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french-goodbye · 8 months

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If you want it good, downright iconic

Summary: your third date with Eddie goes even better than expected.

Warnings: kissing, masturbating. 18+, MINORS DNI.

Notes: title from Gibson Girls by Ethel Cain bc Eddie would’ve loved preacher’s daughter.

The first time Eddie asked you out, you were honestly surprised.

He now had been regularly dropping by the record store where you work, all smiles and fleeting touches, usually backed by silly teasing jokes. At the beginning you thought he might’ve liked you, but then two months went by and you thought to yourself that if he was interested, he would’ve definitely asked you out by now… right?

Turns out you were wrong and he was just bidding his time to make sure you were interest before he made a move. That happened a month ago, when he stopped by the store in his usual leather jacket and a pretty wildflower bouquet in his hands, and nervously asked if you wanted to hang out sometime.

“Like a date?” you’d asked hopefully, considering the huge crush you’d been nursing on him ever since he first walked into the store, chains hanging from his black jeans and chunky silver rings.

“If you want it to be” was all he said, fiddling with those same rings on his fingers.

Now after two official dates and many non official hang outs, he was taking you on your third one. The two of you had decided on watching the movie Halloween on the drive in by the edge of town and he had picked you up at your house earlier that night, a beaming smile on his face and a bag full of your favorite snacks on the passenger seat. Then, you couldn’t be bothered to hide your desire to squish his cheeks together and press kisses to his face until he was flushing red and pushing you away, claiming you’d be late for the movie.

After the movie, he had invited you to his trailer claiming his his uncle was on the night shift at work once more and that “he needed you to hold his hand because of how scary the movie was”. Of course you said yes, and that’s how you found yourself being led to his trailer, his hand clasped in yours swinging between your bodies.

You’re not stupid. You know what the third date usually entails, and the fact that Eddie invited you to his house when his uncle isn’t home just all but guarantees he’s thinking the same thing. It’s not like you can reprimand him for that either, since he took the first step and asked you out, you haven’t been exactly shy on telling him how attracted to him you are.

You’ve kissed enough times by now to know what he likes and what he doesn’t, but tonight was the farthest you’ve ever gone. The darkness of the drive in and the privacy of his van making it so, so easy for you to climb over the gear shift of his van and onto his lap and kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, until his van’s windows were foggy and your lips were red and spit slicked and you could feel his hardness poking your thigh for a second, before he readjusted you on his lap as Michael Myers killed Laurie’s friends behind you.

“I really don’t understand why people always die after having sex in horror movies” you complain as you take off our shoes by the front door, his hand on your elbow so you don’t loose your balance. “It’s such a puritanical take.”

“It’s the satanic panic, sweetheart. Can’t have teenagers having pre marital sex” he answers as he toes off his own sneakers and guides you to his now familiar room, that you came to know at your other non official dates, when he had forced you to come over to listen to the new Metallica album and to watch him play guitar for you.

“It’s stupid, it’s what it is” you complain, walking into his room like you own the place. You start removing your jewelry and putting it on top of his dresser.

“Oh, so you are having pre marital sex, sweetheart?” His eyes are almost dancing and he’s wiggling his brows suggestively, teasing you.

Despite his teasing jokes, you can’t help the knot that tightens in your stomach just by thinking of sex and Eddie Munson in the same sentence. You want so bad to find out everything that makes him tick, how he likes to be touched and how he’d sound if you touched him. Tonight had been the farthest you ever got together, as you sat on his lap and felt his half hard cock almost burn a whole through your dress and felt him give you a particularly nasty hickey on your neck.

You throw him a bored glance over your shoulder, trying to smother the fire in your belly as he walks closer, cornering you against his desk as his chest presses to yours.

“Is that your way of asking if I’m gonna have sex with you?” you ask boldly, but smiling and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Since it’s our third date and all.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t wanna do that” he shakes his head vehemently and you raise your brows. “I mean, you just said people who have sex in horror movies die. I’d never risk my life like that.”

“So you’d risk mine?” You scoff indignantly.

He shrugs, “yeah, sure. Why not?”

“You wouldn’t survive even if you didn’t have sex anyway” you sulk playfully, feeling his hands reach for your waist and pull you closer.

“Excuse me? I resent that statement.”

“You’re the town’s satanist, remember? You’re the first suspect,” you explain as he walks backwards towards his bed, turning you around when he’s close enough and pushing you around until the mattress hits your knees. “You gotta die so people can be sure you aren’t really the killer.”

“What about you? Are you the pretty girl who survives despite it all?” He asks, his nose rubbing against yours and his lips so, so close.

“It depends…” you begin. “Are you gonna make a move on me or are we just talking about horror movie tropes all night?”

He laughs loudly, gently pushing you backwards until you fall and bounce on his bed, squealing loudly as you do. He immediately throws himself on the bed and crawls after you.

“Oh, we’re feeling feisty today, aren’t we?” He asks, kneeling as you your legs spread wider so he can slot himself in the space between them.

“I’ve been waiting long enough for you, Munson” you tease.

“Excuse me? You could’ve made a move! What about feminism?” He complains, lowering himself until he’s on top of you and his hips are pressed between your legs and you can feel his half hard cock from your time at the drive in probing your inner thigh.

“I’m a lady!” you protest, your hands climbing up his back to pull him impossibly closer. “We don’t do that”

He smiles but leans closer and closer, until his lips brush yours, but still doesn’t kiss you. You try to kiss him but he dodges you, one of his hands sinking into the hair at nape of your neck to tug it and pull you away as he holds himself up with his other hand.

“Beg for it then, little lady”

“Eddie-“ you whine, trying to kiss him again as he grips your hair to stop you almost forcefully.

“Say please for me?” He asks pressing a wet kiss to each of your cheeks gently, a stark contrast to his hand on your hair.

“Please, Eddie. Please kiss me.” You beg, scrunching your brows almost a little desperately.

He smirks smugly but obliges, leaning down to kiss you and releasing the hold he has on your hair. You brush your tongue against his bottom lip and he lets you in, making your nails dig on his back and your legs spread open even wider so you can feel more of him.

His hand slips under your skirt and he grabs your ass, squeezing one of your butt cheeks hard. You whine underneath him, grinding your hips against his.

“Wanted you like this for so long.” He whispers when he breaks the kiss, rolling his hips to meet yours and finding you so hot and warm he can feel it through his jeans.

“Not longer than me.” You answer, wrapping your legs around his hips. “I’ve wanted to do this since you walked into the store.”

“Why do you think I walked in in the first place?” He murmurs against your lips, guiding your hips to meet his through layers of underwear and denim.

You feel infinitely more attracted to him at his admission and tug on his hair so you can kiss him again, again and again for what feels like hours, until you’re soaking through your underwear and his cock is rubbing a spectacularly good place around your clit.

He breaks the kiss to mouth on your neck, going lower until he’s reaching the neckline of your dress and sucking a mark bellow your collarbone.

“Thought so much about this,” you babble, your fingers sinking into his hair to keep his mouth on your cleavage, not really thinking about anything else but him. “Touched myself thinking about this.”

He immediately freezes on top of you and you regret your words as he pulls his mouth from your neck to see your face.

“Did you really?” He asks breathlessly.

“Yeah… is that- is that weird?” You ask self consciously and his hand shift from your ass to rub on your hip soothingly.

“Did you forget who you’re talking to? I’m the town freak,” he scoffs, squeezing your hip reassuringly. “That’s actually really fucking hot”

“You think so?” You ask, fiddling with his hair.

“Definitely” he nods rapidly, making his hair fly all over his face. You’re laughing quietly when he kisses you forcefully, but quickly. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What did you think about when you touched yourself?”

“Eddieee-“ you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“No, come on. Don’t hide from me.” He begs, pulling your hands away and holding them between his own.

“That’s embarrassing” you complain, playing with the rings still on his fingers.

“Why?” He shrugs. “I’ve done the same thing.”

You still, your brows raising in interest “you did?”

“Yeah,” he stammers, suddenly shy himself. “Is that weird?”

“No” you answer honestly, a hot star burning in your belly thinking about it. Thinking about him all alone in his room, getting hard and fisting his cock just at the mere thought of you, trying to keep quiet so his uncle can’t hear him. “What did you think about?”

“You,” he shrugs. You look at him curiously and he shrugs again. “What you’d sound like, what you’d look like if I got my hands on you… you know.”

“What else?”

“Why I am the only one baring my soul here?” He asks suddenly, his cheeks red and looking at you accusatorially.

“Sorry,” you say, scrunching your face in thought. “That’s not fair, is it?”

He shakes his head in no, “why don’t we make it a game? I tell you something and you tell me something?”

That sounds fair, you think to yourself. You do wanna know more, curiosity gnawing at your stomach to find out what he thought about you, if they’re the same things you did, if your fantasies match his.

“Fine” you agree, finally.

“So…” he teases, booping your nose playfully. “What did you think about?”

You look at him for a second, his bright brown eyes and flushed cheeks and his earnest expression. And you know in your heart Eddie would never betray you or shame you for whatever you’re about to say or do here in his room. Everything that happens in the private space between you is staying where it should be.

“Okay…” you begin, not sure where to start. “I thought about your fingers rubbing my clit, about how you’d feel with your head between my thighs.”

He looks like you’ve just told him Christmas came earlier, his hips unconsciously jerking against yours and the pressure of his grip on your hips increasing. You sigh and your hands climb up his arms to his back, rubbing your hands between his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking hot” he splutters, his hips still moving slowly on top of yours and his hand digging, tightening his hold on your bare hips. “I thought about that too…how you’d like it, what you’d sound like. Thought about how you’d look with my cock in your mouth, with my cum on your tits.”

“I bet you looked so fucking good jerking off”

He suddenly leans down to kiss you again, all tongue and teeth, his hips still driving against yours. He roughly pulls away when you’re both breathless and you’re almost feeling dazed.

“Why don’t you show me what you look like when you touch yourself, pretty girl?” He murmurs, his lips still brushing against yours and tucking some loose hair behind your ear.

You nod avidly, wanting nothing but to relieve the pressure building in your lower stomach and to put on a show for him, show him what you could’ve been doing all this time if either of you had just made a move sooner. He leans away to be able to see all of you, his hands spreading your thighs when he kneels between them.

You slide your hand down your belly, lifting your dress up to your waist so your lower half is exposed. He watches avidly, following your fingers as you slip them under your underwear and find yourself wet and swollen, a moan leaving your lips at the feeling of finally being touched.

“The first time I touched myself thinking about you,” you begin, your previous shame turning into hot liquid licking down your spine at the way he’s looking at you right now. “Was after you told me you were in a band. You know what they say about guitarists, right? I kept thinking if that was true”

He exhales a laugh through his nose, pushing his hair away from his face. He squeezes your thigh meanly, like molding bread underneath his fingertips.

“You’ll find out” he promises.

“Can I take these off?” You complain, already pushing your underwear down your legs with his help and quickly getting rid of your dress too, baring yourself completely to him since you’re not wearing a bra. He casually throws your clothes over his shoulder, not caring where or how they land, his whole focus on you as he sprawls you open, forcing your thighs against his sheets so he can see your bare pussy, his hands spreading your legs so wide it almost aches.

You smear your wetness around your entrance to your clit and start rubbing it under your fingertips, slowly building a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Such a pretty pussy, why’d keep it away from me for so long?”

He swiftly pulls his shirt over the back of his head, exposing miles of pale and inked skin. You barely have time admire him as he comes closer, so close you can feel his hard cock against the back of your hand over denim, one of his hands shifting up your thigh to brush his thumb over your ribs.

“Can I…?” He starts, looking intently at your breasts and you interrupt him.

“Yes, yes” you breathe out and increase the speed of your fingers over your clit, as he slides his hands up to experimentally brush his thumb over your nipple.

“Fuck, have been dying to get my hands on them” he admits, cupping the weight of your breast on his hands and then pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Looked so pretty with those tank tops, almost couldn’t stop looking”

You mewl underneath him, the feeling of his body so close, his fingers pulling and twisting your nipples and the knowledge of what you’re doing to him making you climb to your peak faster than usual. He takes notice of the way your hips are moving in time with your hand and squeezes your nipple harder, leaning down until you’re face to face.

“You’re gonna cum, sweet thing? Come on, show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

Your free hand pulls him closer by the neck so you can kiss him, exhaling into his mouth as you furiously rub your clit. Nothing but thoughts of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie echoing through your mind. He guides you through your high, whispering sweet nothings against your mouth, pressing his lips to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead as his hips grinding against your thigh.

When you’re finally done, your fingers moving away from your clit because of the sensitivity and his arms thrown over you as he lays on the spot next you, watching you in awe like you just played the sickest guitar riff ever.

“I knew you incredible before,” he says, his fingers stroking the skin of your ribs, tracing the bone underneath. “But damn, sweetheart.”

“Shut up” you complain laughingly, turning on your side to see him. His face is bright red, like he just came back from a run and his hair’s incredibly messy, more than usual and his brown eyes are so, so bright and happy.

You can’t help but lean over to press a kiss to his lips, a lingering one that goes on for a long time. The previously put out embers in your belly lighting up a fire again. You’re starting to slip your hand down his body to cup his erection when he stops you. You pull away to look at him questioning until you notice how shifty he is, and you look at his crotch only to find a wet spot there.

“Did you just…?” You begin.

“Y-yeah… listen, sweetheart, I’m sorry-” you interrupt before he can continue apologizing, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“That’s so fucking hot.” you claim matter-of-factly, still suffocating him with quick kisses on his lips.

“There’s no way you think that, you don’t have to spare my feelings-“

“Excuse me? I think the fact you were so turned on over me touching myself you came in your pants so incredibly fucking hot, thank you very much” you climb over him, straddling his body in all your naked glory and his eyes can’t seem to be able to stop roaming your body, his eyes constantly shifting from your tits, to your belly, to your hips and to your mound.

“Okay, okay. If you think so, sweetheart” he says appeasingly, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. You lean down again until you’re face to face and you can kiss his lips wetly.

“When does your uncle get home again?” You ask between kisses.

“Around 7am… why?”

You pull away to see his face and you can’t contain the beaming smile taking over yours.

“How long until you can get going again?” You question, slowly moving your hips on top of him. He watches you eagerly.

“Not long,” he answer and you can feel the damp patch of denim underneath you getting wetter as you grind against him. You also can distinctly feel his cock twitching through his underwear. “With the way you’re all over me”

You throw your head back in laughter and he digs his fingers on your hips painfully.

“Then maybe you can show me what exactly you were thinking about when you jerked off… something about my mouth on your cock and your cum on my tits?”

“You’re fucking perfect” he states seriously, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He pulls you down until he’s hungrily kissing you, all tongue and teeth and way too wet, but you can’t really complain.

Turns out, he doesn’t really need that long to get hard again. Who would’ve thought?

#eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #mine

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twistedbloodstain · 1 year

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vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: if my wishes came true it would've been you | a glimpse of the marquis.

plot: the one where the marquis isn’t so sure about you.

warnings: stalking, slight mention of violence, more stalking, staring, soft ooc marquis, invasion of privacy

masterlist

vincent de gramont. the marquis. unforgiving. determined. capable.

he is a man that exudes power by simply waving his hand or by the snap of his fingers. he does not need anyone. not when he has all the power and influence of an entire country. all he needs is himself, no one else. people are a liability, because of what we can feel for them. the moment you let them in. you start to do things that you shouldn’t, but you do it anyway for the mercurial high of their company. but in fact they don’t bring you up, they bring you down. of course, the marquis doesn’t do such practices, he can’t risk such vulnerability, if he is vulnerable then he is weak and the world be fucking damned before he let’s what he feel for someone tear him down.

a pessimist mindset. yes but why does it matter? he can’t even name someone who cares for him, at least someone who isn’t paid to do it. they don’t want his company, they want his money and power that he exercises over this world. the men want his coin and the women want the same or a night of pleasure, he might welcome that invitation if he isn’t busy enough.

there are three kinds of people in the world. those who have something to live for, those who have something to die for, and those who have something to kill for.

“oh, oh…poor vincent de gramont. who would search for him if he went missing? who would mourn his rotting corpse as it’s buried six feet underground?”

a mockery and threat of a rising drug lord when he had refused the terms of a deal. it annoyed him, as much as he didn’t expect it to get into his head. because why would he need to have that? soon he had the fool’s tongue pulled out by one of his men, he doesn’t let such insignificant things occupy his mind. but to answer his question there is one who would.

his assistant. that’s who, mildly amused with that thought. if i paid her more than enough my procession would be like the queen of fucking england. ironically, because his assistant falls into the three kinds of people and wants his money. at least she actually works for it. for once, the wages he’d given were actually worth her value, they weigh the same in a scale and he doesn’t feel forced to pay her that much because she gets the job done with exquisiteness.

when he’d first hired her, he thought she might be too good to be true. either she was a bragging and incompetent woman or a vying fusspot whose words are truthful. he doesn’t mind a perfectionist as long as she gets the job done. however good she might portray her character to him, he was still cautious around her.

this could be a calculated spy sent out take everything from me. if so, she might as well bloody think again. no one can rob me of what’s mine.

possible threats imagined or real must be carefully and quickly dealt with. so the first two months she works for him, he keeps his eyes on her. he has her followed to her home, which isn’t so bad but not really to his taste. but since she rarely gets home to manage personal matters with the endless pile of work he’s tasked her with there’s not much to be reported to him. just the mundane life of his assistant and her cat. he also has her background checked and it’s nothing malicious, truly just someone whose motives are sincere and harmless.

but it’s not enough. there has to be something. when she isn’t in her home, she’s in his mansion. the lavish and spacious place that always seems to awe her.

2:00 AM

a pair of guards open the large decorated chunky door for him, he struts through. quite exhausted from his previous affair that took several hours, something about an assassin getting out of the fold. he checks his watch and a slight scowl appears on his face, annoyed that meeting has taken too long for a good night’s sleep. he had a big day tomorrow, hordes of meetings and an opera in the afternoon. he’ll have to get up early if he wants to witness the entire spectacle.

“bring the car tomorrow around 6 AM and move the meeting with Allaire around-” vincent orders but pauses when he realizes the click of your heels were no longer heard in his ears.

he turns around and sees you motionless. you were occupied with gazing at the new painting that had arrived earlier that morning. he could sense the gears in your head turning, taking in the artistic beauty of the masterpiece. he wonders if just like him you appreciate historic works of art that preside in The Louvre or perhaps you like a more architect approach-

christ. what is he thinking, he’s not even sure of who they are and he’s interested in a pastime she might have? he swallows that thought down and buries it behind his mind.

by the sudden snap of his fingers, he snaps you out of your gaze. you face him rattled and a slight worry occupies your face when you realize you’ve been caught slacking.

“i’m so sorry sir. that won’t happen again, what time did you want the car brought?” you immediately apologize, saving your excuses from him. still bashful from the ogling you’ve done, you don’t meet his stare.

he knows you’re just as tired as him, you’ve been stuck with him for the entire day, organizing his schedule and arranging appointments. he decides to not chastise her for the momentary indolence and let it pass. although he is partly pleased you still try to keep your wits sharp and alert. christ, what in the world is he saying? it must be the lack of sleep, yes that’s it.

“bring the car tomorrow around 6 AM and move the meeting with Allaire around 7:30 AM. lastly, get up early. i have an important matter for you to attend to.” vincent says again, much more firmly this time with a harsh tone, a slightly futile attempt since his voice partly falls flat from fatigue.

“yes sir.” you answer straight away, jotting down what he just said into that little purple notebook.

he turns away from you and walks away to his room.

he has her spied in the mansion. every movement she makes in his home is reported by the guards and staff. rather unfortunate with the latter, since you’ve grown close with some of the staff and half of them inform you of your activities. what they’d reported was not what he was looking for. just filled with casual personal stuff and ventures he’d ordered you to do.

with all that extensive efforts settled, he feels somewhat assured that she won’t turn against him. now he just needs to keep her on his side, and to sense any form of betrayal that might cook while she’s in his employ. he instructs his men to halt from following her home but still let’s the staff inform him of her bustle from time to time. how does he keep her on his side? pressure and observation.

he gives her labors that are sometimes beyond her pay grade and leaves her alone to do it. it confounds her, very much. they both know this is not what they’d agreed to but surprise, surprise. she delivers as ordered, little to no flaws. he observes her reactions, to see if a recipe of hatred was cooking in the cauldron.

he keeps his eyes on you. the both of you just got out from a meeting with a drug lord that had rather difficult terms and conditions he wouldn’t agree to but he entertained them nonetheless for the sake of testing you. since the job fell on you to deliver those terms and conditions.

you keep writing down notes on that journal, he reads some of what you’ve written which are familiar to him.

“huh. still not faltering are you? i wonder when you might raise this matter.” he thought.

your posture is not as perfect as it had been when you greeted him earlier in the morning. the late night seems enough explanation for that. the inside of the car is quiet except for the engine of the car and the rustling of your pencil on paper.

ever since he started giving them to you he hadn’t heard a word of complaint. he’s not really sure what he expected. a bitch fit about how you can’t do it? a conversation about raising your salary? a rant about how he’s being unfair? he’s dubious about the result he was searching for but he should know. he is the marquis. everything must have a reason, had he expected all three so he might have a reason to fire you? maybe. but why would he fire you? you’ve proven yourself capable and competitive. there is almost no one to your like, only a fool would do that. why does he want to get rid of you for no reason?

perhaps it’s because of what you do for him. he knows you’re in it for the money but…but that unwavering loyalty you’ve offered up to him. does it mean more? or is it just something he’s paying for? an even exchange for the both of you. god, prostitutes seemed easier to handle than this, at least with them he knew their motives but with you…he can’t. you’re background is as pristine as water and everything you’ve done is to further his power. what had he done to deserve it? maybe it is true, maybe. there is no amount of money that can give that level of loyalty, even his highest paid employees and previous assistants weren’t even that good. oh, why? why,why,why,why-

why do you look at him as if he’s the rarest thing on earth? why do you follow him blindly with no hesitation? why do you listen to his words clinging to them as if it’s good as gospel?

he snaps out of his inner turmoil and notices that you’ve looked up at him. you’ve caught him staring, he’s slightly abashed because he’d been vulnerable with himself for a moment, and it’s because of you. for a minute he thought you might’ve been genuine to him, that everything you do is because you want to, not for any materialistic gain. he doesn’t show his disappointment. he keeps his face plain and cold and turns away from you, facing the window. he can see the glass pyramid from The Louvre, his mind begins to drift.

you gullible fool, there is no one in this world that can give you that. you know this-you know this. why do you still yearn for that? there are three kinds of people in the world. those who have something to live for, those who have something to die for, and those who have something to kill for and you are not one of them. no matter how much you want it you cannot be one of them. you are the marquis. you are the marquis. you must be untouchable. what you feel cannot be weaponized against you. do you understand? she does not feel anything for you. there is nothing but you and yourself. in the long run, she won’t matter. when you’ve grown more powerful than today what she’s given to you will be nothing but specks of dust.

that’s how he viewed you. after those two months, he treats you the same with no efforts that may seem arbitrary an attempt to veil what he’s felt for you. keeping it professional you might say, he screws it through his head, that he doesn’t matter to you, that it doesn’t mean more.

one day it changes.

almost two years after that car ride to The Louvre.

you take a bullet for him.

but you take much more than that.

author’s note: welp, that’s part three! i found it difficult to choose which pov for part two, idk if I should keep the marquis’ thoughts ambiguous or just throw this in. I had this dilemma in class and decided to go for reader’s pov, it turned out nice anyways feel free to share your thoughts!

taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re @davvydobrik

part one part two part four part five

#vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont #vincent de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #one shot #john wick #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #fanfic #obsessive #yandere #bill skarsgard gif #bill skarsgard imagine

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cowgurrrl · 3 months

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Slow It Down Cowboy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: this ended up being so chunky but I hope that’s okay

Summary: The wall [5.8k!!!]

