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carmenized-onions · 15 days

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I Want To. | Wellness Check

logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.

[!!!] series history, this is the fourth; First, Second, Third

portion; 4.7k+

possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)

we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.

Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.

Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.

But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.

...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?

He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.

He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.

It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”

“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.

“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”

He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.

When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”

He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”

He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?

‘yeah i can reach’

‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’

You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—

“You make your own bread.”

“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.

“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”

“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.

“Fuck is this?”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...

“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”

He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”

"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."

"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"

"...I think it's fine."

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.

“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”

“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”

“Courtesy of me.”

“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”

It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.

You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.

“Itinerary for today?”

“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”

“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”

“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”

“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.

“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”

You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.

“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”

It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.

You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!

Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.

Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!

And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!

...

God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.

This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.

You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—

“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.

“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!

“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”

You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.

While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.

You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”

He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”

You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”

“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”

“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.

“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”

“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”

He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”

“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”

You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”

“You know ‘em?”

You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”

“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”

Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…

You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”

He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”

“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.

“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”

He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”

“I remember what I'm told.”

His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”

“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”

He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”

“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.

He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”

At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.

You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.

“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”

“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.

“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?

“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”

You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.

“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”

“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”

“That’s what they all do.”

“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”

You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.

“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.

You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?

“Alright— Relax—”

“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”

“Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.

“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”

Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”

You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”

“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.

“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”

“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”

A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.

“It looks tight.”

There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.

“It is.”

He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”

“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.

You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”

“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”

You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.

“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”

When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”

There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”

You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”

She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.

...

“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”

“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.

“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”

“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”

“Not help—fu—ll.”

“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.

“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”

She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”

You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.

You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.

You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”

You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”

“I can’t— Move.”

“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”

She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.

“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.

You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.

You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.

“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”

She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”

“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.

You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”

“Why do I—”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”

He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”

You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”

Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”

“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”

They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”

“Yes, Chef!”

You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.

He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”

“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”

He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.

But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”

He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.

“Yes, Chef.”

I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.

I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.

And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!

Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fx

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junkissed · 10 months

Text

happy ending

member — husband!junhui x f reader genre — angst, fluff, hurt/comfort word count — 6.6k synopsis — a pointless argument escalates until both of you need some space, but it couldn't come at a worse time. warnings — female reader, planned pregnancy, there's a big argument but i tried to not make it too toxic (jun and reader have a happy & healthy relationship i promise), swearing, there is a happy ending lots of fluff !! notes — requested by anon — this has been sitting in my drafts for months bc every time i look at it i get shy and wanna change my mind but i'm proud of how this turned out so i'm posting it finally! i know pregnancy fics aren't everyone's favorite but this was honestly very comforting to write so i hope anyone who chooses to read can find comfort in it as well <3 also the last time i proofread this was like april and if i try to proofread it rn i'll get shy again and chicken out so if there's any mistakes pls ignore! i hope you enjoy :)

you sat on the bathroom floor, trying to comprehend the weight of the news you held in your hand. you couldn’t believe it. you could? you couldn’t.

after many months of trying to start a family with your husband, you had finally succeeded. the slim plastic stick with two tiny pink lines was the last piece of evidence you needed. it had been months of carefully tracked cycles, fertility doctors, and new positions that seemed too weird to actually do anything. but now, everything was finally falling into place.

you don’t know exactly how much time you spend sitting on the floor and staring at the pregnancy test; thinking, planning, and thinking some more. but when you finally stand up and place the positive test on the counter with shaking hands, it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet what’s happening. something you’d wanted for so long, and finally it was all right in front of you.

what do you do now? no— you know exactly what you need to do, and it’s a long list of things. the real question is, where do you begin?

you thought back to all the videos you’d watched over the last few weeks. somehow every social media algorithm knew exactly what you wanted to see, and it had given it to you in abundance; baby showers, gender reveals, those “get ready with me - new mom edition” videos. all getting your hopes up before you could confirm whether or not it had finally happened.

with your hopes high and expectations even higher, you were already beginning to plan how you would break the news to junhui. as your husband and your soon-to-be baby’s father, of course you wanted him to be the very first person to know, so you couldn’t wait too long to tell him. you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

maybe you’d get a little gift box and give the test to him before dinner. but, then again, it was literally a piece of plastic you’d peed on. surely you could give him… something a little nicer than that.

maybe you could buy a baby outfit and wrap it up for him. but you remembered he’d mentioned so many times about how excited he would be to pick out clothes once you got pregnant. you would want him to have the honor of picking out the very first one, going to the store together and looking through the whole section before finally settling on the perfect one.

what else was there you could do? bake a cake? make a crossword puzzle? buy him a t-shirt that says “dad-to-be”? so many ways you could do it, but none of them seemed perfectly right.

from the other room you hear the door opening, and hurriedly you stuff the test into a drawer, not wanting to tell him just yet. you need a plan first; waiting another day or two couldn’t hurt, so you’ll just have to figure out how to tell him later.

you flip off the bathroom light and stride into the hallway, barely able to contain the grin on your face. you’ve always been terrible at keeping secrets, and with news as big and exciting as this you have no idea how you’re going to be able to hide it from him for more than a minute.

but luckily you don’t have to wonder about it for long, because as soon as you see jun you can already tell he’s in a sour mood.

you know it’s usually best to let him have some time alone when he’s upset, but not for too long because he starts getting frustrated with himself and won’t stop working until he’s exhausted.

but you’re still on a high after everything today, so you decide on being a little bit sweeter to him in the hopes that your happiness will be contagious and that it’ll lift his spirits, despite what was probably a really awful day at work.

you find him sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, long fingers pressed against his eyes trying to block out the light.

“hey, junnie,” you call out, sitting down in a chair next to him. “bad day?”

“yeah,” he answers shortly.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you hum, putting your hand on his shoulder, but he flinches and your hand falls away in surprise. he’s never done that before. weird. you try something else. “um, any requests for dinner?”

“not hungry.”

“alright. well, i guess i can cook up some veggies and leave them out, you can heat them up whenever you get hungry.”

he moves his hands away from his face and onto the table, sighing as he leans back in his chair. “can you just— leave me alone for a while? i’m sorry.”

you nod and stand up. “no, it’s fine. i get it. i’ll bring you some tea later then, maybe. text me when you’re feeling better.” you reach out and gently touch his hand before walking away, leaving him alone at the table.

it’s definitely one of his worser days, you note, so you retreat to your bedroom to watch more videos on your phone, trying to bring back your excitement from earlier. hopefully later he’ll be more open and you can sit down and eat something, and maybe by then you’ll have come up with a good way to tell him the news.

an hour passes and you come out of your bedroom to look for jun, having a question from one of your friends about the dinner you’d arranged to have together next week. but he’s no longer in the kitchen, so you peek your head into his office room and find him exactly where you expect him to be, trying to work himself to death.

you clear your throat before you enter, not wanting to startle him again. “hey, junnie, i know you’re in a bad mood, and i’m sorry to interrupt, but—”

“what do you want?” he snaps, never turning around from his desk. just from the way he’s hunched over his computer, he looks like the most stressed you’ve ever seen him, and your chest tightens with worry before your brain registers what he’s just said to you.

“i— excuse me?”

“i said, what do you want?” he repeats, still facing away from you.

you resist the urge to glare at him, knowing he’s probably under a lot of pressure, and you aren’t trying to add to it. “you don’t have to be rude, jun. i just came in here to double check about next weekend, minghao’s texting me.”

he finally lifts his head, slamming his hand down on the desk. “i’m really trying not to snap at you, but— jesus, you make it so fucking hard sometimes.”

you raise your eyebrows in disbelief, your voice lifting in tone. “well, i’m so very sorry to inconvenience you then, but i really don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, jun.”

“and i don’t appreciate you talking to me like i’m a child! when will you get it through your head?”

his comment stings, but you brush it off. “well, maybe if you’d just talk to me like an adult instead of throwing a fit and hiding in your office then i wouldn’t have to treat you like one!” you’re starting to get tired of how he retreats in on himself every time bad shit happens. all you want to do is let him know he doesn’t have to do it alone, and he’s just… exploding at you for no reason, so you don’t try to hide the snarkiness behind your words.

he scoffs angrily and stands up, towering over you at his full height. “oh, grow up! you’re so moody all the time and you expect me to just put up with it! as if i don’t have enough other shit to worry about, i have to worry about what you think of this and that and everything all the damn time!”

you’ve never seen him get so angry like this, and it’s almost scary how completely different this jun is from the jun you know and love. “okay, jun, fine, i’ll just—”

“no, don’t fucking “jun, fine” me. it’s like you’re doing it on purpose at this point, you act like everything is just so perfect and then when it’s not you act like it’s your job to fix everything! you can’t fix everything!”

“i said fine! just forget it, i’ll leave you the hell alone like you always want!”

he pushes past you and crosses the room in two strides, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door, his hand already on the doorknob. “i need to get some air. i’ll be back later.”

you fold your arms over your chest, trying to look unphased but inside your heart is breaking. “you’re really gonna walk out like that? you’re just gonna run away from this? real mature, junhui.”

he spins around, and the look in his eyes is cold. “if i don’t get out of this house right now i’m gonna say something i actually regret.”

and in a flash the door is slammed shut and jun is gone. you can hear his car starting up in the driveway, and seconds later everything is dead silent.

you stand frozen in front of the door, unable to move. you can’t believe it. you can’t. what just happened?

jun has never just… walked out like that.

his words ring in your ears; though your argument wasn’t very long, a lot was said in a very short time and you can’t even begin to think about how to process it as it starts to hit you all at once.

say something he actually regrets? what the hell does that mean? so he’s saying he doesn’t regret everything else, the cursing and the anger and the pointed words that were clearly meant to hurt you?

minute after long minute passes and you realize he’s not coming back anytime soon. finally you drag yourself away from the door, dropping down on the couch in a daze.

there’s never been a time where you and jun haven’t made up immediately after an argument. sure, maybe you take a little bit to cool down in your own space, but neither of you like letting the tension sit unresolved for very long. so what was it this time that made him leave without even a goodbye?

so many reasons, so many excuses, so many words you could’ve said instead. you shouldn’t have reacted like that, you shouldn’t have kept it going, you should’ve just left him alone. would that have made him stay? if you’d backed down sooner and just let him work through it on his own?

despite all the what-ifs and the doubts in your mind, your conscience won’t allow you to let him worry about everything by himself without at least offering your help. you’re a team, husband and wife, and you’ll be damned if you let him forget that. maybe you trying to help actually made things worse in the end, but at least you know you tried… right?

it’s not until you check your phone and realize that jun’s been gone more than half an hour that you finally let yourself cry. you’d been so focused on worrying about where jun was and whether he was okay that you’d barely even thought about what might happen after this.

will he just… come back and pretend nothing happened? will he come back and still be angry at you? it would almost be worse if he was calm and acted like everything was normal. would he even apologize? would you even apologize? of course you would. both of you said things that were fucked up, and you’ll be the first to admit it if it means this whole thing can be over. right now all you want is to have junhui back.

the tears keep falling but you don’t even feel yourself crying, your face rigid as the tears continue to stain your cheeks.

after an hour you force yourself to get up off the couch and move somewhere, anywhere around the house to try and get your mind off things. but you can’t erase his voice from your head, the look in his eyes as he walked out the door and the way his shoulders hunched from anger mixed with exhaustion.

you find yourself back in your bedroom and you fall onto his side of the bed, wishing you would wake up to find that this has all just been a very bad dream.

it’s after 10pm when you hear your phone buzz on the nightstand and you sit up in a panic, scrambling to see if it’s something from jun. your eyes sting from crying so much, and you blink away the remaining tears as you unlock your phone with shaking hands. your heart drops even further when you realize it is, in fact, from jun, but not the news you want to hear.

you let your phone slip out of your grasp, tumbling to the carpet with a thud. when he’d said he’d be back later you had assumed that meant he’d be coming back tonight. clearly you thought wrong.

tomorrow seemed so far away; too much time to spend alone in a house that was supposed to be filled with happy memories, but now all you felt was pain. you felt it in your chest and in your stomach and in your head and everywhere. the whole room was suffocating, heavy weight crushing down on you from every angle.

you slide to the floor and pick up your phone. you don’t text junhui back. you’re not sure anymore if he’d even read your message.

instead you type in your friend seokmin’s phone number, listening to the line ring as you wipe the back of your hand across your eyes.

as soon as he picks up, he can hear the anguish in your voice and he’s begging you to tell him what’s wrong, but all you can muster up is a soft, “can i stay with you tonight?” because you can’t bear to be in this house another second without junhui.

and of course he says yes, and of course he’s immediately on his way over to pick you up. and of course he stops at mcdonald’s on the way back to his house to buy you something to eat, because you haven’t eaten and even though you don’t particularly have much of an appetite right now, seokmin would rather die than let you skip a meal, especially on a night like tonight when you could really use something to keep you going.

you throw your overnight bag on the floor of seokmin’s living room with a small sigh. in a haze you’d tossed in whatever items you thought you might need; a toothbrush, pajamas, something to wash your face with.

he gives you space for a while as he pulls out the folding bed part of the couch and brings out blankets and pillows for you to sleep with. you don’t say it, but you really appreciate his help. he’s been one of your best friends for so long, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

you hadn’t thought about it while you were packing, but as you stand in seokmin’s bathroom you think about the cleanser you’d grabbed; your favorite one, the one jun had gotten you for your birthday last year and you’d never switched to another brand since.

every single thing reminds you of him, and you push down a fresh wave of emotion as you scrub the foam into your skin, trying to wash away all your tears.

when you’re done getting ready for bed you find seokmin in the living room with a pot of tea. he was just trying to help, but unluckily for him, he’d made green tea. it was your favorite… but it also happened to be jun’s favorite.

and this time you can’t hold back your tears, and seokmin is sitting wide eyed and bewildered, wondering why you’re crying over tea, but he doesn’t ask. he just reaches out to let you hug him, and you squeeze him so tightly you know it must hurt, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets you hug him as hard as you can and lets your tears stain his t-shirt.

it takes another half hour for you to calm down enough to talk. you’d spent the time watching whatever was on tv, not really paying attention and instead playing everything back in your mind. seokmin had just sat next to you, quietly keeping you company until you were ready.

“jun and i… had a fight,” you say finally, interrupting the commercial playing on the screen.

“i figured,” he says, offering you a comforting smile as he mutes the tv. “do you wanna talk about it?”

“i don’t know. there’s not much to talk about.” you take a shaky breath, remembering it all one more time. “we both said some awful things that we didn’t mean. at least, i know i didn’t mean them. then he just… left, and he texted that he’d come home tomorrow. that’s it.”

you don’t tell him about the pregnancy test. you’ve mentioned once or twice that you and jun had been interested in starting a family, but you’d never gone into detail about it and you weren’t going to now. you still wanted jun to be the first person to know, even though you didn’t know when that might be anymore.

you tell him about other things instead, about your day at work and your plans for the weekend. eventually you finish your tea, and seokmin retreats to his own room and shuts the door with a quiet click, leaving you alone in the quiet of his living room.

it takes you a long time to fall asleep, but soon your exhaustion catches up with you and you let yourself rest, physically and emotionally drained. at least the silence here isn’t as bad as the silence at your house.

across town in his friend seungcheol’s guest bedroom, jun can’t stop tossing and turning. he’s fucked up, he knows he fucked up, big time.

why did he leave? he shouldn’t have left. you had been absolutely right, he was running away from everything and it was stupid and dumb and immature. but in that moment all he could think about was what the next awful thing he might say to you was, and he knew if he had stayed for any longer he wouldn’t have been able to stop what came out of his mouth. he was out of control, and immediately he knew it.

not even the worst day in the world could make you deserving of all the things he said to you. you were the only thing that wasn’t bad in his life; even on shitty days like today, all you did was care about him. and all he did was hurt you.

jun barely sleeps that night, finally forcing himself out of the extra bed at dawn. he’d been too anxious to sleep, too frustrated with himself to do anything other than think about everything he did and wonder if you were okay without him.

he’d already gotten an earful from his friend last night, and he knew he was still in big trouble. the things he said wouldn’t just go away overnight. in fact, they’d probably gotten worse by leaving them to build up overnight, and again he’s kicking himself for ever leaving in the first place.

he packs up his things as quickly as he can, eager to get home and see you again. on his way out the door, he thanks seungcheol for letting him stay the night and he apologizes for bothering him so late.

“i’m not the one you need to apologize to. you better figure out how to fix this, jun.”

with a straight face he nods, bowing his head as he closes the door.

in his car, jun takes the long way home, trying to find an open grocery store. he knows it won’t make up for how he acted, but the very least he can do it buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

he walks through the aisles, basket in hand, trying to think of something else for you. maybe he’ll get the ingredients he needs to make your favorite dinner tonight; he hadn’t eaten last night, though you had offered to cook for him and he’d shot you down.

he feels another pang of guilt at the thought, remembering yet another kind gesture you’d tried to give him that he’d brushed off like it meant nothing. it meant everything to him, and in the middle of the frozen vegetables aisle he swore he wouldn’t ever do it again.

he’d taken you for granted, and he was so lucky that things hadn’t ended worse than they did. he could’ve said something truly unforgivable, or he could’ve even lost your relationship altogether. but he was still yours, and you were still his, and he would just have to work extra hard to make sure you knew how sincere he was.

he’d been a little worried that you hadn’t texted him back last night, seeing that you’d read his message but never responded. you were probably still hurt, and he didn’t blame you; still, he’d hoped you would say something back.

with grocery bags loaded full of ingredients for dinner and the special things he’d bought for you, the drive back home feels a little more hopeful.

he plans out everything he’ll do in the car. he’ll bring the groceries in and put them away quickly; it’s still fairly early in the morning, so hopefully you won’t be awake yet. he’ll arrange your flowers all nice in a pretty vase, and he’ll come in and wake you up with the best apology of his life and hopefully a really big hug. after the last 24 hours he really could use a hug, and he’s sure you could too. and then he’ll explain how sorry he is and how he didn’t mean any of it and then everything will be better again. yes, everything will be okay.

the first part of his plan goes perfectly. he sneaks into the house and when he’s met with silence he continues putting everything away, quietly so he won’t wake you up in the other room. then, he puts the flowers in a vase and with everything in place, he walks down the hallway to finally face you.

but when he twists the bedroom door handle, the bed is made and the room is empty. you aren’t there.

he frowns, leaving the room and poking his head into the bathroom, then his office. he calls your name loudly, hoping you’re just in a corner of the house and you’ll come out once you hear him. but no reply.

he goes back into the living room and sets the vase down on the coffee table, trying to think. you aren’t usually up this early, but maybe you hadn’t been able to sleep and you’d gone out for a walk, or maybe you’d gone to the store to get more cereal?

a sinking feeling rises in his chest, and he walks back into the bedroom to confirm something, sliding open the closet door to check. your overnight duffel bag is gone.

he ducks back into the bathroom to check something else. your toothbrush isn’t sitting in the jar like it usually is. he slides open the bathroom drawer to check one more thing, and—

his hand freezes on the knob, staring at something in the drawer that wasn’t there before. he’s not sure it is what he thinks it is, but either way there it is, clear as day in front of him: a little white piece of plastic, sticking out from underneath a tissue.

gingerly he pulls it out, holding it up to the light to see it better. when he sees the two pink lines he nearly drops it in shock, but he stops himself, setting it gently on the counter instead.

this is something special, something precious, and he knew he had to take care of it. you’d saved it for a reason; you could’ve easily just thrown it away once you knew the results, but you had kept it instead. were you going to give it to him?

he covers his mouth with his hand, still staring at the stick sitting on the edge of the sink. it was just a cheap piece of plastic, but to him it was the most important thing in the entire world.

he deflates when he realizes you’d probably been planning on telling him last night, before he’d blown up at you. if he’d been paying attention to anyone other than himself, he would’ve noticed your mood was happier than usual, your face glowing with contained excitement. he should’ve been paying attention.

there’s a sense of urgency in his stride as he dashes around the house, looking for any other sign of you, but it’s clear you weren’t there. there were so many places you could be, he can’t even begin to think of where to look. your parents, friends, family; hell, you could even have stayed in a hotel, alone and upset. he should’ve been there. none of this should’ve ever happened.

immediately he presses the speed dial for your phone, but of course– no answer. he calls again, and again you don’t pick up. he curses, resisting the urge to slam his phone down on the table in frustration. no, he has to stay calm. that’s what got him into this whole fucking mess in the first place.

he remembers that your parents are out of town on vacation, so you probably wouldn’t have gone there. you wouldn’t have gone to a hotel because you always lecture him about the importance of saving money “just in case”, so you wouldn’t have paid to stay somewhere. your sister is still in college and shares an apartment with three other people, so probably not the best idea either.

that narrows it down to one of your friends’ houses; seokmin, who lives a couple blocks away, or joshua, who lives on the other side of town.

he figures seokmin is his best bet, so jun takes a deep breath and finds the contact in his phone.

“what do you want?” seokmin’s usually cheery voice has an edge to it today, and jun knows he’s picked right.

“is she there?” he asks anxiously.

“she is,” he confirms, and jun exhales, letting out the breath he had been holding in. “but she’s asleep still. i’ll let her know you called.”

“wait,” jun adds quickly.

the line is silent for a moment, and he’s afraid seokmin’s already hung up, but finally he gets a response. “what is it?”

"can i–are you sure? please," jun pleads. if he could just talk to you, just explain what happened and that he's so fucking sorry—

“hold on,” seokmin says, and the phone goes quiet again.

jun’s heart is in his throat as he waits for a response, and he stops when he finally hears your voice. “hello?”

he breathes a sigh of relief. “sweetheart. i’m so sorry.”

you don’t reply, so he continues.

“i’m glad you’re okay,” he starts, trying to put the right words together. “i shouldn’t have said any of that last night, and i shouldn’t have left. i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry.”

“thanks” is all you say, and he hates how small and sad your voice sounds. it’s his fault you sound like that.

“i found your test,” he bursts out, unable to hide his excitement any longer.

“oh." you pause, swallowing. "so… you know.”

“yes, i do know, baby. i’m so sorry, if i had known before—”

you cut him off, your tone suddenly rising with anger. “‘if you had known?’ so you won’t yell at me if i’m pregnant, but you’re just fine with yelling at me when you think i’m not? is that the only reason why you’re even apologizing to me right now?"

“no— fuck, no, of course not. i shouldn’t yell at you, period. and i’m not going to ever again.” jun pauses for a second, rubbing his hand over his eyes. he’s done nothing so far but make everything worse. “i really messed up, honey, and i’m sorry. i can’t say it enough. but— please, come home. i don’t want to talk over the phone.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away the tears that threaten to fall again. you don’t want to cry about this anymore. “okay,” you say finally. “i’ll be home in a little while.”

