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lushta1es0nm3 · 2 years

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Not So Innocent

Pairing: Jacob Bae x reader

Summary: Watch out for sweet ones, they know how to make it sting.

Warning: Mature! 18+ you have been warned

Genre: Straight up smut

A/N: Read at your own risk and if you choose to read please feel free to give feedback and request. Please enjoy. 😊

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“Haha, that’s so lame,” your best friend laughed out at a stupid joke Eric made.

You huffed annoyed because you guys were supposed to be working on a group project, like come on you were in a cafe with all of your books spread out in front of you. You just really wished, the two of them would stop fluttering and do some work.

You rolled your eyes again and you tried your best to concentrate on what was in front of you. A gentle hand on your shoulder caused you to look up, Jacob, your other group partner had finally showed up.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized sweetly to everyone at the table as he sat down and began unloading his stuff, “what did I miss?”

“Oh nothing,” you answered glaring at the other two, “just y/bff/n and Eric fluttering like there’s not a very important group project we’re supposed to be working on.”

“Ew,” your friend frowned at you, “don’t act like that. Jealously don’t look good on you.”

“Bitch,” you eyed her, “ain’t no body jealous of you fluttering with Eric big headed ass.”

She blinked at you and laughed because of a look of disbelief crossed Eric’s face. Did you just diss him to his face? Yes. Did you care? No. Because you were ready to go home.

“Come on guys don’t be like that.” Jacob smiled trying to stop the staring contest you and Eric were now having, he opened his laptop, “what animal are we doing this project on?” He asked.

“How about one on y/n’s big ass forehead, it has its own eco system.” Eric shot out.

“I know you didn’t go there,” you blurted out, “that’s why you can cut paper with that sharp ass chin, you need to get that bitch filed down.”

Your best friend was now in tears laughing, one because she knew how much Eric annoyed you and because she knew you only really put up with him was because of her crush on him.

“At least I’m not built like a lego.” Eric shot back, he was with the shit, because you always seemed to have an issue with him and he knew it.

“Oh uh uh,” you stood up, “let’s not talk about them long ass eyebrows you got with them little ass eyes.”

“Hey, hey,” Jacob stood up trying to bring in the peace, “how about this,” he looked between the both of you. Eric was smirking and you were frowning, “how about we work in teams. Me and y/n and Eric and y/bff/n,” he handed your best friend a slip of paper with the information for your project.

She was too busy trying to stop laughing at the stupidity that just erupted. Jacob gathered both your things and pulled up out of the cafe, but that didn’t stop the annoyed look on your face. Half a block down the street, you stopped and looked at Jacob and sighed.

“Now, why you stop me?” You asked him with a small sigh.

“Because,” he started as you both began walking again, to your surprise he was carrying your backpack, “I don’t want to see you guys fight.”

“You’re always so sweet and innocent acting.” You smiled a little, looking up at him.

You’d known Jacob since freshman year of college, he was alway nice to everyone and very mannerable. You got along with him because of that and because you had a slight crush on him but you buried the thought the closer you got to him. He seemed a little too innocent for you, so being friends was good enough.

“No I’m not,” he rejected your comment and shoved his free hand in his pocket. You walked and talked about random things, but eventually went back to the subject of the group project, “hey, we should set up a time to put our part together. I have work in a little bit,” he looked at his watch checking the time, “but I get off early tomorrow, so where should we set up shop?”

“Definitely not at my place,” you quickly replied, “if I’m not mistaken, my roommate is working on the same project with someone who said I was built like a lego.”

Jacob laughed at you and you made a face, “then we can do it at my place, my roommate won’t be home till late, we have a printer and a projector. So we can get a lot done in no time.”

“Okay,” you agreed, “I’ll bring my laptop. Around what time do you want me to be there?”

“How about around, 8:30ish.” He answered.

You nodded in agreement, dang, this would be your first time going to his place. A part of you was excited but you kept it hidden as you took down his address and waved him goodbye as you both went your separate ways.

The next day

You rang the apartment doorbell, holding your backpack in one hand and you laptop bag in the other. It wasn’t hard to find Jacobs place, it wasn’t to far from the school but close enough for you to walk to it.

The door opened and Jacob greeted you, but you didn’t greet him back. You only stared at him, shocked by his appearance. The usual innocent looking Jacob seemed to have been replaced by a bad boy version of him. You looked him up and down in shock.

“Y/n,” he called to you holding the door open for you to come in, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you blunted put, “are you okay?” pointing at him.

He looked down at himself, “Oh,” he smiled after taking a look at himself, “I sometimes sing and play guitar at this bar, I work at,” he explained, “it’s distance away from here. I actually just got in, I was about to change, I mean if you don’t mind waiting a bit.”

“Naw,” you answered almost breathtakingly, finally walking into his apartment, still looking at him, he was so fine dressed like that, you couldn’t help it, you were getting an eye full, “you good, I’ll just get started.”

He nodded and headed off to his bedroom, you watched as he walked away, mainly looking at his ass, “Damn.” You mumbled before covering your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear you. But he did, and instead of turning around and looking at you, he kept walking.

After you had set up your laptop and pulled out your books, you began to try can concentrate on what you were doing. But no, you mind kept playing slow motion images of Jacob dressed like a sex symbol. A sex symbol you wanted to ride like a pony, with your hands all over his chest. Shit, you thought, why he gotta be so damn fine and delicious looking, especially his eyes, so damn pretty. Like Jacob, just take me now, you thought closing your eyes and shaking your head as explicit thoughts ran wild at the thought.

“Okay,” Jacob smiled coming from his bedroom completely changed, now wearing a black v neck shirt and pair of basketball shorts that weren’t hiding much, “how far have you gotten?” He asked looking down at your paper that had nothing but his name written on it multiple times, “is the project about me?” He laughed looking back and forth between you and the paper.