Warnings: academic blackmail??, bad administrative decisions, an even worse parent, Joel comforting reader, more art talk, slight angst

As the sun sets earlier and the weather dips below the usual heat, things actually start looking pretty good. Andie, somehow, found time off of work and is coming home for a few days during the long winter break. You've gotten back to making art you actually care about now that you're in a race with Joel. All your students are settled and starting to come out of their shells, making more experimental art. Ellie continues to show up with cups of coffee with your name on them before anyone else can spill into your classroom, and you continue to text Joel.

How much are you spending on coffee now?

I thought we agreed to keep certain things secret.

Joel Miller.

Hush. You deserve it.

In between lessons and at lunch, you'll manage to catch each other at the right time and shoot messages off as fast as they come in. He helps you fix a squeaky chair over text, and you help him set up a care package to send to Sarah. It's nice even though you haven't really seen him since the night of the gallery opening. Even things at the bar seem to be doing better, and you're making enough to not have to worry so much. But you're most proud of the list of students whose art will be shown at the winter showcase, Ellie's work among them.

You make a big deal about it and send in an announcement to be read in the morning, congratulating all the students. You even go out of your way to announce it in all your classes and offer extra credit to any student who shows up to support their classmates. Surprisingly, your rag-tag group of moody teenagers actually seem keen about the opportunity. Things are going well. You're happy, healthy, financially stable(ish), and your guards are down for the first time in a long time.

You're working with quiet music playing over your computer when the knock at your door sounds during planning period. You stand to open it, but before you can, you hear a jangle of keys and the popping of the lock. Principal Martinez walks in, squints at you, and immediately turns on the overhead fluorescent lights that haven't been used in God knows how long. They buzz in protest as your eyes adjust.

"Hey!" You manage to sound cheery even though she looks like she means business. "I'm assuming you're here about the winter showcase?" You ask, and the line between her brows deepens.

"The what?"

"The showcase? A couple of my kids from the art club got accepted to have their artwork shown in a gallery downtown. It was on the announcements this morning. I can send you the information about when the event is." You offer. Something clicks, and she shakes her head now that she knows what you're talking about.

"Oh, that," she says. "No, I'm not here about that."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Not exactly." She says, and you feel panic pool in your stomach like an unwanted visitor. "Dalton Green's father has brought his grade in your class to my attention."

"He hasn't turned anything in to me since September. I can't grade an empty page," you say, hoping that she's as aware as you are that it's the beginning of November. "I sent an email to his father and football coach back in October, but I still haven't seen any work from him."

"Mr. Green says he's positive his son has turned in work. Are you sure you haven't just misplaced it?"

"No, I've graded and given back every single assignment from the semester."

"Let me be clear," she says. "Are you sure you haven't just forgotten to put his grades in? It's an easy mistake to make. You could always just input them now so that he's eligible to continue playing. You wouldn't want to bench a perfectly responsible young man. Would you?"

"Ma'am, are you suggesting I lie about Dalton's grades just so he can keep playing football?" You ask, your panic quickly turning into frustration.

"It'd be such a silly thing to fail something as simple as art. Especially when the funding for the school comes directly from our team's ability to perform. Sometimes, as teachers, we have to make sacrifices to ensure the greater good of our students." She says. It never fails to surprise you how condescending people can be when it comes to your job. Martinez will be gone in a year to fight for a place on the school board, and it's clear she's not pulling her punches even now. Still, you're floored by the ask. Never in your career have you been asked by a principal to lie about a student's grades.

"I'd be willing to make certain accommodations, but I'm really not comfortable doing that. If he wanted to turn something in, I could find a way to give him half credit." You say. Her face changes almost imperceptibly before she straightens up with a cynical smile.

"Well, I think since you had the idea, you should be the one to call his father and tell him the good news," she says it like it's a reward, but it feels like more of a punishment. Your good mood comes crumbling around you as she looks at you expectantly. You have principles as a teacher. This is one of them, but how far are you willing to go to protect it? "I have a meeting with some people from the school board, but please let me know what conclusion you and Mr. Green come to regarding Dalton's grades." She says as she walks out of your room, not even bothering to look at you over her shoulder as she speaks to you.

"Fuck," you mutter as the door closes behind her. You stare at the phone and think about your options. You can't let her walk all over you just because she's your boss, and you won't compromise your values just so the football program will thrive. But you also really don't want to make this phone call. If Dalton's dad is as pleasant as he seems over email, you can't imagine this going well. "Fuck." You say again as you pick up the receiver and search your records for Dalton's dad's phone number. You find it, and in a burst of confidence, dial the number and listen to the line ring, secretly hoping he won't pick up.

"Green." His dad says in place of a greeting, and you take a deep breath.

"Hi, Mr. Green. This is Dalton's art teacher from school. I understand you had some issues regarding his grade in my class?" You tread very carefully, but even then, he scoffs.

"You're damn right I have some issues. Why are you failin' him? He's gotta pass to play football, and Principal Martinez said you'd get it sorted."

"Yes, sir, that's why I'm calling," you say. "Dalton hasn't turned in any of the assignments I've given out since September, and because of that, I've been unable to give him a good grade. However, I can make some arrangements to give him half credit for every assignment he turns in before the end of next week. That should give him more than enough time between classes and practice."

"He told me you lost his assignments."

"No, sir, I haven't received anything from him." You say. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you almost hope the call dropped before he can respond.

"Are you sayin' my son's a liar?"

You spend the next twenty minutes being berated over the phone, not even allowed to get a word in without being cut off. Several times throughout the call, you think about hanging up and unplugging the phone, but you know that'd only make it worse. God forbid he show up at the school and humiliate you in front of the other staff or, worse, students. No wonder Dalton has issues if this is how his father speaks to people. If your day wasn't ruined by your encounter with the principal, it certainly is now. You handle it as well as possible until he gets near the end of his rant and takes a deep breath.

"I just can't believe they'd let a teacher as horrible as you work there. What right do you have to teach anything?" He says, and that's what really gets under your skin. Suddenly, hot tears spring in your eyes, and your throat feels like sandpaper.

"I don't know." It is the only thing you can think to say.

"Call me back when you have a real fuckin' solution and not whatever bullshit this is." He spits before hanging up the phone. You put the receiver down and bury your head in your hands, trying your best not to cry. Your molars buzz, and it feels like your head is swelling with pain. His insults and backhanded comments echo in your ears, and you can't hold the tears back any longer.

What a fucking shit show. You know Martinez won't do anything about the verbal abuse unless you're willing to lie about grades, which is a ridiculous request in the first place. Dalton's dad won't back down, and you can safely assume Coach Sanders is next up on the roster if you don't do something soon. Why can't you get a kid to turn in a fucking piece of paper? Are you really that bad of a teacher that you're losing an argument with a seventeen-year-old? Is this the hill you want to die on?

You think about going upstairs and seeking refuge in Mrs. Tomlinson's English class, your favorite coworker and the one who hides the good snacks in her desk, but you know she has a class, and you don't want to embarrass yourself. Andie is seven hours ahead and probably asleep. You're friends with people from the bar but not good enough friends that you could call them crying about a situation like this. The realization that you're alone in this makes you more emotional, and you have to stifle your sobs behind your hand.

You jump when your doorknob twists open again, and you half-expect Martinez to be there with an I-told-you-so look on her face. You quickly turn so your back is to the door and wipe the tears on your face. You can't stand to be humiliated again today. When you turn back to see who entered your classroom, Joel's big brown eyes soften when he sees how upset you are.

"Honey," he murmurs, and you almost start sobbing again at his soft tone. "What's goin' on?"

"I didn't know you were coming today." You sniffle, trying to pull yourself together. He walks over and drops his toolbox on a nearby table so he can pull you up from your chair.

"Supposed to be a surprise." He says as he tucks you into his chest. You hug him tightly and let him rub your back in the quiet of your classroom. His shirt smells like laundry detergent and the cold wind sweeping through the hill country. He should be wearing a jacket, but he's not, and you can feel goosebumps on his skin. For a minute, you just cling to him and cry, staining his shirt with tears, but he doesn't care. He's patient and shushes you gently as he adjusts his hold on you to bring you closer. You bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your head.

"What are you doing here?" You ask into his skin.

"I found your missin' piece for the projector. I thought I'd come install it for you so you'd stop fallin' off things tryna get it to work," he says. He leans back just enough to swipe your hair out of your eyes and rests his hands on either side of your face so you can see him. You want to turn away because you know you look like a crying mess, but he doesn't flinch. "There she is," he whispers fondly when you meet his eyes. "Your turn. What happened that's got you all upset?" He asks, swiping his thumbs under your eyes to catch stray tears.

"Just… a really shitty call with a parent." You say, not wanting to get into specifics just yet.

"Anythin' I can do?" He asks, and you shake your head. Just his presence is enough to make you feel better. His big, warm hands holding you like you're precious is a big plus, too. You run your hands over the muscles hidden by his shirt and take a deep breath.

"Just this," you say, and he smiles. "'S a very nice surprise."

"I might've had ulterior motives." He says sheepishly, and you chuckle.

"What are your ulterior motives, maverick?" You ask. You honestly don't know where the nickname came from, but it's stuck around. You've heard it used by old southern women when talking about someone who's independent or doesn't follow the rules. "There goes maverick again!" They'd say when their unruly son would go speeding by in the kitchen. You think the private name suits him.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, without a hint of shame or doubt in his voice. You almost fold just because of how he's looking at you through his long eyelashes. Almost. The age-old sound of your projector whirring reminds you where you are, and you straighten up.

"Not here."

"After I fix the projector?" He negotiates, and you laugh at how quickly he bounces back.

"After you fix the projector and we're not on school campus anymore."

"Deal," he says as he turns away from you and toward his toolbox. "You should time me. This might be the fastest replacement I've ever done."

"You're really that motivated now?" You tease, the levity between you two draining the dredges of your bad afternoon from your brain. He smiles and digs in his toolbox for the right screwdriver.

"For you? Of course." He says. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a smile, and he winks at you. He's barely standing on a chair before you grab his arm and stop him.

"Wait," you say. You're not really sure what the plan is, but you also don't care. Joel, however, looks confused. "I found an old step stool in my storage closet the other day, but it's on the top shelf. If you can get it down, that might be a little safer."

"You've had a step stool this whole time, and you're still climbin' on tables?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at you. "You're gonna put me in an early grave one of these days."

"Quit that," you laugh as he steps off the chair. "I didn't have time to get it down whenever I needed it, and I just forgot about it until the other day. C'mon, I'll show you where it is." He sighs dramatically but follows you into the dusty storage room filled floor to ceiling with various art supplies. It's hidden by a suspicious-looking, windowless door just off to the right of your classroom. You think it might've been used as a tornado shelter when the school was much smaller and younger, but since then, it's been renovated into a personal storage room.

The second the door closes behind him, you turn around, push him against it, and kiss him before you can change your mind. He gasps into you like he wasn't expecting this but quickly grabs your waist, anchoring to you and kissing you back feverishly. You really had planned on making him wait until you were safe, far away from school grounds, instead of pulling him into the nearest private space like a teenager. But you figured if Martinez can break the rules, why can't you?

Your hand snakes through his hair and plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing a content sigh from Joel. His lips are a little chapped and firm against yours. He tastes like coffee and something sweet, and you want more. You tip your mouth up to him to kiss him deeper, and he grips your hips hard, his fingers grazing the skin just under the hem of your shirt. You test scratching your nails over the back of his neck, and he shudders beautifully under your touch. In one move, he switches places with you and pins you between him and the door.

With him in control, he slows down just a little, kissing you softly like he's got all the time in the world. You've realized Joel likes treating you like you're made of porcelain. Like all it would take is one wrong move, and you'd fall apart under his touch. He lets you make the first move every time, tying his hands behind his back until you say the word in an impressive show of self-control. Even at the art gallery, when there was so much tension between you, you thought you'd choke on it; he wasn't the one who initiated. The knee-jerk reaction of flipping your positions against the door to take control is his first show of power, and you like it. What do you need to do to get him to do it again?

The bell sounding through the intercom breaks you apart, and you groan at the intrusion. Nothing is keeping you after school today but you aren't ready to separate from Joel just yet. You rest your head on the door and stare at him as you vaguely hear the sounds of rowdy kids flooding the hallways. His lips are swollen and a little pink, and his hair is messy from all your pulling.

"What?" He questions your staring and you shake your head.

"I just like looking at you," you say. "Your hair is also a mess, but that's a completely different story."

"And whose fault is that?" He laughs and musses his curls back into place. You help with a few strands at the back and smile when everything is tame again.

"Good as new." You say. Now, it's his turn to peer at you, and you give him a confused look. You swipe under your eyes as if there's mascara stuck there and fix your hair, waiting for him to give you the all-clear, but he just chuckles.

"I can't believe you pulled me into a closet to make out."

"Me neither, honestly." You admit as the both of you dissolve into delirious laughter. You wait in the closet for a few more minutes so the hallways can clear out (and you can kiss a little more) before you finally exit, checking that it's clear and then opening the door wider for Joel. When he sees his toolbox sitting on the desk where he left it, he sighs and glances between you and the ceiling.

"I'm never gonna get to fix that goddamn projector." He mutters, and you laugh as you pass in front of him and pat his shoulder.

"Next time, maverick." You say. His grumbles disappear as you pack up your stuff side-by-side in silence. It's nice to not feel like you always have to fill the space with conversation. It's enough for papers to rustle as they land in your bag and his tools to clink as they find their proper homes. The hallways have gone quiet, and the eerie silence of an empty school slowly creeps up on you.

Joel's boots squeaking catch your attention as you unplug your computer and start turning off various lamps around the classroom. He stands in front of the whiteboard where you have a big print of a Rothko painting displayed for today's art history lesson. He tilts his head as he looks at it like he's trying to find some hidden meaning or perspective, and you smile to yourself at the motion.

"Lots of people think it's not much to look at." You break the silence from the back of the room, and he looks at you over your shoulder.

"I didn't say that."

"I know. I'm just letting you know what certain historians say," you say. You finish with all the lamps, and the only light coming into the classroom is the little bit of natural light streaming in from the windows near the ceiling. Stray dust spins in the air as you join him in looking at the poster of the Rothko, and you try to imagine what he's thinking.

It's a little unnerving, like most of the ones Rothko made towards the end of his life. The vast darkness on the top half of the painting is daunting, while the gray at the bottom helps ground the viewer, at least a little. If you look closely enough, you can see the various washes and brushstrokes he used to create the painting. Obviously, a lot of skill and time went into something like this, even though not everyone wants to see it. "It's hard to know what it meant to him. It probably didn't mean anything, honestly. He wanted people to have sensory experiences with his art, so you only get as much as you put into it." You explain, and Joel nods but doesn't look away from the painting.

"Is it the surface of the moon?" He asks.

"What makes you say that?" You interrogate, trying to hide your excitement at getting to hear him tell you what he thinks of art.

"Well, it kinda looks like I'm standin' on the moon and lookin' out into space." He says as he runs his finger over the divide between the two colors.

"Where's the Earth, then?"

"Maybe I'm on the dark side of the moon."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe the Earth is just too far away, and I can't reach it, but I know it's there. If the moon started spinnin' faster or somethin', I could see it, but maybe it's not for me to see..." It's incredibly profound, even if he doesn't realize it. You see where he's coming from based on what you know about his past and almost want to reach for his hand, but you don't. "But I don't know. What do I know bout art?"

"A lot," you answer quickly, hating how he talks about himself like he's stupid. "You know a lot. That was a really good analysis." He hums noncommittally and bumps your shoulder with his.

"What bout you? What's it to you?" He asks, and you sigh as you look the colors over again.

"A wall and the night sky."

"A wall?"

"Yeah. It's either protecting me or keeping me in, but either way, it's there, and there's not much I can do about it. I could stay where I am and never find out what's beyond it and be safe, or I could climb the wall and never be the same again. I wouldn't know what's behind it or what's out there— that's why it's all black at the top— but maybe that's what's so interesting about it. The unknown." You say, and Joel hums.

"You should be a teacher or somethin'." He says, and you laugh and move to grab your backpack off your desk.

"It just might be in the cards for me," you say. "What's Ellie doing tonight? Don't you have to pick her up?"

"She's actually going to the movies with some friends tonight." He says, beaming with pride, and you gasp dramatically.

"Is she really?"

"Sent her with twenty dollars and everythin'."

"Oh, that's so good! She's doing so good! I knew art club would get her out of her shell." You clap your hands, and he nods, smiling.

"She certainly ain't shy anymore. It feels like she's always on the phone with someone these days." He's a little nostalgic for the little girl who used to cling to her dad, and you make a sympathetic sound.

"Don't you worry. I'm sure she'll want to hang out with her old dad during winter break."

"Old?!" He parrots as you usher him out of the room, your keys jingling on your arm.

"Her words, not mine." You say as you walk out into the empty hallway with him and lock your classroom door behind you. He scoffs and grumbles something under his breath but doesn't push you for any insider information on Ellie. You like having your secrets with her, and as long as she's not a threat to herself or others, you'll keep those secrets until she's ready to tell him.

You walk out to the parking lot together to catch the last few rays of sun scattering across the sky and smile when you see that Joel somehow managed to park close to your car. He loads his tools up in his truck bed while you throw your backpack in the backseat, but neither of you gets in your car immediately after things are settled. Instead, you wander back over to his truck and lean against one of the doors.

"So, if Ellie's out with friends, what are you doing for the rest of the night?" You ask, and he smirks, stepping into your space. You think about scolding him, but the parking lot is practically empty. Plus, you like having him close. In the orange light of dusk, you feel safe next to him and his truck. He quirks an eyebrow at you and looks serious.

"Are you askin' me on a date?"

"It's not a date."

"Is this the same thing like you weren't gonna kiss me, and then you did?" He teases. You roll your eyes and push off his truck, putting your arms up in defeat.

"I didn't realize Joel Miller hated spontaneity so much. Fine, I'll stop doing it." You start walking back toward your car, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back before you can get far. You smile when your chest collides with his and look up at him.

"Now, I didn't say all that," he says. "'M just surprised. You're gettin' ballsy."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't think so," he says as he leans forward like he's about to tell you a secret. "I think it's pretty hot, actually." He whispers lowly in your ear, his breath fanning out across your neck and making your face hot. You shove at his shoulder, but he just laughs and grabs your hand. "What? You don't like me callin' you hot?"

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"I ain't hearin' a 'no.'"

"Yes, Joel, I like it. Is that what you wanna hear?" You finally relent, and he shrugs with every ounce of sass.

"Maybe," he says. "I also wanna hear what you were thinkin' for our not date."

"Oh, something super romantic."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Whataburger meals and milkshakes." You say, and he makes a play at his knees giving out under him.

"A woman after my own heart." He groans, and you roll your eyes.

You could take separate cars. It'd probably be easier for getting home and take away an extra stop, but you don't really care about that when you climb into the passenger's side of his truck. He doesn't seem surprised by your decision to ride with him and rests a hand on your thigh the second he pulls out of the school parking lot. He asks about your day, painting, and even if you've heard anything else from Henry as he drives. You rant a little about Principal Martinez and ask about his day, so he gets a turn ranting about headers and structural issues. You're not exactly sure what he's talking about, but you nod and listen anyway, and he doesn't critique you for not knowing.

When you get to Whataburger, you have to scout to make sure there are no teenagers you recognize before going in. Of course, he opens the door and lets you order first like a gentleman, but you elbow him out of the way so you can pay before he can even reach for his wallet. By the look on his face, you would've thought you ripped a cookie out of his hands. "It's my turn!" You say, but he still looks shocked when you hand him his orange and white striped cup. You choose a booth near the back and continue talking about your days or recent developments until your food comes, and then you talk in between bites. It's not romantic, but it is comfortable.

He updates you on Sarah's progress in medical school and even shows you pictures on his phone of the last time the three of them were all together. He looks lighter when he's with the both of them like all the pieces of his heart are bound in those girls. You like to think it is. He tells you how he's looking at grants for small-business owners in Austin and is eligible to apply for a good amount. "'M just nervous I won't get any." He says, and you shake your head.

"They've got insane amounts of money they're looking to give to hardworking people. I bet you'll be a millionaire by the end of this bet." You say, and he chuckles as he pops a fry in his mouth.

"What bout you?" He asks.

"What about me?"

"How's the search for a gallery goin'?" You take a deep breath at his question and shrug.

"I don't really have anything to submit just yet, but some places are taking rolling submissions, so I can send something in whenever. I just want it to be good."

"'M sure it will be." He says, and you give him a look.

"You haven't even seen any of my work. What if it's awful?"

"Then I'd lie and say it's the best thing I've ever seen."

"So you’re a iiar."

"At least, I'd be a considerate liar." He says. You're about to start arguing with him about it when a pair of familiar eyes meet yours across the restaurant. Before you can even think about a tactic to get out of the situation, she's already up and walking toward your booth.

"Oh, shit," you mutter, and Joel's eyebrows furrow until he finds who you're looking at. His face falls exactly the same way you're sure yours did.

"Hi!" Marnie greets as she lands in front of you. "I haven't seen you in a minute!"

"I know! I've been meaning to text you about getting drinks, but I keep forgetting!" It's a lie. A considerate lie, but a lie nevertheless.

"Oh, you're too sweet. We'll set somethin' up," she says as she turns to Joel. "And you! I haven't seen you since Sarah moved. How is she?" Oh, shit. How does she know you and Joel? He recovers quickly with a charming smile and a nod.

"Yes, ma'am. She's doin' real good up in Boston. Keepin' outta trouble and everythin'."

"And Ellie? How's she doin'? She still makin' art?" 900,000 people in Austin and countless Whataburgers within 100 square miles, and the person who walks into the one you're in is the one you used to work with at school. Not only that, but she knows Joel's kids. She knows Joel. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Yeah, she's still doin' art. She's good at it. She's seein' a movie with some friends from school tonight." He says, and Marnie's eyes light up at the mention of the high school while Joel tenses.

"Oh, my gosh, how's the new classroom? I completely forgot they renovated that old teacher's lounge a couple years ago."

"It's good. The equipment's a little old, but nothing's fallen apart yet. You'll have to come see it sometime."

"We'll have to find a time!" She says, always insanely cheerful. "Well, I'll let y'all get back to your meal, but I'd be kickin' myself if I didn't come over here and say hello to you two. Joel, please tell the girls I said hi."

"Yes, ma'am," Joel says politely. With that, Marnie turns and walks back to her waiting husband and says something that sounds like, "I know them!" Your food is suddenly cold and unappetizing when you look at it, and your stomach is in knots. The warm bubble around you and Joel has burst, and you're left in the stark light of the truth. "D'you wanna go?" Joel whispers, and you nod.

He takes your trays and throws away the food before opening the door for you to walk out into the cool night air, avoiding Marnie's stare the whole time. He doesn't reach for you or help you into the truck. He barely looks at you until you're in the safety of the cab. The world is spinning around you, and alarms are sounding in your brain. What the fuck just happened?

"How do you know her?" You ask Joel, staring straight ahead, and he swallows hard.

"She was Sarah and Ellie's science tutor," he says, and your eyes flutter shut. "How do you know her?"

"She was the science teacher at the high school during my first year there. She left to go to a different school after that, but we were pretty close."

"So, she knows you're a teacher at the same school my kid goes to."

"And she knows Ellie does art, so she knows she would be one of my students." You slowly piece together how bad this could be. You got caught having dinner with the parents of one of your students. If Marnie says anything, word could travel through the district until Martinez hears about it. You'd be in much more trouble than you already are with her. You could be accused of giving Ellie special treatment and violating school policy.

"Fuck." Joel mumbles, mirroring your exact thoughts, and you nod.