“thank you,” jun says, and the way his voice breaks makes your heart sink. you can tell he feels awful about everything, and you do really, really miss him.

“…i love you," you add, changing your mind at the last second.

“i love you, too!” he says immediately. “i love you, too, honey. text me when you’re on your way.”

“i will.”

he says “i love you” twice more before you end the call. you sit in silence for a second, processing everything before you stand up off the couch and head to seokmin’s room to give him back his phone.

"can you take me home now, please?" you tell him softly, and immediately seokmin stands up and hugs you, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"of course. let me know when you're ready."

half an hour later you find yourself in the front seat of seokmin’s car once again, this time sitting nervously in his driveway as he puts your bag in the trunk for you. you're still not sure if you're ready to face jun yet, but you know you have to.

reluctantly you unlock your phone and open your text messages with jun, your eyes landing on the text he'd sent last night that had gone unreplied. with shaky fingers you type out that you're leaving seokmin’s house, and jun replies almost instantly with a long string of heart emojis.

seokmin gets into the car and starts it, and you exhale and set your phone in the cupholder.

"are you okay?" he asks, turning to look at you. "because you can always let me know if you need anything. anytime, day or night."

"i'm alright," you say, taking a deep breath. "i'm fine. but thank you, seok. i really appreciate everything."

he smiles, shifting the car into reverse. "of course. it's no problem at all."

the second he hears the car pull up outside the house, jun jumps up off the couch, smoothing his shirt down anxiously. through the window he watches seokmin hand you your bag and close the trunk, giving you one last hug before he gets back in the car. he doesn't drive away until you're at the front porch, and with a deep breath jun swings open the door, before you can even knock.

you both stand there in silence for a second before he blurts out another apology. "i'm sorry," he rushes to say. "i'm really sorry."

you give him a weak smile. "can i maybe… get in the house, first?" you ask quietly, motioning with your free hand at the doorway.

"yeah, i— yeah, shit, of course," jun says as he practically jumps out of your way, holding the door open for you to walk inside.

you set your bag on the floor by the couch as he closes the door behind you. the sound of the lock clicking seems too loud in the uncomfortable silence that settles over the room.

"can… can i give you a hug? please?" he asks, and you stay quiet but nod.

he closes the distance between you in one stride and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you so tightly and holding you close to his chest. "i'm so sorry, honey. i didn't mean any of it. i promise."

"i believe you," you finally manage, your voice a little muffled from how he's pressing you against him.

he doesn't say anything more, just holds you and holds you, and it feels so good to be home where you belong. there's a lot that needs to be said, but for right now you don't need any more words. you're just glad to be back together again.

after a while you pull your head away from him so you speak. "i'm sorry."

"why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong, baby. i'm the one that needs to be apologizing."

you shake your head. "no. i said some things last night, too. granted, not as bad as you, but…"

jun breaks out into a grin at your joke, and you feel your mood start to lighten. "…which is true. and i'm sorry."

"jun, you can stop apologizing now. i get it, you're sorry. you don't have to tell me a million times," you say, trying to laugh a little.

now it's his turn to shake his head. "well, i'm going to anyway. because i am sorry." you look away from him, feeling embarrassment start to boil up, but he continues talking. "i'm serious. i'll say it as many times as it takes to make it right."

you turn your head back to him, struggling to keep a straight face. "why did you leave, jun?" you ask softly.

he takes a deep breath, and still trapped in his arms you can feel his chest expand with the breath.

"it was stupid," he says finally. "i left because i didn't want to stay and risk hurting you more. but i realize i did that anyway, by leaving. i was just… i needed some air. but i shouldn't have stayed away, and i'm not gonna do that again. i won't do it, ever again."

"i just don't want you to leave me," you manage, trying and failing to hide the crack in your voice as you feel your eyes start to well up with tears.

he hugs you tighter and one of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, gently smoothing your hair with his thumb. "i know, baby, i'm sorry. i'm not going to, i promise."

you don't respond, but you know he's telling the truth. the last 24 hours have been hell for the both of you, and you don't doubt he means every single "i'm sorry" he's said.

"so…" jun starts, and you tilt your head up at him.

"so?" you know what he's going to say next, and despite the excitement you had yesterday you feel yourself dreading this part of the conversation.

"you're pregnant?"

you sigh, looking down and avoiding his eyes. "yeah."

he hums. "but you don't sound excited?" he asks.

"well, i was, last night."

"i'm sorry," he winces. "do you wanna tell me now and i'll pretend this didn't happen and i don't know about it?"

you shake your head. "no, it's fine. the moment's kinda… ruined, already."

he sighs. "yeah, i know. i'm sorry i ruined it."

"i said it's fine, jun."

"no, it's not fine," he says firmly. "it's one hundred percent my fault. this is important to you, and to us, and we should be celebrating right now. last night should never have happened."

"jun, it's in the past. it was messed up, but i forgive you," you say, lifting you head to look at him once more. "it's not a big deal. we're okay now."

"i just want you to be happy about it," he says with a sniff. "we've been trying for so long, and finally…" he trails off, staring at you with watery eyes.

you smile at him. "i am happy about it, junnie. i'm so happy, you can't even believe."

"did you tell seokmin?" he asks, and his brows furrow when you shake your head no.

"no, i didn't. i wanted you to be the first i told," you say shyly. "i knew you would want to be the first to know."

"i love you so much," he says, still hugging you. he's never going to let you go, never again. "do you know how far along?"

"no, i didn't go to the doctor. probably like two or three weeks, though, if i've been counting it right."

"wow," he sighs, a smile on his face as he stares off into the distance behind you. "i can't wait."

you watch his eyes, practically able to see the thoughts running through his head.

after a while he loosens his grip around you, moving to swipe at his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "well—anyway," he starts, giving you an awkward chuckle. "i bought stuff for breakfast. if you haven't had any, yet. and i'm making dinner tonight, too."

before you can even respond his eyes widen, like he's just now remembering all the things he had planned, and he lets go of you, bounding into the kitchen. he returns seconds later with a huge glass vase full of flowers, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to hand them to you. "and i got these for you, too. sorry they're not the best, it's all the store had this morning."

"junnie, if this is the best the store had, then i don't think i wanna see their best," you laugh, holding the flowers up and admiring the dozens of bright blooms. "this is gorgeous, but you really didn't need to get me anything."

"but i wanted to," he counters, still running around the room to grab the gift bag sitting by the couch. "consider it an 'i'm very sorry' slash 'congrats you're having a baby' gift."

you set the vase down on the table next to you and take the bag from him, pulling out the tissue paper and crumpling it into a ball.

"i didn't have a whole lot of time to look this morning, but i found these," he says nervously, waiting for your reaction.

from the bag you pull out a miniature plastic hanger holding a set of tiny pajamas covered in little kitties, attached to a matching set of striped orange socks.

"i wanted to be the first person to get you baby clothes," he explains as he fidgets with his hands.

"i knew you would," you smile at him, setting the empty bag and the clothes on the table along with the bouquet of flowers. "and they're perfect. they're so… you."

you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another hug. "i love all of it. thank you, jun."

he grins, rocking you back and forth in his arms and leaving kisses all over your cheek. "i love you too, baby. i missed you so much. i won't ever do that again."

"i know," you smile. "now… you promised me breakfast, isn't that right? because i'm starving. crying is exhausting."

he laughs. "no crying anymore. and i did promise you that, so tell me: do you want blueberry waffles, or strawberry?"

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

Text

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

summary: sirius accidentally apparates into your bed instead of his.

w/c: 3.5k

notes: mutual pining, sirius is so jealous of jily, a few swears, suggestive moments, remus likes crosswords, soft! sirius

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

sirius felt pathetic.

“i feel pathetic,” sirius whined, throwing himself on one of the potters’ cushy sofas. he buried his face in a decorative pillow and kicked his feet against the couch cushions.

“quit your little temper tantrum,” lily said, rolling her eyes. “it makes you look more pathetic.”

“which is shocking, because i didn’t think it could even get worse,” remus piped from his seat at the kitchen island, where he was doing yesterday’s daily prophet crossword.

“what’s a six-letter word and starts with an ‘s’ that could be similar to cowardly?” remus tapped his quill against his chin.

“scared?” said sirius.

“sirius?” said lily.

“hey, i’ll have you know that i am in fact a gryffindor, despite what my parents have to say about it!” sirius retorted, throwing his pillow at lily’s head blindly and missing.

“what the-” you were hit in the chest by a flying pillow as you wandered into the sitting room, looking for your friends. you identified sirius as the culprit. “are you serious?”

“why yes, i am!”

you rolled your eyes but with no real malice; instead, discarding the pillow to the side and flung yourself on top of sirius’ back with full force. he oomph’d at the sudden weight.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and tucked your knees into his sides to pin him down. he protested meekly.

lily giggled as she watched sirius squirm under you as he pretended to be upset while you clung onto him triumphantly. sirius could’ve easily pushed you off, or even flipped you over, but he wasn’t going to complain about how close you were to him. no, sirius didn’t mind it one bit.

loud, thunderous footsteps could be heard bounding down the stairs as james made his presence known. euphemia trailed behind him, wary but amused.

“james, you can apparate now,” she chided. “why do you insist on causing such a ruckus every time you use the stairs?”

“but muuuuum, last time i crashed into the clock and you were all upset. i’m just being cautious.” james smiled guiltily.

euphemia waved him off. “your friends combined make less noise than you do, james.” she sighed happily as she watched her mosh of children settle soundly into her home. remus was sleepily humming a muggle song, james had taken a seat by lily and was resting his head on her lap, while you and sirius continued to smother each other.

“remus, feel free to head upstairs anytime,” euphemia said sweetly. she looked towards your crowd. “and you all as well. there’s no rush, but it’s getting late and fleamont and i will be heading to bed soon.”

there was a chorus of thank yous as euphemia left, leaving the lot of you alone on the lower level. lily looked at you and quirked her head.

you nodded. “i think lily and i will start washing up as well; goodnight everyone!”

lily kissed james’ forehead. james’ blush was apparent even in the dimness of the evening.

sirius perked up as you slid off from his back with a laugh, hoping for a kiss too. the two of you were normally affectionate anyway, so it didn’t seem so demanding.

when you made no indication of giving sirius a goodnight kiss, he sat up and pouted theatrically. “what about me? can i have a kiss too?” he whined, pointing his chin at james, who looked smug.

you appraised sirius for a minute “hmm, let’s see. have you been a good boy today?” you tapped your chin like you were deep in thought.

sirius’ heart raced.

“i think so, yes,” you decided, stepping closer to the anxious boy. you pressed three fingers to your lips—it was better than nothing, sirius decided—and slapped him (gently!) across the face.

“there’s your kiss!” you grinned mischievously.

james and lily laughed, even earning a snort from remus, who was half-asleep already.

“hey, that wasn’t- you slapped me!” sirius stammered, feeling cheated. “look how nicely lily gave prongs his kiss! you conniving little minx!” sirius crossed his arms.

“ah, well lily and james are dating and we are very much not. you’ve got to be promoted to the boyfriend level to earn that kind of salary.”

lily nodded solemnly. “that’s true. and your resume must be strong, too. job offers can be very competitive these days, y’know? and your girl has a lot of applicants.” lily winked at you.

your girl, sirius thought. he liked that. “well, how can i apply?” sirius joked, looking up at you with raised brows.

you pinched his cheek endearingly. “oh sirius, you flirt. now goodnight, all.” lily took your hand and pulled you up the stairs, hushed whispers trailing behind you and the occasional giggle from lily. sirius sat on the couch, dazed.

“what in merlin’s name happened?” james hissed loudly. “what do you call that, pads?”

remus rubbed his eyes blearily and sat beside james. the two boys stared down sirius from their couch like they were courtroom judges and sirius was being interrogated. in a sense, he was.

“i- i don’t know! she just slapped me and then ignored what i said!” sirius exclaimed.

james shushed him. “you’re going to wake up the entire house!”

remus sighed disappointedly. “are you two daft? she clearly thinks you’re flirting with her-”

“-i am!”

“-as a joke. you flirt with everyone, padfoot. coming from you, flirting is almost like… platonic behavior.”

“that literally makes no sense, you realize that, right?” sirius scoffed.

james hummed and shook his finger as he came to realization. “no, no. moony’s right-”

“-when am i ever not right?”

“-you flirt with all your friends. if you want to make it obvious you like her, you have to treat her differently. for you, that wouldn’t be flirting. it’d be more like…”

remus butted in. “domesticity, i think. little, genuine things that let her know you’ve been thinking of her. nothing too theatric; that’ll make her think you’re doing it jokingly too. you’ve got to be personal with her… vulnerable, even. yes, that’s it. you should be vulnerable. everybody knows loud, annoying padfoot-”

“-i am not annoying!”

“-but if you let her see you without all the exaggeration, she’ll know you really mean what you say.”

james and sirius looked at lupin, impressed. james shook his head like he was clearing his thoughts. “when did you become so wise, moony?”

remus smirked. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

sirius couldn’t sleep. well, he was restless most nights, often plagued with nightmares or a constant stream of thoughts, but tonight he was simultaneously battling james’ snoring and remus’ rolling and shuffling around.

sirius groaned quietly, draping an arm over his eyes. he needed a break. with a quick breath, he apparated himself into the potter’s kitchen and poured himself a cup of juice, sipping quietly as he leaned against the counter.

living at james’ house was like living on the moon. at home, sirius never got to decide when he wanted to sleep. he wasn’t allowed to brush his teeth with his friends and get foam all over the counter, or nibble on a secret stash of sweets at midnight, much less leave his room to raid the fridge.

when sirius finished his juice, he wrapped up his late night escapade with a quick scourgify and a quiet sigh. once again, he apparated upstairs to avoid the creaky staircase.

sirius had made a grave error.

“what the-” you sputtered for the second time that night. “sirius?”

sirius looked down at your sleeping figure. this time, he was the one sitting on top of your body, though he was considerably heavier than you were.

“lumos,” you whispered. “sirius, what the hell are you doing here?” you tried to sound scolding, but your voice came out slurred and bleary as you tried to blink yourself awake.

“i- i don’t know! i tried apparating back to-”

“shhh!” you furrowed your eyebrows, grabbing him by the neckline of his shirt and pulling him into bed beside you. “you’ll wake lily! thank godric she’s a deep sleeper.”

you huffed, pushing yourself upright. while the boys were crammed into james’ room, you and lily were sharing the guest bedroom which housed two larger twin sized beds. there was just enough space for sirius to move off your chest and to your side.

“i’m sorry, i went downstairs for a drink and i must’ve apparated to the wrong place or something-”

“clearly! how on earth did you manage that?”

“i don’t know! i’m tired, alright?” he punctuated his words with a big yawn.

“you know,” you began, a smug look growing on your face. “you have to envision where you want to go when you’re apparating. thinking of me in bed, are you now?”

sirius gulped, burning with nerves at your close proximity. “n-no! i mean, it’s not that i haven’t thought about- shit, i mean- uh, i can go now, if you want.”

you laughed breathily. “you’re good, siri.” you yawned. “maybe… maybe you should stay here for the night. i don’t want you to splinch yourself if you’re tired.”

sirius chewed his lower lip, admiring the side of your face as you fiddled with the edge of your blanket. he was wordless as he tried to steady his breathing.

you turned your head suddenly with wide eyes and met his. “you don’t have to, of course! i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, i just thought-”

“no- oh no, i mean, yes! yes, i’ll stay. i’d love- like to stay. i appreciate it,” he smiled, eyes flickering across your face. you hadn’t realized how close the two of you really were; you could easily kiss him bump heads if you leaned in. of he shuffled a bit closer to you and his thigh brushed yours. “sorry, the bed’s a little small.”

your mouth formed a little O as you scooted over as well, making more room for him. “i hadn’t realized—here, you can have some more space. you’re bigger anyway.”

the two of you awkwardly adjusted as sirius slipped under the covers. he punched the pillow a few times and cozied into a comfortable position. his body faced yours; his breath fanned over your skin.

“hey,” you whispered giddily.

“hi,” he echoed, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling too largely. sirius’ face seemed to melt into something soft—it was a vulnerability you’d never seen from him—as he gazed at you. he almost seemed to marvel at you.

“you’re so beautiful, y’know?” sirius murmured, brushing a few loose hair from your face. when he was finished, he didn’t pull his hand away. instead, he let it cup your cheek gently as he began to rub little semicircles into your skin with his thumbs.

“that means a lot, coming from the prettiest boy i know.” you placed your hand on top of his, hooking his thumb between yours to stop the movement. “my pretty boy, hm?”

your eyelids fluttered. sirius wasn’t sure if you were fully present; you looked half asleep. still, your words made his heart flutter, even though he knew he shouldn’t take them to heart.

“my best girl,” sirius cooed, slipping his hand out from under yours to wrap it around your shoulder instead. he pulled you closer to his chest and you eagerly obliged until the two of you were completely pressed together. you sighed in contentment.

sirius pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “g’night, lovely. i- i love you.”

you responded with a soft snore.

click! a bright flash and twinkling laughter made you open your eyes. you squinted at the harsh light—had somebody left the blinds open? you groaned, making a note for tonight.

you buried your head into your pillow, inhaling a deep breath of the potters’ laundry detergent. you knew the family was rich, but were they so rich that their detergent smelled this heavenly? they must’ve put some sort of spell on the bedding. it was rich; a little smokey, with notes of spice that reminded you of christmas cooking. you smiled to yourself, nuzzling closer. the potters were sweet to invest in something that’d make you feel welcome in their house. you’d never felt so at home.

click! another flash. a chuckle, but deeper and decidedly male. you hummed with annoyance at the interruptions.

your pillow was moving. did the potters enchant the pillows as well?

“dove?” sirius’ raspy morning voice mumbled into your ear. the vibrations tickled your skin and sent goosebumps running down your arms.

“sirius?” you exclaimed. the ‘enchanted pillow’ was not a pillow at all, it seemed. it was your best friend longtime crush, whose body you’d been cuddling up to all night. well, shit.

“did y’get a good one?” james’ voice floated through the room.

“oi, shut up, prongs. ‘m trying to sleep,” sirius grumbled. he didn’t seem to care about the intimacy of your position. instead, he only tightened his hold on your waist and even brought his other arm to rest at the name of your neck, which allowed him to settle his chin on the crown of your head. you could hear—and feel—the steady thumping of his heart.

as you awoke, you became more aware (and more horrified) at how you’d fallen asleep. one of your legs was bent over his, and his hands were carded through the hairs at the nape of your neck.

“holy shit,” you muttered, pulling sirius’ hands off of you. “sirius, wake up. i think they’re taking pictures of us.” you looked up at james, lily, and remus. “-those little shits.”

“huh?” sirius jolted awake, his arm never leaving your waist. “what in merlin’s name-”

james snickered. “you two seem to have had a good night, eh?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“shuddup, prongs,” sirius retorted. “get your head out of the gutter.”

“sirius…” lily ribbed, pursing her lips in amusement.

any annoyance on sirius’ face vanished and was quickly replaced by pure terror. “oh fuck,” he grimaced, before throwing the sheets off his body and running awkwardly to the bathroom while adjusting his pants.

your face heated. lily came by your side, practically in stitches, and you squeaked in shock. james went jogging after sirius, yelling suggestive comments unabashedly.

“so, what was that?” remus probed, sitting on the corner of your bed where sirius had just been laying.

“he was wearing clothes, alright? stop- don’t make this weird,” you pleaded.

“we didn’t say anything about states of undress,” lily chided, looking triumphantly at remus, who sighed.

“what’s it to you, anyway?” you pushed yourself out of bed, fussing with your hair momentarily as you tried to tame your bedhead. “‘s none of your business.”

“oh, but it is. james owes me three galleons,” lily announced. “and remus is coughing up eight sickles.”

“you bet on me?”

“well, not on you, perse,” lily backtracked. “on you and sirius’ relationship. so technically, that’s not either of you. it’s a relationship. aaaanyways, remus thought you were going to get together before summer break, i guessed during the second day of staying here, and james guessed at the end of our stay. and i was right! well, i was a couple hours off. but i still win.”

you closed your eyes, unable to process the audacity of your friends. “you lot are cheeky assholes, y’know that?”

“oh, we know. but these ‘cheeky assholes’ have blackmail now,” lily smirked.

“or, photos and a good story for your wedding,” remus piped in. lily nodded her head eagerly.

“i didn’t take you for a romantic, lupin,” you mumbled, beginning to dig through your clothes and change out of your pajamas. “what time is it, anyway?”

“nine-thirty!” lily chirped, placing emphasis on each number. “we let you two sleep in. it was cute.”

“we aren’t cute.”

“aha! so there’s a ‘we’ now!” james cheered from the doorway. sirius had returned in his normal clothes, still looking a little flustered. you averted your eyes.

“‘m gonna change. goodbye, twats.” you shuffled down the hallway. as much as you pretended to be annoyed by your meddling friends’ antics, you smiled uncontrollably as you heard them interrogate sirius next, who did a much worse job of hiding his feelings.

feelings. were there feelings? and james’ question still stood. was there a ‘we?’

“i’m starving,” james whined, clutching his stomach dramatically. “if we keep pushing off breakfast, i’m going to be too weak for quidditch season next year.”

lily rolled her eyes. “you big baby. c’mon remus, let’s leave the toddler here and make something for ourselves.” lily linked her arm through remus’ and made a big show of trotting away, with james scrambling after them desperately.

when you came to the kitchen, your friends were still fighting playfully over lily’s taunts. “i am not a big baby!” james complained.

“you’re literally throwing a fit right now!” lily laughed, shoving him with her shoulder. you laughed alongside her as you watched james stumble.

sirius, though he’d always found james’ embarrassment to be funny, didn’t laugh. he was watching you, smiling hopelessly at the way your laugh seemed to pierce his senses more sharply than the brightness of the sun, noticing the way your body shook a little from the enthusiasm of your happiness, and staring longingly at your parted lips.

remus thwaked sirius in the back of the head with the most updated copy of the daily prophet. “stop staring like a fucking idiot and do something,” he hissed. sirius found himself pushed off his chair as remus slipped in with a pencil in hand, already immersed in his crossword.

“siri, y’alright?” you giggled, noticing sirius’ unusual quietness and the odd, hazy look in his eyes.

“yeah! ‘m all good.” sirius startling slightly. “thanks, dove.”

sirius made his way beside you and again, wrapped his arm around your waist. you shivered. “are you cold?” sirius asked.

“ah- no. you’re just- you make me nervous,” you said hesitantly.

sirius’ words were slow, calculated. “in a good way or bad way?” he looked down at you and raised his eyebrows questioningly. he bent down and lowered his voice. “‘cos i’m really hoping it’s a ‘sirius black, you give me butterflies and i’m madly in love with your charisma, luscious hair, and gorgeous face,’ type’a way.”