Your eyes widened as realization hit you, you quickly tried to cover it up, making him laugh harder, he watched as your face flushed red before grabbing your notebook from you causing you to hop up out of your seat to get it back. It was took late, he had flipped a few pages, to the pages no one was supposed to see.

“Damn, Jacob looks fine as hell but he’s too innocent for my dirty mind,” he read the very last page out loud, “I wish he’d just fuck while looking at me with those bright eyes-”

“I didn’t not write that,” you interrupted him trying to get your notebook back, he had sat down on the table and you reached for it.

“Really now,” he remarked throwing the book behind him on the table, “that looked like your handwriting,” he stated wrapping his arms around you.

Shit, you thought, how the fuck did I manage to get caught, he gonna think I’m some kinda freak now, you thought not looking at him.

“Hey, y/n,” he called your name, “I’m not all that innocent.” He said making you look up at him finally, about to tell him he was a liar, he quickly caught your chin between his thumb and index finger, looking you dead in the eyes, “I know how to fuck, baby doll. I’ve sometimes wonder if maybe you can handle it.” He whispered in your ear, making you instantly wet.

You couldn’t speak, all you could do was stare into his eyes. Your body seemed to move on its own, you slowly leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on his lips and pulled away. He smirked and kissed you back, “you’re going to have to do better than that, baby.” He whispered out

Staring at him turned on you kissed him again, this time, shoving your tongue in his mouth and exploring before pulling away, “much better doll,” he remarked leaning in towards you, standing up from the table, “but let me show you how it’s done.” He stated before quickly picking you up and setting you on the table as he pushed your books to he floor.

Jacob spread your legs open and pulled his shirt off, his chest on full display, your hands went forward running your hands across it. He smirked pushing up the skirt you were wearing and pulling your underwear off, “Damn,” he sighed, “so wet already.” He remarked when you finally felt one of his hands rub across your pussy.

“Only for you.” You stated now pulling off your shirt as well, exposing your bra covered chest. He kissed you again while rubbing your clit, you pulled away from him, “so much pressure.” You moaned when you felt him slowly shove one of his fingers in.

He only smiled at you, looking at you intently while he fingered you soaking pussy, adding a finger as went on, enjoying the way your chest rise and falls with each deep breath you took, “You like that don’t you baby doll?” He questioned his lips grazing yours as he spoke, you nodded, “say it with that pretty mouth of yours,” he beckoned.

“I like it Bae,” you moaned out his last name making his eyes spark as he raised and eyebrow.

“Good,” he pulled his fingers out and licked all of your juices off, a deep moan emitting from his throat as he did so, “I’m just getting started.” Jacob stated as he abruptly pushed you down on your back and pulled himself out of his shorts, dropping them to the floor in the process. He slowly filled your pussy with his throbbing cock, making you gasp out a moan just above a whisper. He pulled your hips forward, going balls deep, making you release a small yelp like moan, with on hand squeezing your breast he used the other to hold you in place as thrusted into you slowly and hard, “damn, baby doll you feel so good.” He groaned softly as he rolled his hips with each thrust, sending you further into bliss.

“Fuck me.” You whispered out softly, now fondling your other breast and rubbing your clit to the rhythm of each thrust.

He frowned and pushed your hands away, Jacob stopped and grabbed both your legs, he put them on his shoulder and held your arms down at your sides as he began to rail you harshly. The sound of sex and moans filled the air as your mouth hung open.

“Look at me.” Jacob demanded ramming into you making you arch your back. You did as you were told, all of it felt too good to be true, but nonetheless you locked eyes with Jacob, your lips parted as desperate moans escaped freely.

Your walls trembled and clenched around him, “Just like thar baby,” Jacob encouraged you as he tried to go deeper into your pussy, “cum for me like that.”

“So deep.” You cried out sending him into over drive. He slammed into twice sending you tumbling over the cliff of complete bliss. Your entire body trembling, he let go of your arms and dropped your legs from his shoulders as he kissed you deeply. All the while grinding into you riding your orgasm out.

He pulled you into a tight imbrace, never breaking the deepest kiss you ever had. His tongue explored your mouth unceasingly as he thrusted into you long and deep. He finally pulled away, you were out of breath and your mind was fuzzy, “I’m almost there,” he groaned locking eyes with you, his lips mere inches from yours, “fuck your so tight and hot. Milk me dry baby doll.”

His words made your hips buck up as you tightened around him. It felt like he was in your stomach, making a whimper of pleasure leave your lips. He picked you from the table still fucking you in mid air, holding you close. You felt him throb and twitch right before he rammed into you quickly. You felt him pulsing inside of you as he came deep into your pussy.

Jacob placed you back on top of the table, his stayed inside of you as he kissed you deeply yet again, while holding you flush to his chest. The kiss lasted for what felt like forever but you were okay with that, you could still feel pulsing inside of you. He finally began to pull out and you both looked down, a thick white stream followed his dick as finally pulled completely out of you.

He kissed your forehead “Are you okay?” He asked in a very caring tone, you nodded, “better than you imagined I hope?” You blushed and pecked his lips, “let’s go clean up,” Jacob helped you down from the table, looking at the clock on the wall, “I think my roommate is on the way home. Let’s hurry baby.”

After showering and more fucking, yes more sex. You both finally left the shower. Jacob walked behind, he was indeed looking at your ass, he was trying to go for round three but you shot him down because you were sore and because after proper examination. You realized why, he had a nice thick package and you knew if you guys had kept going on, you’d be sore for a while.

“Jacob,” you heard someone call his name, you looked up at the young man standing in the living room holding up one of your books, “what the hell happened in here?”