"We can't do this." You whisper, not wanting to admit it, especially after such a nice day with him. He doesn't protest. He feels the gravity of the situation. You want to put your hand over his. You want to hug him. You want to comfort him the way he comforted you, but you can't.

"I know." His voice is even and controlled like he's choosing his words carefully, but you can hear the disappointment in his words. You can't go back to an hour ago when you were laughing and pulling him into storage rooms. You have to stay where you are. You have to stay safe. He is the personification of your wall and you have to be okay with not knowing what’s beyond it.

You can't do this.

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#hippies and cowboys #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us au #tlou au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us fluff

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danikamariewrites · 19 days

Note

I have a Flynn request! There definitely aren’t enough out there for our crescent city males. Lol reader is out with friends at a bar and really drunk. She gets separated from her friends and some guy is really creeping her out and won’t leave her alone. She texts/calls Flynn to come get her.

My First Call

Tristan Flynn x reader

A/n: I HAVE FINALY FINISHED CC3 and Flynn absolutely deserves love bc it seems like he’s the only single Pringle left I volunteer as tribute

Warnings: drunk reader, aggressive behavior (not the frat pack), and not proof read sorry

Wobbling through the club on numb limbs you were jostled by the crowd of swaying bodies. Your mouth was dry but you were craving another fruity-vodka cocktail. As you made your way back to the table your friends were currently inhabiting this evening you tripped a little.

Only two of them were left. The other three having bailed earlier thanks to their work schedules. Who even makes their employees come in on a Friday for a holiday weekend? A crime honestly.

A male had joined the table, too busy flirting with Marcy to notice your presence. Taylor, your other friend, had noticed you cautiously walking back. “Hey,” she says enthusiastically with a small giggle at your drunken demeanor. You giggle back, falling into her arms.

“I want another drink.” Your words coming out as one long sound. Taylor just laughed in response. “I think you need to go home.” You groan at the blonde before remembering your bestest friends are waiting at home. The guys were probably still up. Either playing video games or having a house party in honor of the long weekend.

“Ok. Marcy! Come on.” Taylor commanded. Marcy gave the male one last kiss on the cheek with a look that promised she’d call him. She never called though. She just liked attention and free drinks. What pretty girl doesn’t though?

Letting out a sigh you move from Taylor’s protective grasp. Turning your back on your friends you start to move toward the exit. At least what you think is the exit. The crowd is definitely thinning out. Pushing open a door with peeling paint and rusty hinges you find yourself in a dimly lit alley. At either end is a bustling main street of Lunathion.

“Fuck,” you mutter. Looking from side to side you can’t remember which end of the alley the club entrance would be. “Fuck.” You say a little louder.

Letting out a sigh you start walking to the left, hoping to find your friends. Coming out on the sidewalk you notice a fancy restaurant and a closed cafe. Some business entrances, a bank, then the fanciest hotel in the city. The warm lights of the Regent of Lunathion looked so inviting. Plus they have comfy armchairs to wait in.

You start heading down the street in the direction of the regent. Now that you’re out in the chilly night air and not in the dark, crowded club consuming alcohol your body starts to ache. You hug your arms to your chest, cursing yourself for not bringing a sweater. Your chunky platform heels start to feel heavy with every step you take. The blisters starting to form on the back of your ankles and toes have you stepping gingerly.

Heavy footsteps quickly approach that have you tensing. Hoping it’s just someone on a late night run that will pass you. You move over slightly to not just be in the middle of the sidewalk. Runners in this city get pissy about that.

But it’s not a runner. No, something worse. A male in dark jeans and hoodie falls into pace beside you. “Hey,” he starts, “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ wanderin’ the city alone?” You roll your eyes, not caring about the consequences. You wouldn’t have been able to hold the annoyed expression back anyway. “I’m not. I’m with my friends.”

The male looked around the almost empty street. “Really? Because I don’t see them.” “Yup.” You reply dryly. Urd, can’t males take a hint these days? “I’m meeting them.” A lie you were sure he saw through but didn’t care. You would say anything to get him away from you. “Well what bar are you going to? I know a short cut,” he says seductively, trying to grab for your arm.

You move quicker than the both of you expect. The situation sobering you up. You looked at him with bewildered eyes. “No!” You scream at the top of your lungs. Passersby staring for a moment before looking away and walking a little faster. Cowards.

Before the male can say anything you book it down the rest of the way to the Regent. The doorman, an elderly human man, gives you a curious look. Your words stick to the tip of your tongue. Not knowing how to form your plea for help as the alcohol still rushes through your system.

You look back down the street. The male looking pissed as he storms up to you. The doorman notices, an angry look now on his kind face. “Head inside miss. And please make yourself at home until your ride is here.” You rush past him with a grateful look. Pulling out your phone, ignoring the texts from your friends, you immediately go to Flynn’s contact and pressing the call button.

he answers in one ring. “Hey sweetheart,” his smooth voice relaxing you as you sink into the plush armchair. “Flynn, can you come get me. I’m a little lost.” From his sharp inhale you could tell he was trying to hide his laugh. “I’m already on my way. Taylor called me five minutes ago.” You let out a sigh of relief. “Wait, how do you know where I am?” “I have your location, sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

Urd you love that smile. So suave but genuine. “Only for you,” he’d say with a wink that always made you blush like crazy. It was no secret you have a crush on the lordling. And Ruhn would argue that Flynn had a bigger one on you. Why neither of you had made a move yet was beyond everyone.

The male walked past the window of the lobby staring daggers at you. Your eyes went wide as you remembered why you were in the hotel lobby. “Can you hurry? There was a guy following me and I just wanna go home.” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

Flynn gripped the steering wheel so hard his tanned knuckles turned white. “I’m one minute away.” He stepped on the gas, just barely making the light before it turned red. He kept talking to you as he flew down the street. Telling you everything he saw before pulling up to the Regent.

Throwing the car in park, Flynn throws his door open. Passing the doorman he nodded at Flynn with a small smile. “She’s to the left.” “Thank you.”

Seeing you curled up in the chair clutching your phone like it was a life line made hims heart clench. You looked like a lost child. Flynn knelt in front of you taking your hand in his. “Hey sweetheart,” he coos, “ready to go?” It took you a moment to realize who was in front of you. Once it clicked you smiled widely at Flynn.

“Hey,” you drawl. Your exhaustion catching up with you. Flynn smiled back you. Overjoyed to see you unharmed. “Yeah let’s get outta here.” He stands to help you up but you just give Flynn a pout and doe eyes. “Will you carry me? My shoes hurt.” “Of course.”

He knelt back down to unbuckle your ridiculous shoes, holding them in one hand while scooping you to his chest with his other arm. Letting out a deep sigh you lazily wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, snuggling into his neck.

Flynn’s heart soared. He held you tighter, basking in your warmth and scent. Though he could smell the alcohol, that strawberry and honey scent he loves so much is still prominent to him. “I got you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Gently placing you in the passenger seat and bucking you in Flynn breathed a sigh of relief. You were safe. Climbing in the car himself he quickly sends a text to Taylor letting her know you’re fine. The drive home seemed long but he didn’t care. Anything to spend time with you.

Your hand grasps his resting on the gear shift. You look at him, your lids heavy. Finally pulling up to the house Flynn looks down at you. “Thank you for getting me. My knight in shining armor.” Flynn blushes as he squeezes your hand. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses across your knuckles. “I’ll always come get you. No matter where you are, sweetheart.” You give him a tired smile before your eyes fully close.

Carrying you inside, Flynn tucks you in making sure to take out your hair clips. He even takes your makeup off, gently scrubbing at your face. Just as he sets a glass of water down and a tonic for your headache in the morning, you stir slightly. Flynn froze as he saw you squinting at him. “Will you stay? Please?” You mumble.

“Sure, sweetheart.” You turn to face the side of the bed Flynn makes himself comfortable. He sits on top of the covers, leaning against the propped up pillows. Once he sits you instantly fall back to sleep knowing your safe.

#crescent city #crescent city fanfic #crescent city fluff #crescent city x reader #crescent city fanfiction #crescent city x you #crescent city house of earth and blood #crescent city flynn #tristan flynn x you #tristan flynn x reader #tristan flynn #crescent city tristan flynn #Tristan Flynn fanfic #Tristan Flynn fic #Tristan Flynn fluff

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

I've seen posts here and there about Steve being done up in drag for fun, but please consider Steve discovering drag pageantry.

Drag pageants have been around since the 60s, and we already know that Steve is competitive, he played sports and he got jealous from Dustin just talking about Eddie.

So imagine Steve being done up by a queen because he's "so gorgeous, your bone structure is to die for, darling" and maybe he enjoys it, likes how it makes him look, likes the confidence he has while all made up.

And then he finds out you can compete? In makeup and dresses and be bitchy on purpose? He'd be all over that shit, and he'd be good at it.

Eddie would be nothing but supportive, and when Robin moves out they turn the spare bedroom into a second closet just for Steve's drag. He eventually gets a sewing machine and - after much learning - starts making his own competition gowns because he has a Specific Design that he wants to wear and can't find anything close enough to satisfy.

(Side note: I imagine his style being something like Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, something classy and feminine, possibly influenced by his mother's sense of style (she may be an awful person but by God is she fashionable).)

When Eddie's band makes it big, they plan all of their shows around Steve's pageants because Eddie has to kiss Steve good luck before every single one. The one time he didn't, the zip on Steve's dress busted and one of his heels snapped and while Steve isn't superstitious, Eddie certainly is and "The only time I didn't kiss you good luck, everything fell to shit. It's not gonna happen again, baby, I promise."

They end up getting a shelving unit just to hold the crowns and scepters that Steve has won, the sashes get pinned to the wall and are quickly filling the space available. Steve takes a flower from every winning bouquet and presses it, has a little album where he keeps them, along with a photo of him and Eddie after each win.

Imagine Eddie proposing after a pageant one night. Steve didn't win, maybe he was second or third, but he didn't come home with the crown this particular night, and he's standing in the bathroom, scrubbing away at his face and working over where he may have lost points, trying to figure out how to be better next time.

And then Eddie is there, ring in hand and a lovestruck look on his face and all Steve can think about is that he's being proposed to while looking like a mess. His hair is sweat-slick from being under a wig for hours, makeup half-off, and still wearing the chunky earrings he'd forgotten to take out again.

But Eddie tells Steve how proud he is of him, how much he loves this side of Steve that only Eddie gets to see. That he wants to see it for the rest of his life and "Stevie, baby, if you don't say yes I might cry," and then cries anyway when Steve does say yes and kisses him, and then they're laughing at the bright lipstick smeared across their mouths and Steve completely forgets that he didn't win that night.

#this got away from me a little #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #joey writes #pageant queen steve harrington #i dont actually know a lot about pageants but lets ignore that #drabble

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peachesofteal · 10 months

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ok but hear me, this can either be dead disco or the baby trap.

Simon and Johnny either following Darling around scared they gonna leave or one of them always HAS to be near them.

Darling escaped once and they won’t let it happen again

Screams! I love this. Love your brain. I took this in a slight different direction also, but these themes still persist. 🩵

Mature Themes / disco baby au

Simon and Johnny are a mess.

They haven’t always been like this. Hovering and overly watchful, like this. Bordering on paranoid, anxious, high strung. Jumpy, almost. They don’t let you out of their sight. They don’t let you go anywhere without at least one of the them. They won’t even let you go down to the front door to grab the Chinese delivery.

At first you didn’t notice anything different, really. They’ve always been very attuned to you, very attached. It wasn’t abnormal for Johnny to cling to you like a barnacle for days after coming home from an op, only peeling away when he absolutely had to. They’ve always been around whenever you needed something, always been able to anticipate your wants and desires, always taken care of you, when they’re home. But this… this is different.

But now, it’s all starting to feel… suffocating. Just a little.

It started with your commute to work. You usually walk the few blocks to the train stop, and then ride the E line all the way in to your office, reverse for the way home. You’ve always gotten to work this way, without issue, and you’ve never considered it to pose one, until the morning Johnny walked you the entire way.

“What’re you doing?” You eye him curiously as you slide on your black boots, the ones with the short, chunky heel, the height just enough to keep your pants elevated from the wet sidewalks and streets.

“Walking to the stop with ye?” He quips, like it’s obvious, and you can feel the tug of the sour frown on your lips. Why is he walking you to the train? He never does that.

“You don’t need to… I’m fine on my own.” The last sip of decaf washes down your throat, and you reach for your bag.

“I know, still…” he trails off, and his hand folds over yours, rubbing a thumb across your knuckles before sliding your grip free, and pulling the black bag into his own. He steps closer, and closer, until you can feel the heat of his breath, the warmth of his skin on yours. He cups a hand over your belly, sliding up and down before lowering his mouth to yours sweetly, pressing his lips against for you a long kiss. “Gotta take care of you two.” He says when he pulls away, and you can’t stop the playful eye roll that comes as a response.

“Okay, fine.”

You let it go, because you didn’t mind the extra company, and it wasn’t like he was getting on the train with you. Just walking you to and from the stop. Every day. Rain or shine.

You had assured them both, a week later, that no one needed to walk the few blocks with you, but Simon shook his head immediately, squashing your insistence, and you dropped it.

And then, a few days later, you tried to go to the grocery store.

“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry.” Johnny begs, eyes wide with concern, while Simon sits next to you, soft hand on your neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just… I have all these emotions and they feel so strong right now.” Hormones. That’s what you blamed mostly everything on right now, the baby making you feel somewhat crazy, crazier than you normally feel.

“It’s alright.” Simon tries to soothe you, and you nod before leaning over into his chest. There’s some shifting, and then Johnny is cuddled up on your other side, arms holding you firmly.

You sit there for a while, until you feel composed, until your heart rate is normal, your breathing even and head clear.

“Okay.” You sniffle and wipe your nose with a laugh. “Okay. I’m okay. I’m going to get going.”

“Get going?” Simon poses the question with an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I was going to the grocery store… remember?” You gesture to the pile of canvas bags on the table, and Johnny frowns.

“I can go for you, darling.”

“No, I want to go. It’ll be good, get some fresh air. Get out of the flat.” Simon stills, muscles zinging into stone, lines of his face shifting until they’re frozen. The scar on his chin shines in the low light of the lamp, and you watch the sheen of the pink flesh move when his teeth grind.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You hate the store. And it’s not-“

“I don’t mind.” He responds instantly, and you shrug.

He keeps a hand on you the entire time. Firm pressure on the small of your back as you walk, arm around your waist as you stand in front of the dairy fridge. He takes up so much space, it makes everyone else circumvent around you, and when he scowls at them, they scurry in opposite directions.

“Are you… is everything, okay?” You’re hesitant with the question, and he looks down in concern.

“Of course, are you alright?”

“I’m fine… you just seem. On edge.” He rolls his neck and then shakes his head no, before pulling the now full canvas bag from your hands.

“Everything is alright, darling. Don’t worry.” You can’t help but give him a skeptical look, before sighing, turning away to start towards the yogurt. You rub your belly absentmindedly, eyeing the ice cream, when you feel something bump you, the hard edge of metal in your back, like a trolley, and you turn to see a teenager with a gobsmacked look on his face.

“So sorry, I didn’t mean-“ the kid tries to get out his apology but it’s far too late, Simon’s already corralling you in his arms, pulling you away and into him while openly glaring at the scared teen.

“Watch where yer bloody walking.” He hisses, and you can see the harsh line of his jaw just beneath the mask, veins in his arms flaring to life with his anger.

“Hey, Si.” You rub his forearm, trying to pull his attention from where the kid stands, practically shaking in fear. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.” You give the kid a jerk of your head, the ‘get lost’ signal, and he scampers off without another word. “I’m okay. He hardly bumped me.” You whisper, folding your hand into his and tugging him closer. His gaze is locked to the teenager’s retreating back, until he snaps out of it, eyes finding yours with soft relief. “See?” You flourish your arms like you’re on display, and he rubs his face tiredly.

“Yeah. I see.”

After that… everything seemed to ramp up. Johnny would ride the train with you now, not just walk you to the stop. If you went for a walk, like your doctor instructed you should still be doing, they were hot on your heels. If you wanted to go out for something, like to run an errand, one of them was with you, like a shadow. It was consistent. Non stop. Suffocating.

And you let it build up. You let the hovering and following and everything go on and on until you couldn’t anymore. Until it all exploded.

You stop dead on the path, gravel crunching under the heel of your sneaker.

“What is going on with you two?” You demand, turning to face them both, fully. Johnny holds a water bottle out to you helplessly, like he thinks it will help quell your irritation, and you glare at it.

“What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong. Or off. You’re both… hovering. More than usual. More than… well, normal.”

“No we’re not.” Johnny denies and you scoff.

“Yeah, okay. Why are you lying?” When they stay silent, observing you, withholding from you, you feel the tears start to sting along your waterline.

“Oh darling, no. Please, don’t cry.”

“I thought we’re supposed to b-be honest with each other, and that’s clearly not what’s happening here.” You cry, fat tears now dripping down your cheeks, pressure in your chest mounting as you grapple with whatever it could be that they’re hiding.

“It’s not-“ Johnny starts but is cut off by Simon.

“We’re worried.”

“About what?”

“You. Us. Everything thing… it’s, this. Is a lot. For anyone.” A lot. A lot? A lot for you, maybe. Not so much for them. The bitter thought sinks like lead in your stomach. This was an accident. No one meant for this to happen, relax.

Still, it’s not like they were pregnant.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“We just worry, about everything. About you, and the baby. If something were to happen…” Johnny trails off, uncomfortable look on his face.

“We worry about you, darling.” Simon approaches you softly. “We worry it’s too much, about how you’re faring, if you’re overwhelmed, if you’re feeling like this is too much, if you might want to run-“

Oh.

They’re worried you might bolt. Worried you might pack up and leave.

“I see.” The truth can sting, sometimes. When it comes from them, when it feels like they have so little faith in you.

You don’t respond, just rub an anxious palm over your belly while you wipe your tears with your free hand and hiccup through your tears.

“That’s what you think of me? That I’ll just… up and leave?” You leave the ‘again’ off the end of that question, because no one needs the reminder.

“No!”

“No.” Simon shakes his head. “No, darling. We’re sorry. We’re just… on edge. It’s a big thing, that’s happening.” You laugh a little, and step forward, just close enough for touch. Simon rubs your back, while Johnny rests your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Really big thing… we’re having a baby.”

#peaches asks #mothcelestial #peaches writes #disco baby au

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vctrvn-ls · 9 months

Text

How they’d react to you crying |Beta Squad|

Scenario: Imagine they come home and see you crying for the first time bcs smth happened (idk what it doesn’t matter)

U know 3am thoughts as always

edit: not proof read , I accidentally posted it alr so doesn’t matter 💀

· ·──────────────· ·

Niko

Would first be shocked. His dialogue filled with oh no's and small gasps before he sits down beside you wraps his arms around you, asking what's wrong. Niko would be so patient. He'd wait for you to calm down, stop crying and get your thoughts together before explaining what was wrong. He wouldnt let go of you, he'd be holding onto you to you until you were stable enough to speak because seeing you cry would hurt him so much. After carefully listening to what you had to say, he'd instantly start coming up with things that would distract you. Food, movie night, shopping, nap, anything you'd want. And for the rest of the day he'd be so so worried for you, even if you had already calmed down completely, he'd still be so concerned because he cares so so much.

· ·──────────────· ·

AJ wouldn't freak out, I feel like he would handle the situation pretty well. He'd sit down beside you, ask you what's wrong and if you'd rather be left alone or you'd rather he stay. For AJ the most important thing is working out wether you wanted him beside you, hugging you, comforting you or if you'd prefer to be left alone with yourself until you calmed down.

As I said he wouldn't panic, he'd find the right way to calm you down and get you to explain everything to him. And after that he'd give you advice, help solve your issue or just be by your side for the rest of the night.

· ·──────────────· ·

Sharky

The sweetest person. He wouldn't hesitate to come rushing over to you, wiping your tears with his sleeve before kissing your forehead and pulling you into a tight hug. For him comfort comes first. He needs you to know that he's right there with you, that he cares and he's just as worried as you are. And after feeling his love and warmth, you'd quickly calm down and tell him everything. He'd thoroughly listen to all your words and then together you'd come up with a solution to your problem or if something tragic happened he'd express his sympathy with a few genuine lines.

For the rest of the day he'd be extra affectionate (if that's even possible). He wouldnt go over the top though, he already knows what you like and what you don't, so that's wouldn't be a challenge (?)

· ·──────────────· ·

Kenny

Poor Kenny would be so shocked to see you cry he'd even put his hand over his mouth and gasp. There would be a looot of oh my gosh's, we know Kenny. He'd pull you into a hug, making you crumble even more. He would be clueless on what to say or how to act, so he'd just sit there, stroke your back and keep repeating "It's okay" over and over. You’d feel so so safe in his embrace and so comforted by his soft tone and genuine concern that in no time you’d end up telling him everything and of course get maximum support from him after you do.

· ·──────────────· ·

Chunkz

Now I think Chunkz would be the calmest. He’d act composed, and he would want you to get all your emotions out. “It’s ok to cry” , “it’s alright let it all out” he’d say as he holds you close to his chest. And after some time and some more soothing words, he’d get up and make you a cup of tea (or your favorite warm drink) and the two of you would sit at a table and talk about what happened. He’d definitely give the best advice, or words of encouragement, (depending on what you need) and afterwards you’d fill a shit ton better and very grateful. Chunky we love you!!!

· ·──────────────· ·

#beta squad #youtube #niko omilana #chunkz #aj shabeel #king kenny #sharky #ndl #fanfic

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lilacmingi · 4 months

Text

ALICE IN WONDERLAND AU ♤ PART 3: YOONGI

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT read/interact with me or my works

Pairing: Cheshire cat!Yoongi x fem reader

Word count: 2,530

You continued to dart down the uneven stone pathway, running relentlessly even when you felt you were far enough away to stop and walk for a bit. Eventually, your legs started to ache as the adrenaline wore off and fear no longer fueled you. You knew you had to slow down sooner or later, but you feared if you did, it would run the risk of the bandersnatch catching up somehow-that is if Jungkook and Jimin couldn't defeat it.

It didn't take very long for you to realize your surroundings were changing. The cobblestone path was becoming more worn down, the rocks more sparse, and the odd, yet lively plants that surrounded the trail were now replaced with dead tree limbs that resembled long, spindly fingers, and dried up flowers that had lost their color, not to mention the eerie fog covering the ground. Your running slowed to a walk as you scanned the area.

You hadn't the slightest idea where you were. You were lost and alone with no one around to guide you through this unfamiliar land that was so different from home. At that point, you started thinking that staying with Jungkook and Jimin was a better choice, even if you risked getting yourself killed by doing so.

Peering ahead, you saw what looked like a sign with multiple arrows in various sizes pointing in multiple directions. You released a sigh of relief, glad to have found some sort of means to point you in the right direction.

"Thank goodness."

You made your way down the fog-covered path until you reached the sign. Your hopes were immediately crushed when you didn't see Hatter anywhere on it. As a matter of fact, the signs didn't even make sense. All the arrows were pointing in different directions and were labeled: here, there, this way, that way, yonder, turn around, wrong way.

"This doesn't even make any sense." You mumbled under your breath.

Where's there? And what's this way? Better yet, what's that way?

Tears began to well in your eyes. None of the signs were helpful and you didn't know which way would lead you out. It seemed silly to cry over something like this, but your worry and frustration had built up so much that it was being released in the form of crying and there was no way to stop it. You collapsed on the ground, feeling utterly defeated.

"I'll never get out of here." You sobbed hopelessly to yourself, sniffling softly.

"You're a long way from where you need to be, aren't you, little one?"

You lifted your head at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, scanning your surroundings for the source, not seeing a single person anywhere in the vicinity.