“ugh,” you groaned, pushing against his chest playfully as your face burned. sirius only strengthened his hold on you. “you wish, black,” you sniffed, tipping your chin up at him haughtily. but then your teasing smile dropped into something intense and genuine. you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

so, sirius did the speaking for you. cupping your pointed chin in a delicate hand, sirius lowered his head until his lips brushed over yours—just barely. he smilled, his breath warming the planes of your face as he held himself still.

pulling sirius closer down to you by the fabric of his shirt, you dusted your lips across his for a fleeting moment. you pulled away almost immediately, panicking at what you’d just done. sirius shook his head, amused, and pulled you in once more, pressing his lips against yours firmly and holding you there, supported and assured, until you melted comfortably into his mouth.

“siri…” you gasped, pulling away. “oh my merlin, sirius?” you called, chewing your kiss-swollen lip as you watched sirius sway hazily in his spot. he was muttering silent words.

“pads!” james hollered. “way to go, padfoot!” he slammed his hand into the back of sirius’ head.

“ow, what the fuck, mate?” sirius rubbed the spot that james had attacked.

“you dog!” lily shrieked, running around the counter to throw herself at you and wrangle you around excitedly. it seemed that your friends were more passionate about the kiss than you two were.

well, that wasn’t true. the two of you were a bit too dizzy to appreciate the excitement of it all.

from remus’ position at the stove, two eggs came magically whizzing through the air and cracked themselves on top of james and lily’s heads.

“moony! what the hell was that for?” lily sputtered.

“i just did a hair mask last night!” james complained.

remus rolled his eyes, nonchalantly waving his wand over the pan of scrambled eggs he was cooking. “leave the two of ‘em be. i’m sure you’ll have plenty of moments to see them snogging in the future.” remus turned towards the two of you, looking bashful. sirius had given you his hand to hold and you were fiddling with his fingers. he looked very pleased.

remus sighed exasperatedly, before turning back to his eggs. “now you two get out! you’re killing my appetite.”

you and sirius looked at each other, and with bright, childish giggles, you ran out of the kitchen with sirius on your heels. remus huffed grumpily, waving his wand again to scramble the eggs, but unbeknownst to his friends, he cracked a satisfied smile.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

marauders masterlist | main masterlist

taglist:

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @cowboibeepbeep @yourallihave @bambamwolf87

#sirius black imagine #sirius imagine #sirius x reader #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x y/n #sirius fluff #sirius black fluff #sirius x you fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black mutual pining #marauders mutual pining #marauders friends to lovers #sirius friends to lovers #sirius mutual pining

5K notes · View notes

arminsumi · 10 months

Note

i’ve had this dumb idea in my head for weeks where you really wanna dye ur hair blonde so you ask gojo what toner he uses to get his hair so perfectly white & how many times a month he has to bleach his roots and he’s like 🤨 wtf do u mean? and then he shows you his eyes for the first time and you see his white eyelashes and ur like HUH?

if this request is dumb don’t worry abt writing it 😭

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒꒱

GOJO x gn.reader

A/N: I THOUGHT ABT THIS REQ ALL DAY and just gave in and wrote it at 1 am instead of sleeping lol😭❤️ tysm anon bb i love ur mind

Wc: >700

Content; cheesy-ish fluff

Warnings; some flirting, nickname sweetheart used, a little suggestive at the end

arminsumi's library

He was in his office, making it seem like he was dedicated to his hard work by shuffling around important-looking documents across his desk. He totally wasn't doing a crossword puzzle out of boredom. He totally wasn't ecstatic to see his favorite student stop by his office.

"Gojo!"

"Nuh-uh, address me properly, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes, not realizing that he could see right through that silken black fabric wrapped around his head. But because you were his favorite, he let your cute little eyeroll slide.

"Gojo-sensei." you corrected.

"Mmm?" he hummed as if to ask: what is it?

"So, I wanna dye my hair — and before I do, I wanna talk to you about it."

Awww, that flattered him so much. His heart lurched. "Oh? What color?"

"Blond — maybe platinum."

He imagined it for a moment, then replied. "Blond would look good on you, but I like your hair as it is..."

"Yeah yeah!" you waved dismissively at his compliment, not registering it as such. "so, what toner should I use?"

"Uhhh — I don't know?"

"Well what toner do you use? Your hair always looks pristinely white, seems like you know how to maintain the color right. Does it cost a lot? And, can bleaching make my hair fall out? Oh, do you use special shampoos too? And, how often do you have to bleach your roots?"

Through this flood of confusing questions that you dumped on him all at once, his face just said... what are you on about lol

"I don't dye my hair..."

"What...?"

He let out a little chuckle.

"Come here. Lemme show you something."

You confusedly drew closer to where he sat with his one leg crossed over the other. The noon light illuminated the drifting dust behind him, backlighting his fluffy mess of hair.

"Closer, closer — don't be shy now." he encouraged with a playful sultriness.

This was definitely the closest you had been to him. Excepting that one time he engulfed you in a welcome-back hug at the airport.

"Lift my blindfold up." he commanded simply.

"What?" You blushed. You blushed WILDLY.

He chuckled as if he was a cheeky high school boy playing a prank.

"Just lift it up."

So you slowly — very slowly — slipped a timid finger under his blindfold, your skin feeling ignited as it glided across the soft, warm skin of his cheekbones.

Taking his blindfold off felt like... well, it's an inappropriate comparison, but it felt like you were undressing him. He could feel your energy flowing more turbulently — ahem, in other words, he could feel you getting more nervous because of this situation that he threw you into.

It was laughable how dramatically everything stopped when you peeled up his blindfold.

Blue. No, an infinite blue. You felt like you fell into his irises. Oh... and also, you noticed... white lashes and white brow hairs. Huh.

"Woah... woah that's..."

"All natural, baby." he grinned like a jackass.

It was hard to form a coherent thought because of those eyes.

"I see... so... 'guess I'll just go ask someone else about toner and stuff." you said laughingly.

"Mhm."

You had a question on the tip of your tongue. One obvious and stupid, but you surprisingly hadn't asked it before.

"Can you see through your blindfold...?"

"Obviously. You didn't know that?" He chuckled.

You felt your cheeks sear with blush. The heat reached your jawline and ears. That was so embarrassing for some reason.

"I'm so sorry about the eyerolls."

"I'll let it slide, 'cause you're my favorite student." he winked.

Whatever mush was left of your brain completely evaporated when he winked at you. Your teacher just giggled like a cheeky teenager and lowered his blindfold again.

When you were about to leave his office for the store before closing time, you stopped at the door and looked back at him.

"So... wait a minute..."

"Hm?" he hummed.

"If you can see through your blindfold... then can you see through my — never mind!"

You stopped mid sentence and scampered away like a mouse. Gojo just roared with a hearty laugh and lightly blushed. He never did answer that question.

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slut4fangs · 11 months

Text

needy

no thoughts besides steve harrington wearing those big 80s glasses

warnings: 18+, smutty smut, rimming (both ways), lots of ass play, steve and reader are both switches, breeding, talk of babytrapping, steve is needy and so is reader, not edited or spellchecked lol

i’m going to be 100% real with you guys, this one is nasty because i’m inconsolably horny and lovesick and you’ll probably end up getting a kink you didn’t know you had through this blurb/fic. you’re welcome xoxo love you have safe sex and don’t fuck or date anyone who doesn’t live up to the steve harrington/eddie munson boyfriend standards

“what’re you lookin at,” steve has a pen in his mouth, concentrating on the crossword laid out on the table in front of him. the two of you had been drinking coffee late into the afternoon. lazy saturdays were quickly becoming your favorite activity with him, whether it be filling out the crosswords, you reading a novel, watching cartoons. quality time and simple days like this one was more fulfilling than date nights, date nights were on fridays, the next day you always woke up in his apartment excited to make each other breakfast. steve liked strong coffee, which you’ve gotten used to and now have a taste for. but the glasses, you never got used to those, something about seeing stevie in glasses had you feeling feral and ready to jump his bones. like wild hysterical cuteness aggression had invaded your thoughts, you had to fight off the urge to rock his world every time you saw him wear them on your lazy days.

“nothin’, ” you turn your eyes back to your current novel, rereading the page you had already finished because you were so distracted you forgot what happened on said page.

a small smile played on his mouth, a knowing smile, he was more than aware of the effect the glasses had on you. the man was in gray sweatpants and shirtless for christ’s sake he knew he was torturing you. “come on, i know something’s on that mind of yours. what is it?” steve put his clicky pen behind his ear and gave you this cute quizzical look.

“you,” you pointed at him accusingly.

“be careful who you’re pointing fingers at, miss. what did i ever do to you,” steve feigned innocence, he’d been trying to get you revved up since he’d woken you up with the smell of hash browns wafting through the apartment. he knew food and coffee were sure fire ways to get your grouchy butt up before 10 am. when you’d stumbled out of bed with a blanket wrapped around your head, shielding yourself from the dreaded sunlight that flitted through all of the open blinds. steve was a natural early riser, but you? yeah, not so much. steve was holding a spatula in one hand and a pan in the other, “breakfast is served, sleepyhead,” he looked so tan and cute you had to hold yourself back from every dirty thought that filtered through your head.

“whatever, you’ve been slutting yourself around the house all morning. who do you think you are??”

steve chuckled at how silly you sounded when you were frustrated, “god, you’re adorable when you’re mad come here.”

you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, a defiant action on your part. you wanted to get under his skin as much as he got under yours, he’s not the only one who can tease.

“ok fine, be like that,” steve stormed over to the counter, refilling his mug for the third time today with a slight pout on his pretty face.

payback time

you get up and follow him until your behind him locking your hands around his lower stomach and pulling him towards you. “be like what exactly, stevie?” you kissed his back and rested your head there and hummed, “i’m not doing anything wrong, am i,” you let your hands roam to the front of his sweats and find he’s already hard for you. he lets out a faint gasp when you palm him through the soft material.

“i- i what are you talking about,” steve stuttered and blushed, thankful that you couldn’t chastise him for the face he was making.

“you forgot what you said to me already, that figures, your brain is mush when i touch you, huh? aw you’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you use your tip toes to get a glance at steve’s flushed face. he rolls his eyes at you and you giggle in return.

steve let’s put a strangled breath, “p-please touch me, baby i’ll die if you don’t.”

“you’re so dramatic, i am touching you,” you ran your hands over his hips and grazed his cock lightly with your fingers over his sweats.

“no, baby, here, i need you here,” steve grabbed your hand and shoved them into his boxers. “i need you, fuck, i need you bad,” steve whimpered and humped your hand shamelessly and with need.

“now was that so hard to ask for, you didn’t have to tease me all morning to get me to touch you. you have to use your words, stevie.”

“i like teasing you, m’ sorry,” steve gripped the counter while you pumped his cock in your soft hand.

“you’re such a bad boy, humping my hand like you didn’t tease me on purpose all morning,” you release your grip on him and tell him to lay down for you on the bed. steve wastes no time and rushes to your shared bedroom. laying on his back, all ready for you to do whatever you wanted to him.

you lie on top of him and kiss him sloppily, his favorite. you’re both all tongues and moans, he grabs your ass with want, “take these off, wanna feel you,” steve says, he sounds so needy and desperate you decide he’s earned it. once you flung your panties to the side steve’s spitting on his fingers and toying with you.

“you’re being so good i guess you deserve this,” you moan into his mouth and kiss down his neck.

“mm now this,” steve tugs on your pajama shirt, “please?”

“since you’re being so polite,” you remove your shirt and squeal a little when steve pulls you close and smothers himself with your tits, licking and sucking and not wanting to let you go. “wow you really needed this, didn’t you?” steve nods his head and squishes your ass to his crotch. steve pushes his pants and boxers past his ass in desperation, “gotta feel you,” he groans when you grind down on him.

“feel better, stevie?”

“mm, yeah but it’s not enough,” steve flips you over so you’re under him now, undressing for you completely and sparing no time with diving between your legs. “you know what i want,” steve slaps your ass and flips you onto your stomach. a sort of muffled moan slips off your tongue when his mouth licks through your folds and to your asshole.

“you’re so dirty, baby,” your hands are gripping the sides of the pillow for dear life.

steve let’s out a dark chuckle at this, “but you love me for it, don’t you? who else could do this to you?”

“mm..only you,” you answer by holding the back of his head to you, he’s so dirty, moaning while rimming you.

“tight little thing, aren’t you,” he groans pinching your clit and continuing his assault on your poor ass that he’s gripping and smacking relentlessly.

you run your hands through his hair and pull on it, to which he moans, “dirty boy, aren’t you?”

“yeah baby, whatever you want me to be,” steve leaves a deep hickey on your ass cheek and bites down a little before letting up to give you a break.

“fuck me,” you beg him and you’re completely aware of how crazy it makes him, whining because you need him so bad.

“don’t have to tell me twice, look who’s the needy one now, huh?” steve has your chin tilted up at him, pushing two fingers in and out of you , “you want it bad? show me how bad you really want it.” you do the first thing that comes to mind, rubbing his cock with your foot. “oh my god, fuck,” steve moans, “fine, but taste yourself first,” he lets you suck the taste of yourself off of his fingers.

“yum,” you lay back on your elbows to slightly prop yourself up. steve’s crushing his body weight on top of you and you fall back onto the covers with his hands all over you. “you’re groping me, stevie.”

“you like it,” he spits on your pussy before slamming himself into your cunt. there’s not an inch of space when the two of you are like this, you’re grabbing his ass and he’s crushing you with his weight, tongues and lips, kisses and scratches. steve wants more though, you can feel the question coming before he asks it, he always does this. “please,” it’s said as a question and you know what he means, you smirk knowing he needs you just as bad as you need him. when you don’t say anything he says please again but it’s more of a whine while he grabs your hand and places it on his ass.

you nod and steve’s climbing over you to reach into the bedside table for lube, “ok, i’m ready,” and he fuck himself back into you. he’s fully laid out on top of you with his whole weight, grinding himself into you and holding your face while you kiss sloppily. you reach for his ass again, pushing him down onto you more and finding his hole, pushing a middle finger in and curling it slightly. steve whimpers, “more,” you add your pointer finger and ask him sweetly if that feels better and suddenly he’s a fucking mess on top of you. pathetically humping and grinding himself into you while you fingered his tight hole.

steve’s sucks on your neck, surely leaving a hickey in his wake and then licking over the spot, “are you a vampire, baby?”

steve’s so fucked out and sweaty he can barely concentrate on the words you’re saying so he just smiles and crashes his lips to yours with a feverish need. he’s fucking you into the mattress with reckless abandon, and when every part of you is soaked with his sweat he finally comes with a string of curses and kisses littered on your tits. “mm,” steve pulls out of you and stares at his come inside of you, pushing it back in with his fingers. “bout’ time i breed this pussy,”

you half gasp and half laugh at this, the condom completely skipped your mind. “stevie! why didn’t you remind me?”

“why remind you when i can babytrap you?” steve smirks and kisses your lips softly.

“oh my god! you can’t say that,” something about that gave you butterflies even though you know it shouldn’t.

“but my come looks so pretty in you,” steve laughs and you know he’s not joking but you laugh with him anyways.

“you’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“whatever you say, baby,” and gives you a wink that could make you forget just about anything.

later that night steve is tossing and turning and it’s obvious he’s not going to stop until you do something about it.

“knock it off, i’m tryin to sleep here,” you mutter into the pillow.

steve flips over so he’s facing you, wordlessly pulling you towards him so you’re chest to chest, his thigh wedged between your legs.

“what do you want stevie,” you say running your fingers through his fluffy hair.

“use me,” he answers and rocks your hips for you on his thigh. you grind yourself down on him and kiss his pouty lips. you do this for a little while until you’ve found a rhythm and then turn him over on his back. you sink yourself down on his hard cock and wonder if he’s been hard this whole time he’s been tossing and turning, you lazily grind on him until he comes in you for the second time tonight. you roll over next to him where he holds you and kisses your shoulder, “if i get hard again just put me outside, i’m sorry honey you just drive me crazy.”

if only he knew how crazy you were for him.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #perv!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #my fanfics <3

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fragilecapric0rnn · 1 year

Text

[series now cross-posted to ao3! stay tuned for more! ] Have been watching a lot FRIENDS lately bc its one of my and my gf's comfort shows and, of course, i cannot stop thinking about Stranger Things-ifying the hell out of it. the vision came to me SO CLEARLY [PART 2]

Sitting around the coffee shop that is basically a second home to the gang.

Nancy sits on the chair across from Argyle, one leg tucked under her, legal pad balancing on the arm, a pen being held between her pointer and middle finger, tapping incessantly on the pad. The other hand tucked into a fist and holding up her chin.

Argyle sits with his legs draped over the arm of the oversized chair, flipping through the latest Steven King book, one arm perched behind his head.

Jonathan has the NYT crossword in his lap, Robin peering over his shoulder, making him nervous.

A normal Saturday afternoon routine for the group of twentysomethings. The rain from outside softly hits the windows nearby, complimenting the soft chatter and gentle clanking of dishes.

But Robin can only seem to focus on Nancy's damn tapping.

"Nance?"

"Hm?"

"I'm gonna need you to stop tapping. I'm trying to beat Jonathan's puzzle."

"Just take it," he hands the paper over to her, annoyed.

"No! It's more fun when it feels like I'm beating you."

Jonathan looks over at Nancy, who is staring blankly at the wooden support beam a few feet away.

"What's going on Nance?"

"Nothing." Her pitch high, grabbing the rest of the groups attention, so much so that they all inch closer to her chair.

"Sounds like a whole lotta nothing," Argyle pulls a nearby chair up next to hers flipping it around and resting his forearms on the back of it.

Robin sits on the ground next to her and Jonathan takes a seat on the coffee table right in front of her.

"Fine!" She takes a look over her shoulder, toward the front door. "I have a date."

"Why are we whispering?" Argyle asks, also whispering.

"Because you know who could walk in any second."

"Why are we whispering and speaking in codes?" Jonathan asks, still whispering.

And as an act of divine timing, the front door to the coffee shop opens, and they all turn their heads to see a slightly damp Eddie shake his hair out and shed his leather jacket in one fell swoop. His face fixed in the same frown that's plagued his face for the last two weeks.

"Hey," the group says in unison, not moving a muscle from where they're still crowded around Nancy.

"What did I say about that tone," Eddie whines, flopping himself down on the couch that previously held Jon and Robin.

"How're you doing?" Robin asks, shifting her body, still sitting on the floor, toward him.

"All of her stuff is gone which means that all of my stuff is gone."

No one says a thing. Not even when the sound of a ceramic coffee cup shatters somewhere in the distance.

"Eddie?"

"What?"

"I don't mean to sound insensitive dude, but shouldn't you be a little less depressed considering... " Argyle trails off.

"Considering what?"

"Considering you're the one that left her?" Robin finishes the thought that everyone is having.

"I didn't leave her." He scoffs.

"No, but when you tell your long-term girlfriend about recently discovering that you're gay, one might see that as you being the one to end that relationship."

"We've been over this." He balls up his jacket and shoves his face into the wet leather. The group share a look, Nancy gesturing to Eddie's state as if to say this is why I'm not talking about the date.

He chucks the balled up jacket at Jonathan, who kicks his feet out in surprise as he catches it with his chest. Eddie's hands are now on either side of his face.

"The love was there! I could've loved her if..."

"If she was someone else?"

He deflates, lets his arms slump down and his shoulders do the same.

"Eddie, my friend, my pal, listen up." Argyle moves seats for the third time, now squeezing himself into the space between Eddie and the arm rest on the couch, draping his arm over his shoulders.

"You have just entered a whole new world, my man. So, you're gay? We're in New York City, so is everyone! Welcome home! All that love you were ready to give to Michelle? You get to hold onto that and give it to someone else. Someone who makes your heart sing."

"But I knew her just as long as I knew you guys." He whines, again, gesturing to Robin, Nancy and Jonathan. "It was easy. It was safe. How am I ever gonna find romance with someone? Where we have an established - I don't know - thing! A connection! A history! How?"

Eddie stares at them like he expects them to answer, forcing the rest of the group to share glances, let the air settle with Eddie's words.

The front door flies open just as a roaring thunder booms overhead, making for a dramatic entrance.

Robin's the first one to swivel her head toward the ruckus, the only one who has a perfect view of the person who burst into the shop.

A man dressed in a tux, drenched, like, just hopped out of a swimming pool drenched. Fighting with his bow tie with one hand and running his other hand through the unforgettable head of hair that sends Robin right back to Hawkins, Indiana. Back to the summer before her senior year.

Huh?

Unable to move a muscle in her body, she watches him clumsily go up to the counter and ask for her and Nancy, by name. The sound of her name sends her up to her feet and pushes her toward the man. An air of chaos surrounds him, drawing an offense amount of curiosity out of Robin as she finds her words.

"Steve Harrington?"

He turns around, his face lights up, and he does the weirdest thing.

He hugs her.

She remains stiff as he pulls back from the hug, hands still on either side of her arms.

They were buddies that summer scooping ice cream at the mall. Nothing crazy, or maybe even that memorable, but they started the summer as acquaintances at best and left as friends.

But then he left for college and she stayed and they never spoke again. A few run-ins here and there. But nothing substantial.

"I knew I'd find you here, I remembered that the last time I was in the city I ran into you guys and you're here!" He sounds drunk, but also like he drank a vat of espresso.

Clearly, it was substantial enough for him to come looking for her. Dressed in a tux soaking wet?

"And you're here, overdressed." She says, taking him in, unable to unscrew the confused look from her face.

Is that a boutonnières?

Oh no. Oh fuck.

"Steve?" Jonathan and Nancy say in unison as Robin brings him over to the couch.

Robin thinks Eddie might have summoned the ghost of hopeless high school crushes past, the way Eddie looks like he's just seen a ghost.

#FRIENDS au #sorry for the typos!#did like no editing. seriously just typed and posted.#i tweaked the characters a bit so it wouldn't be an obvious 1-1 AU but Steve is obvs Rachel and Eddie is obvs Ross #idk if this will become anything more but!!! maybe???#this was just supposed to be a writing sprint #i swear i meant to only write vibes #it somehow turned into this????#sen writes #stranger things fic #my fic #steddie ficlet #ronance as chandler and monica slow burn endgame also bounces around my brain as i finish these tags #argyle is clearly phoebe To Me

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novlr · 8 months

Note

Hey! I'm a non native English speaker and i find it very hard to use wide variety of vocabulary in my writing. Any tips??

Just as a painter needs a rich palette of colours to make their art, writers need a diverse vocabulary to craft deep and engaging story worlds.