“Oh,” Jacob greeted him, “welcome home, Kevin this is, y/n. Y/n this is Kevin my roommate and best friend.” He introduced you both to each other.

You waved as Kevin stood there looking back and forth between the two of you and the mess that was on the floor, “wait a damn minute.” Kevin mumbled, he went to say something else but Jacob cut him off.

“Ah, well Kevin, we have a project we’re supposed to be working on,” Jacob said quickly clearing his throat, and grabbing both of your books, “if you’ll excuse us, we have a have a long night ahead of us.”

Jacob grabbed your hand and quickly pulled you into his bedroom, but you didn’t miss the loud as “Oh hell naw, Jacob!” Come from Kevin who still stood in the living room shocked.

“Now,” Jacob smiled sweetly at you as he sat everything down on his desk, “shall we at least come up with an outline before we call it a night?”

You nodded and stood beside Jacob who had sat down at his desk. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his lap, liking how you looked wearing his clothes. You picked up a pen and started writing and Jacob followed, in no time your outline was done.

Somehow Jacob talked you into a make out session, this time you both were laying in bed. He was straddling you, devouring your lips like they were the best thing he ever tasted. You felt him bulge up and grind his hips into you. A sound came from you but it was muffled by his lips, that he wouldn’t let go of.

He eventually pulled away after grinding into a few more time “You know,” he started his eyes tracing over your face, “if you had’ve told me from day one that you liked me, I’d have you well trained by now.”

You scoffed, “what makes you think I liked your from day one?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Because, you look at me differently than everyone else,” he stated honestly, “everyone else sees me as plain old Jacob. But your eyes tell how you feel, no matter how hard you try to hide it. I’m the only one you look at like that, you’ve had that look in your eyes since day one.”

“Remind me to where sunglasses from now on.” You huffed out with a smile.

Jacob pecked your lips “No, don’t hide those beautiful eyes.” He remarked grinding into you hard, the pressure caused you to let out a hushed whispered moan.

“Jacob,” you started, he kept going at an even pass, “we’re supposed to be going to sleep.” You said between deep breaths.

“I know,” he acknowledged adding more pressure, “I can’t help it. I gave you thin shorts with no underwear for a reason,” you could feel every bit of his erection poking at your entrance,?“Byou have no idea how long I’ve wanted you baby doll.”

“Jacob,” you whispered softly, “your roommate is going to hea-,” your breath got caught in your throat when you felt his thick cock enter you in one swift motion. You opened your eyes that you didn’t know you had closed and looked up at Jacob, who had started to thrust into you slowly, “please, I’m gonna be so sore in the morning,” you whispered trying to hold in your moans between words, “your not so innocent, make it quick Bae.”

Just the words he needed to hear, he planted his lips on yours, plummeting his tongue down your throat. You opened your legs wide, allowing him to began pounding into you, rocking your whole body. It didn’t take long for you to climax for the fourth time tonight, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Jacob coming not too long after, he lay on top of you out of breathe.

You laced your hands into his hair as he lay on your chest, with one of his hands up your shirt and resting on your boob, “it’s going to be along night,” you stated, your chest heaving up and down, “never judge a book by its cover.”

Jacob laughed as you both looked at each other in amusement, because you were right. You both fall asleep after another round, only to wake up the next morning and get ate out like a five star meal. Damn Jacob wasn’t so innocent after.

#kpop boys #the boyz #kpop smut #smut #tbz au #tbz kpop #tbz scenarios #tbz smut #tbz x reader #tbzinc #jacob bae #the boyz jacob #kevin moon #tbz kevin #the boyz eric #eric sohn

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tippedbykreider · 3 years

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it’s all coming back to me | c. kreider (i)

Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: Slow burn, exes to friends to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol mention. Author’s Note: So many of you have been requesting for this to be brought back! The consensus was that you’d rather have it in smaller chunks so I’ll be posting each new part weekly and they’ll come in between 6 & 9k per chapter. Not only is it more manageable for you guys but it also gives me chance to keep writing new content for it 💖 There is a playlist for this fic which I posted separately, it gives a chronological feel for their relationship and their story. This has been a tonne of fun to write so far and I can’t wait to tell the rest of their story. Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten? Tagging: @danglesnipecelly - this girl deserves a writing credit on this thing because she’s pushed me to keep going with this and her input and advice has been invaluable. Thank you for all the support on this one, K 💖

*Italics indicates a flashback*

The notion of fresh starts is often something that is associated with the arrival of the New Year. People use the turning of the calendar to turn over a new leaf, to learn a new skill, to challenge themselves to be better than the year before and to let go of all that was and focus on all that will be. There’s something inherently magical about a new beginning, a fresh start; sometimes it’s the excitement of what might lie ahead and other times it’s the comfort in knowing that you can seize the opportunity be whoever you want to be and to reinvent yourself. It’s the line in the sand and the final full stop at the end of the chapter and it’s the anticipation of picking up the pen and writing those first few words on the new page.

For Chris Kreider this feeling wasn’t one that was brought about by the strike of the clock at midnight on New Year’s Eve because while the date on the calendar changed and while he still spent the next couple of weeks dating things with the wrong year just like everybody else, it still often felt like nothing really changed for him. Chris could only feel like the year was truly coming to an end when the first petals of spring exploded like fireworks in a symphony of technicolour blooms and he found himself giving the locker-room clearout interview. That was the end of the year, the full stop, the line and the warmer days and the balmy nights would give him the opportunity to decompress ready for the turning of the page come September when his focus would once again turn back to hockey.