"Who said that?"

A deep chuckle came from somewhere up in the trees, your eyes darting frantically about the area trying to find the source of the voice.

"Stop playing around!" You stood up and wiped your eyes. "Where are you?"

"Over here." He tittered lowly.

Your head snapped in the direction of the voice, but again, you didn't see anyone. Spinning on your heel, you whirled around and saw a man stretched out on a thick tree limb, except this person wasn't fully a man. He had grey cat ears that stuck out of his long, black hair and a tail with turquoise stripes that swished back and forth lazily behind him.

He sported a leather jacket with a ripped up white t-shirt underneath and black jeans with tears in the knees paired with a pair of chunky leather boots.

His sudden presence made you startle. He chuckled at you, finding your reaction amusing.

"Stop laughing at me." You snapped.

In the blink of an eye, he appeared in front of you, leaving gray wisps of smoke in his wake.

"I wouldn't be talking like that to someone I just met." His turquoise cat eyes held a threatening glow. "Who do you think you are?" He inquired pointedly, running his hand down your arm, his eyes examining you from top to bottom sending a shiver down your spine.

"I'm Y/n."

His cat ears perked up at the sound of your name and his sharp eyes widened in interest.

"Y/n?" He echoed.

You gave a single nod of confirmation.

"Hm." He smirked. "What an attractive young woman you've become." His tail flicked side to side as his eyes stayed glued to you.

"Stop that." You backed away.

"Oh, Y/n, don't you remember? We had a lot of fun last time you were here."

"W-what?" You stuttered out.

His shoulders shook as he let out raspy chortles. "I'm kidding." He pinched your cheek affectionately. "You're far too easy to fool. So naive."

"Who are you anyway?" You prodded, pretending not to be offended by his comment.

"I'm Yoongi. You don't remember me?"

"No." You sighed. "I don't remember anything."

His amused expression morphed into one that showed perplexmxent and perhaps even slight disappointment.

"Ah." He murmured, disappearing in a swirl of smoke.

"Hey! Where'd you go?" You asked the air around you, spinning in a circle to try and locate him again.

"Up here."

You looked up but didn't see him anywhere in sight. Then, just as quickly as it had happened the first time, he reappeared on the tree limb he was lounging across moments earlier.

"How are you doing that?" The question spilled from your lips before your brain had a chance to catch up and stop it.

"Magic." He responded while doing jazz hands, though his tone was less than enthusiastic.

His reply left you unimpressed.

"So, what brings you back to Wonderland, little one?" He questioned, swinging his leg back and forth off the side of the tree limb.

"I'm not a child." You retorted in reference to the name little one.

"I didn't say you were." He shot you a brief glance. "You didn't answer my question."

"Jungkook."

"Bunny boy?"

"Yeah. Him."

"What did he do?"

"For starters, he was hiding in my rose garden. I got suspicious and chased after him, thus resulting in me falling down the rabbit hole."

"How did you end up all the way out here?"

"Jungkook and I ran into Jimin and we got attacked by the bandersnatch. They both stayed behind to fight it." You cast your eyes on the ground. "I hope they're okay."

"Despite both of them being complete idiots sometimes, they're really strong and don't back down easily." Yoongi assured you.

You nodded, hoping that was true, though your mind kept flashing horrifying images of their lifeless bodies lying in the middle of the path covered in bloody gashes. You shivered.

"Why were you crying earlier?"

Yoongi's question distracted you from the gruesome images your brain had decided to put on a mental slideshow unwarranted.

"You saw that?" You questioned meekly.

"I see everything, sweetheart. I may lie around and nap in the trees all day, but I know what's going on around me. So, why were you crying? Tell me."

"I'm lost. After I ran away from the bandersnatch I followed the path but I ended up here."

"Where exactly are you headed?"

"Well, Jungkook and Jimin were trying to get me to the Hatter."

"The Hatter?" Yoongi sat up. "That psycho?"

"Yes?" The statement came out like a question and you furrowed your brows.

"Right. You don't remember."

"Why call him a psycho? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing, I suppose." He sighed. "That's just my opinion. He's completely off his rocker, that guy."

"Well, do you know how I can get to him? These signs aren't very helpful."

"I can take you." Yoongi volunteered, disappearing from the tree limb and reappearing at your side.

You flinched a little and he chuckled.

"Follow me, sweetheart." He grinned and disappeared, popping back up a few feet ahead. "You coming or not?"

"You have got to stop disappearing and reappearing like that. It's making me nervous."

"Whatever you say, pretty." He tittered.

He waited for you to catch up before the two of you proceeded down the dirt path, headed in the direction of hopefully the Hatter.

You hadn't known Yoongi for very long, but one thing you learned was that he was confident and incredibly flirtatious. He was undeniably attractive, there was no doubt about that, and had this air about him that made him even more attractive if that was even possible. You weren't exactly sure how to describe it other than nonchalant, maybe even a little cocky, or perhaps that was the confidence. Either way, he knew he was hot.

"What's got you so distracted?" Yoongi asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Nothing." You lied.

"Don't pretend like you aren't attracted to me."

"I beg your pardon?" You barely managed to get the question out without stuttering.

"You heard me, darling."

Your heart fluttered at the nickname.

He could see the way his suave nature effected you, the way you avoided eye contact with him and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. He could see right through you.

Turning away, you trained your eyes on the scraggly trees, trying to calm the heat that rose to your cheeks.

Yoongi's footsteps stopped which caused you to stop as well. He placed his finger underneath your chin and turned your face towards his, his bright turquoise irises dropping down to your lips.

"Yoongi?" You uttered, your voice sounding meek.

"Y/n." He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, dark strands of hair falling into his face. "I had no idea you'd grow up to be so irresistibly attractive."

Your mouth opened only to snap shut. You were unable to formulate a response.

"Look at you getting all flustered again. You're completely speechless." He tilted his head, more lengthy strands of his raven locks falling over his eyes as he smirked in amusement.

Your eyes widened at his close proximity and you tried to back away, but his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked lowly as he started to lean in.

There was no way to stop or avoid it as Yoongi's lips collided with yours, unexpectedly soft and delicate when they touched your own. Part of you wanted to push him away while another part was enjoying it and wanted it to continue. Choosing to abandon all rationality, your eyelids closed and you allowed yourself to melt in his arms and indulge. One of Yoongi's hands moved to cradle your jaw while his lips massaged yours, gliding fluidly against them like they were made for each other.

The kiss ended almost as quickly as it began and next thing you knew, Yoongi was pulling away, straightening his shoulders.

"Alright. I'd best be getting you to the Hatter." He announced and continued walking.

"What was that for?" You asked, breaking into a brief speed walk so you could catch up.

"What was what for?"

"Stop acting like you didn't just kiss me."

"Stop acting like you didn't like it." He grinned.

You didn't respond.

"I knew it." He chuckled. "Tell me something, Y/n. Jungkook or Jimin didn't beat me to it, did they?"

Your cheeks got hot at the thought of Jungkook ravishing your neck with kisses. Not to mention Jimin kissing your forehead and cheek.

"No."

"Good." He smirked proudly.

"Not my lips at least." You muttered under your breath, barely audible.

"What do you mean by that? Did they kiss you?"

You didn't respond, internally scolding yourself for letting that little tidbit slip.

"Where?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Well, judging by that pink spot on your neck I'm guessing one of them kissed you there."

"Hey!" Your entire face was set ablaze while you moved your hair around to cover the spot.

"So where'd the other one kiss you?"

You crossed your arms defiantly. That was information you refused to disclose with him.

"That's fine." He shrugged. "As long as I'm the first to kiss you on the lips, I'm satisfied."

Your jaw nearly fell to the ground. This guy was absolutely shameless.

"My legs are getting tired." Yoongi griped aloud.

Immediately after the complaint left his mouth, his feet lifted off the ground and he started floating in the air, lying on his back with his hands behind his head.

The expression on your face was one of complete and utter shock.

Yoongi merely responded with a sardonic, "I told you. Magic."

"You can't possibly be tired already."

"I am. I'm not used to walking so much. My poor legs can't handle it." He pouted.

"Oh boohoo."

"You know, Y/n, if your legs get tired you're welcome to come up here with me." He gleamed, his Cheshire grin looking more foxlike rather than catlike.

"You're audacious."

"Ah, but you like my audaciousness, don't you, little one?"

He could see right through you and it was embarrassing.

"Forget it, cat boy."

A clear look of offense flashed across his features, his brows twitching.

"That's right. I've got nicknames too." You remarked snarkily.

"Don't call me that."

"You seem to be calling me whatever you want, so why can't I do the same? Hm?"

"I don't like it. It sounds soft." He grumbled.

"I don't know, you seem pretty soft. Especially with those cute ears and that tail."

"I-it's not cute." A faint blush blossomed on his cheeks and you found yourself feeling proud that he stumbled his words.

It felt good to have the upper hand.

"Aw I got the tough guy all flustered now." You teased.

"I'm not flustered—and I prefer the term bad boy."

He was back to his cocky self once again.

An unknown amount of time passed before you started noticing the familiar mushrooms and mix of unique-looking plants showing up amongst the twiggy vines and trees.

"We're getting close." Yoongi stated.

You hummed in acknowledgment.

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I'm upset that you don't remember me, or any of this for that matter." He gestured. "I don't understand how you could possibly forget this place and all of the people you met."

"Trust me, I'm upset too. I've felt like nothing but a disappointment since I got here. Everyone I've met so far expected me to remember my supposed last visit here and I've let them down. Or maybe my mind has let me down. I've asked myself why I forgot so many times." You heaved a sigh. "Jungkook and Jimin said it might come back to me, but I'm starting to think that's impossible. If my memory hasn't been jogged already, I doubt my memories will return."

"Don't be like that. You went through a lot last time you were here. I'm sure your memories of this place are still tucked away somewhere in that pretty little head of yours."

You nodded, choosing to look past the not-so-smooth pretty he threw in there.

The sound of laughter coupled with the clanking of glass and tableware in the distance reached your ears, putting an abrupt end to your conversation.

"We're here." Yoongi announced.

➯ Part 4: Taehyung

Masterlist ᝰ

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

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#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #bts alice in wonderland au #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n

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jiminrings · 2 years

Text

four seven eight (3)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 11k

glimpse: now that your month-long break’s over, you’re supposed to come home to jungkook at eight in the morning, right before he wakes up — it’s been two hours now, why are you still not home?

alternatively, jungkook will fight with you even if it’s the last thing he’ll do.

[ part one + intermission + part two + intermission 02 + finale ]

[ fluff, full-fledged redemption arc I Swear, some angst, jealous jk, so much longing, references to anxiety, suggestive themes n flirting, everything gets sorted out, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex ]

notes: it’s the finale now can u believe :O thank u for staying tuned for the past two weeks — i sincerely cherish each one of u who’s ever interacted with 478 and took the time to be with me throughout the whole thing!! i’ll be taking a lil break this summer btw see u on the next fic <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :) | series masterlist

The mornings are too long for Jungkook.

They’ve been too long since your break started, dragging out endlessly that he’s just started to close the curtains to not be reminded that the sunset’s still hours away before it fades into night. Mornings were too bright; too intimate to be spent by himself. When you leave for work, you already leave before sunrise, but that’s still morning in your husband’s head.

Jungkook misses his mornings with you.

He misses the mornings where it’s still dark out and he’s been asleep enough for long that he could make out your figure in the dark, either buried to his arm or to his pillow despite the huge expanse of your bed. Mornings nowadays were only reminders for him that he didn’t overthink nor cry himself to the point of passing out from the night before.

He longs for the mornings where his alarm rings before yours and he fumbles to get up immediately, actually excited to wake up for the day. The routine starts with him kissing you on the cheek as silently as he could before replacing himself with a pillow so you could still embrace something while you’re asleep, navigating the dark without turning the lights on so you wouldn’t wake up. The next thing he does is prepare you your breakfast, and if you want to savor in all your sleep and just squeeze in a quick shower, he’s just as ready to pack your meal for you to eat on the go.

The evenings are just as hard but they’re not as long as mornings. If Jungkook spends his nights regretting, then he spends his mornings longing. Reliving his guilt is just as draining the way Jungkook feels like his stomach’s sinking to the floor, but especially during evenings, the guilt is what reminds him that he’s learning.

Longing feels way worse.

Longing feels worse especially during mornings because unlike guilt, it’s formless. It’s fluid enough that it doesn’t make Jungkook cry point-blank nor feel the urge to smack himself in the head for being stupid. It’s listless and repetitive, sneaking into every thought he could form during sunlight. It’s worse than guilt because unlike the bile that rises to his throat, longing is the absence of it. His yearning is what reminds him of who he’s missing.

Even the cat knows who’s missing.

“Miso,” Jungkook hums to your pet that’s the only one who’s been keeping him company these days, the chunky mass of fur not exactly having a choice.

She’s gotten warmer to him when usually her kindness would only be reserved for you. The more bitchy, devious side of her rescinding from the amount of undivided attention Jungkook gives her now. He’s been teaching her tricks — practical, useful tricks.

“If you ever see this man with mommy,” Jungkook hums, showing Miso a picture of Yoongi on his phone. He interrupts himself with a thought, smiling to why he didn’t think of the correction earlier. “Or y’know what? Even if you just see this man, I need you to scratch him, okay?”

Jungkook scratches her chin to get her to look at him, repeating his words again while humming to retain the information on her tiny brain. Mornings are more survivable this way, even if he’s spent the entirety of the past week’s mornings teaching Miso tricks. So far, she knows how to sit, roll around, and jump kick the door to close it.

Hopefully, she also learns the petty trick of hunting Yoongi in the event that she sees him.

Jungkook hums in satisfaction while he gets Miso’s toy, seeing her ears twitch in anticipation. He establishes your co-star’s name (he’s too caught up to even acknowledge him as your friend) to her so not only would she know what he looks like, but also know who is he. “Here, Miso. Practice on this. Pretend that this rat is Yoongi.”

The thought that crosses Jungkook’s mind recently these days is that he doesn’t even know what exactly to feel about Yoongi. He knows him, sure, but only in the same degree that he vaguely knows everyone his wife’s associated to somehow. He knew of him both as an actor and as your acquaintance back then, but just like with everyone else, Jungkook didn’t ask about him. He didn’t ask you all that much about him because there’s no reason to, his trust paramount enough that he didn’t even consider the possibility that Yoongi had a thing for you.

Maybe it’s his fault, Jungkook thinks. Maybe it’s no one’s fault at all because to think of it, he can’t blame Yoongi either.

You’re lovable. Extremely and undoubtedly lovable wherever you go, but the thing is, it isn’t your fault either. Jungkook thinks that perhaps you don’t even know just how admirable you are, the realization sinking into him sometimes that out of all people, it’s him whom you love.

Yoongi’s undeserving of his anger but Jungkook doesn’t know where else to put it, the abundance of it overflowing on himself that even if he knows how wrong it is, he pins it to your friend for the meantime.

In the same vein, Sora’s undeserving of your anger too. She isn’t responsible for any of your insecurities because in the first place, she didn’t even know about the concept of you initially.

Even though both Sora and Yoongi are pillars of your past, the latter continues to be in your present and it’s something Jungkook has to learn to grow accustomed to. Sora’s an ex, Yoongi isn’t. He’s harmless as an almost-your-lover could come, being your best friend at the most with no malice behind his warmth. He’s not responsible either for Jungkook’s insecurities — at the end of the day, it boils down between you and your husband.

You quickly realize that your month apart with Jungkook shouldn’t only remain stagnant. He’s trying and so should you, his pride nowhere to be found nowadays that it’s slightly painful to watch. You’re not devoid of faults entirely, the need to make things right with him from your side of the plate becoming more and more apparent each day.

You’re not even one full ring in until Jungkook immediately answers, his habit of keeping his phone with him at all times paying off now that you called him first.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you hum, trying to swallow down your nervousness. You’re stalling with conversation but he doesn’t need to know that. “Are you free this weekend? It’s the last day of renovation at the shop and my parents want us there.”

“Of course I’m free,” Jungkook answers instantly, furrowing his brows in confusion. He doesn’t even know why you’re asking at this point, the both of you knowing he hasn’t denied the offer once. “I’m a househusband, y’know? Your husband. Why wouldn’t I be there?”

He’s not hurt at your doubt for him but what he feels is close enough, akin to the confusion of why you’re silent.

“Dunno,” you clear your throat, playing with the fraying ends of your throw blanket that you’ve been anxiously taking apart since you started staying in your house. “Thought you were busy.”

“I’m busy missing you if that wasn’t established enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll meet you there,” your throat clears at your husband’s deadpanning, sensing that he’s not playing around at the moment with his moment.

Jungkook sighs, letting go of the hurt that comes with your unsureness of his presence just seconds ago. He speaks more lightly this time, a chuckle leaving him. “Should I tell them you slept in? Or do I think of another excuse why we aren’t coming together in one car?”

“Just surprise me, I’ll act along with it,” you sigh in relief at the absence of hostility, rubbing your eyes in thought.

You think of how it would go — if Jungkook’s eyes would light up again once you enter the shop, or if he would kiss your cheek again to greet you in front of your parents. You wonder if he’ll hold you again this time, slinging a warm hand on your waist that’ll make you instinctively lean into him.

Jungkook wonders how he’ll approach you this time — if your eyes would widen when he kisses your cheek tenderly, or if you would notice how he breathes in your perfume that lingers in your hair. He wonders if you’ll reciprocate his affection and put a hand on his waist, enough to make a man like him soften in your hold.

Suddenly, Jungkook doesn’t mind that much anymore that the two of you would come to the shop separately, all if it would mean that he’d get to hold you again just like last time.

There’s a silence that lingers, one that’s peaceful for Jungkook yet loaded for you. You’re deflecting without even trying to, clearing your throat to get rid of the lump that comes with the urge to say what you really needed to. “Also, my parents want Miso to be there too. Do you think you can take her with you? What’s she up to?”

Your parents do miss Miso but not to the point that they’ve outright asked if you could take her with you, hoping that your impromptu plan of dragging their name along for the sake of making conversation with Jungkook doesn’t bite you in the ass later on.

“I can take her, no problem. She’s gotten close to me,” Jungkook hums, getting a loud meow right on time when she returns the toy rat to his palm and you pick up on it.

“Is that her? What’s she doing now?”

“Nothing much, I’m just teaching her how to hunt.”

“But cats already are hunters.”

“Yeah, but I’m teaching her how to hunt a specific person,” Jungkook mumbles in the same time your courage finally gets filled to the brim in your head, the go signal loudly beeping to make you cut to the chase.

“Jungkook, I need to tell you-” your focus is momentarily interrupted, his words belatedly sinking into your head. “Did you just say person?”

“Nothing. I said nothing. What were you going to say?”

Jungkook dismisses your worries even if what he said only slightly bothered you, eagerly waiting for your words. You wait for yourself even with bated breath, wanting to get this over with.

You count to three in your head, screwing your eyes shut. Now wasn’t the time to deflect; not the time for your roles with Jungkook to switch because you could feel that you were being passive while he was being proactive. If Jungkook’s trying, then you need to try too.

“I just wanted to tell you about the episode that’s dropping tomorrow,” you finally say, tugging harshly at a particular thread that it digs into your fingers. “Yoongi and I kiss.”

It’s normal. You’re no stranger to kissing scenes considering that it’s a part of your job. You’ve done it as a minor character already, even when you and Jungkook were still dating and not yet married. You tell him about your acting scenes in passing, especially some that required you to be affectionate and intimate to a certain degree.

Jungkook understands, he should understand. Acting’s your passion and your actual job, one that kept you going. He’s merely a husband at home who’s unconnected to your job and therefore should understand that sometimes, his wife needs to kiss someone else who isn’t him.

He knows he needs to understand that this time, you needed to kiss Yoongi, someone who was almost your lover; yet you don’t know of at the moment. He should grasp that his wife has a drama episode where she kisses Yoongi, one whom she’s linked to in a dating scandal.

Jungkook tries his best to understand but his comprehension doesn’t equate to ease, feeling the burn in his throat when he asks you.

“How many times?” he asks meekly, gnawing on his bottom lip and ignoring Miso for the meantime, the cat concerned because her owner simply just froze into the couch. “How many times do you need to kiss in the episode? In the whole series?”

“We haven’t wrapped up filming for the drama,” you admit, looking down on your lap in unease even if you can’t feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. “But this episode? I have uhm — Yoongi and I have four scenes.”

“And how many takes did it need?” Jungkook asks next, distancing the phone from him a little so you wouldn’t hear his heavy exhales. “It’s a drama, right? Surely there’s a hundred angles and rewinds on one kiss alone.”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking. He doesn’t know if he’s committing penance from wanting to know how many times his wife had to kiss her onscreen partner. He still asks even if he knows that whatever answer you’d give him, it would still sting. “Ten? More than ten?”

“I didn’t count, Jungkook,” you answer truthfully, rubbing your temple.

“Was it too many to count then?”

His retort comes out a little piqued, a little too sharp that it makes you sigh. Jungkook reminds himself to calm down and not think about you kissing Yoongi at all. To not think about you kissing and least of all, loving someone who isn’t him.

“Sorry. Thanks for giving me a heads-up,” he apologizes, the discomfort in his stomach slowly rising that he can’t stay seated. “Miso’s... Miso needs food now. She won’t stop meowing.”

There’s no meows at all. No urgent pawing from her that signified she wanted her food bowl to be filled.

The two of you both know that he just needs a little time; a little time to try and breathe. Jungkook urgently needs to get his mind off that he rushingly ends the call, not even waiting for a reply. “Thank you. Bye. I love you.”

Four seconds. Breathe in through your nose.

Seven seconds. Hold it.

Eight seconds. Exhale through your mouth.

He doesn’t know what to do, seeing you and Yoongi be intimate. He’s watched every episode of the drama so far and he could still swallow your dialogue with his character. He chuckles at the banter when you cuss him out. He smiles when the cinematography captures you the way his eyes do, through the lens of someone who loves you deeply.

He doesn’t know what he’d feel seeing you, along with a lot more people at this case, kiss Yoongi. He doesn’t know what to feel knowing that just like the vast majority of people and fans outside of your closest and most trusted family and friends, nobody knows that he’s your husband.

It’s hurtful but it’s needed, a reminder he engraves in his brain because this is what he initially thought he wanted for himself. Nowadays, he wants nothing more than everyone to know that he’s yours.

Jungkook reminds himself to breathe.

( ♡ )

All the lights are turned on.

All the lights are turned on along with every other single discomfort Jungkook could think of that would take away the intimacy when tonight’s episode drops.

He gave Miso the loudest and most annoying toy she could ever play with, the tinkling of the bell inside the bouncy ball ringing almost every minute. He took a shower and barely dried off his hair, the ends of it still dripping wet to the cushions of the couch. Jungkook orchestrates everything to be at unease so he’d be distracted when the real unease comes, the tiny little inconveniences hopefully enough to cancel out what he’ll be seeing later.

“Can you stay on the call with me? I need you to tell me when it starts and when it ends,” Jungkook mumbles to his phone, the volume on loudspeaker so it would disrupt him too.

“You could just not watch the episode,” you sigh, offering the simplest and most effective solution to his current problem. You don’t even know why he’d willingly put himself through this, aware that the kissing scenes would do nothing to alleviate the matters of his heart and mind.

Jungkook snickers under his breath, dragging out his exhale when he explains his dilemma. He didn’t want to be selfish, unable to forego watching the episode just because he’s throwing a hissy fit over his wife’s job.

“I watch every episode to support you, though. Not everyone could say their wife’s on TV.”

Somehow, you get it. You could grasp Jungkook’s eagerness to support you by watching you do what you love most, and in the same time comprehend his aversion that doing what you love most somehow entails landing your commitment to kiss Yoongi.

