t light up the kind of sparks you get with your first love, or make you feel the depth that you feel with the person you’ll never forget, but still - they love you, and you love them, and it feels stable. it feels right. it feels everlasting. 

taehyung’s eyes meet yours from across the room and you know there’s no one else but you who would’ve noticed his reaction. the marginal twitch in his expression, the way his eyes flicker in recognition of you. the subtle tenseness he gets in his fingers, the way he has to blink out the memory of you. 

taehyung loved you first. you knew that. you knew it in the way he left roses in your locker or traded lunches with you when you didn’t like yours. you knew it in the way he lost his breath at the sight of you in a prom dress, or how he lit up at the prospect of going to college together. 

but you loved him more. you knew that too. you knew it in the way you suggested living together first, in the way you waited every day for him to come home. you knew it in the way you buried yourself in his clothes when he wasn’t around, in the way you carefully prepared anniversary gifts while he had a tendency to forget. you knew it in the way you were always reaching for his hand even when he was pulling away, knew it when you were the one whispering i love you in the dark when he was fast asleep. 

you knew, because he was the one who left you. 

there are three types of everlasting loves. for taehyung, you’re the first. 

for you, taehyung might be all of them. even if he doesn’t choose you, it seems you never stopped choosing him. 

the world colors itself back in slowly. you don’t know how long taehyung’s eyes are on yours. you just know that he’s the first to look away, a loving smile directed to his partner, a smile that no longer belongs to you. 

the last remaining part of your heart - that was holding on to something you knew wasn’t ever coming back for you - shatters. 

i don’t think i ever stopped loving you. 

#taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung x yn #taehyung x y/n #taehyung #taehyung angst #angst #am i ever gonna have a consistent formatting? probably not #i was also gonna wait a little to post this but i decided to say fuck it! and so.. yeah #fic: lymt

[perksofbeingatallpotato]

Quarantine

Harry Hart x Reader Warnings: A little swear word. Word Count: 1,345 A/N: Surprise? I’m back again with another story! Started writing this about two weeks in after the world started to shut down. Maybe I should’ve put that as a trigger warning. To some, the lockdowns and the pandemic may be traumatic. Is it too soon to write about the pandemic? So, if you're following me on Twitter, you probably know that I've had covid once again. I tested positive on the antigen test after I experienced headaches and colds, and then I lost my sense of taste the day after. I think that pretty much confirms the accuracy of the test. My symptoms are mild and have improved since. I'm on my 5th day of isolation today. Thank you for the get well wishes! Much appreciated.

The title might sound boring, but I hope what I've written is not.

"I'm going to have to require you two for quarantine. We have to make sure you weren't infected. As we speak, both of your places are being prepared. But, you two are going to have to pick who's flat you’re going to stay at for 21 days. I need you two to look after the other, and support each other while in isolation." Merlin said as if he was giving you two a mission brief through the screen.

Your mission overseas went well. However, with the rising number of cases of nCoV all over the world, Kingsman couldn’t risk an infection within the agency. Even if they’re stocked and well-equipped to handle a case or the quarantine of their agents, they deemed it would be better for your overall health to stay at your own home, or whichever would be decided.

You opened your mouth to try to say something but Harry beat you to it. "I think it would be best to stay at (Y/N)'s place." He suggested. "(Y/N), do you agree?" Merlin asked you. "Yeah, sure." You haven’t thoroughly thought about this, you just agreed because it seemed like the proper answer at the moment. "Very well then. I'll have your things prepared, Harry. Anything you might need out of the usual aside from your clothes, toiletries, electronics, books?" "Let me think about it. I'll put it on the list if any. Thank you, Merlin. I'll be in my room packing a few of my things." Harry said to you and to Merlin, then he left.

"Merlin, I think it'll be better to convert the room I use as my home office for Harry's room while he's there?" You asked although it was more of a suggestion. "I was meaning to ask you that. I'll finalize the furniture orders.” You could hear his keyboard clacking, “And done. How about you? Do you need anything?" "Uh, I lost my yoga mat. I think I'll need one." "Added to the list. Anything else?" "Let me think about it too. I'll ring you if I've come up with something. Thanks, Merlin, you're the best."

As you walked back to your room inside the Kingsman mansion, you realized you were not exactly fond of the idea of having to live with Harry for weeks. You’re not used to sharing your space with someone. Harry would essentially be moving in. He’s probably not a bad roommate though, you just know it’s going to be a huge adjustment, especially with the fact that both of you aren’t allowed to go outside for weeks.

It took the whole day, but considering the norm outside of Kingsman, the furniture and other essential deliveries were fast. Your flat was spick and span, and your home office, Harry’s room, for the time being, was set up as if he’d been living there for quite a while.