Your vocabulary as a writer is much like a paint box, with each word adding depth, contrast, and colour to your creation. So what techniques can you use to improve your vocabulary and give yourself more linguistic colours to choose from?

Read a lot

Reading is the best way to improve your vocabulary. It’s immersive, enjoyable, and will introduce you to more varied words. Make it a habit to read often, and try to read widely. Don’t limit yourself to one genre, age range, or style. Whether fiction, non-fiction, articles, or instruction manuals, reading as widely as you can opens your mind to words and styles you might never encounter naturally in your day-to-day life.

Write a lot

Write as often as you can. The more you write, the more often you’ll find yourself reaching for varying words and phrases to accurately convey your thoughts. Every written piece is an opportunity to experiment with new words. As with anything, practice is crucial—regular writing will naturally enhance your vocabulary and make your word usage more instinctive and fluid.

Use a thesaurus

A thesaurus introduces you to a variety of synonyms for the words you’re using and can help you express your thoughts with a bit more flair. However, using a thesaurus does come with a caveat: avoid using complex words just for the sake of appearing more sophisticated. Always choose words that best fit the context and effectively convey what you’re trying to say.

Join a writing group

Beyond being a place to talk about words, writing groups let you test your understanding of words in real time. Writing groups provide valuable insight into whether your word choices effectively convey your intended meaning. Seeing how other writers use their own vocabularies to share their own meanings is a great way to see how word choice can make your writing richer and more nuanced

Play word games

Playing word games is not only fun but is also an effective way to expand your vocabulary. For instance, games like Scrabble challenge you to form varying words from a set of letters, crossword puzzles can improve your understanding and recall of words, and games like Boggle can stimulate quick thinking around word formation.

Keep a word journal

Every time you encounter a new and intriguing word, whether through reading, conversation, or even during a TV show, jot it down in your word journal. Follow it up by researching its meaning, synonyms, and usage in sentences. Revisit these entries frequently, and try to incorporate these words into your writing somehow, even if it’s only during practice sessions. Over time, you’ll notice these new words naturally creeping into your vocabulary.

Sometimes simple is best

While having a broad vocabulary is an asset for any writer, it’s also important to remember that effective communication is what it’s all about, and sometimes, simpler words serve this purpose best. Not every situation calls for intricate or sophisticated language; in fact, often, using simpler, more direct language can make your message clearer and more accessible to a wider audience. More important than a wide vocabulary is an understanding of your readers and the message you want to convey in your text.

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dulltoned · 5 months

Note

I know I mostly just ask random thoughts about brozone and how unbelievably angsty they are but

What about any headcannons about brozone? Individually or as brozone as a whole?

-🦦

(Also happy holidays!!)

Oh, that's a fun question. I genuinely haven't put too much conscious thought into it but I have a few that I can share off the top of my head.

There's at least one headcanon involving Branch in there for all of them but I might follow up with more headcanon posts somewhere down the line. (Excuse the funny little doodles, I wanted to see if I could make decent headers and I did... okay.)

-> He doesn't like being alone. He didn't spend the twenty-some years after BroZone broke up just on his own in the Neverglades but instead hopping around from place to place looking for new experiences and new people to meet. He'd always go back to the Neverglade Trail, though. Just in case someone needed him.

-> It was still really lonely but he never thought too much about his brothers or the Troll Tree. He's an expert at denial and avoidance.

-> He's pushy with Branch because he wants to try and help Branch be more open and direct with him but he doesn't really know how to sit down and have a serious conversation about it.

-> He's not stupid. He can be unobservant and a bit full of himself but he has a good head on his shoulders.

-> He and Branch bond over survivalist tips.

-> He was worried he was going to be a bad father. He still had a lot of stuff he was working on when he and Brandy had their first kid and he was old enough that he really didn't remember his dad. He certainly didn't want to emulate John Dory. He knew they'd be okay the second he saw his son in Brandy's arms for the first time.

-> Brandy helped him get over the toxic mindset BroZone gave him and while he can still struggle sometimes he's never been happier.

-> Amazing cook. His food is amazing. Cooking, baking, it's all divine.

-> He cooks for Branch a lot when he visits. At first it's because he couldn't get the image of his baby brother out of his head but then it was because Branch had confessed that no one really cooked for him before and he just couldn't have that.

-> Clay chose the admin building as his room back when he was still desperate to be anything other than the fun boy. He regrets it.

-> He and Viva have bonded a lot about their family traumas, especially over how much they missed their siblings. He never wanted to stay away as long as he had but after they found refuge in the Golf Course he never got the courage to leave Viva behind to go find his brothers.

-> Clay's hair just naturally changed color with age. It wasn't stress-induced or anything, it just happened. Like how some blonds change to brunette when they get older.

-> He really likes crossword puzzles and sudoku. It has nothing to do with his desire to distance himself from his fun persona. He's just a nerd.

-> He really enjoys Branch's input. Branch is an incredibly handy, if not a bit paranoid, realist who isn't afraid to share his opinions. It's really helpful when it comes to safety measures or even trying to avoid complicated emotions.

-> Floyd may be alive but he doesn't recover fast. The effects of the diamond vacuum (exhaustion, weakness in the limbs, a chill in his bones, dizziness, etc.) linger with him for years afterward and he finds it incredibly frustrating.

-> Floyd is such a smug little shit. He will give you shit and tease you to hell and back and then give you the most innocent smile immediately after.

-> He moves into Pop Village after he's rescued. It reminds him a lot of the Troll Tree when he was a kid and it's bittersweet.

-> He finds out about Branch's puzzle tradition and the two of them start doing daily puzzles together.

-> Floyd's pod is in the clearing where Branch's bunker is.

Surprisingly I don't really know what to put for Branch here but I think I'll reblog this later with additions for Branch and Poppy.

I hope you enjoy the holidays, thanks for the fun question.

#{ the sensitive one }#{ the leader }#{ the fun boy }#{ the heartthrob }#| branch answers |#| branch rambles |#( 🦦 )#dreamworks trolls #trolls floyd #trolls john dory #trolls bruce #trolls clay #trolls brozone #| Clue Board |

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popatochisssp · 7 months

Note

IM IN LOVE WITH ALL THE NEW BOYSS!!!! I was wondering what hobbies they would have? Would any of them skate? What about make art? Play piano, perhaps?

Quick sidebar, it would probably be easier to ask who can’t skate than who can—at least regarding ice skating—because the majority of the skeletons lived/grew up in Snowdin and had plenty of time to practice their ‘don’t pratfall on the ice’ skills, so they’d (almost) all be at least passingly competent at ice skating, and then whatever learning curve is involved with slightly transferable skills to not-ice skating.

That said!

…You know, I realized I never did an accounting of all this, even with the first two waves of boys, so…

This is by no means a complete list of everything the boys might enjoy doing—despite the fact that this is huge and completely got away from me, oh my god seriously do not open the readmore on your dash—but!

Sans (Undertale):

He’s a goofy guy, so it’s probably no surprise that he’s into comedy. He’s a lover of puns and pranks and jokes in general, just…maybe not as casually as he makes it look. He does a little stand-up now and then, open mic nights mostly nowadays, but he’s played to larger audiences before at the MTT resort. He’s also got a pretty sizeable collection of comedic paraphernalia—rubber chickens, whoopie cushion, snapping gum, you name it—just on the off chance he might get to use it in a prime moment. He spends a lot of his free time reading joke books, watching other pros perform, and even, on occasion, don’t tell anyone, but… studying the science of humor, what people seem to find funny, how, and why. He doesn’t like to let on, because he thinks it makes him seems a little less cool and funny if you know he goes out of his way to research this stuff sometimes instead of just vibing on improv, but he genuinely finds the subject fascinating and likes to read about it. Alas, he’s a nerd…

And as such, he’s also very into physics. Quantum physics as food for thought in his downtime when he just wants to chew on some conceptually heavy stuff, but classical and practical physics make for some great experiments and demos, especially as party tricks or ‘hey, you wanna see something cool?’s for interested onlookers and he’s so all about that. Want to try an egg drop from the roof with popsicle sticks and straws? He’s got tape and a fresh carton right here. Maybe make a magnet out of a battery? Sure, there’s wire and nails around here somewhere… Or maybe you want to bet him he can’t hold up a water bottle with nothing but a string and three matches? C’mon, 10G—no, 20G. But really, he’ll take any excuse to do a cool demo of stuff he knows.

As for stuff that doesn’t demo quite as well… It was a little less apparent Underground, but there was a reason he had that telescope of his and it wasn’t just because he liked pranking people with paint on the eye-piece. He did love doing that, of course, but he also genuinely loves stars and space, learning about it and looking at it now that he actually has the opportunity to—he’s got his telescope to use on clear nights, a yearly pass for the local planetarium, and you better believe he’s subscribed to NASA’s newsletters for regular updates on the goings on out there. He tries to play it cool, but stars and black holes and nebulae are cooler, it’s hard not to get invested in everything to do with them…

Papyrus (Undertale):

Of course, he’s the master of puzzles, and not just your basic jigsaw! …Well, maybe sometimes a jigsaw, he’s not morally opposed to them but really, he needs a challenge for his intellect! He doesn’t mind a word puzzle here and there—as long as it’s not a crossword—but physical puzzles are his favorites, anything to employ his spatial reasoning and impressively fine motor skills. Rubik’s cubes are fun, linked wires, interlocking blocks, really anything in three dimensions that he can fiddle with and manipulate until it surrenders to his incredible greatness. He’s very proud of his solving ability and definitely brags about it, but he’s not just blowing hot air. He really does have a great knack for observing disparate pieces and fitting them together conceptually to see what they can be before ever starting to physically assemble them and the joy of bragging aside, he loves getting to exercise that particular mind-muscle and show his smarts.

In a similar vein, he’s also a big fan of model-making. Planes, trains, automobiles and the like, and no small amount of action figures, he likes to build them up piece by piece with his own two hands. It’s fine to populate his theoretical battle scenarios with gifts from brothers and Santas, or stuff he found at the Dump, but it’s definitely his preference to start with a kit and put it all together himself, watching it gradually take shape with his diligent effort. Maybe he’ll go off-book from time to time, a little bit, but customizing things to his own unique specifications just seems the thing to do when he’s already doing the rest of the making. All the gluing and cutting and painting and lacquering by hand… it’s the art of creation—and what nobler pursuit is there than that?

Well, there may be one other thing. As a truly renaissance man, he’s naturally well-rounded in his interests, intelligent and creative and yes, physically fit too! For him, there’s no better way to stay in shape than by playing sports, most any kind! Basketball, soccer, hockey, tennis, he’ll play any sport, just explain the rules and give him the ball—or don’t, depending on the objective and rules of the specific game in question as you’ve described it. The desirability of the sportsball does seem to vary quite a bit, so he’ll need to determine whether he wants to obtain or get rid of the ball, puck, shuttlecock, whatev—no, that’s the accurate term, it is not! Whatever you’re thinking! Stars, be mature… But! He likes games and being active and having friends, all of which are part and parcel of engaging in sports, so he’s really always up for a game.

Sky (Underswap Sans):

He likes to bake! He’s not a professional and in fact, he finds it to be quite challenging at times—there’s way more restrictions than cooking on how much to add of this, making sure to do that before the other thing but after this step, the oven has to be at exactly the right temperature… There’s a lot of steps and rules, but that’s kind of what he likes about it. He likes trying to see if he can make a thing, and then if he can, what tweaks he can make to flavors and textures without compromising the end result. He’s not always successful—he’s definitely ended up with sopping wet cakes, burnt pie crusts, overly salty muffins—but frankly, the experimenting to get it right is all part of the fun! He tends to make more tasty treats than he does failures and he’s happy to share those around with friends and family anytime. Baking may be an exacting mistress, but he loves to tango with her all the same!

Speaking of which…well, he may not know the tango specifically but he does love to dance! He’s got a lot of energy and a solid sense of rhythm, and that combo tends to result in at least a little shimmy of a two-step when there’s a good beat going on—and all bets are off entirely if there happens to be a dance floor and a favorite song playing. He likes dancing with a partner, or in a group, but he’ll dance all by himself if he’s feeling the mood, like nobody’s watching…or rather, like everyone’s watching and he wants to impress and lure out a little company to join him. He even has a tendency to put on music and dance in place a bit when he’s doing otherwise boring chores around the house, like dishes or vacuuming, and while he doesn’t mind doing his dancing solo then too, he’s always delighted to find someone who’s willing to dance along.

He wouldn’t turn down some company for a bit of outdoor exploration, either. A hiking trail maybe? Or some rock climbing? A nature trail or just a walk in the park wouldn’t go awry either if something a little less strenuous is required! He does like the exercise but it’s mostly the nature and all things green that he wants to see and be out in—trees and flowers and even grass. His house would probably be packed with greenery if he…hadn’t…killed every single plant he ever tried to keep…but! Since he does indeed have a deadly black thumb, he likes to visit the plants, in their natural habitat where he has no control over whether they live or die (so they’ll probably continue to live).

Paps (Underswap Papyrus):

It’s no secret that he’s a bookworm. He loves literature and always has—his brother will tell you he was reading before he was even talking, and as embarrassing as it is every time he brings it up, it’s not untrue. He reads voraciously, with a preference for fantasy, romance, and poetry, but he’ll read pretty much any book he can get his hands on. It’s probably no surprise that he’s been inspired to do a little writing of his own, over the years. He’s pretty private about his own work (especially the poetry, oh god, he’d dust on the spot if someone saw his poetry) but he still loves to talk about the written word and techniques used in its conveyance and form, and the struggles writers face in trying to communicate the ideas they have stuck in their heads. He’s great for reading recommendations if he knows the kind of things someone likes, but his go-to recs will always be his personal favorites.

Pride and Prejudice is one such favorite. He’s seen all the film adaptations and miniseries, and branched out from there, first into stuff inspired by similar works, then originals, and then…okay, he’s maybe a little bit addicted to period pieces in general now. Whenever a new one comes out, anything about regency or royals or the nobility in a dramatic setting, he pretty much has to watch it, more only a question of ‘when’ and not ‘if’ he’ll be checking it out. Naturally, he’s happiest when it’s coming out on a scheduled basis, because if an entire season drops all at once he’s going to sit there and binge it and it’s much harder to deny he has an addiction when he just pulled an all-nighter about it. He can’t help himself, he has to see if the socially mismatched couple can make it work and be wed in the end, love winning out over silly class divides…

When he’s not actively obsessed with either of those things, though, he dabbles a bit in calligraphy. He’d probably hesitate to call it a hobby, he does have a couple of those fancy pens and some nice paper and ink to use them with, and he’s decent at it, but definitely needs to practice more to be able to do the really fancy flourishes without blotting the ink or scratching the page. He can certainly do some simple, clean lettering if needed! Like…if you want a poster or a sign to look neat and professional, or…maybe you want the ‘To Do’ list on the fridge to have a fancy header or something? (His end-goal is to be able to do his own drop-caps and an elaborate cursive title for the cover of his book, someday, maybe, who knows…)

Jasper (Underfell Sans):

He likes working with his hands, making things and having something to show for his time and effort. (Knitting? No, that’s, that’s not a hobby, that was a necessity, just for special occasions now, he’s not…naw, c’mon…) He’s something of a car guy. He likes engines and wheels and pistons and how they all work together to make something that goes fast, and he likes understanding how all the pieces fit together and how to fix them if something breaks. It’s something he practiced Underground with busted old engines and bikes that fell down, and a career he pursued on the Surface, but even in his free time he likes tuning up his car, his bro’s car, restoring glory to a classic bike he got at a steal of a price and she’s gonna purr like a kitten when he’s done—he’s just…happy, with his hands buried in an engine and grease all over his face.

And speaking of grease on his face, he’s pretty passionate about food, too. Not so much the cooking of it, though he’s not too shabby in the kitchen when he puts the effort in, but more the eating of it and appreciating the flavors and textures. He’s got a lot of strong opinions on how done a steak oughta be (medium-rare), what belongs on pizza (anything but candy), and how to eat chips with your sandwich (in it, for that extra crunch of texture). ‘Gourmet’ sounds a little too snobby for his tastes, food doesn’t have to be expensive to be good and in fact, it usually isn’t—some of his best meals have been from holes in the wall—but he does like going out to such places to eat and socialize, maybe have a chat and give his compliments to the chef (and definitely not try to wheedle any recipes), that sorta thing.

But after all that, when he really wants to wind down, there’s nothing he likes better than a bit of gaming. He’s not much for multiplayer, he prefers doing his own thing at his own pace, but he likes having some kind of objective and making it happen. It gives a nice sense of accomplishment that he can get while sitting down—which is great. He tends mostly towards puzzle/adventure type games more than pure battle scenarios and beat-‘em-ups, he feels like there should be some strategy and skill involved, or the satisfaction of the win just doesn’t come through as strong. (Protip: do not watch this man defeat a Dark Souls boss if you are easily stressed out. He taunts between strikes and dodges at the very last second because he’s got the timing down to a science. Maybe try Pokemon or Zelda instead…)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus):

His first great love is and likely always shall be the theater. He didn’t have too many opportunities Underground to go see live stage plays, but he’s long since broken the spine of the collected works of Shakespeare that got him started and memorized its contents, water-stained cover to water-stained cover. He can recite any of the Bard’s work by act and scene number, of which he is incredibly proud, but he’s at least passing familiar with a handful of other manuscripts or popular stage-to-film adaptations mass produced enough to have a chance of ending up in the Dump in decent condition. On the Surface, he definitely wants to see some things live and gets only a reasonable amount of excited about specific productions’ quirks and narrative choices. Joining in on local theater himself? Well…he’s very busy these days… (Maybe after retirement?)

Another passion of his pulled from the depths of the Dump is his guitar—a bass so sturdy and lucky that it made it all the way down without breaking a string. He thought it was cool as soon as he saw it and really wanted to have it and learn how to play. It’s been an uphill struggle since he’s entirely self-taught with regards to his equipment settings, guitar maintenance, and even reading music notes, but the few sparse instruction manuals he’s managed to find were helpful. His own stubborn determination to figure it out and be the kind of cool guy who knows how to play bass has taken him a long way, and he’s starting to make some deep, pleasant sounds that he’s very happy about… But he’s still nowhere near ready to play for anyone, he couldn’t possibly, not until he’s good at it!

And when he’s having a bad time at that, or anything else is ticking him off and there’s no better outlet to blow off steam, he knows he can always fall back on a good work-out. Even in a Kill or Be Killed sort of place, it’s not always a good idea to go picking fights and yelling and cussing and beating the stuffing out of other people—so whenever he feels like doing that, he’s in the habit of beating the stuffing out of a punching bag instead, or lifting weights, or doing one-handed push-ups, something strenuous. He may not be a machine made of meat that releases good-feeling chemicals after a successful exertion, like humans are, but he still feels great after getting to work out and clear his mind of everything but what his body’s doing so he likes to keep up a regular routine. You don’t want to see him after he’s missed a few work-outs, he gets very testy.

Mal (Swapfell Sans):

Pretty much from the moment he came into existence, he’s loved math. Call him a nerd all you like, but numbers are his happy place, where everything is straightforward and exactly what it’s supposed to be and if he doesn’t understand something, he’s probably only missing a variable and when he finds it, everything will make sense again. He has apps and workbooks around with equations for him to solve in his downtime like some kind of freak, but lacking those he’ll sometimes just make up his own math problems and try to solve them in his head—how long will it take for the water cooler to be empty if the tap is dripping at a regular interval of one drop every forty-seven seconds, should no one notice and intervene to repair it? The drum holds up to five gallons, but has already been emptied by approximately—

Okay, that’s enough math. He’s also into whittling, though he’s miles less confident about his ability. He’s not terrible, really, just very self-critical so he tends not to show off the things he makes, but he likes having something to occupy his hands while most of his attention is elsewhere, with the added bonus of having a knife in one of said hands should someone surprise him—self-defense is important, you know! In any case, he’s not as good of an artist as his brother, or even as good as he’d like to be, but it’s something to do and he can only improve with practice. Someday, with the proper equipment, he might even get into full-on woodworking, with chairs and tables and cabinetry and such that are far more straightforward to make than fiddly little figurines, but for now he just has a whittling knife and wood and too much stubbornness to quit at anything once he’s started.

As for something a little (debatably) higher-brow, he also has an interest in wine. He’s no sommelier, of course, but he’s run in fancy (royal) circles for long enough to have tried his fair share of fermented fruit juices. There are some he likes (dry reds), some he doesn’t (sweet whites), and plenty in between—but the topic makes for excellent conversation at lots of dinner parties and formal occasions, so he felt it helpful to learn a few things here and there so he knows (or can pass as knowing) what he’s talking about. On the Surface, he actually gets to take a wine tasting class and put a formal polish on his book-learning and first-hand experience, and makes a point of trying new brands that catch his attention. (He’ll never admit it aloud, but he’s far more swayed by a cool label or an interesting bottle shape than a high price tag—even cheap wine tastes just fine if you aerate it!)

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus):

He’s an artist, first and foremost. His most frequent medium is pen and paper—it’s what he started with and what he’s practiced the most—but it’s never really occurred to him to limit himself to only one thing so he’s tried out a lot of different techniques and utensils and can use most of them effectively. He’s not formally taught, seen some pictures and read some textbook entries of famous pieces and art movements, but everything he’s learned he learned by screwing around with it until he figured out how to make it look like he wanted and in the process, he’s built up a pretty strong base of skills. Mostly, he likes to draw (or sketch or paint) things he’s seen, recreating memories like a photo without a camera, but sometimes he goes on more abstract style experiments, trying to express a vibe or a feeling more than a moment. He finds it meditative, grounding more than anything else he’s tried to relax and it makes him happy to have a creative outlet.

As far as other ways to relax and have fun, something that’s really blossomed on the Surface for him is his interest in fidget toys. Not too many made it Underground for him to enjoy then, just a lonely broken palm-tangle and about a hundred Rubik’s cubes in various states of disrepair—sadly he got so good at solving the cubes that he doesn’t even consider them puzzles, just color-block-pattern simulators—but the Surface! There’s so many stim and fidget toys for him to get his hands on, and so many Ultimate Super Satisfying Compilation vids online to show him new ones. Poppers, spinners, chewelry, clickers…some hit better than others but he likes trying things out, playing with toys that are brightly colored, or feel cool, or make a nice sound. He keeps his favorites and sells or donates the rest, gotta make sure to leave room somewhere if he wants to get a new one.

He also makes a point of walking to the stores and donation centers and post offices at which he exchanges these items because—at the risk of making him sound like a dog—he loves going on walks! He was a shut-in for awhile, afraid of strangers outside, and to an extent he still is (social anxiety), but the Surface has different rules and for a lot of reasons, it feels safer for him to be out and about now, and he likes taking advantage of that. Fresh air and sun and slow, easy movement without having to look over his shoulder, free attention to spare to his surroundings and the chance to stop somewhere and check out a new place… He really likes it and tries to make time to go on a walk at least once every couple of days, destination entirely optional.