You get it, you try your best to understand where Jungkook’s coming from but at this point, you’re merely a bystander to his worries. Neither are you there nor capable enough to do something about it.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook. But I can’t — I can’t do anything about it, y’know? This is work,” you emphasize, hoping that the reminder of your job atleast helps the webbing that’s in his mind. “I can’t think of any romantic drama that doesn’t have a kissing scene in it.”

There’s the sinking feeling again in Jungkook’s stomach, one that tells him he’s asking too much from you despite barely verbalizing it at all. He feels selfish to the point that he’s even called you tonight even if he didn’t ask beforehand if it was okay, the reminder present that the two of you are on a break for a reason.

You don’t see him now but you could only imagine the conflict that manifests in his downturned lips, eyes beady and remaining shut while he tries to regain his bearings.

“Do you want me to turn on my video? So you could see me, if it helps,” you offer gently, not wanting to get ahead of yourself in the event that Jungkook can’t even stomach looking at you.

“It’ll help,” Jungkook instantly answers, shoulders slacking in relief when he sees you on his phone. He lets himself smily briefly, turning on his own video once he sees you settled in. He sets his phone (or rather you) on the coffee table, the angle turned upwards so you could see him resting into the couch.

If you notice the way that overhead lighting’s used instead of ambient lighting, despite the disuse of the latter gives him a headache, you don’t comment on it.

You don’t ask why Jungkook’s hair is sopping wet and why he’s wearing a hoodie that he hates because it made him itch and sweat. There’s no acknowledgement to why he’s wearing his old glasses instead of his new ones, because the ones he’s wearing at the moment are clunky and has an outdated prescription.

In some odd reversal, you’ve become Jungkook during your break with him. You’re observant but you don’t act on it. You listen but you’re silent. You continue to notice everything and process it by yourself instead of doing the easier way of addressing him.

Jungkook’s become more like you — a little more talkative. He’s more obvious and readable nowadays, not one thought going unspoken. He comments continuously, babbling while the episode starts.

He giggles through the funny scenes and comments how you’d say something exactly like your character would in real life, absorbed into the show that he doesn’t even know you’re only looking at him.

You see every smile that forms in his face whenever you come into the frame, eyes twinkling when he sees that smile mirrored on the screen as if you could see him while you were filming the episode and knew he’d be watching.

The video’s clear and although not comparable to what you’d see if you were face to face, you could see every detail and every thought that passes through your husband’s visage. You see the way his lips would purse whenever Yoongi’s character pursues you, mind going a little blank when he sees him reaching out for either your hand or your waist.

You see Jungkook through the first of it, when you hear the familiar score leading up to the first kissing scene of the episode and the entire series for that matter. He was on alert the whole time, but nothing could ever prepare him into seeing you look so deeply into Yoongi as if you’ve known him your whole life.

Nothing could prepare Jungkook into seeing Yoongi smile gently, securing his hand on your cheek when you giggle upon looking at him.

The musical score doesn’t help in the background because it’s of bells and a gentle uprising of the piano, the peak of it powerful enough that it convinces everyone watching that oh — this is probably what love looks like. You and Yoongi on the screen must be perfect enough to convince everyone who’s watching, and even Jungkook for a split second, that your love is what love should look like.

Jungkook’s unprepared when he sees you close your eyes the moment Yoongi leans into you gently, no resistance at all to the love that he gives. Yoongi’s portraying love, he must be, Jungkook thinks. Yoongi’s doing it so well that even he, your husband, is momentarily convinced that Yoongi knows how to love you the most from a kiss alone.

You see everything. You see Jungkook squirm when you press your lips harder to Yoongi’s to reciprocate his kiss, tilting your head to complement his movements so he could kiss you deeper. You see him anxiously play with his wedding band when the camera pans to your ring-less hand gently stroking Yoongi’s nape, your on-screen partner’s hand straying to the small of your back warmly.

There’s no prepared unease that could ever orient Jungkook because seeing you with Yoongi, someone who isn’t him, brings him the greatest discomfort of all. It’s heavy on his body, the trepidation crawling from the base of his skull all the way to the tips of his toes.

It eventually ends, yet it was only the first of four in the episode. The first of the many indefinite kisses he’s yet to see in the entirety of the series.

“Jungkook.”

Your voice is what snaps him out of his reverie, rapidly blinking and genuinely confused when he feels that his cheeks are warm from all the tears he’s been unconsciously shedding throughout the scene.

“Yeah?” his voice croaks, reflecting the sinking feeling that ponders on his ribs.

“I love you.”

You say it gently, the first you’ve ever uttered for almost a whole month of not doing so. You didn’t plan on it and yet it’s already escaped you, unwilling to take it back either because it’s the truth.

“I love you more,” Jungkook smiles, genuine despite being tight-lipped because if he were to smile bigger, the tears would just pour.

“Please don’t cry,” you request, albeit weakly because you can’t find the fight in your voice. It’s unavoidable for him.

“I can’t help it,” Jungkook truthfully says, playing with his wedding band before the thought crosses his mind of what he’s been meaning to say. “I need to tell you something this weekend, by the way.”

“Can’t you say it now?” you hum, growing curious.

“Not really, it’d be better if I say it to you in person.”

Jungkook rewinds his memory of learning from Jimin that Yoongi was so close to being the love of your life, narrowly being beaten by a day. It still hasn’t sunk in completely that it makes Jungkook snicker at thought, having to shake his head to try and get rid of it. “Just thinking about it makes me want to run into oncoming traffic.”

“Is it that bad?” you chuckle, figuring the extent of it now that Jungkook’s joking about it but simultaneously looks devastated.

“For me, yeah,” he answers without a doubt, trailing when he tries to consider your side. He’s not sure, the uncertainty of your reaction almost winding him breathless. “For you… I don’t know.”

Jungkook’s trying to tell you everything and so would you, attempting to bare it all no matter the initial unease it brings.

“I wanted to say something to you too,” you clear your throat, rethinking the night at the club that Yoongi admitted he has a crush on you.

“Is it worse than what I have to say?” Jungkook chuckles, looking at the screen with a hope you can’t distinguish.

“I can’t tell either.”

Jungkook nods but it’s apparent that neither of you could leave the conversation at that, a little antsy to know something yet not everything at this time of night.

“How about we say a keyword each?” he pipes in, the suggestion being more than welcome. “That way, we’re not entirely clueless before we see each other this weekend.”

“That could work,” you try to say nonchalantly, attempting to disguise your curiosity into relaxation yet you can’t do it anyway. “One, two, three.”

“Yoongi.”

“That fucking guy,” Jungkook humorlessly chuckles, shaking his head once it sinks into him that Yoongi happens to be the common denominator of the things you wanted to admit to each other. It’s not lost on him that Yoongi just happens to be a variable, but the more irrational part of his brain is what makes him angry at the guy.

“We have different things to say that somehow involves Yoongi too, hm?” you ask despite knowing the answer, seeing your husband suck in a harsh inhale.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he breathes out, rolling his eyes when his face appears in his sight for a second. “Yoongi that fucking rat.”

Jungkook utters your friend’s name with such venom that it wakes Miso up, the ball of fluff previously asleep in the corner of the living room yet came to life as soon as she heard rat and Yoongi in the same sentence.

Miso suddenly speeds into the couch on high alert, tail puffed up as she runs and sits next to Jungkook, obviously in a panic and on the lookout. It happens so fast that your husband barely even registers it until you ask in a hurry.

“Why’s Miso angry?”

The realization clicks in Jungkook’s head soon enough, the moment becoming the peak of the lessons he’s taught the cat every morning for the past week. “I taught her. Watch.”

“Miso,” Jungkook drawls, scratching her chin before pointing to the screen. “Who’s that? Isn’t that Yoongi?”

Like clockwork, Miso leaps to the TV from a sprint and bounces off of it, the force enough to rock it backwards but not enough to take it out of its mount, thankfully not shattering the screen. Jungkook’s caught it in video, the back camera capturing his proud moment as a (cat)dad.

“Jungkook!” you yelp when you look at the TV, the video once again returning to his face because he realizes now that you don’t need to look at the exact aftermath of Miso’s party trick. “What did you teach our cat?”

“I taught her how to hunt,” he huffs as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Don’t look at me like that. I have to cope somehow,” he adds, “plus you know Miso. She doesn’t really engage with things she isn’t passionate about.”

It’s true; just like the twenty toys you buy but two of them only stick. When you bought her a cat tower, the box that it came with is what she became fixated on. Even getting used to the baby blue floor couch was a struggle because at the first month of the furniture inhabiting your living room, Miso used to hiss at it simply because she hated it. She became passionate about it soon enough when she figured that the stream of sunlight is perfect for her midday naps.

“What’s that, Miso?” Jungkook gasps now that Miso’s back to him, sat on his lap as she tilts her head on you curiously at the screen. He lends her his ear and just in time does she peer at Jungkook, making it seem like they were gossiping; the sight’s too warm you can’t help but to screenshot. “You don’t like mommy kissing other guys?”

The sudden skit that unfolds catches you off-guard, warranting a surprised cackle from your lips that makes Jungkook crack up.

“That kissing scene alone can buy you five years’ worth of cat food, Miso.”

“What was that, baby?” Jungkook gasps once again, brows furrowed as he stares down Miso who’s definitely not talking. “You’d rather starve than see mommy kissing that guy again?!”

“Miso’s new trick is to talk?” you pipe in when Jungkook doesn’t let the act go, tilting your head. You playfully chuckle, raising your eyebrows at him. “Are you jealous? Is that it?”

“Amongst other deprecating things, believe me,” he mumbles, resorting to cradling Miso in his arms like a baby. “I just admitted to teaching our cat to attack Yoongi on command. I’m not exactly hiding that I’m jealous.”

“Jungkook,” you hum with the intention of reminding him something, the switch of tone evident that it makes him alert.

“Yeah, baby?” he sighs, running his hand through his hair while he looks at you.

It’s not lost on you that Jungkook called you an endearment other than your name, and yet you try to swallow down your reaction, a tight-lipped smile replacing your previous laugh.

“You just sat through all four kissing scenes. That was the last of the episode.”

His eyes widen because he forgot that the episode was ongoing in the first place, gaze flitting to the screen as he realizes that true enough, the credits are even bound to roll soon. “Oh.”

The silence comes back and as much as you want to linger, you will yourself not to. “I’ll end the call here, alright?”

“Thank you,” Jungkook says, a grateful smile on his lips that you stayed throughout. “I love you,” he reminds. “I mean it.”

All you could give is a timid smile before you drop the call, sighing when you bury your face to the couch; your massive gray couch that is not the baby blue floor couch you have at home.

Jungkook doesn’t need to say the words but he does anyway, reminding you just how sincere he is when he says that he love you. He means it; you’ve always known. “I know you do.”

( ♡ )

The days leading to the end of the break are easier.

They’re easier in the sense that Jungkook can sleep for minutes at a time at night, granted if he had any sort of interaction with you that day. The days are easier as they pass but Jungkook doesn’t grow complacent, putting in the work whenever he could.

You’re positively confused (and a little worried) when you receive an email from Jungkook, a meeting link attached that starts at the exact moment he’s sent you it. You think for a second that he’s hacked because he barely even opens his email, but the signature of <3 jungkook at the bottom tells you that funnily enough, it is your husband.

You indulge him, even if you’re five minutes late from the time it took to fetch your laptop from your bedroom. Jungkook was starting to think you weren’t even gonna show but by the time you enter the meeting room, he’s the one who’s surprised by your sudden barrage of questions.

“You emailed me a link,” your brows furrow. “Is your phone not working? Should I buy you a new one?” you think out-loud but reel yourself in once you see Jungkook patiently waiting for his chance to speak. “I’m not opposed to talking to you virtually, Jungkook. Just… why a Zoom link?”

Jungkook never thought you’d ask, shrugging when you lead him right where he needs you to be. He says it like it’s obvious, as if you’ve been doing this everyday since you got married.

“Because we’re in a meeting,” he trails, retaining his gaze on the screen while he tries to discreetly prepare his slides in the background. “I’m presenting.”

You can’t be any more confused than you are now, having just gotten home from work at ten in the evening. You haven’t even showered yet, too puzzled with Jungkook emailing you that you couldn’t pas it up. “What? Presenting what?”

Once again, you give Jungkook the perfect opening because as soon as the last word leaves your mouth, the screen changes.

It’s a presentation with a very familiar color scheme, big bold letters right at the middle entitled “Why You Should Let Mr. Jeon Win This Time” — the same animation for the text beyond recognizable. The subtext reads as “I’m still very sorry” — the background of the presentation being the very two things you’ve used this presentation for; the baby blue floor couch, and the third-biggest variation of a king-sized bed.

A laugh leaves you even before you could conceal it, the surprise in your face evident with the way you’re covering your face. Jungkook himself laughs at your reaction, a welcome feeling now that he gets to try giving you a presentation of his own.

“Stealing from my book now, hm?” you hum, wiping the stray tears out of your eyes. “Be honest, you love the couch. You love the bed too!”

It’s a welcome moment; a needed moment between the two of you. Not everything’s fixed but you’re getting there with small baby steps, each one clearing out the miscommunication and lapses of judgement that landed the two of you here in the first place; even if it’s one presentation at a time.

“With you in it, duh. The couch is a nightmare to clean,” Jungkook groans, resting his face on his hand as he could see you happy by your tiny icon, the presentation he’s spent the entirety of last night over taking up his whole screen. “I need you in my bed to enjoy it.”

It’s perhaps a welcome moment too; perhaps not extremely vital to the situation, but still welcome nonetheless.

“I didn’t mean-“ Jungkook’s cheeks flush, pursing his lips to think of what excuse he could say for himself. He racks his brain for a second now that the two of you are just staring at each other from his accidental innuendo, ultimately concluding that there’s nothing. “Okay, fuck it. I do mean it in that way too.”

The unabashed admission is what gets you, an easy chuckle being squeezed out of you as you try to retain your eye contact with Jungkook who’s apparently very passionate in explaining.

“Once you come home, I’m gonna,” Jungkook grunts, his two hands up as he grasps the air and squeezes. “I’m really just gonna-…”

Your laugh is what reminds him that you’re still there, looking at him directly while he makes a fool out of himself by vaguely detailing just about what he means when you come home.

“You’re gonna what, babe?” you hum playfully, the endearment slipping right out of you. You realize belatedly but neither of you comment on it, letting the term linger in the air.

Jungkook’s the one who’s caught off-guard now, at a loss for words while he resorts to rolling his eyes playfully.

“You’ll see.”

Your husband jumps from one slide to another, taking his sweet time in explaining and expounding each one. There’s no script at all, obvious from the way he stutters and laughs between words.

The moment doesn’t last forever but it’s welcome, all the while worth it because by the time Jungkook reaches the last slide, the two of you feel considerably lighter than before.

“Our break ends one week from now,” Jungkook reminds you when your laughs die down, cheeks still a little pink from catching his breath from all the talking that he had to do.

You look a little more somber now, still admirable despite the exhaustion (and relief) you’ve went through today.

“Come home to me, okay? Come home to me before I wake up.”

“You don’t sleep, though.” It’s your turn to remind him, voice more gentle than before.

“Yes I do,” he weakly argues, but there’s no point in telling the white lie.

“Okay no, not really. But since you’ve been calling me, I could doze for thirty minutes at a time.”

It’s the first time you’ve heard of Jungkook’s improvement in sleeping without you, unsurprised that the genuine happiness in your features already translates to your husband who preens at your reaction.

“You’ve been gone for so long, do you even remember what time I wake up?” he asks harmlessly, no malice to his tone when he brings it up.

“When I’m with you, you wake up thirty minutes before I leave,” you squint in thought, sure of your answer because it’s a routine that’s stuck for quite some time.

“And when I’m not there-” you start yet you don’t know how to finish, eyes suddenly going blank because there’s no answer that comes to mind. “I don’t know.”

You try not to dwell about your lack for an answer — the reason either being you forgetting it or you not knowing at all. Nonetheless, you try to rectify your lack for an answer by immediately asking.

“What time do you wake — no, you don’t sleep. What time do you get out of bed when I’m not there?”

“Eight,” Jungkook answers. “I get out of bed at eight in the morning when you’re not there.”

He sees you take note of it in your head, your lips mumbling the time to yourself to internalize it without having to write it down.

“I’ll sleep the night before, I promise. I’ll sleep the entire night,” he adds if it means he could lessen your load of worry that you carry with you, trying to find more ways in sharing your burdens that concern him one way or another.

You nod, inarguably feeling lighter.

“Okay.”

( ♡ )

Your parents don’t suspect a thing.

They don’t suspect a thing between you and Jungkook despite knowing the two of you, most especially you, very well. They didn’t think twice about the two of you arriving to the shop in your own cars because just like last time, Jungkook arrives earlier than you and explains why his wife, their daughter, is late.

There isn’t anything questionable about it. You being busy is clockwork by now and Jungkook being the filial son-in-law isn’t anything new.

What is new to them is Jungkook being a little more talkative.

It’s not as if he’s never talked to them when you aren’t by his side, but something was just different to the way he carries himself now. His shoulders are still relaxed but his hands don’t tuck themselves into his pockets, his fingers instead pointing around to ask them about something.

Jungkook seems more present in a way that you almost miss it. Your parents can’t pinpoint what it is exactly but if Jungkook was warm before, then he’s become even warmer now.

He talks more; more attentive as he notices your mother’s new earrings. He’s always figured that she has a penchant for changing up her jewelry but it’s only now that he comments on it, complimenting the dangling charms on her ears that makes her blush.

He laughs more, your father figures. Jungkook outsizes him in height but when he laughs, his shoulders hunch and his face scrunches brightly that they’re almost the same height. He jokes more with your dad nowadays, their banter and shoulder jabs more apparent that it would seem like he’s his actual child.

They just can’t put a finger on it because as much as Jungkook’s always been kind and warm, there’s something about him now that makes him shine a little brighter.

“Hi, baby,” Jungkook greets you the moment you enter the shop, wasting no time in slinging an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek. He moves like he’s never seen you before, in fact meeting you by the door before you could even take two steps in and go about what he’s been yearning to do since last week.

“There you are,” he hums, smiling so hard that his eyes crescent when you roll your eyes before returning the kiss to his cheek. He lets his arm wrap around your shoulders, taking you closer to him. “You just really had the urge to deep-clean your couch at four in the morning, huh?”

The half-scoff that leaves your lips is more playful than it is offended, shaking your head when you play along. “Mhmm. Our couch, of course. I love that couch,” you exclaim, finally taking your eyes off him to acknowledge your parents who are watching your interaction unfold. “Takes you longer to clean and exhausts you more when your husband doesn’t help clean it.”

“Oh so now we’re just straight-up lying,” he hums, laughing before letting you go so you could hug your parents.

Your mom and dad can finally put a finger on it now — Jungkook’s just in love. He’s even more in love with you than the last time, the realization fitting just perfectly to the twinkle behind your husband’s eyes.

The shop hasn’t felt this warm to you until now.

Somehow, it’s even warmer than the times you’ve spent your childhood birthdays in here, perched on the counter with a different cake each time. Today’s warmer than that time before when you were excited to take your portraits to commemorate your coming-of-age, eager to brag to your family and friends. It’s warmer than when you came into the shop to announce you received your very first callback in your career; unable to wait for it to close that you ended up yelling the news the moment you came in, and despite not knowing anything besides that you were the daughter of the owners of the shop, everyone else cheered with you.

Now is warmer than the past. Now is warmer with Jungkook.

It helps that your hearts are somehow lighter now because the last time the both of you were at the shop, it was merely the 15th day of your break — and here you are, undoubtedly blithe and easier together on the 28th day.

It’s a foundation that grows solid day by day, the space you’ve established giving more leeway for the two of you to grow and occupy it altogether once more when all faults are recognized.

You and Jungkook work through the motions of completing the renovation, teaming yourselves up with only small talk about the task at hand. The urge to talk to you quite literally shows in the way Jungkook’s eager to finish earlier, his keenness making you smile while you take your time.

It’s only after sunset when everything’s finished; when the second coats of paint are all fully-dried and the shelves are built, when all the furniture’s arranged and Jungkook’s successfully picked up every time-consuming task in the shop to wrap it up earlier.

Jungkook’s body physically burns from the labor but he’s not weary just yet, tugging you to the empty breakroom to catch his breath and finally talk.

“Can I go first?” you ask when Jungkook finally looks like he could blink without seeing darkness at the corners of his eyes, making him drink from your own cup.

Your husband nods eagerly, sitting himself closer to you on the floor because the two of you were too afraid to sit on the new sofa in fear of dirtying it.

It’s quiet like this; with the doors closed and no TV present to provide white noise, no Miso either who’d fill up the space with her presence. This moment alone with Jungkook is what reminds you that it’s been far too long since the two of you have gotten this intimate; this close to each other and this willing to talk.

The two of you are together now simply because you are; no longer in the context of you coming home late at night because of work, too tired to initiate conversation.

“When Yoongi and I were in the club, he admitted that he had a crush on me,” you start as gently as you could, thankful that you’re sitting beside Jungkook and not opposite of him so you wouldn’t feel obligated to look at him. “Had a crush on me back then when we were young, and he has a crush on me now.”

You don’t look at Jungkook because you don’t want to see him upset, but it’s only inevitable that you look at his hurt for you to understand his side completely. It’s not exactly an everyday occurrence to know that your wife’s co-worker, one whom she has to see practically everyday for months, has a crush on her.

“But I told him I was married and he understands, he’s not getting between us or anything like that,” you’re quick to amend, but not in the tone that you’re making it seem you’re on Yoongi’s side. “He told me just a few days ago that the crush he has now is nothing serious, by the way. It’s just the admiration from afar thing.”

Jungkook’s still silent but maybe it’s only like that in your head because you’re still gathering the courage to look at him, only doing so when he squeezes your knee.

“I just wanted to tell you that. It’d be wrong for me not to,” you say truthfully, unable to digest the guilt if you do otherwise. “I’m sorry. I never really got to apologize to you about the Yoongi thing.”

You’re not devoid of faults — you never are and never will be.

“I know this whole dating scandal is hard on you too. Especially Jimin’s plan of not doing anything about it at all,” you chuckle, trying to grasp what you’d feel like if it’s Jungkook who was the celebrity and not you.

The scandals weren’t dying down, in fact they were only getting bigger in number given the new episodes, all of where Yoongi and you kissed and were significantly more affectionate. The two of you haven’t met outside since the article was released, meaning that anything from that point forward is purely made-up.

Jungkook won’t deny that he searches your name and Yoongi’s these days, scrolling through countless of comments. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s doing it either but after every scroll that just unknowingly adds to his own insecurity, Jungkook figures that his trust in you never faltered.

“It’s okay. I’m not upset over it,” your husband admits, having had the time to reevaluate all his initial anger over Yoongi when he saw the two of you at the club. “If I knew from someone else that you met up with your ex, I think I’d get a drink with an old friend too.”

He puts things into perspective and the way he does it relieve you of all your residual guilt, realizing now that although not the best option, your response was only rational; a little confusing and a little flawed, sure, but never malicious.

“I don’t have an ex.”

You smile in reminder that it makes Jungkook do the same, his intake of breath turning a little sharper when he realizes that you’re done with your side.

“It’s my turn to tell you then.”

This time it’s you who eagerly nods, oddly seeing yourself in Jungkook’s actions when he looks down the floor instead of you, a little nervous in saying the truth.

“Yoongi was supposed to ask you out back then.”

Jungkook says it as casually as he could, to not make it seem as serious as it actually was. He doesn’t know if he executed the bit perfectly but it warrants a reaction from you anyway, eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“What? I didn’t know that.”

“I know. Jimin slipped about it,” Jungkook continues. “He brought it up casually because he told me that Yoongi told him, then he thought I knew about it because he assumed the two of us were friends.”