Chris loved New York; that much was undeniably true. He loved the vibrancy of the city but he also loved the way that he could melt into the background or enjoy the feeling of quiet solace his apartment gave him. It was oftentimes a bolthole, an oasis of peace during an otherwise hectic few months between September and May but the end of the hockey season and the arrival of summer had him seeking the cry of gulls on the breath of a gentle breeze and that crisp, purifying sea air that always managed to fill his lungs differently. Rowayton wasn’t far, a little over an hour on a good day but with its coastal Connecticut charm, slower pace and pretty houses, especially the ones that overlooked the water, it was a world away from NYC and exactly what Chris needed to reset and recharge.

It was a Saturday morning in mid-July and for the first time in a long time, longer than Chris could recall, he allowed himself to sleep in. His bedroom window had been open all night and the welcome breeze snaked through the slats in the blinds and carried on it the faintest smell of salt and sunshine. Chris stretched his muscles in big pulls around the bed before he settled on his back and inhaled deeply, the fresh air clearing his mind and filling his body as the last remnants of sleep slipped away on the exhale of breath. Imbued with energy, he climbed out of bed and pulled the blinds all the way up, flooding the bedroom with beautiful incandescence born out of a cloudless sky. He didn’t make his bed though, not yet, because while he had left his room and was padding down the stairs, he had every intention of returning to the still warm sheets to read a chapter or two of the book on his nightstand with a fresh cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin bagel, that invigorating coastal air and the oceanscape outside as the soundtrack.

One chapter turned into two and two became three and before Chris knew it, the sun was high in the sky and lunchtime beckoned. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day in Rowayton and Chris thought it would be a crying shame to spend his time at home, even if the page-turner he’d held in his hands moments ago seemed incredibly appealing out on the back deck overlooking the water. It was then he decided to take advantage of that gorgeous sunshine, take in the scenery and stretch his legs by going for a walk into town to pick up a few essentials at Rowayton Market. For all it was a small, it contained everything he would need to keep him going for a few more days until he’d finally need to drive into Norwalk to do a more substantial grocery shop, something that he’d admittedly been putting off. The Market also had some of the best baked goods and fresh coffee in the village and if you asked Chris it would be pretty rude to not take advantage – it was right there, after all, and Chris never could say no to a still-warm Danish and Americano.

He walked slower than he usually would, a conscious effort on his part due to the fact that his legs seemed to want to go into an auto-pilot primed for life in New York City. He was in no rush though, he never was whenever he came here and even though it was a route he’d walked hundreds of times before, and one he would walk hundreds more, Chris still wanted to soak in all the pretty trees and shrubs that were nestled in amongst those classical New England style homes, all shingled exteriors and white, gridded windows in soft muted colours that mirrored the coastal landscape of the village. It was a world away from the brick and the concrete and the bright lights of the city and while Chris loved all of those things about New York and loved wandering through the streets of Tribeca and Soho, getting lost in bookstores and hole-in-the-wall cafes, he also loved the sand, shale and stars and those were things that he just couldn’t find in the city that never slept.

There were quite a few people out and about, Chris noted, most of them he recognised as being residents with their friendly smiles and waved greetings, but there were a handful of tourists too; there always was on weekends during the summer. Not that Chris minded, of course, because for all the village was a popular escape for those seeking a break from the metropolitan life of the nearby hub of cities, it never succumbed to the all-too-often inevitability of commercialisation and still managed to hold on to its peaceful charm, despite it not quite being the quaint fishing village it once was back in the days before the Civil War.

It was one of the reasons why Chris found himself retreating here in the summer and not making the trip back home to spend the off-season in Massachusetts. He would go back to Boxford for a couple of weeks, naturally, because family was something that had always been important to Chris and he would never miss an opportunity to spend time with his parents and sister, but if he had the choice between spending his entire summer being bitten to death by mosquitoes back home (his father always did say that they were the town bird, after all) or feeling the gentle kiss of the ocean breeze against his skin, there was no real contest. Rowayton would always win.

The main street through town was busier, which wasn’t exactly unexpected and if anything it only seemed to add to the charm of the village. Chris decided to head straight to the market to pick up his groceries, if only to facilitate the Danish eating in a more timely-fashion. He picked up a basket as he entered and proceeded to add only the essentials he’d need to get him through the next couple of days. He’d pay for his shopping before going to the coffee bar, because trying to pack his reusable grocery bag with a full takeout cup was a mistake he’d made once before and was sure to never repeat again.

With his groceries purchased and bags packed in such a way that the couple of bottles of wine he’d picked up wouldn’t clink together when he walked (it was three to be exact but after seeing the selection of cured meats, cheeses and olives available he thought it’d be a crime if they didn’t find their way into his basket to come home with him, and if there was cheese there had to be wine), Chris made his way to the coffee counter situated near the Market entrance.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a trip away without the company of anyone else but the last couple of months at work had been incredibly stressful, with projects seemingly coming out of your ears and while you knew your mother had been worried by your suggestion of taking off somewhere alone for the weekend, she also knew better than to fight you on something you’d quite clearly already set your mind to. If you were being completely honest, your plans for the first full weekend you’d had off in months would have consisted of not setting foot outside of your apartment or engaging in any kind of unnecessary conversation had you decided to stay home in Hartford, at least this way you’d be getting some fresh air and the sun on your face.

It was just shy of a two hour drive down to Rowayton, which had the dual benefit of being close enough to home that it didn’t feel like a huge trek just to get there, but also being far enough away that you would be a complete stranger in this town and could take the time to decompress and recharge while blending into the background, and the place was pretty to boot. You’d found a little studio Airbnb not too far away in South Norwalk, figuring that you’d only be using it as somewhere to sleep as you’d planned on spending as much of your time as possible being right by that ocean with the wind in your hair and the warm sun on your skin.