Slate (Horrortale Sans):

He’s a rock guy, and he’s not talking about the music genre—just rocks, or crystals, the kind you find in and on the ground. He likes the pun potential (ask any geologist, there’s a million) but also it’s just something fun and low-stakes to do, to collect and find and examine stones and crystals whenever he happens to come across them. A lot of his facts and knowledge base predate the head injury, too, so it’s something he tends to know a good amount about and can have a high-level conversation about at length, of which he’s very proud. Plus, having a bunch of rocks around doubles as both home décor and paperweights, so you gotta admire the versatility of it. He's always on the lookout for new stones to add to his collection, or to talk about and pebble—I mean, gift to his friends and family.

He’s an animal lover as well, which is…not much of a transition from the previous paragraph. He had a pet rock once, does that bridge the gap? Not really. Ah well. The point is, he likes critters, usually ones smaller than him but that’s not hard since he’s a pretty big guy. His past and the things he’s done don’t matter to animals, all they care about is whether he’s an immediate threat (he isn’t) and if he has food to give them (likely), and not having to worry about that is a heavy weight off his mind. He can be totally relaxed around animals so he likes spending time around them whenever he gets the chance—fur and fluff is a plus but he’s got nothing against scales and feathers, creatures come as you are and he’ll get you some water and a treat and maybe a scritch.

But if he must be around humans, or other sentient beings (he must, he’s not built for social isolation), then magic is the ace he keeps up his sleeve. Not the real stuff, of course… Though he’ll naturally be happy to show an interested onlooker a bullet or two, real magic is something any monster can do, even if they were literally born yesterday. He likes fake magic, sleight of hand tricks and misdirection—disappearing and reappearing coins, spoon bending, levitating cards—y’know, the cheap gimmicky shit. It’s fun to learn and easy to practice, works very well with a lot of skills he already had. It also has the additional plus of being disarming for anyone who might be a little…intimidated by him, his size and spooky appearance, especially if he can’t get a joke out quick enough to show he’s harmless, so he likes picking up new tricks when he can and showing them off when he’s got ‘em right.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus):

He loves to cook! He’s gotten a lot better at it since the old days, trying to learn from Undyne’s lessons and it’s become a genuine passion for him to hone his skills in the kitchen and then (hopefully) show off to guests and friends and family who come over to share a meal. He considers it something of a puzzle in its own right—how to use these ingredients to get the most nutritional value with as little wasted as possible. He’s figured out a lot of ways to repurpose bits that usually get thrown out and in some cases, even make more tasty meals with the castoff pieces (his veggie-peel soup stock is to die for…not literally, but it’s very good)! His favorite part is naturally when people eat what he makes and shower him in compliments, but a close second is knowing that he’s fed his loved ones and they won’t ever leave his home hungry.

Since he does so much in the kitchen and, for the first time in a long time, he has an unfrozen yard for two or three quarters of a year and easy access to seeds, he’s also taken up gardening. Mostly, he grows his own vegetables and herbs but he has the space and the inclination so there’s plenty of colorful flowers in the mix too. He’s very attentive to his crops and flowerbeds and does everything his plants need to flourish and bloom. He delights in praise for his good work and the gratitude when he has a big enough harvest to share with friends and neighbors, or maybe to donate to the local food bank if they’re willing to take it. His garden is his pride and joy and no dirt or weather or pests will stop him from maintaining it!

Now he does have one hobby that’s just for his own enjoyment, not even peripherally related to others, and it’s pure unadulterated guilty pleasure: he adores watching soap operas. The more theatrical and contrived, the better, he can’t help but get sucked into the cheesy drama of it all. He started with just one hospital show and kept watching to tut and shake his head over inaccuracies, and then there was another show on after it that had a wild opening hook, and then…and then… Alas, he found the telenovelas. His enjoyment of them is only somewhat hampered by his inability to understand Spanish, but you’d be surprised how much you can glean from context clues and some things transcend language—it’s too late for him now, he’s recording every episode that airs during the day to watch later, he must know if Gloria’s twin sister will run away with her amnesiac fiancé!

Ash (Undergloom Sans):

Music’s the big one for him. He’s very low-energy and when you’re both depressed and physically fragile, it’s not always possible to go out to where other people are, even when you want to—but music can come to you, no matter how bad you’re feeling, and for that it’s become a huge pillar in his life. His favorite genre is classical (can’t get more classic than The Classics), but he’ll listen to most things, though he’ll always want a physical copy of it to keep if he likes it. CDs, tapes, even vinyl records, digital file only just doesn’t cut it for him. He plays his own music too, rarely with sheet music and mostly just riffing whatever feels right at the time. His trusty trombone is more than just a vehicle for incidental music, it’s like a pal that’s always been there for him even if he didn’t have the energy for it sometimes, and he makes sure to keep it in prime condition.

On his better days—of which he’s been having a lot more since reaching the Surface—he very much loves to be around people and one of his favorite things to get to do with those people is play games, board games to be specific. Monopoly might get a little too violent for his tastes, but stuff like Scrabble, Sorry!, Jenga, all up his alley. It takes a mix of skill and luck to win, which keeps things interesting, and barring a snack break or a celebratory dance of some kind, can be enjoyed entirely sedentarily, which is excellent. He probably shouldn’t be allowed to play cards (he counts them), and his brother swears he weighs dice (he doesn’t), but everything else is fair game and he likes having something he can shine at while also getting to hang out with friends.

But when he’s at home, or he can’t find a group to hang with, he spends a good amount of time cloud-gazing. Not star-gazing, though the sky and the stars are beautiful of course, but his interest is in the atmosphere, on the weather. There weren’t too many weather conditions to be found Underground—snow and rain and hot, basically—and the descriptions he’d heard and read of the kind of stuff that happened on the Surface had always captured his imagination. Clouds, storm cells, fog? It was interesting, and he read about a lot of atmospheric conditions without ever really expecting to see any for himself… but he’s actually up here now. And here, he’s the type of guy who owns a barometer, watches live Doppler radar feeds with rapt interest, and can tell you if it’s going to rain without even checking the weather app, just by taking a look up. His interest in meteorology actually has some practical applications now, go figure.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus):

He’s a cook, and though that may not be his job title, he takes it almost as seriously as if it was. For him, it’s both a passion and a language, a way to reach out to people and connect when there aren’t words—or when there are, but they’re not enough. He thinks of every meal he makes as a gift for the person he’s making it for and as such, it’s not enough for it to just be good food—it should be personalized to suit the recipient’s tastes, bespoke to what they like! That said, he primarily cooks comfort foods, stuff loaded with butter and cheese and salt because that’s what his depressed and struggling loved ones seem to like the most. It’s not always to his tastes, but it’s a point of great pride for him to have dinners at his home feeling like the end of Thanksgiving, everyone full and content and at risk of dozing off on the sofa.

He takes such pride in his cooking that he makes most everything from scratch, and that’s how he got into canning. To get to be such a good cook and to have such a discerning palate, you start to get a bit dissatisfied with store-bought spreads, and you start thinking of how you could tweak it, just a bit, and come up with something a little better. And well, of course he has a sweet tooth and doesn’t he deserve to gift himself a treat from time to time? Which is not to say he doesn’t share his jams and jellies and preserves when he gets to making them—which is anytime there’s a good sale on fruit—but at the risk of making him sound arrogant, he’s absolutely spoiled himself for even the big brands at the store. Sure, he could buy it, as-is, or he could make it and enhance the flavor with a bit of mint or cinnamon or whatever it’s begging for, exactly to his liking. …He does go through quite a lot of jars, though.

So it’s a good thing that he knows all the best home goods stores in the area to buy mason jars, and loyalty perks at every one that offers them because he’s such a frequent customer. He’s very particular about the way his home is decorated and spends a lot of time and effort into cultivating just the right homey, comfortable, clean vibe for the space, so of course he’s always thinking of ways to use his décor to do just that. He doesn’t like a static environment so he frequently moves things around, takes away old things, and adds new ones—scented candles, decorative bowls, accent pieces, really anything that catches his eye-socket. He’s a natural-born homemaker, really, it's a shame he doesn’t have a spouse to appreciate all his talents (yet~).

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):

Okay well now knitting is a hobby of his, now that he’s too big and scary to give a shit what anyone thinks about his yarn-crafting. It’s a skill from before the head injury (and the Everything Else) so it’s not like having to pick up a new skill and something you can be competent at is always nice. He finds it pretty relaxing too, if he’s honest with himself, and grounding—between the repetitive motions and the tangible product of his effort and time having passed, it’s a good go-to for him when he’s stressed and needs to calm down, or when he’s disoriented and has to reorient onto something real. It’s a pretty nice side-hustle too, selling what he makes online, but even if it wasn’t for someone, he’d still knit for himself.

…But it’s maybe not so much of a side-hustle because he doesn’t really have a main-hustle to be doing his knitting on the side of. He mostly hangs around the house as an unemployed self-employed bum. And if you’re bored, in the house, it’s probably only a matter of time before you notice something that needs attention, something broken or askew or in need of a fresh coat of something, and that’s what happened to him, and how he started getting into a lot of DIY home repair. He’s got a background in a lot of technical and mechanical stuff, the confidence to poke around in unfamiliar things, and he certainly has the time, so he’s become something of an all-purpose handyman, regularly sweeping the place to see if there’s something he can fix or tune up. Leaky faucet in the kitchen? Engine maintenance on his bro’s car? Heating ducts making a weird noise? No problem, he’ll check it out, probably an easy enough fix.

He doesn’t stay cooped up in the house all the time though. …Most of it, maybe, but he likes to sit out on the porch or hang in the yard sometimes and get a front row seat to all the wildlife lurking around. He keeps a bird-feeder topped up so the birds always come by, and he’s maybe not so diligent about making sure the bird-feeder doesn’t also become a squirrel-feeder, so there’s a few of them around, too. He has a bad habit of leaving food out for neighborhood strays—cats—and every now and again he’ll catch one and get it fixed, but the food’s also lured in a few other critters it wasn’t meant for. He shoos away the raccoons and possums and (on a couple occasions) foxes that end up on his doorstep, but he likes seeing them so he probably won’t ever really stop. There’s a local murder of crows who bring him offerings of bottle caps and buttons and other junk, and he’s half-convinced they worship him as a god but that’s definitely not going to his head or anything, don’t worry.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus):

He likes to meditate. That’s perhaps an understatement, he needs to meditate—even after abdicating his throne and resuming a civilian life, on the Surface with food and safety and funds aplenty, he has a lot of stress and on any given day, he’s wound tight as a spring. Old habits die hard, and old guilt and pain and fear die harder, and he has a tough time relaxing naturally. Having a set time and routine to sit and breathe and clear his mind, deliberately, is crucial for him. He’s got a room set aside just for it with only related paraphernalia—meditation music, incense holder, a zen garden—inside, a space empty of distractions where he can just relax and let everything else go. It’s either that or be more open and vulnerable in therapy and the latter’s not happening any time soon, so his meditation room is the only thing standing between him and a mental breakdown.

That’s a humorous exaggeration, of course. He also has his bonsai trees, which serve a similar function. He got his first around the same time he took up meditation, thinking it might just be a nice plant to set the ambiance, but as he started caring for it and cultivating it, it grew (pun not intended, how dare you?) into its own thing. He’s got lots of bonsais now and takes great deliberate care in their soil, their water, and meticulous pruning to keep them all growing healthy and strong and in exactly the way they should. There might be something to be said there about power and control and healthy, positive outlets to explore those needs, but for him they’re just his trees—his responsibility, his to keep alive, his to keep in line… And it’s nice to have plants in the house, they really add something to a space, don’t you think?

Something else he’s into that’s slightly more social is chess. He learned a lot about tactics and strategy during and in the lead-up to his reign, both from books and hard experience, and chess is a strategist’s game—all about studying the field of play and your opponent and thinking ahead to achieve your desired outcome. He started by playing against his brother, learning the game and gaining confidence, and then later against Toriel while he conspired to overthrow Undyne, which taught him more about thinking like a warrior monarch and how to strategize against one. Ever since, chess has been his preferred way to get to know someone and he finds the insight into a person’s thoughts (through their choices and idle conversation during the game) to be an invaluable asset. …It’s also somewhat fun, enriching he supposes, or else he probably wouldn’t keep so many chess sets in the house, or regularly go to the park to seek opponents at the public boards. But what business is that of yours?

Merc (Horrorswap Sans):

His physical…situation…is complicated. Until he gets his DT under control, he starts literally melting down whenever his emotions are too high which means that most of the things he would’ve done before for fun and exercise are out. His solution to that is yoga, a low-stress, low-impact way to stretch and move and keep his body functional, without the risk of upsetting himself and others by turning into a puddle! Going through the forms helps him focus his mind and ground him in his body at the same time, which he loves, and it’s something he can do solo or in a group, which is also great depending on his mood and need. He attends a studio at least semi-regularly, whenever there’s a class going on, and he loves it as a way to meet new people and socialize in a low-key way. Even after his melting problem gets sorted, he keeps the yoga as a part of his life and routine—it works for him, even when a lot of other things didn’t!

Escapism has also always been there for him: the sci-fi flavored genre specifically. He’s been in pretty dire need for distractions to take his mind off his condition and his frustratingly slow-going research, and fiction was a great fit, depictions of far-future times when technology is advanced but people are still people and the problems of today are all solved and done with—just the problems of tomorrow left to solve and there’s always hope somewhere out there in the universe. Yeah…he can use a little bit of that. Back Underground, he’d seen a few popular sci-fi series that managed to fall down—Star Trek, Star Wars, and a few others—but he falls back into it hard on the Surface when he discovers that the full collections are available, usually remastered and listed out in chronological order, and so many other fans to talk to about it, wow! And oh, the merch, so much merch… He’s only a mortal man, how is he meant to resist a phone case designed to look like a communicator from The Original Series? Or a replica of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber? Or… Okay maybe he’s just enough of a nerd for it verge on a financial problem but he’s having fun, let him have this.

It's not like he’s not bringing in a paycheck, with his little home bakery business. He’s gotten serious about his baking and really ramped up his technical skill, and good flavor and texture is surely a way to keep a customer base, but he wanted to draw in the new customers and for that, he had to get good at decorating. As an amateur, he didn’t care so much if his frosting was a little messy, or really try to do anything at all beyond maybe some food coloring and sprinkles here and there, but in the interest of trying to elevate his business to the next level, he started experimenting more with design techniques—and he discovered he loves it! It takes a lot of skill and precision to execute on top-notch cake décor and he likes the challenge of learning something new and perfecting it until he’s ready to offer it as a technique to his customers. He’s the king of drip cakes, master of mirror glazes, and has the cleanest foil and luster work you will ever see. He’ll tackle geode cakes next, just you wait!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus):

He used to hate spooky shit. Horror movies, ghost stories, creepy stuff meant to send a shiver up your spine and make your heart (if you have one) skip a couple beats—he couldn’t handle it and any hubris otherwise would leave him looking at pictures of kittens trying to forget about it so he could sleep. But then… Wouldn’t you know it, then he lived through a horror: a terrible creature from another world came to his sleepy little town and killed seemingly everybody they could find, and he survived but the world changed, and everyone went hungry, his best friend disappeared, his brother started melting and he almost died and then came back wrong… And now the fake spooky stuff doesn’t seem so bad. Actually it’s…kinda fun? Scary stories and creepypastas still freak him out, a little, but his tolerance for it has gone up considerably and now he seeks out the genre on purpose, to create and consume, because it feels a little good to get scared by something fake instead of all too real.

His new interest in horror turned him on to movies in general. Not that he didn’t like watching movies before, but being especially invested in a specific genre got him reading about analyses of themes and filming techniques, lighting and staging and all the behind-the-scenes choices made in casting and shooting, and he loves being able to point those things out. Watching a movie with him, any movie, will probably trigger a film-buff monologue about something—‘oh see that’s a long shot, they do that when they’re trying to…’, ‘that’s not cg by the way, it’s actually a matte painting and…’, ‘y’know that scene when he kicked the helmet, it turns out he…’ et cetera, et cetera. He’s not trying to be a bore or a know-it-all, he’s actually just really interested in the way all these things, choices or accidents, come together to make a movie and he can talk about it for ages…or complain about it, if it happens to be a crappy movie. He does so love to complain…

Throughout all of this, if his attention isn’t split by his laptop, he’s usually keeping his hands busy another way—with origami. He’s almost always got a lot of scrap paper lying around in reach and for lack of anything better to do, he’ll grab a piece and start folding it. He started screwing around with those notebook edges left over after you tear out a page, but those are messy and ran out of folds real quick, so eventually he looked up some deliberate things to make out of paper and even bought some origami paper specifically for practice and nicer looking results. He’s pretty good at hopping frogs and flapping cranes, and who can’t make a boat, but his go-to is definitely the little stars you make out of the long strips. He’s got a big jar of the stars and keeps making more to add to it, not for any reason, really, but…it’s fun to make ‘em and they look pretty so why not?

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans):

He’s a thrill-seeker. Not necessarily the death-defying stunt kind—though he cheated death once already and might be a bit cockier about his odds the next time around than he ought to be—but any thrill, even the cheap ones. He spent a lot of time Before hedging his bets and prioritizing just about everything but himself, and now he’s decided to spend the rest of his time doing the opposite, chasing excitements and novelties and things he was too cautious or restrained or just too spartan to go after. He seeks out new restaurants, trendy bars, relationships, activities, anything that catches his fancy at the moment. A lot of the things he tries out don’t stick, falling by the wayside after the luster of ‘exciting and new’ wears off—you really only need to try a PB&J burger the once, and if you’ve ridden one mechanical bull, you’ve ridden them all—but some things make an impression.

Boxing is one of the things that stuck for him. He always worked out to stay in good condition and it was a habit he kept up on the Surface, joining a local gym as soon as possible for access to the weights and the punching bag. Fisticuffs was a last resort for him when dealing with actual problems, but hitting things was a great way to blow off steam—and as repressed as he was, he had a lot of steam to blow off, so his form and footwork was always top-notch. He got noticed for it, invited to spar in the ring, and to keep a short story short, he loved it. It’s a challenge being blind in a fistfight, but in a very positive way for him, giving him a chance to use his reflexes and his soul-sense to take on his opponents and most of the time, win. It’s a visceral, almost primal pleasure for him to get to fight in a reasonably safe arena, with people who are also fighting for love of the sport and no aim to seriously injure or kill, like a dance but with someone who wants to knock you out and vice versa.

And speaking of dancing, he’s very fond of that as well for similar, yet less violent reasons. He doesn’t really dance solo, simply for joy of the music—his enjoyment is almost exclusively in the partnered activity, when he has someone to match steps and mirror movement with and combine his awareness of his body and theirs into a cohesive picture. He likes the give and take of it, the way that he can have a physical experience with someone, a conversation without a single word being spoken, all from movement and synchronicity with whoever’s signed his dance card. He knows a few formal dances already and hasn’t forgotten the steps so he’s well-prepared for a polite ballroom experience… but he’s also learned how to let his metaphorical hair down lately, and a bit of dirty dancing is hardly off the table, should his partner for the evening (or afternoon, morning, midnight) be so inclined.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus):

What happened Underground sent him into probably the worst art-block of his life. Even picking up a pen got hard to do with anything more than the intent to jot down a note for himself and he spent entirely too long with utterly dry wells of inspiration, not creating anything at all. In a desperate attempt to rekindle something creative, he ended up searching ‘art ideas’ online and discovered the vast world of craft projects. It was easier for him to actually make something when he had step-by-step guides and didn’t have to draw on his own (lacking) inspiration, and he quickly gained a liking for what he could make out of things he already had lying around the house and art supplies that were collecting dust—coffee-filter peonies, paper-straw wreaths, tin-can organizers, et cetera. He likes upcycling and getting to find use in things that might otherwise be discarded, and he really enjoys getting to put his own personal touch into crafts inspired from the internet.

He's proud enough of his works, in fact, that he wanted to show them off and—lacking real-life friends—he started posting photos of his crafts online. The response was positive but eventually, he started getting dissatisfied with the quality of the pictures he was taking, fuzzing details or altering colors, and he began looking into ways to improve the shots he was taking, lighting techniques, camera settings, angles and framing… By the time he invested in his own high-quality camera (and read the manual, front to back), he was seeing art everywhere, not just in the things he made but in the light through trees on a misty morning, in the waft of a curtain by an open window, in the people walking along the sidewalk out in front of the house. He has an eye-socket for it now and he’s always considering The Perfect Shot, how to capture the beautiful moments happening all the time with his photography. He’s good and getting better all the time, the more he practices his staging and editing.

He definitely wants to diversify his portfolio, though. Of course, he’s great at capturing domestic scenes, being a shut-in and all, but there’s more out there in the world, to see and photograph and be part of. It takes him awhile to get there but once he does, he’s very passionate about traveling. He spent such a long time stuck—first Underground, and then in his home on the Surface—and his scenery and his experiences were limited, but once he’s free there’s so much new and beautiful and exciting that he can access and he loves being able to pack up and go to it, right where it is. He wants to fill a passport and see unique vistas all over the globe, learn about cultures there, and make meaningful memories attached to every picture he takes.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans):

He likes stories, not the kind that come from a book, necessarily, but the stories people tell. The subject doesn’t matter to him much—folklore, local legends, big fish tales, ‘you’ll never believe what happened to me last week’s and more—it’s really the telling of it that he likes, how people describe what happened for an audience of their friends, family, or even strangers. He especially likes hearing the same story from different people to see how they tell it differently with their own perspectives or details that were unique to the version they heard. He’s always got a metaphorical ear open for a good yarn and a great memory for the stories people tell him, to the point that he can dispense them on cue whenever conversation’s slow, but he’s got plenty of his own experiences to make tales out of too, and the charisma and flair to make the telling entertaining.

This is a skill that comes majorly in handy for one of his other favorite hobbies, tabletop gaming. Whether he’s setting the scene for a D&D party he’s DMing for or keeping conversation going while he shuffles a deck for rummy, he loves having a table of people together to talk and play a game (or two, or three) with. It’s hard to get schedules to line up so he almost always has a few different game nights going on at any given time, in rotation depending on who can make what—and luckily, he’s a social butterfly so if someone cancels, getting substitutes to hang and make friends with over a game of something or other is never too difficult for him. He’ll go anywhere but his preference is hosting himself, he just loves having people over and showing them a good old fashioned time!