You unlocked the door and welcomed Harry to his new temporary home. You gave him a little tour of the place, though there isn’t much to see. The last stop of the tour is his room, and you left him to get settled. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

The next thing you did was take a shower to wash off the day. You were poked and prodded by the Kingsman staff in personal protective equipment while waiting to be sent home. Both of your and Harry’s lab results are normal, but it’s not enough assurance that none of you caught the virus.

Merlin sent you home with a feast of takeout food for you and Harry, knowing you’re both exhausted to cook on your first night in quarantine. It’s almost unbelievable he’s human with all that brainpower to think of everything and then execute those things.

After dressing in your pajamas, you went downstairs to reheat the food, but Harry had the same idea. He was already in the middle of setting the table. “Dinner would be ready in a few m–“ the ding of the oven interrupted him, “–oh, moments.”

You were sat across from each other at your 4-seater dining table. Although this was your flat, it felt foreign to be in it with Harry. You’re not exactly close to him and have never hung out with him outside of Kingsman, you get to train and sent on missions paired up together, but you haven’t really bonded with him on a personal level. Now suddenly, you’re living with him. 

There was a little small talk, including agreeing on how good was the food, “I have to ask Merlin where he got this because this is good,” you said. “Just don’t tell him that it was good, otherwise he’d say that he’s the one who made it.” And you shared a laugh.

Harry would’ve also done the dishes had you not insisted it should be your turn. If you had to pry the plates off his hands, you would. Besides, there’s still plenty of time for him to do the dishes as he pleased. Thankfully, he let you do it without a fight.

The next morning, Harry was already up before you were. When you arrived downstairs, everything was already set on the table. He was probably reading the morning news on his iPad.

“Good morning. Time to eat.” “Sorry, have you been waiting long? You should’ve had breakfast ahead without me.” “Nonsense.” He then poured you a cup of tea and you smiled in return.

The rest of the breakfast went by uneventfully, by now Harry has caught on with the division of tasks, but it’ll be better to talk with him about this just to be clear. You both got separate instructions from Merlin and had to do a daily medical log while in quarantine. So the two of you disappeared into your rooms to do that and some other paperwork.

By lunch, you finally went over with Harry the division of tasks. It’s not like you were setting house rules, it’s just so that you both pull your weight around the house, and not feel like a burden to the other. He did have some questions, suggestions, and other things he would like to do while he’s at your place. You have a small lawn in your backyard, and he asked about your plans for the place. He suggested it could be improved with a few plants, aside from the faded lawn chairs and the wild grass that has survived on its own. You agreed to let him do whatever he thinks would be good. He gave up living in his own flat probably thinking of your own comfort, this is the least you could do for him.

And then the rest of the week was spent with the following routine, except on the weekend.

Morning workout

Taking turns cooking breakfast or doing the dishes

Taking a shower

1-2 hours of desk work

Lunch. Again, whoever’s in charge of the cooking and the cleaning up

A little tidying up of the house or your room

Few more paperwork

The rest of the day goes on without a specific task at hand. Sometimes you do a bit more workout. Sometimes you try to finish a few of the personal projects you’ve started a while ago. Sometimes, you do a bit more online shopping.

Dinner. Dinner arrangement. You know how it works.

But you often end the day with a bath and skincare or a self-care (Yes, you’re a bad-ass agent and you’re also a huge fan of self-care)

By Saturday, you went on with your usual weekend plan of not getting out of bed until your stomach complained that it was hungry. However, you suddenly jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, quickly brushed your teeth, and washed your face.

You were doing a half-run going downstairs and yelled an apology. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” “I was beginning to think you died in your sleep,” Harry said, and you playfully pushed him on his shoulders.

It wasn't that late, just half-past nine, but Harry surely had been waiting for quite a while.

_____________________________________________________

Another A/N: Too light? Needs a bit more plot? Part 2? Yes. I’m just warming up. ;) Do you want this to be a series? You can suggest things. Let me know!

#Harry Hart x Reader #Harry Hart #Kingsman #Merlin #Kingsman Imagines #75th Post

[everlark777]

holding you is like the new past

next | previous

chapter five

“I usually know more than my counterpart” i mocked armin to mikasa for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes.

we were back at our dorm and i was yelling about armin again. we were both up to our necks in homework and were taking a break to recharge before we retreated back into our bedrooms to continue.

mikasa threw her hands up.

“i know he bothers you but you have to work together, if i have to hear this for the rest of the semester i will move out.”

mikasa considers her words.

“no, i would make you move out.”

i playfully hit her arm with the arm with the pillow i was hugging which sent titan running across the floor.

“mikasa, i know” i rubbed my hands over my eyes. “that’s what makes it so much worse. i know i have to work with him.”

but i had complete grounds to complain about armin when all mikasa did was talk about eren. around the dorm these days we could never pass the bechdel test.

“guess who i ran into today?” mikasa perked up, changing the subject.