That’s how you’d planned on spending your Saturday afternoon, sat on the sand of Bayley Beach with a good book and a cup of coffee. It was set to be a balmy day, with temperatures sitting in the mid-eighties and the last thing you wanted to be doing in the heat was any amount of excessive walking. So with that in mind, you’d spent your morning exploring the village and taking in the sights and sounds. The gentle protest of your stomach told you it was lunchtime before you’d even taken the opportunity to glance down at your watch and a quick Google search pointed you in the direction of somewhere to get that all important cup of coffee and a small bite to eat.

Rowayton Market didn’t look like much from the outside in the sense that it was a little on the petite side, but the reviews were great and the coffee was allegedly some of the best in the village and that was good enough for you. You were greeted with the smell of freshly baked goods and ground coffee, which was welcoming enough before you even saw the bright smile of the girl behind the counter. Your eyes drifted over the selection of pastries, each one more delicious looking than the last and you knew that you were going to have a hard time choosing just one. You knew you’d have to make a decision, though, suddenly aware of the small line that had seemingly materialised right out of thin air behind you and while you were sure that these people were more accustomed to a slower pace of life, the city girl in you, who was so used to living life in the fast lane, didn’t want to keep these good people waiting while you deliberated. You’d go with your usual and that would be that.

Chris’s attention was fixed out of the large glass windows at the front of the shop, watching as people milled in the street and went about their daily business. It was something he quite often did, whether he was here or back home in New York. There was something oddly soothing about watching the world go by, he thought, and occasionally he’d catch something that would quirk his lips up into a smile, like the sight before him now of a rather large gull in the process of committing larceny against what he could only assume was an unsuspecting tourist. Their sandwich was held high above their head while their free hand attempted to shoo the bird away with little success. He chuckled quietly to himself then, not least because the gulls seemed to get more brazen with each year that passed and he was sure that one of these days he’d see someone’s lunch get snatched right out of their hand by the feathered menaces.

Chris had no reason at all to believe as he stood in that line that everything was about to change. Why would he? The day had started like any other. He’d picked up his groceries in this store more times than he could count, he’d waited in a line just like this one for his coffee and Danish and yet, in that moment, something as innocuous as a woman’s voice would bring feelings that he thought he was done with, and memories he thought had strayed out of his mind for good, flooding back to the surface. But it wasn’t just any woman’s voice, no, it wasn’t as detached and neutral as that. It was your voice; a voice he hadn’t heard in nine years and it was something as simple as a coffee order, an order that he now knew to have remained the same since the day you’d first met at Boston College all those years ago, that blew the dam wide open and every word the two of you had ever spoken, from day one to the last thing you ever said to him, came rushing back.

The sound of Chris’s voice calling your name was something you never thought you’d hear out loud again. It was a voice you’d only heard in your dreams for many years after he walked out of your life, but even that had faded beyond memory to where you weren’t a hundred percent certain that you’d be able to remember what it sounded like anymore. And yet, in the middle of a tiny supermarket in Rowayton, you heard him clear as day with his tongue rolling around the syllables of your name with the same fondness, even after all this time and it was like you’d never forgotten the sound at all.

Autumn was beginning to make her presence felt in Boston. The palette on campus had shifted from a spectrum of vivid greens to shades of deep russet, amber, ochre and vermillion; but even above the changing leaves, the turning of the calendar brought a slight chill to the air that had you reaching for your jacket on a morning as you left your dorm.

Today was no different. The temperature had dropped again overnight as November creeped ever closer and it was chilly enough that you had to draw your coat tighter around you as you walked across campus towards class. Your brisk pace had bought you enough time to make a stop at the coffee stand just outside of Campion where your first class of the day was being held. There was a decent selection on offer, but it wasn’t enough to sway you from ordering your usual.

You rooted around your backpack for your wallet while the barista prepared your coffee and grabbed you your cinnamon roll, unaware of the new presence to your right, before handing over the money and taking the coffee and pastry bag from the young man’s hands.

“Coffee and cinnamon roll, eh? Now that’s the breakfast of champions.”

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, lips quirking into a small smile at the sight of the stranger beside you who looked to be not much older than you were, incredibly tall and broad for his apparent age but not for his height. He was grinning at you with a fullness that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and gave him a unique kind of softness.

“My mom would disagree,” you replied with a smirk. “If she found out I was having this for breakfast she’d be in her car so fast and dragging my ass back to Hartford.”

He laughed at that, loud and bright with his head tipped back slightly before running a hand through his dark brown hair that was shorter on the sides but had the faintest hint of a curl at the longer strands on top.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not telling her,” you grinned as you swung your backpack over one shoulder. “So looks like you’re sworn to secrecy.”

You studied him for a brief moment, with the way he was still grinning at you and his eyes that seemed to sparkle behind his dark lashes before your brain gently reminded you that you, in fact, had somewhere you needed to be. “Well, I hate to impose a vow of silence on you like some sort of mafia boss and then immediately split but I uh I gotta head to class.”

“No problem at all and hey, your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’ve forgotten already. What were we talking about?”

There it was again, that smile of his that made you want to stay rooted right where you were standing and look at it all day, but class beckoned and so you gave an awkward wave of your hand and a soft laugh before you turned and headed into the building behind you without another glance back. If you had you’d have seen the stranger from the coffee stand watch until you’d disappeared from view, with that smile still on his face.

This little routine of yours would continue over the course of the next few weeks. Every Tuesday morning, at around 8:45am, you’d find yourself stood at that coffee stand outside of Campion to get your coffee and cinnamon roll, and every Tuesday morning, at around 8:46am, the tall stranger would appear beside you with his kind eyes and his bright smile. You’d exchange a ‘hello’ and a friendly grin and you’d laugh more often than not too while you made pleasant small talk before you both said your goodbyes and went to your respective classes, though you would always leave first and he would watch you go until you’d disappeared into the building.