And speaking of old fashioned, his fashion is a little bit that as well. He’s a tad all over the place with it but nonetheless very interested in vintage and retro styles—the bold neon windbreakers of the 80s, the dated digital graphic tees of the 90s, the vinyl of the 00s, and even the holographics of the 10s. He tends to get a little confused about what was popular when and maybe that’s why he meshes it all together, but regardless, he loves his very eclectic wardrobe and adding to it. He makes a lot of trips to thrift stores and checks often on resale sites and gets very excited whenever he stumbles across a good find. Jackets are his favorite and he definitely has too many, but they spark joy and he’s probably not going to get rid of any or quit shopping around for more of the old school stuff anytime soon.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus):

He likes scrapbooking! Maybe not too surprising, but as someone who mysteriously came into existence one day with no memory of his past, he doesn’t like the idea of losing memories—at least, not any more memories than he’s already apparently lost. He likes keeping records of things he does and that happen in his life as a tangible proof of his existence in and impact on the world. He stores things digitally as well but having the physical album feels weightier and more permanent, so he takes great care assembling and arranging everything in it. He keeps photos of outings with friends and coworkers, fliers from lectures he attends, even receipts from restaurants and movie ticket stubs. It’s all extremely well organized and annotated to the point that it almost reads like a scientific article, but he has fun with the cutting and pasting and aesthetic arrangement of it all—a neat and tidy accounting of (as much of) his life (as he can remember).

It's probably no coincidence that his scrapbook resembles a science journal, though, because he reads a lot of them. He also attends lectures and conferences when available and open to the public because, though he doesn’t have a career in any field of science, he’s still quite passionate about it! He loves learning about new advancements and discoveries, and when he comes across something he doesn’t know or only knows a bit about, he tends to do his own research into relevant readings on the topic until he’s better informed. He loathes misinformation and willful ignorance though, and as a result he’s ended up in a few small scale social media wars where he arrives on a post with thorough corrections, arguments, and sources cited and continues to present the accurate information until he’s respectfully acknowledged or blocked. It’s…usually the latter, but he doesn’t mind a good argument and ad hominem attacks slide right off him, so…as long as he’s having fun, what does it matter?

However…for all his love of truth and fact, he is also—regrettably—truly, madly, deeply compelled by the paranormal. If asked directly, he would say that of course he doesn’t believe in (non-monster) ghosts or aliens or the supernatural, there’s no evidence of such things! At least…nothing credible. He’s read the first and second-hand accounts, reviewed the blurry inconclusive photos, entertained hypotheticals of what could have really caused the sighting or scenario in question, accounting for variables and probing with his own questions to determine more information. He may occasionally be inclined to physically visit some ‘hot spots’ or sites of infamy, just to get a better understanding of the location and potential factors in what’s been claimed… But! Obviously, he’s a devil’s advocate in this only, as intriguing as some of these concepts are, that’s all they are—concepts. The fact that he spends so much time and thought on such things does not at all validate them and it simply means that he is a man of both integrity and science, the real kind!

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans):

He likes swimming! Er…well…maybe that’s not the right word for it. It’s not diving either, really, it’s… He likes going to bodies of water, walking in, and staying under for awhile, there, that’s a more accurate description of it. He’s waterproof and he doesn’t need to breathe, so ducking under the surface for a good few hours is not only possible, but a great way to get near-total peace and quiet for however long he wants it. He wasn’t much of a swimmer when he had an organic body, so it’s a bit of a novelty as well—seeing the way things look underwater, the way sounds change, the way animals swim around him in their natural habitat. He finds being in the water to be very relaxing and pleasant, almost meditative in nature, and whenever he’s feeling especially tense or in need of some space to think (or not think), he’ll head to the nearest body of water and go right in. It would be better if he actually took his clothes off before he did this, but he usually doesn’t and has weirded many clothes with lake or sea water.

He’s also into urban exploration. Not that he specifically calls it that, but he’s a wanderer and he likes to keep a low profile so sometimes, when he happens to be in the heart of a big city and there’s nowhere anonymous enough for him to blend in, he disappears into closed, abandoned, or condemned buildings. He likes the quiet of places like these and the reduced likelihood of running into anyone trying to interact with him because nobody else is supposed to be there. Obviously sometimes people are there anyway, but usually it’s people who mind their own business or actively avoid him, which he’s completely fine with. He does also enjoy having a look around when there’s time and he can, getting to see the remnants of the people who used the building before, what they left behind and imagining what it would be like if it were actively in use. A lot of the places he gets into have nice views of the city outside, too, and it’s pleasant to find a ledge or some rebar to sit on and enjoy it.

Jewelry making came out of his preferred hangout spots, as well. There’s a lot of junk lying around in abandoned or in-construction buildings—chain-link fences, washers, nuts and bolts—and when one is sitting around in an empty spot in the early morning, waiting for the city to wake up so he can slip through the masses undetected again, one gets to fiddling with nearby things in reach. He’s no master jeweler, his creations tend to be very simple, metal bent and twisted by hand in loops and curls, maybe a shape if he’s feeling ambitious, but he likes making them regardless. Sometimes he’ll keep an eye out for interesting stones and hold onto them to incorporate them into one of his pieces, or pick up a bit of nicer wire to work with if he’s going to be passing through a more rural area where it won’t be so easily available. He never keeps the rings and necklaces and bracelets he makes, though, just leaving them on tables and benches and railings for someone else to find later. It’s the making that’s the important part to him, he doesn’t need the thing.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus):

He’s a proud and passionate DJ for partiers everywhere! He kind of fell into it, or at least into the idea of it when figuring out how to approach humanity and be a part of it, and he learned that it’s quite common for musical artists to have gimmicks that hide their real faces and identities. It seemed like it’d be easy to blend in, in a crowd like that, and when he found out about vocaloids and holographic performers he was all but sold on giving it a go. It didn’t take him long to learn how to mix songs and with a theoretically infinite track list to draw on, he’s a natural talent at playing the crowd and keeping the energy in a room high. He loves DJing for nightclubs and raves the most, but he’s starting to gain a bit of fame and notoriety for both his talent and his very advanced ‘avatar’ and might end up dropping some of his own music and playing to larger venues sooner than later.

In his spare time, of which he has a lot, he likes the challenge of hunting down lost media. He has full access to the internet as well as several archives he probably should not have access to, but it’s very hard to keep him out of anywhere he wants to be—luckily, he chooses to use his nigh unfathomable power for good, digging around here, there, and everywhere for things deleted, destroyed, or locked off from the public. It’s like a treasure hunt, following leads and connecting clues until he finds the impossible thing he’s looking for…or doesn’t. Sometimes things that are gone really are gone, but other times it’s just that no one else had the spare time and resources to try and excavate a mention of a grandmother’s VHS copy of an obscure, out of circulation film on a deleted forum post from ten years ago, track down the user, ask after the tape and offer to purchase it to convert to a digital format…and if that doesn’t pan out, the search begins anew! How exciting!

His do-gooding doesn’t end at tracking and restoring old tapes, though, and he likes to spare some time for bigger acts of justice now and again. He’s a part-time hacktivist—he takes note of ongoing crime and corruption in human society and when he can, he shines a light on it. Leaking emails, posting blacklisted videos, releasing incriminating financial records, he has little respect for the privacy of crooked CEOs and corrupt politicians and feels it’s only right that their customers and constituents know these things about the people they’re supporting. His intervention tends to lead to a lot of resignations and restructuring and legal action being pursued, so he tries not to overstep too much with the business of humans, especially not for any old small-fry in the pond…but the big fish, the guys in the news with allegations that don’t stick because of money lack of evidence… Well, he doesn’t mind digging up that evidence, if the proper authorities really lack the time for it—you’re welcome!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):

He’s very into spiritualism and all things mystical. His brush with the cosmically unknowable really expanded his perception and sense of things around him and he’s freshly fascinated by the things in this world beyond mortal comprehension, things he’s only glimpsed and felt more than he clearly understood. He loves reading or hearing about other peoples’ spiritual experiences—near-deaths, out-of-body’s, energies sensed and presences felt and many more—being let into the perspective of others who have been through things not easily explained and maybe getting a chance to share his own oddities in the process. He collects a lot of paraphernalia from the people and places he goes for these things, chakra bracelets, dreamcatchers, crystal pyramids and the like. He freely admits some of his items have stronger energies than others and theorizes that belief and intention in the creation of the object has an effect, you see the aura of this one feels—you get the idea, he could talk about it for hours.

He's also a very big fan of riddles! He knew a few before but has really gotten into them since, diving down the rabbit hole of riddles and tricky word puzzles. He finds the construction of them incredibly interesting, how specific words are chosen and phrases are structured to talk around the answer, carefully ringing around it to imply only and make the listener deduce the truth around its absence—just like how black holes are discovered by observing the warping of space around it! He has lots of riddle books and knows the answers to most of the basic ones out there, and he’s always open to hearing new ones, as well as coming up with some of his own from time to time. He takes his riddling quite seriously and will never look up the answer or allow anyone to tell him before he guesses—he wants to reason it out for himself, even if it takes him days to do it. If you manage to stump him, expect a call later on with the solution and exuberant praise for the gift you gave him!

A far more pedestrian and down-to-earth hobby of his, however, is pottery. Riddling and talking about the cosmos is all well and good, but it’s difficult actually meeting people to do those with—they don’t really have meet-ups for those sorts of things. But! They do have pottery classes, all over the place, welcoming beginners who are generally also open to making friends there, and he decided to go where the people were. It’s probably not something he would’ve been as happy doing before…Everything, reining in the urge to be great at it first try and do clean, neat work to impress people… but he doesn’t really think that way anymore, so he likes it! It's messy and mistakes are easy to make, both on the wheel and in the kiln, but that’s life and he’s learning same as everyone else. He gets to socialize, he gets to make stuff out of clay, and he gets so very many pots and mugs and bowls to give his friends and loved ones—a win-win-win!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus):

He never used to put much effort into his wardrobe. He was anxious and introverted and never wanted to stand out too much, so he always aimed for under, rather than over-dressed. …But things changed. He’s more confident, he wants to stand out, he wants to look his best and dress himself in all the nice clothes he always thought he wasn’t cool enough to wear—so now, he does. He keeps his eye-socket on modern fashion trends, subscribing to magazines and tuning in to designer runways so he always knows what’s in and can coordinate his wardrobe accordingly. He's not necessarily a brand snob, he doesn’t subscribe to the idea that clothes (and accessories) need a label to look good, but at the same time, he won’t compromise on quality and sometimes that means paying for it. Still, he has a lot of fun keeping in style and taking more care in how he presents himself, and it turns into something of a confidence feedback loop—feeling good because he looks good because he feels good because…

With his newfound confidence, he’s also gotten into the habit of singing out loud. He hums tunes every now and again, surely everyone does, but now he sings, sometimes softly and sometimes belting out lyrics at full volume to whatever song floats through his head. What can he say? He’s started to like the sound of his own voice and it makes him feel good to hear how he sounds, and to feel how freely and beautifully the notes come out. Maybe it’s a little prideful but he doesn’t see the harm in making music and feeling good about it, so he sings when he’s occupied, when he’s idle, when he’s asked to—no special occasion necessary save for the joy of sound.

Of course, this also gives him something in common with some of his favorite creatures on the planet: birds. He likes animals and tends to be great with them—especially if he happens to use his ‘trick’—but he’s particularly fond of the feathered ones and the pretty sounds they make. He started learning how to mimic bird-calls (now that he’s not too self-conscious to feel stupid about it) and found he has a talent for it, getting all kinds of flighted friends to stop by and sing back when he chirps. He knows a lot of calls and can identify most local bird species by sound and sight, and it’s a favored party trick of his to push a little intent into his whistles and get wild birds to land on his finger like they were trained. He’s actually looking to break into falconry too, so he can keep and train a raptor someday, but there’s a lot of training and regulation involved in that sport and he’s not in any special kind of hurry. Plenty of birds to watch and sing to and play with in the meantime!

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans):

He’s been on his own for quite awhile. Granted, most of that time was unconscious in a semi-lucid dream-state, but that still left him pretty bereft of any meaningful company for a long damn time. He’s a social guy, he’s gotta make some connections with people at some point or it’s just gonna feed into his main character syndrome, so he starts getting involved in competitive team activities pretty much as soon as possible. At first it’s gaming—multiplayers, with mic enabled of course—when he’s still building his physical health back up, but once he’s clear for it he’s joining up with just about every team sport he can find. The Surface has plenty of options for him to choose from. Paintball? Definitely, get ready to meet your maker. Go-karting? Can’t believe it took so long to ask, let’s go. Axe-throwing? Oh hell yes, you know it! He’s competitive but a mostly good loser and hardly sore winner, so whatever the game he’s all in, just happy to be able to play.

When he’s solo and not actively burning energy, he…probably should be. He overproduces magic like a sonuvabitch, and if he’s not using it, that’s a problem—for him and everyone and everything around him. If he’s lacking something to do with his energy, and no other ways to expend it, the easiest thing to do is make a bunch of bullets. This, naturally, solves one problem while creating another and out of the abundance of bones lying around the place came the elegant solution of building with them. He uses his bone bullets like some (frat house) people use beer cans, stacking them together to make thrones chairs, tables, and towers. Sometimes he’ll jenga these structures, knock ‘em down to reuse the bullets for something else, but sometimes, if he's managed to stack up something particularly impressive, he’ll put in the extra effort to make them structurally sound and keep them as-is.

For all that he’s good at building things up, he takes just as much pleasure in taking them apart. He likes working with his hands, always has, opening something up and poking around inside to figure out what goes on in there. Unfortunately, and he’ll never admit as much out loud, he is…not very strong, physically—the big stuff, heavy duty machinery that takes a decent amount of elbow grease to get into is…a little bit beyond his ability, at least comfortably. By default, that leaves him with the little stuff to tinker with, clocks and watches, TVs and blenders, anything he can get his hands on and pop open without too much work. Clockwork mechanisms are his favorites to work with, the very tangible cause and effect of motion inside, but he’s no slouch with a soldering iron and more fiddly electronics are hardly any trouble. He likes fixing stuff that’s broken but it doesn’t have to be for him to want to disassemble something in working order, just for a quick look. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, he’ll put it right back—possibly in better condition than when he found it!

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus):

He has difficulty finding hobbies for himself, at first. Doing things he enjoys—much less expressing that he enjoyed them—was both forbidden and dangerous, so he’s in unexplored territory without explicit orders to do or not do something. Undyne gets him started with puzzles after noticing that he seemed to like solving them for her on patrols. A jigsaw seems as good as anything to start with, right? Well… yes, very much so, because he loves the medium instantly. One obvious solution (to assemble the pieces into a picture), no time constraint, and no way to do it incorrectly? It’s perfect! He graduates quickly from small, simple jigsaws to large, complex ones and loves being able to sit down with a few thousand pieces and slowly, steadily arrange them the way they’re supposed to be. He was given a massive, single-color monolith of a jigsaw once, as a joke…which completely didn’t land because it only took him a bit longer than usual and he loved it just as much. Go figure.

His brother gave him another hobby, upon remembering that he used to (as a toddler) like scribbling on paper, and gifted him a color-by-number book. It was a little juvenile, involved considerably less problem-solving than puzzles, but that’s really not a bad thing for him, giving him a task to do by rote that appeals to his creative side rather than the militaristic orders he got until that point. Eventually, as he gains independence and starts to feel more comfortable making choices of his own, he ditches the ‘by-number’ part but sticks with coloring, using watercolors and colored pencils to fill in pages of designs with whatever he wants. He finds it very relaxing and satisfying to do, and with encouragement even frames some of the pieces he’s proudest of. Friends and family may expect to receive them as gifts, especially if they’ve complimented one in particular—it’ll be theirs in short order without a second thought.

His most consuming hobby, however, is one he came to on his own: the care and keeping of fish. His first was a betta, a bright red fighting fish, drooping and still in a tiny little cup on a shelf—an impulse purchase he’d be hard-pressed to explain, especially with no animal experience whatsoever, much less specifically fish. But, he did it, and after that it was his responsibility to care for it, so he put in the research to determine its needs, the size of the tank, the pH balance of the water, the food and feeding schedule, environmental enrichment… It was a lot of work getting everything together but the reward in seeing the sad lifeless betta turn bright and active, thriving in the home he’d built for it, that was an addictive feeling. It wasn’t long until he was setting up more tanks, and buying lots more aquatic critters—tetras, cichlids, snails, guppies—to fill them with. He’s an extremely diligent and dedicated fish-dad and likes to sit and watch them swim the way some people watch TV.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans):

He knows his way around a needle and thread. He learned to sew out of pride necessity, learning to mend ripped and worn garments rather than having to beg for new on his or his brother’s behalf. It started as the lesser of two evils for him, but eventually he grew to enjoy it—work, of course, to have to close holes and hem and take in this and that, but work that he was generally left alone to do and not bothered for other things. It’s still that, but now that he doesn’t have a panopticon of a mocking prick judging his every action, he’s branching out into a bit more personal flair. He tried felting, with…poor results…but embroidery and needlepoint is working out considerably better. He’s still not especially creative so he prefers to work off patterns rather than freehand anything, and most of the things he stitches aren’t exactly to his own personal style, so a lot of his work gets donated but some things end up on the wall, others as patches for bags and jackets… It’s something to do.

…Making booze is also something to do. He didn’t exactly see it coming, something he kind of fell into. Per his brother’s preference, they’ve made their home in a wooded, mountainous area, and per his own preference, it’s secluded, a ways away from the town proper. Grocery runs every time there’s no more alcohol in the house (because somebody had company over and left a thimble in the bottle without telling anyone) is irritating, especially if he’s just getting home late and nowhere nearby is even open. A lot of locals get around the problem by simply brewing, fermenting, or distilling their own, and after looking into the process, he decided it was more than doable. He’s not much of a beer-drinker and never bothered with that, but he makes some damn good fruit wines if he says so himself, and a moonshine that’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful. His little operation is technically illegal—his favorite kind of illegal—but it's all for private use and he keeps to himself when he’s in town so he’s flying pretty low beneath the radar.

He is out of town a lot, mostly for work purposes, and passing through unfamiliar towns on the regular exposed him to quite a lot of postcard kiosks. He would look at them, think about his semi-estranged brother back home and how weird it would be, with their relationship being what it is, to call or text just to say ‘hey’ and… Well, eventually he bought one, scribbled a curt (coded) message on it, and sent it home before he could think better of it. Neither of them ever said anything about it, but he found it later on his desk when he got home with a scrawled reply back to what he’d written, and it kind of just spiraled into a thing from there. Anytime he goes somewhere, he finds a place to pick up a postcard to mail back, and when he gets home he tucks it (and the inevitable addition onto it) away in a binder for safekeeping. He takes a lot of care in the choosing and preservation of these cards and has a sizeable, growing collection.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus):

He’s a runner. There’s almost nothing he likes more than getting outside and taking off, jogging full speed to nowhere in particular until he’s out of breath and covered in sweat. He was cooped up for a long time in between specific missions and keeping pace on a treadmill just can’t compare to the free feeling he gets when he’s completely off-leash and can just go, as fast and as far as he wants to. Sometimes he’ll spice up his runs with a bit of parkour, clearing obstacles or scaling trees to take the branches for awhile, but he’s happy as long as he gets to let loose—sky above him, earth below, and nothing to call him back but his own limitations when he’s totally exhausted or he decides to be done.

For similar reasons, he’s interested in foraging. He likes nature and the outdoors, prefers it to anything indoors bar none, and the longer he can spend out in it without having to make his way back to civilization, the better. So, he started learning about the plants he sees—what’s edible, what’s not, what’s poisonous versus medicinal and so on. A lot of the info about it is geared towards humans rather than bioengineered skeletons so there’s still a learning curve, and a lot of things he's taken it upon himself to test out. He was built with a high metabolism and some natural poison resistance so he’s too cocky to be stopped from doing it, really, no matter how many times he’s called a reckless idiot for touching and ingesting possibly harmful substances. He's made a lot of interesting discoveries with regards to the local flora and only hardly gotten sick about it, so he counts it as a win.

He keeps track of said discoveries in his journal, which he takes out with him whenever he leaves the house for a nature walk (or run). He likes having it handy to note down things he does throughout the day, places he goes, things he sees… He never really got into art, not the way he could’ve, if things had been different, but he can scratch out some decent sketches to fill in the margins of his journal—the path down to the stream he found, the deer that only shed one antler, that berry that definitely did not agree with his metaphorical stomach, do not try again… His memory isn’t bad, exactly, but his mind and feet are both prone to wandering so it’s nice to have a log of his activities to look over later and put together things he missed at the time, or be reminded of stuff he wants to revisit. Most of his journaling is done halfway up a tree, sprawled along a branch with half an eye-socket on the view from up high.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans):

He wasn’t especially interested in plants or flowers, at least not until one started altering him—and the rest of monsterkind—in mind and body. That’s when he got interested and started studying. First the echo flower, its strange properties nearest and dearest to him, but gradually branching out to golden flowers, forevergreens, water sausages, any magical plant he can get his hands on to examine. Non-magical plants are equally fascinating, especially in their potential effects on humans—he knows probably an unsettling amount of flowers and greenery that are toxic to humans, the symptoms caused by contact or ingestion and how long it takes them to appear. Thankfully, he’s not much for the care and keeping of plants as keeping things alive seems like an awful lot of work. Still, he finds them interesting and has lots of botany and anthology books lying around, with leaves and petals dried and pressed between their pages. Did you know that the echo flower’s bioluminescence remains for up to three years after the bloom’s been clipped? Fascinating stuff.

Less of a passion but still at least an idle hobby, he can play a bit of piano. He’s self-taught—plunking out keys on the piano in Waterfall while passing through to entertain himself (and a little bit to annoy Undyne)—but though he can’t read sheet music or play any full length songs, he can tickle out a short tune by sound once he’s heard it at least once. He’s got a good ear for notes, despite not having any actual ears. It may actually be some kind of perfect pitch thing going on in his head but he should not be informed of this ever because he will hang on the word ‘perfect’ and be utterly insufferable about it. Mostly, he just uses this to play a few random notes whenever he comes across a keyed instrument, or to abruptly switch to an impromptu recreation of iconic horror scores to catch people by surprise. The theme from Halloween or the tubular bells from The Exorcist are favorites, but he’s unpredictable enough to learn more if you turn your back on him too long.