“When did you and Jimin even talk?” your eyes narrow in confusion. The last time you checked, Jimin was close to you (and Jungkook by extension) enough to attend your wedding, but not close enough for him and Jungkook to sustain a conversation by themselves.

“How were your meals?” Jungkook grins, dimples in full display while he watches the gears in your head turn. “Did they taste good? I hope they were still hot when you got them.”

“My meals? What — no,” you gasp when you realize, knowing that your suspicion over catering cooking your every favorite meal was too good to be true. “You were the one who made them?”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook proudly hums, feeling a burst of your pride when you lean your head on his shoulder giddily. “Then I got Jimin to deliver them to you personally so you wouldn’t question catering.”

“Cute,” you mumble, looking up at him from your spot on his shoulder. “Back to the Yoongi part?”

“Right, the Yoongi part,” Jungkook sighs, putting his arm around your shoulder while you held his hand. “Based from what you just said, maybe Yoongi didn’t just have a crush on you, y’know? He loved you enough that he planned to ask you out.”

“And get this,” Jungkook adds, a solemn look to his face when he almost whispers it to you as if it’s a secret. “I only beat him to it a day earlier.”

He watches you process it all, waiting for it to click in before he continues so he’d know you were on the same pace with him.

“I asked you on the 1st, right? Do you still remember the date, hm? I bet you don’t,” Jungkook teases, a welcome moment of playfulness from the nature of your conversation.

“Don’t test me,” you huff, crossing your arms in retort. “You asked me out on the first day of October,” you enunciate, not having to think about it twice. “In case you don’t remember, dummy, October 1st is also our wedding date.”

“Wow. My girl knows so much, hm?” Jungkook laughs heartily, throwing his head back when he resumes his hold on you while the two of you lean against the wall. “I asked you out on October 1, then that means Yoongi would’ve asked you out on October 2.”

It’s fate; narrow fate that would’ve been changed completely if only it wasn’t kind enough to favor Jungkook.

“I narrowly beat him by a day. It was almost not me,” he plays with his wedding band. “If I was just a day late, I don’t know if I’d even be here.”

“Yoongi was almost your first boyfriend, your first love,” he exhales heavily at the thought, smiling although it doesn’t exactly look the happiest. “Your first everything.”

It’s a thought that sinks into him every second the moment he’s learned of it, the alternate of what could’ve happened haunting him by the minute. Jungkook doesn’t even know if lucky was the right term to call it. Luck seemed too shallow to be in charge of a blessing as big as you. “I’m glad fate was on my side when it led me to you.”

“It’s hard to digest everything, I know,” Jungkook admits, because even he found it difficult trying to take everything at once. “I don’t know if I could wrap my head around it now, but I want to ask,” he swallows the lump in his throat, looking straight through you that you can’t find yourself avoiding his gaze. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“If I got the whole timing wrong and Yoongi asked you out first, would you have accepted?” your husband asks. “Would you have married him?” Jungkook asks one question after the other, the gravity of it still plaguing him even if he’s said it out-loud. “If it was him and not me, would you still be happy?”

It’s a question that rattles you to your core, all the way down to your bones that your fingers tingle and it’s your ring finger that feels like twitching. It’s a loaded question that only crossed Jungkook’s mind a hundred times before he sleeps, and it a question that’s only crossed your mind now.

“I wouldn’t know, Jungkook,” you whisper, a little winded. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook nods, swallowing the hurt.

He can’t blame you — he wouldn’t blame you. He’s not the only one hurting in this equation and it would be unfair of him to require you to give him an answer now; now when it’s apparent that you’re beyond shaken and your mind feels like it’s about to split open.

“Now stand up. Ring me up as the first and last customer of the day before I go home,” Jungkook urges you to stand up, leading you by your hand to place you behind the counter, and him to stand at the other side of it.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, barely coherent because one second, your husband’s asking you if it would still be him if Yoongi had only asked you out earlier, and now, he wants you to play cashier with him.

“I have an order, baby. Just stand behind the counter and let me pay.”

Jungkook explains gently, fetching his bag with him and pulls out a whole lunchbox filled with undeveloped film canisters, the same container where he’d put in all your snacks before you left for work.

You’re speechless as you look at the collection, neatly placed together but you know that there’s hundreds of pictures and memories in that single lunchbox alone, the fact that this is all coming from your husband making your mind blank.

“All of these, please. I’ve been collecting for awhile,” he says casually, pulling out his wallet.

“Jungkook,” you call, opening the lunchbox to see the canisters for yourself if they were real and not merely props. “Since when did this start?”

Your husband doesn’t answer, instead giving you the exact amount and peering over the counter because you’re still dazed, using your fingers to punch his order in. “You’ll know. I never turned off the timestamp.”

“Bye. I love you. Text me when you get to your house,” Jungkook bids you goodbye and it’s only then that you snap out momentarily, eyes beady from trying to process the last minutes alone. He leans in just a little, all to be able to press a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

You stare when he exits the shop, watching him drive away until you could no longer see his car from the distance.

There’s no time you waste when all of the systems in your head tell you to develop your husband’s films now, not passing up a single second because it’s more of an instinct than an urge. You get to work immediately, having to fend off your parents that you’ll handle this alone and they could come home while you close off everything once you’re done.

You get to the darkroom and do everything as quickly and as precisely as you could, seeing vague figures by the moment you hang each print to dry. It takes you the rest of the night until the early hours of morning to go through everything, greatly too impatient that you physically had to step out of the room while waiting.

It’s only when your timer goes off that you allow yourself to be in the same space with the pictures that your husband took through the years, eyes skimming over each one to look at the timestamp.

The very first picture, the very first one you processed that’s hung in the frontmost line in the darkroom dates back to October 1, five years ago — the very same day he asked you out.

The realization hits you deeply because the moment you step back, you see that every image, every composition in this darkroom of all the film pictures Jungkook has taken for the past five years, is you.

It’s pictures taken of you candidly, when you’re in mid-conversation and when your eyes are turned away from the camera. It’s images of you that are taken from afar, your silhouette turned to Jungkook and facing whatever’s in front of you instead, almost never making eye contact at all. There’s several where there’s mirrors involved and while Jungkook meant to capture your smile, he unintentionally captured his too while looking at you.

There’s pictures taken of you in your important milestones; in your wedding dress while Jungkook hung around in the back to see you getting prepared for the reception, and in bed when you’re wearing his shirt, reading the script for In Terms of Eternity’s pilot episode.

There’s mementos taken of you all over the place; ones where you’re in the driver’s seat and ones where you’re on your phone. There’s pictures of you fixing yourself in the mirror and pictures of you as you sleep, your head tucked to his neck and where half of Jungkook’s face is visible. Pictures of your hands with your wedding band worn and even pictures of you laughing, the shots itself being blurry because Jungkook laughs while you do.

Each one, all of them you.

It’s a definitive answer that you can say to Jungkook now, the question to whether or not it would still be him if Yoongi got the better slice of timing. You don’t know any other love like Jungkook’s and you’re content with it — you’re at peace knowing that Jungkook’s your first love, your first kiss, your first everything.

The answer’s clearer than ever when you see each picture that proved to you Jungkook’s love had never wavered nor faltered, no matter the distance nor the blurriness in his pictures.

It has always been, and always will be Jungkook.

( ♡ )

You can’t move.

Your body feels far too strained and exhausted to move, even attempting to raise your head makes you want to faint. It’s barely going well and you want to try so hard to leave your house and come home to Jungkook, but things simply were not on your side.

You already should’ve left at six in the morning and that was when you gathered your remaining strength that was left from your fever that developed drastically overnight. It was just the occasional headache and the nausea a few days ago, but figuring that you thought little of it and proceeded to work with filming until the late of the night, your sickness has gotten worse unsurprisingly.

You’re more than prepared, even packing back all your stuff into the luggage you came with and setting an alarm for you to drive home early. All you had to do was wake up and drive — and now that you’re barely coping with the first, your car won’t start.

It won’t start no matter how much you try to remedy it by popping open your hood, unable to gauge what’s wrong because your fever’s getting the best of you and you could barely function. It was six in the morning when you trekked back to your bed and decided to take just a brief nap in hopes you’d get better.

But it’s already been four hours — it’s ten in the morning.

It’s two hours past eight and Jungkook’s been waiting for you for two hours, unable to hold it all in when it turned seven in the morning and you still weren’t there.

Jungkook’s hurt and cries his heart out because he’s slept for this, hoped for this. He didn’t know how to react when he opens his eyes at eight in the morning to not see you beside him. Jungkook’s hurt, beyond hurt to the point of speaking but he stands up immediately with a newfound drive.

He won’t settle for this. He’ll fight you on this.

Jungkook takes his key to your house and wastes no time in jamming it into your front door, vision blurry still because he drove all the way here while barely coherent. He marches up the stairs, failing to see your luggage that’s already near the front door, all that’s left for you to do was to load it in your trunk and go home to him.

Your husband storms to your room and throws the door open, voice cracking to see you still underneath the comforter.

“Get up.”

He sees you rumbling from underneath it but you don’t talk, only making him more distraught that he comes closer to the foot of your bed.

“Get up from bed right now because we’re going to fight.”

He’s no longer your husband who didn’t want to fight you on things for the sake of self-preservation. He’s no longer the one who avoided confrontation in fear of setting you apart from him because this is what he gets from being so passive — from being so unwilling to fight you.

“We’re going to fight right now because I don’t want you to break up with me,” he grits through tears, shaking your foot at the end of the bed. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your movements from underneath the comforter are more apparent but you still don’t get up, springing Jungkook into walking to your side of the bed where your head laid.

“Get up, Y/N. I’m not kidding,” Jungkook tears up, only to shake you awake by your shoulder but he feels the abnormal warmth of it before he could even speak, the realization settling in.

“Can we fight tomorrow?” you ask in a small voice, turning over to look at Jungkook who’s been crying. “My head feels like it’s splitting open.”

“You’re sick,” Jungkook exclaims, half in worry yet half in relief because it’s the only reason to why you didn’t come home to him before hoke up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He was worried, beyond out of his mind that the first thing he does now is get underneath the covers with you, embracing you tightly. You feel it too, feeling apologetic that you were late but what’s important now is that Jungkook’s here with you, fully aware that you have no intention of leaving him.

“I was gonna come back home, trust me. My bags were all prepared,” you mumble to his neck, your husband immediately cradling your face to it as he hushes you to not strain your voice and explain. “I really was! But then my car wouldn’t start, and when I woke up this morning, I was sick.”

“I know. I know now. It’s okay, baby. I understand,” Jungkook says gently, rocking you back and forth and only thinking of now, choosing to plan later on how he’ll nurse you back to health and eventually take you home to where you belong.

“Were you serious awhile ago?” you ask while your face is still buried to his chest, your husband unwilling to ease up because he’s missed you beyond words. “Would you really have fought with me if I didn’t come back?”

“Of course. I won’t let you break up with me until I lose my fight with you,” Jungkook answers without skipping a beat. “I’m not letting you break up with me until I know I’ve exhausted every possible way for you not to.”

“I never plan on breaking up with you,” you snort, the sudden reply making you wince because your head ached from it. You get the teasing, lightest ever possible forehead flick you could ever receive in your life, your husband hushing you to just stop talking.

“Jungkook?” you hum, making him open his eyes because they were closed from how at peace he is just by being with you. “I have an answer.”

“Answer to what?” your husband’s brows furrow, a slight pout on his lips because he can’t decipher what you’re pertaining to.

“When you basically asked me if it would still be you if you got the timing wrong and everything,” you trail, the realization finally crossing him.

You think back on all the pictures Jungkook’s taken of you, several of the many manifestations of his love for you. He hums, raising an eyebrow with a curious smile on his lips.

The words didn’t need to be said at this point because it’s an unspoken truth anyway, but with all your heart and experience of loving Jungkook, sometimes, saying the obvious wouldn’t hurt.

“The answer’s you,” you smile, warm hand finding his to flick at his wedding band. “It’s always you.”

EPILOGUE

In Terms of Eternity turned out to be a massive success that just two years later, it’s been announced to have a sequel.

Everyone’s happy with it, you yourself in a great shock over it too because you got bigger than you could ever imagine — and in the peak of it, you get to wear your wedding band to work.

The entirety of the people responsible for the drama’s in your home, one that’s a house outside of the city and not an apartment in the heart of it. It’s rightfully massive, just enough to fit everyone who’s ever contributed to the success of it.

The house was built from the ground up instead of bought, each single centimeter of space being carefully planned by you and Jungkook together. It’s new, but it’s a beautiful, exciting kind of new — one that didn’t need everything to be replaced and instead housed some of the old; just like the baby blue floor couch and the third-biggest variation of the king-sized bed that are your clear favorites.

Countless presentations have been made of letting the other win, all varying from Jungkook’s requests of having a game room and a den to your plea of commissioning to have an obscenely large painting of your choice to put in the house.

It’s a matter of yielding and loving, all of it that made this space the home of your dreams with your husband.

“Scotch for you,” Yoongi greets from nowhere as he squeezes in himself between you and Jungkook, giving the drink to your husband who surprisingly, clicked with him and is now his best friend.

He’s just about to say his next words when he sees Miso from the corner of the living room, coming to hide slightly behind Jungkook even if the cat makes no move. “God, she scares me. Did either of you ever know why she’s tried killing me multiple times already?”

“Nope. Not a single clue,” Jungkook laughs, shaking his head while he pokes a tongue to his cheek.

Yoongi lets it go, grinning as he holds your drink up. “And gin for you.”

Your mouth dries before you could even push the drink away from you, your husband already stepping in.

“Mhmm, no. No gin for my wife,” he hums, taking the glass instead to pour it into his throat all in one go.

“But you love gin!” Yoongi furrows his brows in confusion, offering you his glass of gin instead that he hasn’t sipped out of.

“I do, but I really can’t, Yoongi,” you smile, biting your lip tentatively when you raise your eyebrows at him.

You wait for a beat for your best friend to comprehend but he still doesn’t, reminding you that he could be a bit slow sometimes.

Jungkook can’t take it either that he just laughs, taking you closer to him by the waist and puts you in front of him, announcing the news in a low voice with a warm hand on your stomach.

“We’re expecting.”

#the finale <3 ty for being here with me!#jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook fic recs #jungkook masterlist

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kissami · 5 months

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sum. You never thought you’d find the one at your best friend’s coffee shop.

genre: fluff..super super fluffy

fem reader with she/ her pronouns

WARNING: I’m uploading this while at work so I’ll edit it once I’m home ! So it’s not cute and aesthetic rn 🙄🙄

"I just don't get why she keeps thinking this nonsense, Kyo! I mean, I help with taking care of bills, buying groceries, what else does she want from me?!"

Kyo rose an eyebrow towards you, watching you slam your head on the counter gently and placing your cup on the table, begging for the next round.

"I need another one."

You ordered, but he only rolled his eyes in return.

"You had four cups of coffee in just two hours, you had more than enough for at least a week."

Groaning, you squished your cheeks between your arms as you hid your head.

Your roommate had been annoying lately. Always being so stern with you even when you did almost everything so you two could have a comfy environment to live in, but no matter what you did, she just seemed to hate you more and more.

It was tough moving out of your parent’s place, but this girl truly was testing your limits it seemed.

It wasn’t always like this. When you first met her, she was very sweet and understanding with you which made you think that maybe you finally made a friend who wasn’t your childhood friend.

All you wanted was a friend, but ever since you introduced her to Kyo, she seemed to do a 180 and completely shut you out.

Only for you to find out the two were put together for a date…one he never showed up for without notice.

But speak of blinding dates…

"Oh my gosh! This is the third time you left me alone, you asshole! That's it, I'm done!"

A loud slam quickly brought you out of your mini crisis as your eyes averted over to the couple near the entrance.

Raising your eyebrows in amusement, you saw a girl with black hair grabbing her bag and leaving with a pissed off expression on her face. The blond she was sitting with that you assumed was her date, rubbed his face in annoyance.

He's gorgeous.

You turned to your friend and smiled as a bright idea had quickly made its way into your head which made him tense up a bit, shaking his head quickly as he knew exactly what you were trying to do.

"Nope, I'm done trying to set you up with my customers. You're on your own."

You pouted, watching as Kyo walked to the back room to speak to Tifa about the upcoming schedules.

You could see how close Tifa and him were getting, how flustered he’d get or rush at any moment to be with her. That was enough leverage for you to use against him.

Smirking, you turned back around to see the boy talking on his phone, his face showing not much concern it seemed, but by the looks of it, it seemed like he was being scolded like a cat from the other line of the call which had you intrigued.

Your eyes widened when he slammed his phone down on the table and sighing, digging inside of his pocket to grab his credit card from his black leather wallet.

He's gonna pay, no he can't leave yet!

That's when you thought of a great, amazing, and most definitely the best idea ever.

Walking over the counter as stealthy and quickly as possible, you hid behind it as you waited for him to ring the bell to pay.

DING!

Rising up, you smiled gently and leaned your hands on the counter.

"Hey, what can I do for ya,cutie?"

You could almost feel your eyes sparkle in amusement when he scoffed and rubbed his neck, looking at you with those bright blue eyes you could stare at forever.

"I'm just paying. And who are you? I've never seen you work here before and I come here everyday."

He spoke lowly and looking anywhere besides your face, his eyes fixated on a dancing chunky cat on the tv screen above your head.

"I just started…today? Right I just started working today!" You smiled nervously, rubbing your ring on your right hand.

"Oh, that's good to know I guess."

"Yeah, it is good to know, huh?"

Shit.

You thought as you turned around to your best friend, seeing him rise an eyebrow and clearly questioning your 'amazing' idea to get to know the cute boy that was looking at the both of you now even more confused than before.

"Yup! Aw Kyo don't act like I'm not the best employee you have!" You slapped his arm, glaring at him for him to play along.

"Yeah okay, anyways Cloud it's on the house today."

Cloud. What a cool name.

Cloud nodded, saying a small thank you as he began to walk away.

Your eyes shot over to your best friend, giving him a pleading look to have him stay a bit longer which made Kyo scoff.

If this guy had you pretend you worked at his coffee shop, the one place you said you would despise working at and rather lick the carpet, then you clearly were way more interested in him than he thought.

And boy were you going to be in debt for this.

"Only if you tell us what happened on your 5th blind date."

Kyo smirked, watching as Cloud stopped almost instantly.

Cloud stood there quietly. Usually he’d pretend he didn’t hear anything like this but he truly did need someone to listen to his frustrations and what better yet than the guy his best friend, Tifa, had a crush on?

"It's like no matter how many dates I'm set on, no one wants to continue dating me. I don't mind though, I don't need a partner to be happy I guess."

Hearing a bell ring, Kyo looked over to you and smirked even more, watching your sparkling like eyes looking even more interested in the blond and what he needed to say next.

"Well my favorite employee, it's time for you to get back to work, right?"

You opened and closed your mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water but it only resulted in him pushing you away to take the new order.

"Get along now stupid and do your job! I'm not paying you for nothing!"

"But you're not pa-"

"What was that employee of the month, I didn't quite hear you?!"

"Yeah yeah whatever."

Slumping your shoulders, you made your way to the cash register, and instantly losing braincells on how the hell to work it.

Kyo looked back, seeing the blond still looking over to you as you groaned like a little kid trying to figure out how the monstrosity worked.

A small smile slowly took the blond’s old sour frown which Kyo was quick to catch.

"She's single you know. Plus, she thinks you're really cute. The idiot doesn't even work for me but she did that to talk with you."

Cloud looked over to his friend and shrugged.

"I think she’s cute too, but she needs to work harder to get me. I'm not that easy you know."

"Yeah that's what all your old dates said too,huh?"

"Kyo…" Cloud sighed again, but kept his mako eyes on your cute figure who now was scrambling around like a lost puppy, following Tifa around as she laughed at how silly you looked trying to learn how to charge orders.

Kyo chuckled, shaking his head at how adorable you looked. "Besides, the idiot owes me. She'll be working here for a while."

To say Cloud wasn't looking forward to waking up everyday and heading to the café, was an understatement.

He was less grumpy now and would spend hours texting you all night, but he tried his best to show no interest in you at all, which to Tifa and Kyo, was obvious he had a thing for you.

You had no clue if he felt the same or not, which Cloud was a bit thankful of you being so oblivious.

That was until you finally had enough and needed to know exactly what was going on between the two of you.

Clearly there was something there, so what better way to figure it out than what you do best?

A hot americano with whipped cream topped with cinnamon and caramel was what he would get all the time, but you added something more for him.

Are you a loan bank? Because you got my interest.

Ah yes, your cheesy pick up lines. No matter how hard Cloud tried to keep a straight face, he still managed to let out a small smile that made your heart burst.

You've been doing this for three months straight now, but he finally had the guts to do something.

Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back!

That was all it took for Cloud to lean over the counter and place his lips on yours.

#kissami #x reader #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife x reader #cloud strife #cloud strife x you #cloud x reader #ff7 cloud #final fantasy 7 remake #final fantasy vii #final fantasy cloud #x reader fluff #ff7 tifa #tifa lockhart #ff7 #fluff #ff7 fanfic #ff7 fic

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whositmcwhatsit · 9 months

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AN: I'm so sorry this has taken so long, but it wouldn't have appeared at all without the cheerleading, suggestions, alphaing and nudging of @thatbanditqueen. Basically, it's all her fault, send complaints her way. As always, all feedback is welcome, encouraged and enjoyed. Previous Chapter Chapter 10: All the Silly Girls

Chancy almost immediately regretted refusing Joe’s offer to get her a hotel room, even more so when she got to the desolate airport and found out that she had to wait six hours to get any flight in the general direction of home.

It was very early in the morning and the smattering of people littering the lounge had all had their faces painted with the same expression of watery annoyance. She couldn’t sit, feeling her chest tighten as all the shaken pieces of the night settled down on her, so instead, she walked laps around the airport until the little news kiosk opened and she could distract herself with gossip magazines.

Gradually, life seemed to awaken. She watched work-minded people in suits appear and families with cameras around their necks corralling over-excited kids.

At some point, music started playing over the speakers and she grimaced as she heard the opening notes to “Suspicious Minds.” He was everywhere!

Not long before the flight was due to start boarding, a page came over the loudspeaker, calling her to the information desk. She wasn’t completely surprised, and she steeled herself as she made her way to the desk. A disinterested woman gestured to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey Chancy, that you?” Charlie sounded hungover, his voice hoarse and cracked. She wondered if he had been dragged out of bed to make the call.

“What’s up, Charlie?”

“Aw, nothin’ much, darlin’. I’m gonna go ahead and send someone down to pick you up, alright?”

Chancy pulled the receiver back and looked at it as though it was crazy since she couldn’t do the same to Charlie himself.

“I think that’d make catching my flight a lot more difficult, Charlie.”

“Look now, I know something went down last night and I don’t know what exactly happened, but you know how these things go, Chance. It’ll turn out everything is a big misunderstanding and everyone got all heated for no reason.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, not this time.”

“Come on back, darlin’ and we’ll sort this out.”

Chancy sighed and ran her fingers through her limp, tangled hair. The idea of grabbing a shower and collapsing into a bed did sound enticing, but all the rest…

“Did he put you up to this?”

“Mmhmm, I guess so,” he answered vaguely.

“And he’s there right now listening?”

“Uh huh. So, I’m gonna send Dick to pick you up-“

“I can’t come back, Charlie,” Chancy interjected. “It’s not that I’m mad. Well… no, I am, but I’ve got to have some pride, you know? The tour’s nearly done anyhow and he can probably fly someone in for the last few dates.” She forced a little laugh. “I heard there’s a tall blonde that’s eager for the job. Look, I gotta go, they’re saying we’re boarding.” She hung up as her voice started to sound strangled, her throat tightened and tears prickled at the back of her eyes.