It was mid-November, now, and the campus of Boston College was firmly in autumn’s frigid grasp. The temperatures continued to drop, seemingly overnight, which had you bundled up in your hat and scarf and the trees had shed their branches of leaves, crunching underfoot with the slight frost as you made your way towards Campion. Your hands were shoved deep into your coat pockets to ward off the gnawing chill and you were looking forward to being able to warm them around your coffee cup.

You approached the stand as normal, rooting through your backpack for your wallet ready to order.

“Hey!”

You looked up, your features fixed in a state of mild confusion while you looked for the source of the voice you recognised but couldn’t quite place. It was then you saw him though, all bright eyed and bushy tailed with a medium coffee and pastry bag held up in one of his large hands as if on display. He was grinning at you and cocked his head, beckoning you over with the wordless gesture.

“Hey, yourself,” you smiled as you approached. “What’s this then?” You tilted your head slightly at the items in his hand as he offered them to you.

“Breakfast of champions.”

Your eyebrow quirked as you took the coffee from him before taking a tentative sip, smiling while the warm liquid slid down your throat.

“You got my coffee order right.”

“It wasn’t hard,” he smirked. “You order the same thing every week and if you open that little paper bag I think you’ll find a cinnamon roll in there.”

Sure enough, as you opened the bag you were greeted with the sight of a perfectly formed cinnamon roll and you couldn’t help the grin that sparked at your lips and spread the full width of your face.

“I don’t order the same thing every week.”

“You do,” he replied with a laugh. “Every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks you’ve come to this coffee stand and ordered a medium Americano with half and half and a cinnamon roll and every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks I’ve been meaning to ask you your name.”

Your face flushed warm at that, not only at his words but at the sure little smile he was giving you and the way his eyes were sparkling. In fact, now that you were really looking at him properly, you were knocked back a bit by the perpetual kindness that seemed to rest in them and you couldn’t help but notice how they really were the perfect shade of hazel, like a forest with a deep bark heart surrounded by leaves that were every shade of green. You’d been quiet a little too long though and so you took a settling sip of coffee to give you enough time to find your voice again and tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled as he offered you his hand, which was large and warm as you shook it.

“And who should I thank for the coffee?” you asked.

His smile grew into a grin then, the kind that you’d noticed over the course of the last few weeks that made his eyes crinkle and happiness radiate from him, before simply replying:

“Chris.”

“Chris?”

It was as if time had stood still in that little Market in Rowayton, where your surroundings become a still-frame and there’s nothing but static in your ears. You’d often thought about what it would have been like to see him again. Those first couple of years after he’d left Boston College had you imagining all kinds of scenarios, much like the one you were in right now where you’d bump into each other in a supermarket or a pharmacy, anywhere really, but now that you were living it, seeing it, breathing it, there was nothing you could have conjured up in your imagination that would have prepared you for what it would really feel like to see him again. If you were to be completely honest, you were glad that your coffee and cinnamon roll were still on the top of the counter because you were certain that they would have fallen right out of your hands and onto the Market floor.

He abandoned his position in the line then, as if you speaking his name was a call to him, and maybe it was, on some level, but the truth and simplicity of it was that you were suspended in a state of pure disbelief and even in the short time it took for him to close the distance between you both, you were still yet to move and fix your features to something more neutral.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting that he gave you and logically you knew that there wasn’t really any tangible meaning behind that single word he spoke and yet there was something about the look in his eyes and the warmth in the smile he gave you.

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you replied, finally finding your voice. “You look, you look good.”

It wasn’t a lie either, he did look good. The tall college boy you remembered, who was just a little too slight for his height, had filled out; you could tell that just from the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across the broad plains of his chest and strained around his biceps, and he was no longer clean shaven, which was something that had always made him look quite baby-faced. Instead he was sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and while he had kept his hair short on the sides, just like you’d remembered it, it was longer on the top than it had been in college and the curls were sweeping in a way that reminded you of the waves just beyond the Market door. He looked older, yes, which is exactly what you would have expected in the nine years since you’d last seen him but his eyes were still exactly the same, sparkling and full of mischief , yet still soft, perhaps even softer than before on account of the faint lines around them drawn by time’s fair hand.

“So do you,” he grinned. “You cut your hair.”

“I did,” you looked down as your face flushed with warmth, unsure exactly what you were supposed to say to him.

It was something you’d thought about during those imagined scenarios where you’d magically bump into each other again and you’d thought about all of the things that you would say to him. You would tell him about how much you’d cried when he left you behind to live out his boyhood dream and how angry you were that he didn’t want you to be a part of that, how it felt like all the plans you’d ever talked about were nothing more than empty words and how hurt that had made you feel. You felt like you at least deserved that, especially given that it was never just a casual fling between you both. After all, you’d been practically inseparable for two years. You’d been inseparable ever since he’d said those three words that mean so much. But now that he was here in front of you, all those words that had swirled around in your head and in your chest like a hurricane for so long, dissipated into nothing and you found yourself clutching at straws to find something, anything, to say.

Chris could sense this though. Of course he could because he was Chris and he had always been so in tune with you and your emotions and the fact that he was still able to read you so well was both a comfort and a knife in your chest, and while he internally grimaced at the fact he was having to fall back on using small talk between you both, he felt like it was what you needed in the moment. He wouldn’t expect things to go back to how they were after all this time, he couldn’t, and so he started with something simple, something he knew you would be able give him an answer to.

“So, what brings you to sunny Rowayton?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied.