What he probably spends the most time on, however, is quilting. Perhaps a bit surprising, with his…everything else about him, but he’s a skeleton who values his creature comforts quite a bit, many of which have been made considerably more difficult for him to enjoy due to the ways his body has changed. In this particular case, it’s his reduced physical sensation making it nearly impossible to feel warm. He’s never cold anymore, not really, but he’s never warm either and he takes that quite personally, almost offended by the uselessness of thin clothing and scraps that dare to call themselves blankets. If there are no blankets thick enough and heavy enough get him warm, he’ll just have to make them himself…and so that’s what he does. Any passingly usable cloth in his possession tends to end up part of a quilt, with little care for patterning or overall design—his only priority is thick and heavy and warm, and if he doesn’t feel like he’s in a panini press by the time he’s finished, then it’s back to the drawing board.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus):

He maybe went a little bit nuts for awhile there after the human first left. Some might argue that he’s still a little bit nuts but he would agree he was pretty embarrassingly desperate in the first few years after. They were gone and they weren’t answering their phone and for everything they’d done, they had been his friend so…he was worried! But of course, monsters were trapped, with hope of leaving anytime soon soundly dashed, so he couldn’t just go look for them. He wanted to reach them, or just someone on the Surface who could relay a message. That’s how he started experimenting with radio, out of a misguided and impossible attempt to communicate out of the Underground with someone up there. He never reached anyone from down there, of course, but he found some comfort in trying—and eventually, enjoyment too! He likes fiddling with the equipment to tune into different frequencies, and the sound of empty static is soothing to him. It’s a lot more fun now that he’s aboveground and can actually hear other people, and he hopes to get his license to transmit himself soon!

Before the Surface, though, things were a little lonelier for him. Colder, darker. Too dark entirely—of course a dark environment was necessary to promote the growth of their staple crop and the artificial day-cycles were only making monsters waste more time sleeping than they already were, he understood the need for the dark…but surely, it didn’t have to be so complete? How was anyone to know that he was at home and available to host company if there were no warm, inviting lights in the window? Candles seemed the perfect solution, natural light from flickering fires that wasn’t too harsh, still a bit dim but plenty to see by! He started just collecting them so he would always have them on hand if needed, but eventually started making them himself with wax on the stove. Scent or color don’t matter much to him, but he really likes being able to customize the size and shape to his needs. And his needs…aren’t so much anymore, now that there’s regular sunlight, but candles are still great for when there isn’t, and when electric lights are little too intense. It never hurts to have more candles around, for emergencies!

He's also exploring a new hobby up on the surface, inspired by his and his brother’s new careers—bone collecting! Now, it’s not what you’re thinking, he’s not after human bones. Those are still very much in use by the deceased, and he's sure surviving loved ones would be very cross if tried to just take them! But his job was how he learned that humans and other organic, non-magical creatures all contain skeletons of their own and when they die everything but the bone rots away. He thinks it’s very cool and obviously humans are off the table to inspect more closely, but animals don’t mind. He takes note of any dead creatures he happens to find—mostly birds and squirrels—and after allowing the other local wildlife to have first pick at it, he collects the remains to take home. He isn’t overly fond of the smells and textures of rot and asked for his brother to help with the de-fleshing and degreasing with the first few things he brought back, but he's got a handle on it now and loves to artfully display his cleaned finds all around the house. Skulls are his favorite, but he has some lovely wishbones and plenty of vertebrae that he’s equally proud of showing off!

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miniseokminnies · 8 months

Text

I Do - Lee Seokmin

Pairing - Lee Seokmin x Reader (gender not explicitly mentioned but reader wears a dress)

Genre - Childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, non-idol au

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings - Cheating, seokmin and reader are slightly toxic, cussing, implied sex, using “pussy” as a playful insult, one scene with a needle, i think that’s it

Synopsis - When you get a wedding invitation from an old friend you start to realize a lot about yourself.

I Do - Lee Seokmin

"Wasn't that supposed to be you?" you looked up at your roommate as she was sliding something over your daily crossword.

Glancing down you took in exactly what it was.

Save The Date 1.3.2024

The Marriage of

Lee Seokmin and Jeon Yoona

There he was, your childhood best friend smiling up at you with his arms around a girl you didn't recognize.

"Men are trash" you said through a mouth full of ice cream, "besides you, of course"

"Nah, men are trash," Seokmin agreed taking the spoon from you and getting himself a bite. The two of you were sitting cross legged on your bed with a tub of ice cream between you, a spoon being shared.

"We're going in different directions," you mocked, "we're literally going to uni like three hours from each other!" tears itched at the corners of your eyes, thinking about the breakup that was still fresh. Your boyfriend, ex boyfriend, had broken up with you right after graduation. "Do you want to order pizza" Seokmin piped up, pulling you out of your thoughts, "or get married?" your eyes quickly met his, looking panicked, before he smiled brightly, turning his eyes into half moons.

"Lee Seokmin, what on earth are you talking about" you practically shrieked.

"Oh my GOD, y/n" he laughed, "not right now, just like, you know" he vaguely gestured in the air, "if neither of us are married by the time we're old, like 30, we'll Just marry each other"

Here in the present, you were 26, and single, with a roommate. Yuqi was great, but she was younger and fresh out of college, and a bit of a meddler if you were being honest.

"What? No?" you tore your eyes away from the page, "we made a stupid deal when we were 18, not legally binding at all" you laughed, trying to rid yourself of the odd feeling in your stomach that made itself at home as soon as you saw the way Seokmin was smiling in the photo.

"Mhmm..." Yuqi hummed, swiping the save the date from you and hanging it on the refrigerator with a magnet. Whether she knew it or not. she used the magnet Seokmin brought you from his university on your first summer back home.

"Yes mom, I have my dress" you insisted, sticking your phone between your ear and your shoulder to get into your car, "yes! I'm on my way I swear!" Allowing yourself to slump in your seat for a few seconds after saying your goodbyes you sigh. It was Seokmin's wedding weekend. You had gotten some time off work so you can travel home to stay with your parents for the festivities. Driving into your small hometown was a sensation you were familiar with but this time felt different.

New year, new school. You had never been the "new kid" before, but considering you were only going into second grade, you hadn't had many opportunities. You had never ridden a bus to get to school before, so you stood at the bus stop fiddling nervously with the braids your mom had put in your hair this morning. Next, you busied yourself with the buttons of your shirt, still trying to get used to the new uniform.

"No! Tigers are the best!" you heard someone shout out, bringing your eyes up you could see the forms of two boys, probably about your age approaching you.

Attempting to keep yourself from staring, you again turned your attention to the button on your sleeve.

"Hey!" the tiger boy called out as they approached, "What do you think is the best animal? I think tigers are the best, but he" he jabs a finger in the direction of the other boy, "thinks it's-"

"Soonyoung, I never argued, you just decided I did" the other boy told tiger boy, who you knew now was named Soonyoung, "I'm Seokmin!" he added, smiling at you.

Smoothing the front of your dress you looked at yourself in the floor length mirror.

Tonight was a celebration at a restaurant set up by Seokmin's parents and you were nervous. You felt like you were seventeen again, anxious for your senior prom. The prom you attended with your ex boyfriend, Soonyoung, and Seokmin. It's been so long since you got ready for anything in this bedroom. The walls were just the same as they were that day you shared a tub of ice cream, a pizza, and a promise with Lee Seokmin.

The paint was light blue and it peaked out between the posters of your favorite bands and the photos of yourself from years ago smiling with your friends. A photo strip from the old photo booth in the mall was taped to the mirror. The middle section being a photo of you smiling as big as you've ever seen yourself smile, Soonyoung kissing your left cheek, Seokmin doing the same on your right.

The fallout with Seokmin was never intentional. It happened gradually. The two of you didn't go to the same university and you promised to stay in touch, and see each other on every break from school. For the first few years, you did. Then, career building, new friends, and new priorities started coming up. At some point that you can't remember you stopped coming home all together, and you can only assume he stopped too.

Here you were, however, staring at yourself in the mirror in your childhood bedroom, home for the wedding of a man you haven't spoken to in years. You absentmindedly wondered why you were even invited. Did he request it? Or was his mom insisting that your whole family attend?

You waited for the couple's big entrance by your mother's side. She was talking with another family friend, something about how you grew up so fast. You tuned out the conversation and busied yourself with a loose string on your dress. The sounds of cheers pulled you out of your anxious habit, you saw Soonyoung cheering loudly first, then a gorgeous girl, who you recognized from the save the date card from those months ago, laughing with Soonyoung. Your eyes traveled up from her arm, to her slender hand where it rested on a toned bicep. Tearing your eyes away from where her hand connected to his arm, you finally faced what you were anxious about. His eyes were locked on you. Seokmin's smile was faltering for what was, to your knowledge, the first time ever.

As the couple greeted their guests, receiving congratulations and well wishes for the upcoming wedding, you stared. Seokmin found it hard to focus when he knew you were there and staring. When they moved closer you realized what was off, it wasn't the muscle your friend had gained or the height he undoubtedly earned after you stopped seeing each other. It was the detail that meant nothing to everyone, but everything to you.

"Shut up Seokmin, don't be a pussy!" you hissed with a needle between your teeth, "we have to do this now or we'll get caught!" Seokmin looked up at you from his seat on the floor of the bathroom of your middle school. The ice cube he was pressing to the lobe of his ear was melting and running down his hand. However, the puppy eyes he was giving you right now didn't seem to care about the sleeves of his uniform getting wet. Footsteps moving toward the two of you made you both freeze.

"Cmon Seokmin, are you doing it or not?" Soonyoung pressed in a hushed tone, making your best friend and yourself relax, already having forgotten that you sent Soonyoung to be a lookout. Looking between the two boys, your two best friends, you removed the needle from between your teeth which made the boy on the floor in front of you look at you with panicked eyes.

"On the count of three, Minnie" you said firmly, already moving the needle toward his earlobe.

The cool March air bloomed in your lungs as you pushed your way through the door. You needed air, distance, anything. After several minutes of pacing in front of the building you sunk down onto a bench. The door to your left opened and shut and you heard footsteps approach and stop in front of you.

"You still mess with your clothes when you're nervous" a voice you knew was Seokmin's pointed out.

"You don't wear your earrings anymore" you fired back without looking up. Seokmin sighed and sat next to you.

"Really, y/n?" you felt his eyes on you "we haven't spoken in years and your biggest concern is that I don't wear my earrings?"

Your eyes snapped to his.

"Yeah actually, I worked so hard to pierce those ears and take care of them!" you felt a tear escape your eye which made you laugh, "I'm sorry..I don't know why I'm so.. you gestured to your eyes. Seokmin wrapped his arm around your shoulders without taking a second to think, and squeezed.

"You did work hard, thanks for keeping me in line all those years" he smiled, but you knew it didn't reach his eyes. "Yoona's parents are weird about piercings so.." he trailed off. Right, his fiancée. You shrugged his arm off of your shoulders.

"Congratulations," you started, returning a smile, this one was his to notice not reaching your eyes, "we should go back in. right?" you wiped any threat of tears away with the back of your hand.

"You're not up for this," he pointed out standing up, "I'm gonna go tell them I'm walking you home, I'll be right back"

"You have a car, and I'm fine" you began to protest.

"Yeah.." he started with his hand on the door handle already, "but we have things to catch up on, and for old time's sake you should let me walk you home" he smiled enough to turn his eyes into half moons and disabeared inside.

"Soonyoung is so full of shit" you announced into the summer night in front of you, "there's no way right?" you laughed, turning to Seokmin who was walking beside you, closest to the street.

"I dunno," he shrugged tugging on one of his black hoop earrings, "girls were always after him in high school, it's possible"

"Oh come ON, Minnie," you scoffed, "girls were after you too, I find it hard to believe Soonyoung had sex in the first year of college and you didn't" you both rounded the corner to your house.

"How do you know I didn't" he stopped walking, eyebrows raised. You turned toward where you had left him behind,

"Because you wouldn't have just let Soonyoung brag like that it you had gotten some" Seokmin broke into a smile before you had even finished your explanation, "Keep walking my Knight in Shining Armor, can't protect me from the small town crazies from back there" you laughed as he jogged to catch up with you.

Sticking the keys in your front door you piped up, "Parents aren't home, you can spend the night if you want," you opened the door, they wouldn't care if you did anyway" you laughed and looked back at Seokmin who was clearly distracted. "Earth to Lee Seokmin"

"Hm?" he jumped, "Sorry, just thinking" he smiled and followed you inside.

“About us having sex?" you smiled.

"I-uh" the tips of his ears were growing red.

"You're so predictable," you moved closer to him reaching out and holding his ear between your forefinger and your thumb, "it makes sense, people make too big of a deal out of losing your virginity, we should just fuck so that we know what we're doing for our future partners." Seokmin's blush was now working its way across his cheeks, "God Seokmin, don't be such a pussy, just kiss me if we're going to do this!"

"Thanks for walking me home... you offered, "you should get back now" the doorknob to your parent's house was cool under your hand. You knew you were nervous so that meant your palms were sweaty. If Seokmin were to take your hand he would know too. The thought of him taking your hand reminded you of the strange feeling in your stomach. "I mean you can come in, but I don't think the whole party of people, or Yoona, would be thrilled about you being gone for so long" you said opening the door. You moved inside and without saying a word Seokmin followed you. "Okay, you're coming in, can you say something, or anything because you of all people being quiet is freaking me out."

"Do you guys have any ice cream?"

Seokmin asked, "you used to read me so well" he added.

Somehow, you and Seokmin have ended up cross legged on your bed, a tub of ice cream between you, a spoon being shared.

The two of you were talking like time hadn't passed at all. Eventually, Seokmin volunteered to take the tub back down to the freezer. Being alone for those few minutes had you deep in your thoughts. As you heard his footsteps return to your bedroom you were struck by the realization that you didn't want him to go back to that party, to Yoona.

"Minnie?" you said quietly, barely above a whisper. You had Seokmin's full attention after hearing his childhood nickname, a nickname reserved for you. Girlfriends past, even Yoona had tried using it and he always shut it down without explanation. That was yours. "Don't be such a pussy, just kiss me" you whispered. He stood there staring at you for just a moment too long, and you started to realize what you had said and who you had said it to. However, just as quickly as those doubts set in, Seokmin was closing the distance between you.

"And here i thought you couldn't read me anymore," he whispered planting his hands firmly on your cheeks before kissing you hungrily.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't shared numerous kisses with Seokmin before now. Some platonic, like the one from the photo booth, some on various hookups with one another. This one was different. He was desperate and hungry.

"No one knows you like I do" you breath between kisses, "no one will love you like I do, Minnie, you know that"

"I know, I know" his hands moved from your cheeks, he planted one firmly in your hair, the other found its resting place on your hip,

"God, y/n, it's you, it's always been you, I invited you to prove to myself that I'm over you, I never thought you'd come.." he gave your hair a small tug, you forced a whimper to die in your throat. Seokmin took a moment to look around your room, with its posters, its blue walls, the pictures of you, Soonyoung, and himself. The same room you shared a tub of ice cream, a pizza, a promise, and your virginity with Seokmin.

The room now that held a secret and a decision for Lee Seokmin.

#lee seokmin #seventeen #lee seokmin imagines #lee dokyeom imagines #lee seokmin x reader #lee dokyeom x reader #dk #seventeen dk #dk x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #dokyeom #bennie’s works

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sysakiddo · 1 year

Text

5 times Lewis confronted Sebastian about his writing and one time he did not have to

“You're not even listening to me.” Lewis, for lack of a better word, whines. He has a deep crease between his eyebrows. Sebastian wants to tell him the wrinkle will stay there, just to see him panic. Though he manages to hide it, Lewis is really vain sometimes.

“I'm kind of busy at the moment.” No apology. “You were saying?”

The room is too hot and sticky for Sebastian to play mind games with Lewis. He wants to be alone and count down the minutes to when he can take a cold bath.

Suddenly, Lewis moves quickly, soundlessly. He likes to remind Sebastian he is a cheetah, with or without a car.

Sebastian does not manage to hide the tab he had opened. As a rule, these days, he is not fast enough.

“Seriously, Seb? The Times crossword is more important than what I'm telling you?”

“I would never dream of saying you're not the most important thing in the world.” the blond huffs, feeling mean now.

He is very obviously fishing for a reaction and Lewis knows it. From previous experiences, he also knows the fight would not bring him any gratification. He smiles tightly instead, sitting down on the couch.

Sebastian glares at him, hating how Lewis looks like he belongs there. Like there is no place where he belongs more than on the couch in Seb's driver's room.

“I finally read your book. The one about the spies, Burning Snow?” he clarifies as if Sebastian doesn't know the plot and names of his own books.

And look, Sebastian is still mad at whoever leaked his identity to the press. It is more than a month since the whole world discovered that he, Sebastian Vettel, four times world champion, is also an acclaimed author. He published all of his books under a pseudonym, which worked pretty well. Until now.

The people in the paddock took it in stride. Out of them, who looked like they could write a book that became a bestseller long before his identity had been revealed? The bee rescuer is the only one fit for the job.

Valterri was the first to go through the bulk of his publications, three novels and one book for kids.

Your writing is pretty good. Maybe you should try and publish it someday :)

The text from Valterri after he finished made him huff, but deep down, something in his chest had eased.

Lewis, however, was weirdly evasive on the topic. He was apprehensive about reading any of Seb's work and only got to it when Valterri left all of the books on his desk, with a post-it note on the top.

READ IT!!!

Immediately after finishing the first chapter of the first novel, he regretted not starting earlier. Uncovering the similarities between the side characters and the people in the paddock was a lot of fun. It felt like an intimate look into the story that Seb's readers wouldn't normally get. One of the characters, the one who actually holds the key to the climax of the story and is far more important than the reader would have thought at first, is based on him, he thinks. Lewis only puts it together at the end. It's the way the character's dialogues are written that gives it away. He thinks it fascinating to find out how Sebastian privately perceives him. He describes him with great detail, things that Lewis wouldn't think to notice about him even. The thought of being so closely watched makes the top of his ears heat up.

Now, Sebastian is watching him, unimpressed. “You can read?”

Lewis keeps ignoring him - it works most of the time. “My favourite was Thomas, naturally.”

The top of Seb's cheeks turns bright red. “N-narcissist.” He tries to keep his composure, shaking his head a little. The stutter exposes him and Lewis smirks like he has just won. And his trophy is sitting on a stool in front of him.

“Well, I gotta run now. I'll come back with a review of book number two!”

Seb is too overwhelmed to react before Lewis slips out of the door. He sighs, returning to his crossword.

The next time Seb sees Lewis, he curses the way his heart flutters in his chest when he sees his smile.

“I tried the recipe, you know,” Lewis lets his hand linger on Seb's forearm as he stops him in his stride. They are both rushing to get to the debrief on time. Lewis does not care.

At Seb's quizzical face, he puckers his lips a little in annoyance. “The one from Freedom to Pheasants; what Matilda used to offer her cousins when they came over. I, of course, used soya yoghurt and I still had a little bit of the honey you gave me-” Seb opens his mouth to interrupt him but does not succeed. “I used almond butter and cherries instead of raspberries and let it freeze for a few hours. Why didn't you tell me sooner? It is delicious.”

“We really have to go, guys.” the intern standing beside them looks like he regretted taking this job and would rather jump off the cliff than listen about frozen yoghurt treats for another minute.

“Did you like it? The book, I mean.” Seb asked, feeling like a kid asking for compliments on his drawing. He regrets it almost immediately. Lewis flashes him a big smile, open and sincere, the sight only a few people are graced with.

“Yeah, man. The dialogues were spectacular.”

When Seb opens the freezer in his motorhome a few hours later, he is taken aback by a small white box with a sharpie-drawn smiley on top. When he opens it, five perfectly symmetrical yoghurt bites punch the air out of his lungs, like he missed a stair. With shaky hands, he fishes out one and takes a bite. The aftertaste of honey in his mouth makes his eyes water.

“Seb! Seb! Sebastian!” the whispering grows louder with each call of his name and Sebastian feels himself getting pulled out of the slumber. He groans loud enough for the woman sitting next to him, someone from McLaren's marketing team, to glare at him.

“What?” he snaps at Lewis, the other man taken aback. He doesn't expect to see the dark circles under Seb's eyes, his ashen skin looking almost white.

He gulps, worry bubbling in his chest. “Care to join me for dinner?”

The German sighs, hunching in his chair even more. He jerks his shoulders, which Lewis takes as an affirmative response.

A few hours later, every corner of Lewis' apartment is filled with quiet music. Seb is watching his every move from the bar stool in his kitchen. Lewis feels weirdly exposed like that, chopping onions for their dinner, even though it isn't the first time he has made dinner for Sebastian. Not by a long shot.

“Daniel must have been thrilled,” he cuts the silence abruptly. Seb doesn't understand and makes a go-ahead gesture with his hand. “When he found out you based the main character on him, I mean.”

“Oh,” Sebastian smiles bashfully. “You've read This room can not be eaten?”

Lewis nods. The book for kids took him the shortest to read, naturally. To his bewilderment, he enjoyed it a lot. After he had finished, he immediately bought a copy for every kid in his family.

“I don't think Daniel had realised Rick is based on him, actually.” Seb chuckles, his eyes lighting up in joy.

Sebastian starfishes on the couch after they finish eating. Lewis pours them a second glass of wine and sits down next to him. Carefully, carefully.

The German looks better after eating, though he still very clearly lacks energy. Lewis turns on the television, mainly as the white noise.

He falls asleep in no time, and Lewis stands up to put the fluffiest blanket on him. He makes sure both his shoulders are covered, hesitating a bit before brushing the stray strands of hair out of his forehead.

When he sits down, Sebastian whines softly and puts his cold feet under Lewis' thighs.

Lewis lets himself hope.

The next time they see each other, Lewis is a few drinks in, talking a little louder than he usually would. Seb finds him laughing in a circle of a few of their friends. He is like a magnet, though he never fully realised how much power he holds in a crowd of people.

“Birthday boy!” Seb beams at Charles, hugging him firmly. He already congratulated him this morning with a gift and a proper speech. Now, it's time to clink his glass with him, which, he personally thinks, is too old to do properly.

Either way, he lets himself get lost in the conversation. Charles, Lewis and Daniel make it easy for the debate to flow without his input.

“Oh, Seb, I almost forgot! Arthur told me to tell you he loved When I Was Older! He wanted to know if it would be okay to ask you some questions later.”

The attention shifts to Seb after Charles' words. Stupidly, he can feel his cheeks flush. “Eh, thank you. I appreciate that. Sure, send him my way when you see him.”

“He kept talking about the plot twist for days. I still haven't finished the first one - I'm sorry, I'm such a slow reader - but yeah, Arthur thinks the sequel is even better.”

Lewis snorts. Charles whips his head towards him, surprised. The same goes for Sebastian. Sure, the reviews for the second book in the spies series were mixed. But he thought the bad reviews were biased - the book came out at the same time his alias got revealed.

“You did not like it?” Charles asks naively. He hasn't been sober for hours now.

The Brit looks affronted by the idea of liking the book. “I hated it.” he spits and, yeah. Sebastian is shocked at just how much those words hurt. He has no resources to hide it, so instead, he bares his teeth in a leering smile.