When would she learn? When would the hurting stop? With any other repetitive injury, callouses formed to protect you, but not when it was the heart. That relied on you being smart enough to not keep making the same mistake over and over.

Standing at the gate, waiting in line to board, she noticed an older lady giving her a curious look that faded into disapproval. She glanced down at herself, still teetering on white chunky heels and wearing her white silk gown. She looked like the personification of the morning after, used and rejected. Her head was pounding, her mouth tasted disgusting, and her insides felt even worse.

After take-off, she asked the stewardess for a blanket and tried to sleep it off, but she couldn’t turn off her brain. It kept returning to the early days, when her relationship with Elvis had still been sweet and tinted by the rosy glow of first love.

Shivering in her dress under the thin, cheap airplane blanket, Chancy thought about the old days and wondered whether dating Elvis had ever been simple, or if it only seemed that way.

Early Fall 1955

It was just before nine when there was a knock on the door. Alicia was laying prone on the couch, feet wiggling in the air as she read one of Chancy’s magazines, and Chancy cleaned up the mess from girls’ night with Margie and Barb. The girls always came over on Tuesday evenings because Grandma was out late at church with the woman’s club, and this reprieve gave the girls time and space to gossip and make plans without whispering or provoking Grandma’s tutting and lectures on virtue.

Chancy snatched up Margie’s sweater from the table, smiling to herself at her friend’s forgetfulness, and opened the door. Her face dropped in surprise as, instead of Margie, there was a tall, beautiful man in a pink sports jacket leaning against the door jamb.

“Hey baby, you gonna let me in?”

Chancy gasped and snatched his arm, yanking him through the door. Elvis laughed as they stumbled into the hallway and he practically fell against her. They kissed without thinking, like it was the natural next step. Chancy thought her body was just trained that way by now.

“When did you get home?” she asked when they finally broke apart, then smacked his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” He laughed again, impossibly delighted with himself.

“Only got back this morning, we drove all night. Ain’t my baby happy to see her guy?” He buried his face in her neck and inhaled, making her squirm.

“Of course I’m happy to see you!” She grabbed him by the neck and kissed him hungrily, loving the way he turned so pliant as soon as she took charge. When they broke apart, they stood back and just drank in each other with their eyes. Then the forelock of his hair fell down, still slightly curly from that experimental permanent a few weeks ago and his eyes were a little shiny with those little creases on his high cheekbones that betrayed his exhaustion.

“You look tired,” she observed, lifting her hand to meet his as he reached for her.

“You sound like Mama. I slept all day, I’m fine. Came over to see if you wanted to go for a drive?”

“I can’t, Grandma’s out at a church meeting and I gotta watch Alicia.” His eyebrows lifted and his stance changed completely as soon as he realised they were unsupervised.

“Oh, okay.” He tightened his fingers around hers and led her back into her own house.

In the living room, Alicia was still deeply engrossed in her article on Jimmy Dean. Elvis turned to Chancy and put his finger to his lips and tiptoed over to the sofa like he was a character in a cartoon.

“What are you doing reading that, young lady?!” He snatched the magazine from her, and Alicia shrieked high and loud enough to rouse every dog in the city. This was, of course, hilarious to Elvis, who almost fell down, he was laughing so hard. Every time he managed to straighten himself up, he would look at Alicia’s indignant face and start himself off again.

Chancy snatched the magazine from him and smacked him across the back with it, inviting Alicia to come help her fetch some drinks and offering her a cookie to smooth her ruffled feathers.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Lil’un,” Elvis said, squeezing the nine-year-old into his side with his arm around her shoulders. “You know I was just fooling around. You ain’t sore, are ya? Not with your little old Elvis?” He pouted his luscious lips and Alicia relented, smiling around the cookie. “I knew you couldn’t stand to be mad at me for long, you’re just like your sister.” He winked at Chancy, who tried to roll her eyes but her pink cheeks and growing smile gave her away.

Back on the sofa, Chancy couldn’t help looking at him and grinning. It felt a little like Christmas having him home finally and all to herself. Almost.

“You know, some of the girls were talking about you at school the other day,” Alicia informed Elvis. “They were saying that you were the most and that you were gonna be more famous than Pat Boone. Then Frannie in my gym class said that you were dating her sister, but Kathy Jean said that you were dating her cousin.”

“Heck, no wonder I’m tired,” Elvis remarked. “And what d’you say to all that, honey?”

“Well, Chancy said I’m not allowed to talk about you two being steadies and that you’re gonna get married. She said it’s private.” Alicia pulled a face that showed exactly what she thought about that.

“Naw, you can set ‘em straight, honey, You tell ‘em I only have one sweetheart.” He dipped his head down to kiss Chancy’s cheek, nuzzling down to her neck with the tip of his nose. She could feel his arm tighten around her as he pulled her against him and she had to nudge him in the side with her elbow to get him to pull back. He sighed slightly and turned back at Alicia, who was looking at them with an expression of fascination.

“Are you really gonna be more famous than Pat Boone?”

“Well, I hope to.”

“Are you rich?”

“Hmm, not yet, but hope to be.”

“Will you move to Hollywood and live in a mansion with palm trees and a swimming pool?”

“Well, maybe I’ll get my own swimming pool right here, what d’ya say?” He gave Chancy a soft smile and she rested her arm on his leg, feeling the tense muscle of his thigh against her forearm as he jiggled it constantly. Even worn out he couldn’t stop moving.

“What about tennis courts?” Alicia continued.

“Wait a minute, are you a reporter?” he asked, squinting at her with playful suspicion. “What’s with all the questions?”

Alicia shrugged and finished her drink, her eyes studying him intently. There was obviously more of an interrogation coming.

“Elvis, can I live with you guys when you marry my sister?”

Elvis grinned, his fingers twitching against Chancy’s shoulder. He adjusted his hand so that they were brushing her neck, his thumb tickling from her ear down to her shoulder and back again.

“Hey, I thought it was you and me getting married, Lil’un?! Wait, is this you breaking up with me? Wow, way to let a guy down easy!” His voice was high and playful as he reached over and tugged one of Alicia’s plaits.

“I’m only nine!” she returned, frowning at him like he was crazy. He tilted his head and nodded at this as though this was a serious consideration, though his eyes were glittering. “You’ll have to wait and I guess I can marry you next.”

Elvis threw his head back and roared with laughter, his breath hitching as he collapsed against Chancy. “Oh Lord, you got it all worked out, don’tcha!”

Chancy rolled her eyes at the two of them and pointedly told Alicia that it was time for bed.

“She’s a gas,” Elvis remarked, already twisting on the sofa and clasping Chancy’s face, kissing her softly and then harder like he was trying to check she was really there. Chancy didn’t answer, sliding her arms underneath his and pulling him in tighter. It was never enough, she could never hold him tight enough to keep him still and keep him with her, but she could also never stop trying.

“You know, I was dreaming about you earlier today, honey.” He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

“No, you weren’t.” She could feel her cheeks throbbing and she shifted a little closer to him.

“Don’t tell me what I was or weren’t doing,” he retorted. “I’m telling you right now, I dreamed about you. I know it was you, baby.”

“How?” she countered. “How’d you know it was me and not one of those pretty girls you met on the road?”

“’Cause I don’t dream about no girls on the road,” he muttered scornfully. He tugged her hand, almost pulling her face first into his chest. “Look at this here hand, this itty bitty hand was for sure in my dream.”

He leant down and kissed the first knuckle of her index finger and she inhaled sharply. She caught the sparkle in his eyes as he looked up at her through his brows and felt his lips stretch against her skin into a smirk. He kissed her finger on the next knuckle, his breath tickling her skin. She pressed her thighs together as he leaned in, his other hand gripping her hip through her skirt.

“What else,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“What else was in your dream?”

“Oh. Well… I don’t know if I should say.” Chancy blushed as he placed her hand on her lap and stretched his arm out, his calloused fingertips finding her ankle and dragging up her calf.

“You been good while I was gone?” he murmured. His finger slid in a swoop around her calf muscle, which tensed and twitched, and into the dip at the back of her knee. “Ain’t been doing nothing that’ll break my poor ole heart now, have you?” There was a hard backbone to his playful babyish tone that told her he wasn’t fooling around, supported by over a year of hard-won experience.

“Now Elvis you know what category they’re looking to vote me in the yearbook next year, don’t you?” she returned in the same tone. “It’s a new one. ‘Most likely to die an old maid waiting for Elvis Presley to marry her’. But let me tell you, there’s stiff competition.”

He gave a little laugh that sounded slightly sheepish. “Now, you know that ain’t true.”

“It is too true! I see those girls in the papers just like everybody else.”

“You know that’s all for publicity, baby, it’s all made up!” He was playing up his ‘aw shucks shy boy’ act, maybe too tired to remember that Chancy saw through it like a window pane.

“Yeah, I know I know,” she muttered, sounding unconvinced.

Elvis didn’t seem to realise that she was older now, a mature woman of seventeen, and she talked with the girls at school, who were dating boys off doing their duty in the service, or at college. They all talked about how boys were different, weaker and more helpless against their urges. A girl had to accept that a man’s eye may stray when he was away, it was natural, but it was important that he was true in the ways that mattered, in his heart. Her friend Margie had even brought in a dime store book about love gone awry from tawdry affairs.They had to keep it hidden because it had a picture of a woman in just her slip reclining against a desk with her suited boss looking like he was about to make an advance.

But Chancy didn’t need books. As a child, she had witnessed the pain it caused a woman when she had a man that wasn’t true to her. She had seen the bitterness that had sprung from her mother’s humiliation, the poison that fermented and seeped into every aspect of their lives. She had promised herself she would never end up like that.

“Come on now,” Elvis cajoled. He softly sang a few lines of Patti Page’s ‘Why Don’t You Believe Me’: “How else can I tell you, What more can I do, Why don't you believe me, I love only you.”

At the final sweet note, she smacked him in the chest, making him turn it into a wheezy groan.

“That ain’t fair!” she told him, half-seriously. “You know you win every time you do that!”

He laughed in a knowing way, before gritting his teeth and grabbing her by the biceps to give her a quick shake.

“You gotta believe me though, honey” he said in a flat voice, a jarring change of tone to his abrupt ‘attack’. “I ain’t dreaming of no other girls and certainly ain’t loving ‘em, nothing like that.” She felt him slide his fingers between hers and pull her closer for a kiss and she sank willingly. They barely heard the rattling of the door.

“I’m home! Whose car is that out front?”

By the time that Chancy’s grandma had shed her coat and purse and come into the living room, they were both standing up straight in the living room looking incredibly guilty. Chancy could almost feel the pressure of her grandmother’s eyes as she checked their clothes to ensure they didn’t look rumpled or hastily buttoned.

“Elvis, it’s good to see you, son. I didn’t know you were back.”

“It’s good to see you too, Grammy. Well, I- I just got back today, it was supposed to be something of a surprise you see. I didn’t let on to nobody that I was coming.” He awkwardly clasped his hands together at his groin, glanced down at himself and then hastily put them behind his back.

Chancy bit down on a smile. The man could play to huge crowds but he still got nervous facing a tiny grey-haired lady.

“I bet your mother sure was pleased to see you. Give her my regards, won’t you?” There was a long pause as they registered the polite eviction notice.

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” He nodded with the entire top half of his body and turned to Chancy. “I-I guess I’ll be going then. It was nice to see you, ma’am.”

Chancy started to lead him to the front door, and as soon as they reached the hallway he sped up and pressed himself against her back, his large hand splayed against her belly. Chancy exhaled loudly.

“Is that your car out front, Elvis?” They broke apart as Grandma decided to accompany them to the front door.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s the love of my life right there.” Chancy glanced over her shoulder and shot him a playfully indignant look and he shrugged, his expression seemed to suggest that he had no control over what he was saying. “I mean, yes, it is.”

“Well, it’s very fine.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Both he and Chancy stood awkwardly on the doorstep,it looked as though Grandma was going to play spectator while they said goodbye, but after warning him to drive safely, she went back into the house.

Chancy tilted her head and gave him an apologetic look. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Baby, can’t you come for a drive?” he whispered, grabbing her hips and pulling like he was going to bundle her into the car no matter what she said. “It’s still early.”

“You know I want to, honey, but…”

He hurried forward and stepped up onto the doorjamb with her, crushing her mouth and her body against him.

“You’re going to drive me crazy, you know that. Just flat out insane.”

“You’re already certifiable,” she returned, linking her hands behind his neck and rumpling his upturned collar.

“Well, you know what a crazy person’d do?” He scooped her up and turned as if he was about to take off with her. “You’re so little I could hide you in the glove compartment. No one’d know.”

“I think that if you tried that Grandma would make sure you ended up locked in your own trunk.” He sighed, nodding in acknowledgement, and released her so that she was standing on her own two feet.

“One day, Cha Cha, one day…” He squeezed her cheeks, gritting his teeth as he looked at her squashed pout, before kissing it. She could feel the tension thrumming through him.

“I know,” she sighed. She gave him one last, sweet long kiss and fixed his collar. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

He climbed into his car, still looking pouty and sad. It made her heart ache. “I love you, love you, love you. Really, I love you, baby.”

Chancy watched the pink and black Cadillac disappear down the street, smoothing the front of her skirt and trying to will down the frustration, hunger and sadness that were coursing through her. She reminded herself that she loved her grandmother and didn’t want to strangle her. Likewise her sister. She could wait until tomorrow. After all, they had forever.

The present

By the time Chancy finally saw her sister and niece at the arrival gate, she had spent the majority of the day on planes, waiting for planes, or getting on and off them. She forced herself to show a little enthusiasm as she came down the tunnel, ignoring the way that her shoes were rubbing the backs of her heels.

Alicia took one look at her and seemed to size up the situation even if she didn’t understand it. She grabbed Chancy’s bag from her and turned to lead her out. Four-year-old Faye was excited to see what present Auntie Chancy had brought back from her vacation and Chancy was quick to pull out the candy and teddy bear she had grabbed from the airport gift shop during her last layover.

In the car, Alicia finally gave in to her curiosity.

“You know, when I couldn’t get a hold of you the past couple of weeks I imagined some pretty wild things, but joining the Rockettes was not one of them.”

“Did it take you all the time from the gate to just now to think of that one?”

“Well, I was gonna go with Vegas showgirl, but I kinda wanted to say ‘Rockettes’.”

Chancy smiled in spite of herself. “Look, I’m sorry about not calling. It just got a little crazy on the road and I lost track of time.”

“Yeah, that’s what Elvis said.”

“What?”

“Elvis. He called me- When was it- the day before yesterday and I was so surprised I thought someone was pulling my leg at first. You know, in all the time I’ve known him I don’t think he’s ever called me personally.”

“What did he want?”

“Well, I’d been calling all over trying to reach you and no goddamn soul at any one of the hotels said they had a record of you having a room. I mean, they wouldn’t even confirm that Elvis was staying there. Lord, Grandma might have had one of her headaches if she’d heard the way I spoke to some of the receptionists on the phone.

“Anyway, out of the blue, Elvis called and he was teasing me like he always does, saying that I’d hassled the front desk so much that they’d told Joe he should call the FBI because I was a crazed stalker. And he knew it must be me because I’d been in love with him since I was seven years old.”

Even in the retelling, Alicia was absently touching her face and had two spots of colour on her cheeks.

“So that’s it, he called you because you upset the hotel?”

“Oh, no, so we caught up. Boy, I always forget how funny he can be. Then he says that Joe will give me the details of how to reach his room whenever I needed to. I said that was sweet of him and I was honoured and all, but I really needed the number of your room because I needed to speak to you.”

Chancy felt her stomach start to sink.

“Well then he couldn’t get me off the phone quick enough. He said he’d get you to call me and he hung up on me!”

So, he had known that she hadn’t told anyone about the two of them. She imagined that had not gone down well. She wondered how much that had fed into what he had done, but the truth was that trying to follow Elvis’ logic was like chasing a raindrop down a window.

“I was kidding about the Rockettes, but you’re okay, right?” Alicia shot her a sideways glance as she negotiated traffic. “You look-“

“Like I’ve been catching planes since the early hours of this morning? Yeah, I know. It was just one of those things, you know how it goes.”

It wasn’t the first time that Chancy and Elvis had fallen out. It was not even the first time that she had argued with him and caught the next flight home, but it felt different this time. It was different. And in the days afterwards, it felt like she was recovering, beaten up and healing, from a terrible accident or an operation.

It must have seemed that way to others too, because Grandma kept making her ambrosia salad and serving up extra portions of food at every meal, and Alicia gave her a free cut and blow dry which was usually reserved for first dates and birthdays. It made Chancy think she must seem really pitiful, but nobody actually said anything or pressed her for details, because that was not how things operated in her family.

“Tell the truth, Grandma, were you surprised?” Chancy asked as Alicia’s new boyfriend Cliff navigated around the potholes marking the unmade road to their house in the failing light. It was a week later, and Chancy had finally begun to feel somewhat normal again. At least physically.

Her grandmother gave a demure smile and replied, “Of course I was, it was a lovely surprise.”

Chancy had been dubious about the idea of a surprise birthday party when Alicia had suggested it. Celebrating someone living all the way to eighty by taking them to a strange place in the dark and yelling ‘Surprise’ at them unexpectedly seemed a recipe for disaster, but she had to concede Alicia’s point, the lady did deserve to be spoiled.

Organising the party had been a decent distraction for Chancy too, though not as taxing as she had hoped. She still had far too much time to think. Little by little, she came to view the time on tour as a strange waking dream, an answer to the ‘what-ifs’ and the daydreams that floated up on random, dreary days. It was proof that you could never go back. She tried to tell herself, as optimistically as she could manage, that it had been a conclusion added fifteen years after the fact. A fitting conclusion that reaffirmed that she had made the right choice leaving for once and for all.

And then she saw the fleet of Cadillacs in the dirt driveway in front of the old ranch house.

Well, shit, her brain supplied helpfully.

“What’s all this?” asked Grandma. “Not another surprise?”

“Uh, not just for you, Grandma,” Alicia replied, glancing curiously at Chancy, who was trying to sink down in her seat.

“There’s gotta be nearly fifty thousand dollars’ worth of cars out there,” Cliff marvelled, peering through his windshield. “Lord almighty, what is that?!”

“That is a Stutz Blackhawk,” Chancy informed him. “And the last thing I wanted to see today.”

“God, it’s a beauty!” Cliff barely put on the parking brake before he was out of the truck and circling the car.

Sonny was leaning against one of the Cadillacs smoking and he nodded at Chancy as she climbed out of the truck and turned to help Grandma down from the step.

“He ain’t gonna shoot me for looking, is he?” Cliff asked, pausing his circling as he noticed the shoulder holsters.

“Probably best not to try and find out,” Chancy replied, ducking her head to hide her smirk as Cliff’s panicked expression.

Opening the front door, they followed the noise to the kitchen where Elvis, his cousin Billy, Charlie and the whole contingent of Stanley boys were sitting at their kitchen table apparently drinking coffee with their housekeeper/tenant Ruth and her husband, Harold.

“Surprise,” Alicia trilled awkwardly under her breath, shrugging in answer to Chancy’s questioning look.

“Hey, there she is!” Elvis observed with playful exasperation like they were late to an appointment. “Happy birthday, Grammy!” He rose from his chair and circled the table to give Grandma a hug.

If Cliff had been astounded by the cash value of the automobiles parked outside, Chancy could only imagine his wonder at the amount of twenty-four karat gold standing in the kitchen.

Always one to dress for an occasion, Elvis was wearing a cream suit with a blue silk shirt and a gold ring on every single finger, not to mention a twisted gold necklace that looked like a bolero tie and his usual ID bracelet. Just one of the rings on his fingers could have paid the property taxes and resurfaced their driveway with a new kitchen bought with the leftovers.

“Thank you, it’s lovely to see you, Elvis… and friends,” Grandma said pointedly, but Elvis was too busy kissing Alicia’s cheek and meeting little Faye to hear or respond to the polite prompt.

“By God, this family makes pretty girls, don’t it, Charlie?” he marvelled, glancing over his shoulder at Charlie, who was quick to pick up the cue and concur enthusiastically. Chancy was only surprised he didn’t do it in harmony.

She only had a second to panic when Elvis turned to her, wondering if he would skip her altogether or, worse, say something, before he smoothly pecked her cheek with his soft lips and withdrew, leaving her in a mist of confusion and his cologne.

“Now, Grammy, I got you a gift,” Elvis said in his serious ‘about to recite a psalm or overwhelm you with information about his latest fascination’ voice. “But I couldn’t get the guy to deliver it sooner than tomorrow. Something about unions and overtime. So, just so I didn’t show up empty-handed, you see the white Cadillac out front?” He adjusted his sunglasses and hung a keychain from his index finger, gently bringing up Grandma’s hand so that he could drop it into her palm. “It’s yours.”

Grandma put an overwhelmed hand on top of her head like she was actively trying to stop him from blowing her mind.

“Look here, Elvis, you can’t be throwing your money away on an old woman like me…”

Elvis laughed, his face breaking into that dazzling, irrepressible expression that you couldn’t help but try to mirror, and squeezed her into his side.

“‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God’, you know that one, don’t you?” he murmured down to her ear.

“Matthew 19:24,” Grandma nodded solemnly. “Amen.”

“Besides, pretty lady like you needs a fancy car to go on all her dates in style.”

Chancy beamed as she watched her grandmother flush pink and regress about sixty years as she swatted at his arm.

“C’mon, Grandma, let’s go take a look at your new car,” Alicia suggested, sending Chancy a meaningful look. Though Chancy wasn’t sure what the meaning actually was.

Everyone followed and stood on the porch as the tiny old lady primly perched in the extravagant boat of a car. Somehow, Chancy found herself standing next to Elvis though she had been forcing herself not to look at him except when everyone else was. Which was most of the time, but it felt like a compromise.

“This is really nice of you,” she murmured. He didn’t say anything at first, smiling slightly as Alicia tried to enthusiastically strong-arm Grandma into turning over the engine.

“She deserves it,” he said softly. “And, well, she’s the reason you-“ He couldn’t seem to finish the thought, gesturing to her head to toe with a bejewelled hand.

The pressure grew the longer they stood there and Chancy’s thoughts started yammering louder and louder at the wall of her skull. She wondered if she should say something, try to explain maybe why she never told anyone about the two of them, apologise for running off (no), tell him that she missed him? She could ask him how the rest of the tour went, that seemed relatively innocuous, or was it..

Eventually, he grabbed her hand, shooting her a smile that had her questioning whether they had ever argued at all.

“C’mon, let’s go take the birthday girl for a ride in her new car.”

Not giving anyone the chance to make a choice, Elvis had Chancy and her grandmother crammed into the front seat beside him and Alicia and some of the guys piled in the back before he took off down the uneven drive, laughing uproariously as he turned a ten-thousand dollar car into a pretty effective fairground ride.

As they hit the highway, Chancy fretted over her grandmother’s ability to recover from shock for the second time that evening as Elvis had them going like he was trying to break a record.

“I think Grandma would like to celebrate another birthday next year, Elvis. I’m pretty sure we all would!” Chancy said nervously, watching the speed gauge creeping up relentlessly. He shot her a gleeful grin and lifted his eyebrows behind his sunglasses, making her wonder how much he could actually see out of those at night.

“You don’t trust me, honey?” he asked. He shrugged. “You’re probably right, you should take over…” He lifted his hands off the wheel and there was a chorus of cries and pleas which only tickled him more, but at last he took control of the car again. Chancy closed her eyes and exhaled and she felt his warm hand grip her knee.

“Hey,” he murmured softly. “I got ya. You okay?” She nodded, earning herself a lopsided smile and his fingers rubbing the inside of her knee.

Back at the house, they all tumbled out of the car like sailors returning home after months at sea. The guys played this up a little because they knew that it amused Elvis, but Alicia and Grandma were genuine as they linked arms to walk to the porch.