“Ah,” Chris grinned, trying to keep the mood light. “See I asked you first and also, I live here so therefore the ‘question answering’ responsibility falls back to you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, at both his words and the silly little expression he was wearing and despite all the years that sat between you both like a void and all of your hurt that was held within it, it all seemed to briefly melt away and in that moment it was like you were back at that little coffee stand outside of Campion.

“I didn’t realise this was an interrogation. Wait is this one of those little weird cult towns? Should I be worried?”

Chris knew by the little smirk you were wearing that you meant no malice behind your words and so he responded by sucking in air through his teeth before speaking again with one of those smiles that went all the way up to his eyes.

“Watch it, Pickle.”

Your stomach fell right into your shoes in that moment, that name he used only for you slipped from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do, like he’d never stopped calling you it and like it hadn’t been nine years since you’d last spoke a word to one another. Chris knew all this of course and he didn’t need to rely on intuition either because he could see every emotion written all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly on the exhale of a breath. “I um.. Force of habit, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. “Although not exactly ‘habit’, it’s been how long?”

Chris winced at that, the reality of how he left things between you both slapping him in the face and he was filled with the guilt that he’d spent almost a decade pushing out of his chest and shoving into the darkest corner of his memory where he would hope it would rest undisturbed. He knew that you were angry at him for leaving things the way he did, how could you not be? After all, he was the one who had broken your heart and left you in Boston, but it was never as simple as that, even back then there was so much he should have said but that was something he wouldn’t realise until much later when it was too late to repair the damage. The thinly veiled hurt in your eyes and the way your mouth was downturned was demonstrative of that fact.

“I know,” he all but whispered. “It just-“

“It’s fine, Chris. Can we just forget about it? Please?”

He nodded, watching with a quiet kind of sadness on his features as you turned to finally pick your coffee and cinnamon roll up off the counter before he cleared his throat softly to continue speaking.

“You never did say what brought you into town.”

You took a sip of coffee to give yourself long enough to settle the thundering in your chest before answering him, because for all your heart felt like it was about to burst from all the hurt you’d managed to hide away up until now, there was also a weird sense of nostalgia that came with seeing him and hearing his voice again, and even though he’d shattered your heart completely when he decided he no longer wanted you in his life, your mother had raised you right and you knew the proper thing to do was to indulge him in a little small talk, even if for nothing more than old time’s sake.

“Just here for the weekend,” you replied. “Work has been nuts lately and I needed some time away from home.”

Chris shuffled on his feet for a moment as you spoke while his eyes darted between you and the door that would lead to the outside world and the possibility of the two of you parting once more. It was an unexpected pull that he felt in his chest at that thought, you reappearing in his life out of the blue only to slip out of it just as suddenly by doing something as simple as walking out of that supermarket back out into the wide world. For nine years he’d thought about where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy and with each year that passed without seeing your face or hearing your voice, he’d resigned himself to the fact that you were lost to him, drifting out there in the seas of life never to see you again. He didn’t know why you’d suddenly come back to him now, whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, although Chris couldn’t have cared less which one it was. All he cared about was the fact that you were here at all and it was an opportunity that he was sure he wasn’t going to waste. He didn’t even know for certain that you would want to give him any of your time after what had happened when he left Boston, but he wanted to at least give you what he should have all those years ago and that was an explanation and an opportunity for you to tell him how his actions had made you feel.

“Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?”

“Not much,” you shrugged. “I was just going to sit on Bayley Beach and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Would you mind some company? No pressure, of course, I understand if you… I understand if you’d rather not want to spend any time with me.”

You exhaled then and Chris’s shoulders visibly sagged, bracing himself for your polite refusal, but your response was not one that he was expecting and truthfully, it wasn’t one that you had expected either.

“Honestly?” you started, getting swept up in the nostalgia of seeing him again before the rational part of your brain could catch up. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” he smiled in what you could see was pure relief. “Do you mind if I grab a coffee before we head out?”

“Sure,” you replied. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

You headed out the door and were sure to stand where Chris could see you, knowing him well enough to realise that he’d be worrying, at least on some level, that you’d slip off into the crowd. You’d never do that to him, of course, even after everything, because while he had broken your heart, he was also the first person you’d ever truly loved and when you’d put the pieces back together, you couldn’t help but keep a part of him wrapped up amongst the tape and string holding those pieces together while you healed. It was in doing that that you understood that he would always have a special place in your heart and honestly? You were kind of okay with that because while the ending hadn’t exactly been perfect, the two years you’d spent together were and you wouldn’t have changed that time for anything.

You weren’t sure what exactly had possessed you to let Chris talk you into venturing off campus and out in the early-February snow to get burgers at Eagle’s Deli but you were cursing those sparkling eyes and that roguish grin of his for wearing down your sensibilities as you righted yourself after what felt like the hundredth near-fall. It was slushy underfoot, the kind that’s a twisted ankle or sprained knee waiting to happen and while you’d dressed weather appropriately in your winter boots and heavy parka, you were still very newborn lamb-like in your movements which was amusing Chris to no end.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he called from up ahead as he grinned at you over his shoulder.

“Not all of us can be hockey prodigies and thrive in this kind of inclement weather,” you grumbled, shuffling slowly so as not to slip.

Chris laughed as he came back towards you with confident and purposeful steps, surprising you when he offered his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Now, I’m no expert in geography or meteorology but it snows in Hartford, no?”

He was grinning at you, the kind of grin that you had to fight with every fibre of your being not to reciprocate because you’d already committed to your grumpy act and you couldn’t have him thinking he’d cracked you already, even if he, in fact, had.

“Yes,” you stressed. “But I don’t make a habit of going out in it to get burgers like a crazy person.”