To his great surprise, Daniel joins in. “Well, of course, what Thomas did was questionable, but that made the plot twist even better.”

Lewis is not buying what Daniel is selling. “Nah, it was stupid and made no sense, man. Why would Thomas betray his lover if-” If he is based on me. He almost blurted it out, thankfully cutting himself off before he could do something he would regret.

Still, Sebastian averts his gaze, bashful. The tension in the air is tangible and Charles, not wired to understand bad vibes, as he calls it, asks him another question.

“Are you working on something now?”

Seb looks at Lewis when he lies through his teeth. “No. I think I'm quite done.”

That's the reason why, three weeks after the party, when Lewis sees a post on his insta feed with Seb's picture and BOOK ALERT in big red letters, he clicks on it. He is doubtful at first, but then it turns out that, yes, Sebastian really published a new book during the winter break. It is a poetry experiment, explains Seb himself in the interview Lewis reads through.

Unexplainably, his hands shake as he tries to google a page where he can buy the poetry collection. When he finally finds it, he curses. Seb wrote a poetry book in fucking German.

He has no shame and immediately calls him to ask about the translation.

“No, I do not think it will get translated.” Seb is wary. “Why?”

“I would like to read it, that's all.”

Seb snorts, can't help himself. Why would you want to read it if you hate my writing so much.

“Well,” he says instead. “I've told you a long time ago German could be useful.”

Lewis pays big bucks to the publishing house to make the translation happen in the shortest time possible. He makes sure Sebastian has no idea he is the one who pushes for the English translation and pays off everyone, so it stays that way.

Out of all places, they are in the aeroplane when it all falls apart.

Sebastian is returning from the bathroom when he notices what Lewis is holding.

“Jesus, don't read that around me.”

“Why?” Lewis asks. “You don't have to be weird about it. It's great.” Lewis wouldn't say he is a poetry guy by any means. But there is something about Sebastian's words that curl off pages, sticking like caramel and breezing through his chest like a breath of fresh air. Sebastian's poetry is shockingly emotional, exposing his feelings with a sort of bravery Lewis has never felt. Most of them are reflections, sweet or poignant. Lewis can clearly see the inspiration from the Swiss nature, and the relationship with his family. It's beautiful.

Yet the ones that cut through his heart like a burning knife are the heartbreaking stanzas of unrequited love. And even though Seb states that not all poems are inspired by a personal experience in the prologue, Lewis knows poems like these cannot be fabricated. The one he's stuck on at the moment, Absolution, makes Lewis a bit dizzy.

In the seat across from him, Sebastian shrugs. “If you say so.”

“I mean, these love poems, man. They must have broken your heart. How come you've never told me?”

The pronouns sit awkwardly on his tongue, and he watches Seb squirm a bit.

“It did not feel like there was something to talk about. It would - I don't think it could ever work between-” he pauses, hauling a slow breath through his nose. He rubs his eyes with his right hand like always when he is agitated. He also forgets to use the eyedrops for his dry eyes; Lewis usually has to remind him. “Between him and me, I guess. I could never be the one for him.” He trips over his words.

Lewis blinks, feeling all turned out. He tries to process the words that feel too much like a confession to him.

“I doubt that, Seb.” He says earnestly. “I doubt anyone would find you anything but-” Perfect.

Sebastian interrupts him, a painful grimace on his face. “Just - just stop.” Suddenly, he looks exhausted and resigned all at once. “You must know, Lewis.”

Seb is not looking at him and misses the look of utter shock on his face. “Me?” Lewis feels like there is cotton in the back of his mouth. “But- But I-”

“You what?” snaps Sebastian, his face closed off now. He managed to build his walls high enough that it took more than a little love confession to make them crumble.

Lewis' head spins. There is just no way, no way that Sebastian could wax poetic about him. It's hard to breathe, and his face turns splotchy red.

“But you've never told me. Or reacted when I tried -”

“Oh, trust me, Lewis, I would have noticed if you had tried.”

“Sebastian.” he says, his voice breaking with the possibilities flashing through his mind. Sebastian is brave and he can be, too. “I have loved you for years.”

Now it's Seb's turn to look shocked. “But- You always-” he stutters, unable to finish.

“Come here,” Lewis beacons him over and Seb sits down next to him without hesitation. Lewis leans in and caresses Seb's cheek with his right hand. “You are very silly,” he presses their lips together and the feeling of Seb relaxing completely under him makes Lewis' fingers tingly.

“Hurry up!” Sebastian is wearing an atrocious old flannel shirt. Lewis swears he has put it in the 'donate' cabinet twice already, yet it always finds its way back.

He walks to the table where Seb sits, a big red box in front of him. “Open it,” he instructs and Lewis opens the lid.

“I wanted you to be the first to hold it.”

Lewis takes out the brand-new book in awe. When he opens it, the pages smell so good he closes his eyes for a second. He flips the pages until he finds what he is looking for. The dedication says:

Love, I've seen it all. I've seen the sunrises in Africa, the sunsets in Asia. The sun shining on the Mediterranean, the snow melting in the Alps. I've seen fireworks meant just for me, the beauty of the never-ending road. Seeing you smile beats them all.

For Lewis.

#sebastian vettel #lewis hamilton #sewis #f1 fic #f1 rpf #the monaco photo made me crazy #i am manifesting seb as a writer #my ficlets #monaco gp 2023

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licncourt · 11 months

Note

Hii I love your head canons for Loustat. Is there any about them that you've written with the romantic things they say and do for each other? Thank youu

Thank you!! I have a lot of this scattered through my head canon tag, but I can definitely do some more!! Those fucking books have me in a chokehold no matter how long I'm away from Tumblr

Mentioned previously (and I have another ask about it) but Lestat is a nickname guy. The sillier they are the more he actually wants to be earnest but is emotionally constipated

Louis is not a nickname user most of the time but when he does call Lestat something mushy it's like a stand-offish cat rubbing on your legs and purring as they walk by

Lestat is still a gift giver, but instead of giving Louis mindless, expensive, impersonal gifts that just piss him off, he's much more thoughtful now. He brings Louis lots of little tokens from his jaunts into town like books of puzzles (his husband is an old man who does sudoku and crosswords in bed), flowers from street vendors (whatever's white, fragrant, and in bloom) so he always has some for his desk, or whatever Lestat caught him looking at in a shop window that was too frivolous for Louis to justify buying for himself. Sometimes fancy clothes and jewelry still show up, but Louis doesn't mind those now because it's genuine

When he has the time, Louis is a serial letter writer and note-leaver. Lestat finds them stuck to the mirror, tucked in his coat pockets to find, under his pillow, tucked into his notebooks, or anywhere else Louis thinks he'll find them.

When Louis' busy or in the depression hole, Lestat will bring him take-out. It's not hard to lure an unsuspecting human through the front door when you're Lestat and he has a very strong "cat leaving a twitching bird on your pillow" instinct. Later on in their relationship, Lestat is better at verbalizing genuine emotion, but he's still partial to showing his love rather than saying it.

They're both a little weird about vulnerability, so they usually whisper their most "embarrassing" and undignified admissions of love and appreciation in bed just before sunrise when they can't see each other's faces.

They aren't always restrained by that though, especially after a lot of happy years, and Louis tends to get ambushed and bombarded by affection when he first shows his face in the evening or after being away/busy for any extended period of time (longer than an hour or two)

There are two armchairs in the living room, but they really only need one because they're either piled into one together or next to each other on the sofa. It's an unspoken rule that if the other comes into the room they get a lap invitation. If they're in separate chairs, it means they fought

Lestat is very touchy-feely and Louis is very stressed about everything all the time (neurotic little dog syndrome), so he gets lots of back rubs and hair petting to keep him calm. In return, Louis has largely gotten over his PDA hangup and will always hold Lestat's hand (and even initiate it) when he gets Lestatty

#sorry to everyone who sent me asks forever ago like this one i swear i'm trying #um i have lots more but they're already in my fics so i tried to come up with mostly new ones #answered #vc #hc tag #otp: do you love me now?#loustat

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hsdiaries · 1 month

Text

‘til forever

chapter one - 3.3k

master list

I used to judged my therapists, based on how their offices were decorated. Plants and warm tones meant they were safe and understanding. Clean lines and modern furniture meant they were there for just a paycheck. Obviously, this wasn't a set in stone fact, but the concept and idea worked in my mind. It worked as a way to avoid therapy for months - until I walked into Jackie's office. Rugs and pleasing mixed patterns, scattered green plants and mix matched thrifted furniture. Her office screamed care and compassion, so I couldn't walk away any longer. I no longer had a valid excuse other than I was scared to deal with everything. I was scared to deal with the fact, Louis was dead.

"You know, if I close my eyes, that night plays back in my memory like a nightmare I can't escape. I remember the look on Niall's face when he came to our house to let me know what had happened. He didn't even have to say anything for me to know something was wrong. His eyes" I paused, swallowing, inhaling sharply, "His eyes were blank, as if no words or emotion could describe what he was feeling at the moment - like there wasn't a feeling known to us that could describe the ache he was carrying in his heart."

"Are you still close with, Niall?" Jackie asked, sipping tea from a giant orange mug, definitely meant for noodles and not tea.

"Yes. He's the only one of our friends I still talk to." I said, fiddling with the hole on my jeans, the threads barely hanging on. These light washed pair of jeans were as old as my relationship with Louis had been and carried the same amount of wear and tear that our relationship had developed over its four year time span.

"Did you two heal together then?" She asked, and I nodded, palms running down the tops of my thighs.

"In a way...we used to talk about it, a lot. But, neither of us dealt with it professionally. I think we held on to the idea that - as long as we talked about what happened over and over, it would eventually not hurt. Or be easy to process. But, obviously I'm here so," I shrugged, licking my lips, cracking a small smile to break any awkwardness I seemed to always create.

"Well I'm glad you came here. I think loss always hurts, we just get it to a place that's bearable." She smiled as a small beep was heard, signifying our hour was up, "Same time next week?"

I pressed my lips tightly, nodding, "Yeah,"

"See you then Bentley." She smiled as we both stood, walking out of her small office.

In the waiting room was Niall, his brows furrowed as he worked through the next puzzle in his crossword puzzle book, glasses barely hanging onto the bridge of his nose. His eyes flickered up momentarily, his face softening the instant we locked eyes.

"Ben, all done talking about your feelings?" He teased, pushing his glasses on the top of his head. Niall hated the idea of therapy, and speaking to a person who, in his own words, just wrote down your feelings to paraphrase them back to you and pretend they are giving meaning to them. I wouldn't say I completely disagreed with him, but sometimes, that's what I thought a human needed. Someone to sort out their feelings and explain it right back to them.

Though, I wasn't really sure anyone could explain my feelings back to me. I wasn't exactly sure how someone could bring any justification to the fact that Louis wasn't here anymore. How could anyone truly make me understand the reason why he couldn't walk home safely. Understand why someone would pull a gun on him, and shoot him. Once in the chest, and twice in the head.

All I understood was, the man who murdered him wanted to make sure he was successful.

It had only been six months since that night in November, our final phone call playing constantly in my head.

Thanksgiving Night

"Baby, there aren't any fresh cranberries left. But I promise, I can make the canned one taste just as great," Louis puffed over the phone, the hustle of the store could be heard in the background.

"Louis, this is why I asked you to get them earlier this week. Canned doesn't taste the same. It's never going to fool anyone," I said, basting the turkey one final time before closing the oven.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You're right, B. I should have gone when you asked. Look, I'll try that overpriced shop on the corner before the house, okay? If not, I swear, no one will know the difference." He cooed over the phone, trying to soften me up, and of course it worked.

I took a deep breath, realizing I was being too much, on the day I should be most thankful for what I have, "No baby. You know what, just come home-"

"-No, B, I screwed up. I'm going to make it better. That's what I do, remember?" He said, and I could hear his smile through the phone, soon reflecting on my face as well.

"You do make everything better, sweet boy. Okay. Um, call Niall while you're at it? He's almost here and maybe you two can meet up. I know he was walking over with two casserole trays and I love him but-.."

"..-he's the clumsiest ever?" Louis chuckled, making me laugh.

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll be there soon. I love you, B."

"I love you too, sweet boy."

Niall never met up with him. He heard it all happen over the phone. By the time he found him, Louis was already dead.

"So you still want to grab an early dinner?" Niall said, his arm moving around my shoulders, crossword book stuck under his arm, pencil behind his ear. He looked so sharp, pressed shirt, soft sweater over it. I loved how he always smelled so clean, a twinge of apricot always seemed to mix into the smell of fresh sheets on his skin.

"Ummm, as long as it's Rizzo's, then yes. I'm in need of a giant pastrami sammy." I smiled up at him, as always, counting the dark flecks of blue that filled his crystal seas.

"Ben wants pastrami, Ben gets pastrami. Come on then," he smiled, leading me out of the office.

Niall had been Louis's best friend since middle school when Louis moved to the states from London. They hated each other on Louis's first day and by the second day they were inseparable. In my mind, that's why he stuck around, never letting me push him away like I had with Mitch, Pauli and everyone else. In my mind, he stuck around because he felt like he owed it to Louis.

He was my best friend now. The reality of it being, he was my only friend. When I isolated myself from everyone, he waited outside my bubble until he realized he needed to pop it and save me from myself.

My mother had other ideas, constantly alluding to the idea that Niall and I were meant to be together. That the universe knew we needed each other, bonding us for life.

Personally I hated when she made that statement, making me constantly feel like Louis had died for a reason. That reason being Niall and I being together. It was disgusting and made my heart ache in ways I couldn't even describe.

As we entered Rizzo's, I pushed free of Niall gently, walking over to the picture of Louis on the wall from when he won their Massive Sub Eating challenge, kissing my fingers and pressing them against his framed face. He looked handsome as ever, straight hairs on his forehead, facial hair adorned with mustard or marinara, I couldn't remember anymore.

"Miss you babe." I whispered, turning to face the kitchen as loud banging could be heard from the back. A couple dishes could be seen flying up through the order window.

"Holy anchovies, what did I do now!" I heard Linda exclaim from the other side, Niall and I looking at each other and snickering. Linda was the owner of Rizzo's, inherited from and named after her grandfather, Rizzo Manger.

"You alright back there Linds?" I called out as I approached the breakfast bar.

"Is that my Benny girl! Did you bring the leprechaun with you? Clearly I need some luck on my side." She said, her face finally popping up in the order window. Her voice always sounded like she had smoked one pack too many, though she never had a day in her life.

"You know, most Irish people would have sued you for discrimination or something of the sort for that kind of name calling!" Niall teased, Linda shrugging.

"Thankfully you love my subs way too much to even think about that, right?" She chuckled, making Niall roll his eyes as we took our usual seats at the breakfast bar. My eyes looked down at the carving of our initials,

"L + B + N = 2KFS"

I traced over it with my fingers laughing a bit. Niall looked over, leaning in close to me, "Too cool for school-we were such idiots." He laughed a bit, his finger moving to trace over the end my finger wasn't until they met in the middle. His face so close to mine, I could smell his aftershave even stronger than before.

"New shampoo?" He said, moving back to his seat, looking over the menu as if he didn't already know what he was going to order.

"Huh?" I said, leaning on my hand and raising an eyebrow.

"Your hair smells different today." He muttered, glancing over slightly. Before I could answer, Linda walked over to us, order pad in hand.

"What can I get you two?" She says, already writing our order down without us even answering.

"Steak, rare, with lots of carrots on the side," I tease, Niall joining in shortly after.

"I'll take a burger, just the lettuce and tomato please."

"You both think you're great comedians don't you? One pastrami sam, one mari sub, and two large cokes coming right up." She winked before walking away.

"So, Mitch got a new girlfriend." Niall said, turning in his stool to face me completely.

"Oh, that's nice," I smiled a bit, moving my gaze back down to my phone. I clicked the home screen showing no missed notifications, Niall being the only person who ever sent me anything.

"He asked if we wanted to meet up with them, Chase and Pauli. Get some beers and play pool tonight," I turned to face him, his baby blues filled with so much hope.

"Mmm, I have to organize my pantry. Tomorrow is grocery day, so I have to make sure of what I need and that there is room for new things." I said, pushing hair behind my ear.

"Ben...your pantry?" He said, his face filled with disbelief at my excuse.

"Niall, just...no, okay? You go. Don't push your friends away for me. Go hang out with them, come back and tell me all about Mitch's girl." I smiled, trying to reassure him as much as I possibly could.

"They are your friends too, you know?" He said gently, knowing it was a touchy subject for me.

"Niall. Please." I swallowed, looking back down at my phone, unlocking it and aimlessly scrolling on social media.

"I'm just saying Ben, it's been six months. They gave you the space you obviously needed, but...you need friends Bentley. And they miss you."

"I have friends. I have you. And Linda. And Pug. Pug is the best listener too." I said, pulling out a photo of my corgi making Niall have to attempt to hold back his smile.

"You are...," shaking his head while rolling his eyes, he reached over, pulling me tightly against him. He pressed his lips into the top of my head, making me relax into him.

I couldn't begin to explain how grateful I was for Niall. The way he had stepped up these past six months for me, was everything. We were bonded in this traumatic experience and no matter how hard I tried, he never allowed me to push him away.

During that first week, he wouldn't leave me alone. He was over everyday, even if I didn't want him here. Using the spare key Louis gave him, he would march in, make sure I was fed, bathed and resting. If I asked to be alone, he would leave me in my bedroom while he remained in the living room. He kept my home tidy, stocking it with everything I may need.

Eventually I joined him in the living room. Eventually we talked about Louis. Eventually he made me laugh again. It was like he was finding ways to streamline my pain into other things, reminding me that I had to continue to live.

Because it was what Louis would have wanted.

He couldn't make me hang out with our old friends, that was the only thing he failed at. It wasn't that I didn't miss them; it was simply that I didn't want to have to speak about Louis. I didn't want to rehash emotions with each one of them individually. I had that with Niall, that's all I needed and all I could handle. Maybe it was selfish of me, maybe it made me lack compassion; but it was all I could handle right now.

Linda brought us our food, each of us digging in, and I was grateful when Niall didn't bring it up again. Instead, we talked about Harry Potter. It was the first time he was watching the series, having just sat down with me through the first and second. I explained to him the differences between the book and the movie, small pouts when he wished that they would have kept certain things in. We argued about him being a Gryffindor, me emphasizing that he was too much of a Golden Retriever to be a Gryffindor. He glared at me, throwing chips at me making me cackle.

"You are clearly a Hufflepuff and that's okay. Personally I think they are the underrated house at Hogwarts." I shrugged, dusting away the chip crumbs.

"So you think I'm underrated? That my amazingness isn't valued at its true potential?" He wiggled his eyebrows, making me reach over and shove him.

"Niall James, be quiet." I laughed, his hand catching my arm and pulling me just a bit closer to him.

"Facts are facts, Bentley Rose and I know you only speak truths." He titled his head slightly, his smile big, then soft as he took in my face.

I wasn't an idiot. I was aware of the certain heat that rose between the two of us at times. The sparks that searched for enough friction to try and burst into flames. I was also aware it was all bonded through trauma. Which wasn't healthy. Which wasn't what I wanted nor needed.

Above all, I couldn't handle loving after Louis, another reason I pushed everyone out.

I cleared my throat pulling back, "We should go so you're not late. You're going tonight and I don't want any excuses!" I said pointing my finger at him, making him laugh.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he rolled his eyes. We finished, paying the check and walking outside to the warm summer air, my eyes closing at the pleasant feel of it.

"So you are absolutely sure?" He asked, grabbing my waist gently, pulling me slightly towards him.

"I just don't want to deal with all the, 'How are you really doing?' and hearing how much people miss Louis. I know it's selfish...I just..."

"I get it, Ben, you're fine," he pulled me closer, our hips pressing together, "You have your mace? Taser?"

"Check and check, location is on, and I will text you when I get home," I smiled, my hand pushing back his thick mousy brown hair.

"Okay, you know I care for ya?"

"I know, I care for you too," I smiled, kissing his cheek, before pushing away from him softly, "Have fun, be safe...get laid?" I giggled, shrugging my shoulders as I backed away, turning around and heading home.

Walking down the familiar path, I reached into my purse, pulling out my keys and placing one between my fingers. I hated that my mind was always set to the defense, but after Louis being murdered the way he was, I wasn't taking my chances. I never wore headphones, I paid attention to the footsteps that surrounded my own, their pace, their distance.

And that's why I was in therapy.

I moved down the street, like clockwork, my heart started beating faster as I approached the block before the expensive store on the corner. I stopped, normally turning right on Baker St. and taking the long way around to get home. It was so unnecessary, but I couldn't get past the idea of picturing how it happened. It had been described to me from so many different angles during the investigation, I couldn't help but feel like I would enter a movie scene I couldn't escape if I walked past the store.

And that's why I was in therapy.

I chewed on my lower lip, looking down the street, my feet moving forward before I realized what I had just decided. Before I realized that for some reason, I felt brave tonight, moving closer and closer to the shop. I stopped at the window, the shop name etched into the glass in a beautiful gold.

"Posh Finery"

Taking a deep breath, I moved inside quickly, heading to the little cafe in the corner. I pinched my lip as I looked over the pastries for sale. They had some prepackaged and ready to go, while others were meant to be picked out from behind the glass display. I spotted the last chocolate croissant, pairing it with an iced matcha seemed like the perfect way to end my night. I moved to reach for the chocolate croissant, a tattooed hand reaching at the same time. I jumped back slightly, bringing my hand quickly to my chest.

"Sorry, sorry. You can have it," I pressed my lips tight into a smile.

"No drama, kid. Take it," I heard the tattooed hand say before my eyes traveled up to take in the rest of him. I felt my eyes widen, not in shock from his appearance, olive skin, long hair, piercing green eyes that sat under furrowed brows; but by his use of a phrase I had only ever heard come from Louis' mouth.

"Excuse me? What did you say?" I stood straight, taking in his eyes as he raised a small eyebrow and chuckled a bit.

"It's means no worr-..."

"...-no I know what it means, I've just...sorry. I um, I only ever head one person use that phrase and it caught me off guard," I exhaled, my cheeks burning as I quickly grabbed a bear claw, "You can have the croissant. These are just as good anyways." I smiled, walking past him to the cashier.

"Thanks," he called out, and I turned over my shoulder nodding a bit. I ordered my matcha, handing them the bear claw to be heated up. After paying I walked over and sat at a table, waiting for my drink, watching the man pay for the croissant. He glanced over at me, holding it up and giving me a small nod before making his way out the door.

As he moved past, I couldn't help but envision Louis walking out in the same manner. Fresh cranberries in hand, making the quick turn before heading up to our home. I swallowed, shaking the thought from my head.

It never happened. He never even made it in the store.

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