Chancy watched them through the windshield as Elvis continued to grip her knee; not hard enough to force her to stay, but firm enough that she didn’t feel right pulling away.

��How long are you home?” she asked, watching him fiddling with the radio, catching snatches of songs before dismissing them and moving on.

“Couple of weeks. Then I got rehearsals in LA before Vegas.” He frowned as the airwaves were filled with the sound of electric guitars riffing and abruptly shut off the radio. “Goddamn caterwauling. Who in the hell is that?” She looked up in the direction of his irritated nod to see Cliff peering into the passenger window of the Stutz.

“Oh, that’s Alicia’s boyfriend. Although I think he may be considering leaving her for your car…”

“Boyfriend, but I thought she got married. I mean, the kid and everything.”

“Yeah, it didn’t work out. They got divorced last year.”

“Hmm, lot of that going around…” He considered his right hand around her knee, before tapping her a few times with his thumb. “Well, guess I better go check him out.”

“Oh no,” Chancy murmured, before hastily following Elvis out of the car. She passed the men as Elvis, backed up by a couple of his guys, approached Cliff, who immediately stumbled back with a look of awe on his face.

“Oh, Elvis, man, it’s an honour to meet you. I’ve been a fan since you started out, man, since I was a little kid!”

Chancy winced at that one and stood at the screen door to watch what happened next. Elvis was speaking too softly to be heard from the porch, but she saw Cliff straighten and look very serious, before nodding emphatically. Elvis nodded too and opened the door to his Stutz. Cliff went to lean forward, but stopped again and looked up at Elvis, who smiled one of his charming smiles and pulled the corners of his jacket back as he hooked his hands somewhere near his hips.

“What’s going on?” Alicia asked, opening the screen door.

“I’m pretty sure Elvis just threatened your boyfriend with his gun,” Chancy answered. “And now he’s letting him sit in his car.”

“Sounds about right,” Alicia nodded. “I should go… chaperone.”

Chancy went back into the house where Charlie and Billy were helping her grandmother uncover platters on the kitchen table and counters. Like a good hostess, she encouraged them to help themselves to the leftovers from the party before declaring that she had had enough excitement for one day and was going to retire to bed.

A few minutes later, Elvis came in and the kitchen suddenly became smaller and more dingy in comparison. At least in Chancy’s eyes; he, however, acted like he had lived there all his life, taking the plate that Billy handed him and eyeing up the food.

“Am I supposed to just serve this up with my hands, man?” he muttered, and Billy and Charlie started rooting through the drawers for cutlery.

“Make yourself at home, boys,” Chancy remarked, leaning against the sink.

“Looks like we have to. Didn’t Grammy teach you nothing about hospitality?” Elvis smirked, examining a mini slider pensively before taking a bite.

Chancy feigned outrage and whipped some dishwater and suds at him. He jumped out of the way, looking momentarily surprised before laughing.

“Careful now, woman,don’t make me shoot you,” he warned, his eyes twinkling as he patted the colt tucked into the front of his waistband.

“Is that how you threatened Cliff? Where is he, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s taking your sister for a drive.” Of course he was. “He’s a nice guy, we just had to discuss some things first.”

Chancy snorted and went to the refrigerator, unconsciously sliding into the role of hostess and passing out drinks to everyone. Elvis gave her a look when some of the boys took up her offer of beer and she was tempted to have one herself, just to remind him that he was in her house. Except she didn’t actually like beer and her petulance had its limits.

By that time, Alicia and Cliff had returned, giddy from their ride in the Stutz. Cliff was excitedly telling Elvis and the guys about the features like he was trying to sell them the car and while Elvis was grinning good naturedly, the boys were shooting each other sneering looks. Alicia caught that too, because she grabbed her boyfriend by the arm and thanked Elvis for letting them take the car for a spin.

Elvis shook his head as she dragged Cliff out of the room while he was still babbling about automatic headlights and gold-plated steering wheels.

“God, Lil'un is all grown up, it’s so weird, man. You remember when she was gaga for me?”

“Yeah, well, lots of us girls used to be silly like that,” Chancy returned, taking a sip of her coke. She watched as the barb landed, and he lowered his head, the muscle in his cheek flickering as he clenched his jaw.

“Yeah, used to be,” he echoed with an empty chuckle, lifting his eyebrows to the floor.

Charlie immediately forced an abrupt laugh and tried to lighten the mood with a joke like a desperate comedian losing his audience.

“No, cool it, man,” Elvis snapped, shooting him a dark look.

Chancy took a deep breath, looked around her poky kitchen, and drew confidence from the fact that she was home.

“Could I talk to you?” she asked, not recognising her own voice. Elvis glanced up like he wasn’t sure she was talking to him, before nodding. “We can go up to my room.”

As they walked to the stairs, she could hear the guys start murmuring and whispering in the kitchen like a sewing circle.

“Mind your step, some of these old boards are pretty creaky. Don’t wanna wake Grandma.”

“Well, if that ain’t a goddamn blast from the past,” he mumbled dryly. She snorted and tried to focus on what she was doing, growing increasingly aware that his eyes were probably on her ass. Not speaking made it worse, increasing the tension so that by the time they reached her bedroom door, her heart was pounding and her hands were sweating.

As soon as she turned on the light, she regretted her choice of venue, hurrying to snatch up discarded outfit choices for the party from her bed and chair.

“Don’t say a word!”

He lifted his hands in submission and just smirked, his apple cheekbones making a full appearance as he took off his sunglasses and looked around.

“You can take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the newly cleared chair as she perched on the edge of her bed. He promptly sat down next to her on the bed. The glint in his eye told her that he knew exactly what he was doing too. She stood up again and stepped across to her dresser, leaning back against it.

“I just wanted to talk to you because I didn’t like how we left it,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “And we never talk about it, you know? We never-“

“Aw hell, what’s there to say, honey?” he asked, tapping his glasses against his knee like he was keeping the beat. “We were neither us firing on all cylinders. I weren’t myself, I just… weren’t myself. The goddamn tour, everything going on with Priscilla, every sonofabitch from Alaska to Florida tryin’ to either take me out or shake me down. It’s a goddamn mess.”

“Well, yeah,” she said hesitantly, “but-“

“And that chick… You know she went to the papers? Told ‘em she and I are engaged and that we’re getting married in October. I don’t know why she picked October. I tell ya, everyone’s got an angle.” He sighed, a huge exhale that lifted his shoulders and made him look like a sad little boy facing the music.

“You know the goddamn truth of it? The only girl that’s never run to the papers, never told no one that we were engaged or married or that I knocked her up by having a picture taken with her, was you.” He looked up at her through his brows, his thick lashes and open pouty mouth striking that perfect balance between pitiful and beautiful in a way that had her digging her nails into her arms to stop herself from reaching for him.

“Yeah, well, maybe I should’ve said a lot more to a lot of people,” she murmured.

“No, you know you don’t need to say it out loud for me to hear it, baby. You never have. Just think it real loud and I’ll get it.”

Chancy raised an eyebrow and tried to find some grit within herself as he approached her slowly, pretending to listen to her thoughts.

“Whoa, Cha-Cha, I-I didn’t know you knew those words!” he teased, winking. “Goddamn! Don’t think even I’ve heard some of ‘em before. Lord have mercy!” He took hold of her hands, waggling them loosely, before sliding his fingers between hers. “C’mon, baby, you know you can’t stay mad at me, just like I can’t stay mad at you.”

“I don’t know, I’m still pretty mad.” She would have preferred it if her voice had been a little less breathy.

He ducked down, giving her a full blast of his little boy’s pout, then bit his lip and leaned in. He kissed her, a soft touch of his lips against hers

“How about now?” he asked gently.

“Yes!” she insisted, but wrinkling her nose did nothing to negate the stupid smile on her face. He kissed her again, harder, tilting his head curiously.

“What about now?”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Uh oh, we seem to be going backwards, let me try-“ He scooped her up by the waist and caressed her lips with his, his tongue sliding in to meet hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew up to her tiptoes, pressing in as warmth flushed through her, need driving out anger, determination, and thought. She was just one of those silly girls again. Or always had been. @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @c-rosenn, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel, @freudianslumber, @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters, @prompted-wordsmith. @literally-just-elvis-fics, @eliseinmemphis. @lookingforrainbows, @stylespresleyhearted, @amydarcimarie, @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x oc #an enjoyable slide to oblivion #whositmcwhatsit #70s elvis #baby elvis

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multifandomfanficss · 8 months

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Home Is Wherever You Are P2

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

With a very heavy emphasis on platonic!Christopher Smith/Peacemaker

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Prompt: You take Adrian, Gut, and Chris school shopping. It might be harder to keep the timeline in tact than you originally thought.

Warnings: mentions of/implied child abuse, panic, meltdown, crying, divorce, mentions of August Smith, cannon typical Peacemaker violence and language, homophobia

A/N: I’ve decided to start with biweekly updates! I’m post on Saturday and Wednesday. I’ll also be posting on my new AO3 adriansglasses. I’ve actually added all of my old work there as well. Hope you guys enjoy!

“You’re the most attractive person I’ve seen in my entire life.” Adrian smiles at you.

“Shut up. No, I’m not.” You blush hiding your face from your boyfriend.

“Don’t hide.” He pushes your hands away from your face. “Please don’t hide your pretty face. It’s like the prettiest face I’ve ever seen and even if it wasn’t- which would be totally absurd like have you even seen yourself? You’re so hot- anyway more to the point. Your personality is so attractive to me that you’re automatically that much hotter. That’s just math babe. Do two wrongs make a right?” You laugh at his comparison. To someone else that may not make sense, but to many people Adrian never made sense. To you, he always made perfect sense.

“You’re too nice to me.” You say smiling at him.

“Well you’re the only one who’s nice to me sometimes period and your pain in the ass loves you very much.” He kisses you.

“I never said you were a pain in the ass!” You laugh. He gives you a look.

“Okay, I may have said it once or twice, but I didn’t mean it. I was just teasing you.” You kiss him on the cheek as he holds you close.

“It’s okay. I know I’m annoying and hard to deal with sometimes.” You turn his face to look directly in your eyes so he knows you’re serious.

“Not to me.”

September 1st, 1994

You woke up to the sound of the chunky alarm clock on the nightstand. You could hear somebody cooking downstairs. You used the bathroom and made your way to the kitchen to find Diane making breakfast.

“Morning! I’m running a little later than usual this morning, so all I could really manage was toast and eggs. Hope that’s okay.” She gave you a sympathetic smile.

“That’s more than okay. I usually skip breakfast half the time anyway.” You admit.

“You shouldn’t do that. Adrian’s always trying to skip breakfast. He doesn’t like most breakfast foods. I’ve been trying to make sure he eats more of them.” You have to bite back a comment about how his future self is still just as annoyed by the concept. You think back to all his rants about how breakfast doesn’t make sense because it’s foods you can only eat in the morning. He was always annoyed that he couldn’t order pancakes at dinner time or a burger for breakfast unless he was in a diner. It just didn’t make sense to him. ‘What?! Suddenly diners don’t have to follow the rules?! It’s all just a bullshit societal construct!’ You could hear his voice now.

“You could have called me down to help.” You say as the food sizzles in the pan.

“You were sleeping. You had a long day yesterday. I need your help with something while I’m at work anyway.” She says, turning to take the toast out of the toaster.

“What can I do for you?” You ask without debate. She’s helped you a lot and she is Adrian’s mom after all. You never thought you’d get to meet her outside of an ouija board. It’s the least you can do in your current situation.

“I have an envelope in my room for you with back to school money in it. It’s mostly just tip money I’ve been saving up from the restaurant. If you could bring the boys into town to get school clothes that would be wonderful. Adrian needs a little bit of everything. He just went through a big growth spirt. Dorian mostly needs new sneakers, but he should get a pair of jeans and maybe a couple shirts. There’s enough money in there to get a few things for Chris because God knows his father won’t do it. There should also be a little leftover if you want to get anything for yourself.” She says, beating the eggs.

“For me?” You question.

“You showed up with no clothes. You can have some of my old clothes, but I doubt you have the style of a divorced mom with two and a half kids. You should get one or two things you actually like.” She laughs.

“No, Diane I- I couldn’t-“

“Yes, you can and you will. This is basically just payment for the nannying gig.”

You smile at her. “Okay, fine. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

After cooking breakfast and saying goodbye to the boys, Diane was off to the office for the day. She was a secretary at a nearby law firm. Waitressing was only her second job to help pay the bills after her husband left for another man.

“Dorian, do you know where Adrian’s shoes are?” You ask as you chase Adrian around the living room, trying to get him ready to leave. He had so much energy. You couldn’t say you were surprised.

“That’s not my name.” He sat there with his face in his gameboy, barley giving you the time of day. He was just radiating 12 year old angst. Honestly you couldn’t blame him. He was 12, Chris was 13, and they were both about to enter 7th grade. That’s hard enough on its own. It’s probably a lot harder when your mom is asking you to help look after your 3 year old brother because your dad just left because he’s gay. It’s 1994 in Evergreen, Washington and his best friend’s dad is the biggest homophobe in the country. None of this must be easy on him.

“What do you wanna be called?” You ask. He tears his eyes away from his gameboy to give you a look. It’s almost like nobody’s ever asked him or cared for his opinion.

“Gut.” He answers.

“Yeah that’s a much cooler name. My dad says Dorian is a pansy name.” Chris says, continuing to channel surf.

“Christopher Smith that is not nice and will not be tolerated when I’m around. Understand?” You know you can’t tell him his dad is wrong. You know if he challenges his dad now he might not make it back alive, so you hold your tongue for now.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He huffs.

“Actually, as your babysitter, I can.” You turn to Gut. “Okay Gut, where’s your brother’s shoes?” You try again.

“By the door, under the bench.” He informs you.

“Thank you.” You smile, bringing Adrian to sit on the bench, so you can put on his shoes. There’s two pairs under the bench. You lift them up for him to choose between. One pair has dinosaurs on them and the other pair lights up. He very excitedly points at the light up ones. You can’t get him to sit still long enough to put on the shoes, so eventually you inevitably drop one.

“Motherfucker!” Adrian exclaims in his loud toddler voice.

“Adrian!” You say in shock. You want to laugh because this is so him, but you don’t wanna be blamed for this one. He’s only 3. He giggles at your reaction of the forbidden word.

“Motherfucker!” He says it again in a fit of giggles.

“Buddy, you can’t say that. That’s a grownup word. If you say it too many times you have to go to work and pay taxes.” You try to persuade him against the word.

“What’s taxes?” He asks.

“Taxes are what grown ups have to pay to people. They give a lot of money that you don’t have, so you shouldn’t say that word. Also not paying is a crime. I don’t wanna pay taxes, so I’m not gonna say it.” You try to bargain with him using toddler logic.

“But Dor and Chris say it!” He objects.

“Well, Dor and Chris are gonna have to pay taxes soon.” Adrian begins to cry. “Why are you crying, buddy?” You wipe his tears.

“I’m scawred!” He cries.

“Of what?” You ask.

“Taxes!” He cries.

“It’s okay. You didn’t say it enough times to have to pay taxes.” You pull his small, hiccuping body into your arms, not quite sure what to do. You feel kinda bad. Parenting is fucking hard. They say never parent your boyfriend, but you were taking it to a whole new level. You don’t think this is what they meant.

Finally you had wrangled the boys together and you were on your way to the store. You had to walk because Diane had the car at work and you obviously didn’t have one, but the store wasn’t far.

“Why do we have to walk? This is fucking stupid.” Chris complained.

“Chris, knock it off. We’re at the repeating age.” You gesture to Adrian, who was jumping around the cracks on the sidewalk. Luckily he wasn’t paying attention.

“Hey, Adrian!” Chris grabs his attention.

“Chris!” Adrian runs up to him, on his wobbly little legs.

“Don’t you fucking dare-“ The words came out of your mouth before you even had the chance to realize it.

Gut laughs. “You’re the one who actually said fuck in front of him.”

“Fuck!” Adrian repeats.

“No no no no no!” You try to stop him.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He says as he hops up and down with each fuck.

“No! I said…duck! I said duck!” Gut and Chris break into a fit of laugher.

“Rey’s lying, Adrian.” Gut tells him. Adrian stops giggling and his entire body language changes. He starts to cry, trying to walk away. His little legs don’t carry him very far. You turn to Gut and Chris.

“Please just stop! I just wanna get through the day. Would it kill you to just be nicer to him?!” You don’t mean to lose your temper with the boys, but you know this is only the start to a lifetime of bullying and provoking Adrian. You sigh, dropping your attitude. They’re all just kids. “Stay here for a minute.” You turn in Adrian’s direction and start racing after him.

You try to scoop his little body into your arms, but he screams at you. “NO! NO!” Okay. He’s not great with words, but he totally has no down. You decide to give him some space. Even if he’s not his adult self yet, he’s still a person. You know how easily overwhelmed he gets as an adult. You can’t imagine how upset his 3 year old self is.

“Buddy, I’m really sorry.” You apologize. Your heart breaks. You hate knowing you made him cry.

“P-p-pweas don’t weave!” He begs you not to leave through his tears.

“Hey…what’s going on? Why do you think I’m gonna leave?” You question him.

“Daddy lied to m-mommy and now he’s not here!” Adrian cries. Oh fuck. Of course he couldn’t fully grasp that his father had an affair and that’s why he’s gone.

“Adrian, listen to me. I will never leave you for something like that. I’m sorry I lied to you. Lying isn’t nice, but I’m here for you. I will always be there for you. Even if I’m not here with you, right next to you, I promise I will always love you.” You try to keep yourself from crying now. You can’t help, but think of your version of Adrian at home without you. You try to keep your tears in and stay strong for the younger version of the man you love right in front of you. They feel like different people, but they’re not. This is Adrian and you need to help him.

“Lying isn’t nice!” Adrian repeats, sniffling as his tears slow.

“You’re right. It’s not. Do you want a hug or do you not want to be touched?” You ask.

“Hug!” He cries, crashing into your open arms. You hold his little body as he cries.

“Even if you can’t see me, I’ll always be with you. I love you.” Everything about this is so fucked up. You shouldn’t even be here. You’re messing with Adrian’s life. You’re messing with Chris’ life. Everything about this feels so wrong, but when he’s crying in your arms like this all you can think about is the restless nights when you’d cuddle with your boyfriend and he’d shed a tear or two about his childhood. You knew how much it effected him even now and you just wanted to protect him from all that was to come and heal all that had already happened, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Time had to run its course.

After you helped baby Adrian collect himself you joined Chris and Gut back on the sidewalk and continued your way to the store. Town was small, so the walk wasn’t long, but luckily you had a new Walmart nearby. In your day this Walmart was shitty, but in 1994 it was new. You let Gut and Chris walk around on their own with the promise they’d meet you in the men’s clothing section. You were going to take Adrian to the toddler section. Toddler clothes were cheaper and he was growing fast, so you picked out a couple different outfits for him. You grabbed some basic pants and socks that would match everything and let him pick his own shirts. He settled on a shirt with a spaceship on it that said ‘I’m so cute it’s out of this world’. He also picked a Barney shirt and an Aladdin shirt after making a comment on how both Jasmin AND Aladdin were pretty. You then brought him to your side of the clothing department to grab a shirt or two you liked before meeting up with the boys. After settling on some basic shirts, you were on your way to meet Chris and Gut when you passed the electronic isle and you caught Chris staring at a tape recorder. Even from a distance you could tell he was about to cry as he put it back on the shelf. Gut was nowhere to be seen, probably waiting in the men’s isle like was supposed to. He usually listened better.

“Hey, Chris…”

“I’m not crying!” He wipes his eyes.

“I know.” You give him a smile.

“I just got dust in my eye. They need to clean these shelves better.” He crossed his arms across his chest. You crouched down in front of Adrian.

“Hey, Ade. Why don’t you go pick out a movie for us to watch tonight from the clearance bin?” He wiggled excitedly before taking off towards the bin of cheaper VHS tapes.

“Stay where I can see you!” You called after him. He did just as you said and stayed in your line of vision as you talked to Chris more privately.

“Level with me. I know you weren’t crying, but if you had been crying…hypothetically of course…you could tell me anything. You know that, right?” You weren’t sure if you were breaking the timeline, but at this point you didn’t care. Chris deserved to be able to trust someone in his life.

“I wasn’t crying.” Chris tried to walk away from you, but you caught his arm in your hand.

“Chris, wait-“ He hissed as you made contact with his shoulder. Your jaw drops and you can almost feel tears in your eyes. You pulled up his sleeve to reveal small, circular burn marks. They were burns left behind from where his father had put out cigarettes in his arm.

“Stop starring at me like I’m a freak and just let me go.” He pushes you off of him and he walks away. You knew this job would be hard, but it’s a lot worse than you expected. You had no idea it would be this awful constant moral battle between letting these kids get hurt and keeping the timeline in tact. After realizing you were all alone and you could still see Adrian, but he wasn’t paying attention to you, you started to cry. After taking a deep breath you wiped your tears and picked up the tape recorder, putting the shirts for yourself on the shelf. Fuck it. Chris deserved something his dad couldn’t ruin. So what if you had to wear Diane’s maternity clothes and any clothes her husband left behind? You knew how much he loved music. He deserved this. Timeline be damned he deserved one fucking thing in his life untouched by his father. You hid it in the cart under some of Adrian’s clothes before heading to him digging around in the clearance vhs section.

“Rey!” He called for you as soon as he saw you.

“Adrian!” You called back, pretending to be happy. “Did you pick one?” You ask.

“This one!” He says, excitedly shoving the tape in your hands. You couldn’t help, but smile a real genuine smile. In your hands was a copy of the movie Adrian told you was his favorite growing up; The Brave Little Toaster.

“Have you seen this one?” You ask.

“No!” He smiles, hardly able to stand still.

“You’re gonna love it.” You smile, placing it in the cart. You take his hand and you both head to the men’s section to get clothes for Gut and Chris. Gut picked out a Green Day shirt, while Chris picked out a Nirvana shirt. You were happy when Chris didn’t pick up the Green Day shirt because you knew having that might get him in trouble in the next 10 years when they come out with American Idiot. His dad’s gonna hate that. These were of course considered hot new bands and most of their most famous songs weren’t even out yet. After picking out a couple more clothing items you headed to checkout. You were thankful Adrian was being such a distraction because Chris didn’t even see you put the tape recorder in the bag. With the remaining money, you took a bus to Fennel Fields for dinner where you told Diane you’d meet her on her night shift.

“Mommy!” Adrian yelled running up to her as soon walked through the door. It was nice to see him with his mother.

After grabbing a pizza you headed home. When you got there you pulled Chris aside and gave him the tape recorder.

“Happy birthday.” You said handing him the Walmart bag.

“It’s not my birthday.” He gives you a strange look.

“I know. Just think of it as an advance on your birthday gift.” You smile as he starts to open it.

“Is this mine?” He asks in shock. You nod. “Why did you do this?” He asks.

“Because you deserve something that’s yours that you enjoy.” You say as you watch his eyes well up with tears again.

“I’m not crying.” He says again.

“I know. But even if you were…it’s okay…” He stares at you for a moment before bringing you into a wordless hug. You stand there for a moment, shocked. You never expected this from him, but you wrap your arms around him anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. You deserve it.” You remind him. You know it won’t change the timeline much, but this time, you hope it does something.

After tucking Adrian in, you leave Gut and Chris to play video games until Diane gets home. You head to your room, flipping onto your bed with a sigh. You just hope you did the right thing. You open your phone and head to your voicemails. This has almost become routine.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I’m just calling because I know you had a bad day today and I was thinking…” You close your eyes, as the voicemail plays and you begin to cry. You’ll see him again one day. You have to. You didn’t know how or when, but you had to. You’d figure it out. You’d make a plan.

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