“taking a wild guess i would have to say eren,” i shook my head, what could it be this time.

last time mikasa came home running to tell me eren held the door for the person in front of her. which does in fact mean he didn’t hold it open for her, whether he purposely didn’t hold it open for her or not i would never know. especially with the unique ways she has for spinning things.

“so, you know how i signed up to give tutoring because i need some extra cash?” mikasa started to fiddle with her coffee mug in her hands like she had been up to something.

i tried to wrack my brain, so she didn't mean eren…

“i’m not sure i follow,” confused or concerned, i wasn't sure.

“first, i want to say that I can't control who i tutor. well, i mean, besides i can choose if i don’t want to work with them, but i really did want to work with them so,” mikasa was having trouble spitting out her words. she took a long sip from the mug she was holding.

“okay, spit it out!” i sat up crossing my legs on the couch, swiping titan from the floor to put in my lap.

“so, it’s eren. which if you’ve noticed i haven’t not been talking about him because you’ve been blabbing about armin,” mikasa finally choked out.

“is your point? that i’m being even worse than you?” i questioned, fake shock crossing my face.

“no, no, it’s just,” mikasa looked down, “he’s kind of an actual person in my life right now and i don’t want him to know i had a little crush on him.”

my mouth hung open.

“a little?” i gasped.

“okay, massive. massive!” mikasa placed her coffee cup down and put her head in her hands.

“it’s so weird, i used to dream about what he was doing but now he tells me how his week is going and thanks me for helping him out.”

“mikasa this is huge, you might even have a shot,” i playfully pushed her arm.

“but that’s the thing, i kind of just like having him around? like being friends with him is just fine. plus he kind of asks me about girls so i don’t think he’s interested.”

mikasa’s face remained the same but i could tell that she had been hurt over this. i felt bad that i had no clue that this situation had been going on.

“i’m so sorry, i had no idea.”

“it’s fine. really. i’m not looking to settle down anyways and how could i ever give him up? Have you seen his hair?” mikasa stared off into space imagining eren for a second but brought herself back to reality quicker than usual. she must have been practicing.

—-

“okay, class today we are going to be breaking off into our partners so you can both plan more on your project. i expect each of you to begin meeting outside of class as well to be prepared.”

i sighed. today was the day. no more brief conversations. i had to talk to him today. i successfully ignored him at the beginning of class but i just had to be brave.

I shifted my weight towards him. he looked calm, like he might not bite my head off immediately. i could do this. i took a deep breath, going to speak but armin cut me off.

“we already have a bit of a headstart because i completed the rest of the research,” armin reached in his bag and pulled out a folder with a sticky note again in his perfect handwriting, “peace offering”.

“figured it was my way of saying i’m sorry, plus you already did a decent amount.” he looked softer than normal, almost shy. i caught myself staring. there was something different.

i reached for the folder in his hand and our fingertips brushed, and i quickly pulled back.

“oh, thanks,” i sputtered out.

“i work at the coffee shop beside campus most nights so we can always meet there before or after my shifts.” armin reached in his binder and handed me a piece of paper.

“this is a copy of my schedule for the next two weeks, classes and time for my other schoolwork are included. you can just shoot me a text whenever you’re free.”

my head spun, he had just loaded on so much information. his schedule was color coordinated. it even included his meal times. i considered myself an organized person but who has the next two weeks of their life scheduled out completely?

i contemplated everything he said. we were ready to start planning our experiments. most people had just begun their research. maybe we would work well as a team. we could meet up a do our first test run in just a few days. this was all going to work out. except one thing.

“wait, i don’t have your phone number?” i looked up from my mental planning to find him confused.

“did you get a new number because i haven’t?” armin questioned.

“um, no” i said. he was starting to confuse me. was this a long joke, I didn't know the punchline too? my nerves stood on end and i wanted to sink down in my seat. he had made me put my guard down.

“oh, of course,” armin cleared his throat, “let me give it to you.”

armin tried to change his expression quickly, but i thought i almost saw disappointment cross his face.

that was it? if armin wasn’t going to infuriate me, he was going to confuse me. i shook my head in annoyance. as armin handed me a piece of paper with his name, address and phone number.

“this is a good way of getting killed,” i remarked.

“got any killer plans this weekend?” armin raised a brow at me.

“i don’t know? i’m thinking i might be walking from the coffee shop to barkley dorms at seven o’clock on friday with a knife,” i said looking down at the schedule he gave me.

“oh, cool cool. by the way i think i gave you the wrong schedule, that is actually the schedule of my twin brother who is much weaker and very easy to frighten, so if he were to say run and scream that wouldn’t be me.”

i felt the corner of my mouth go to lift and i stopped it. he didn’t deserve a smile from me, not yet.

#fanfic #armin x reader #armin arlert #armin aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot fanfiction