The cackle you received from him in reply was loud and a little wild and you couldn’t help but be completely captivated by the way his cheeks were ruddy from the cold and the snowflakes clinging to the curls on top of his head and long eyelashes. Tuesday morning coffees with him outside of Campion before class had turned into coffees in actual cafes during free periods and getting lunch together. It was even dragging your body out into the cold to the Alumni Stadium with your blanket and your thermos to watch Chris play with the BC Eagles because you couldn’t say no to that damn smile and those damn eyes and even now, as you looked at him taking in the scenery along the Chestnut Hill Reservoir pathway, you knew that they were going to be the death of you.

“It’s really pretty along here,” he spoke, more quietly than before; softer too. “You wouldn’t think we were in the middle of Boston.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice walk,” you agreed before shooting him a smirk and a look. “Would be nice in the spring sunshine too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Little Miss Chilly.”

“I don’t know what you have against being warm, Kreider. Warm is good, warm is nice-“

You shrieked as your feet went out from under you, courtesy of a patch of black ice hidden under slushy snow and you squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for the impact of your ass hitting the cold, hard ground. But it never came.

“It’s okay,” Chris spoke reassuringly, one hand tight around your bicep while his other arm was curled around your waist, holding you upright. “I’ve got you.”

You opened your eyes then to be met with Chris’s looking right at you, all moss and bark and warm. He was smiling at you but it was different to the easy grin he usually wore around you, this was softer somehow and all rational thought was replaced by one of those monkeys playing the cymbals. For the briefest of seconds, and for reasons completely unknown to you, the monkey tried to take the wheel and the idea of kissing him right there, in the middle of the pathway that had made an attempt on your life, flashed into your head.

Maybe it was the snow and how perfect and picturesque the scene around you felt? Maybe it was the fact he’d just saved you from slipping? But the reality of it was that those eyes and that smile held some sort of power over you that you couldn’t yet fully understand. You shook your head quickly, if only to take back control of the situation before you did something more embarrassing than almost falling on your ass.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you regained your composure. “This damn pathway.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Chris grinned as he turned so his back was to you and stooped slightly. “Hop on.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I never joke about piggy-backs,” he replied in a faux solemn tone with the face to match. “Come on, we’ll get you to the Deli in one piece one way or another.”

And that was how you ended up with your arms looped around Chris’s shoulders and his strong hands holding the backs of your legs as he carried you on his back to Eagle’s Deli.

Not twenty minutes later, the pair of you were shuffling into a booth as you shed your coats, gloves and scarves, Chris grinning at you while you blew on your fingers in an attempt to restore warmth into them.

“See, told you I’d get you here in one piece.”

You scoffed at him and shot a playful glance across the table separating you both.

“You’re not human, that is the only explanation for how you’re able to walk in that,” you nodded towards the window where the snow was still falling to illustrate your point before continuing, “and not fall flat on your face.”

“Or my ass,” he added with a grin.

“Hey, that never actually happened!”

Chris’s face split into an even bigger smile at your little protest and the pout that had formed on your lips and while the gentle teasing between you was simply a part of the dynamic of your friendship, Chris would have been lying if he didn’t admit that the reason he did it so often was because you always looked so adorable trying to rebut him.

“No, you’re right. It didn’t,” he mused with a smirk, not needing to remind you that it was him who had come to your rescue judging from the unimpressed look you were throwing his way.

“All I’m saying is that we could’ve just gone to Hillside for lunch.”

“But the burgers here are superior,” he countered, smiling at you. “And you got to enjoy a beautiful walk in the snow with me so who’s the real winner he- mmpf!”

Chris was cut off by your damp mitten hitting his face, brows knitting into a slight frown before laughing at the proud grin you wore at the accuracy of your throw.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said with mock hurt.

“Maybe I’m not a very nice person.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” he replied, but there was no teasing in his tone this time, only the kind of sincerity that had your face flushing warm and had you reaching for the menu to hide behind under the pretence of looking at the choices available.

He couldn’t help but smile at the awkwardness with which you were trying and failing to hide from him but soon joined you in picking up a menu and perusing it, despite already knowing what he was going to order.

It was a few moments before the waitress came over and while neither of you spoke the silence between you both wasn’t exactly awkward even though Chris knew there was something about his last words that had had some kind of effect on you. He was right, of course, because despite the fact that you’d had hold of this menu for a good couple of minutes already, you hadn’t actually looked at a single thing on it even though you’d made such a show of doing just that and now that Chris had ordered, a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake, the waitress was looking at you expectantly. Unable to form any kind of rational thought under that kind of pressure, you found yourself simply saying “same” and soon enough it was just you and Chris at the table once more.

Chris was looking at you like he had something he wanted to say and the unreadable expression on his face had you feeling somewhat uneasy for reasons you hadn’t quite ascertained but probably understood on some level if you let yourself think about it for more than a second. He could feel the nervous energy radiating from you though and so rather than pursue his current train of thought, he picked a topic of conversation that was much safer and knew you’d be comfortable with: school.

You talked about your classes and upcoming assignments while he listened intently and you returned the favour while he spoke earnestly about hockey and his own academic workload. It was so easy to settle into a natural rhythm with Chris whenever you talked, as if you’d been having conversations like these for years when in fact it had only been a few months of knowing him and a few weeks of meeting up like this. None of that seemed to really matter though, not when the conversation was good and the chemistry felt right and especially not when it was clear that you were both on the same page when it came to your friendship. There was something else there though, something that was beyond being purely platonic, that much was becoming crystal clear and yet despite the ease in which it was to talk to him about literally anything else, there was something that had you stumbling over the thought of bringing it up.

You were saved from falling down that particular rabbit hole by the reappearance of the waitress, two burgers that were big enough to have your eyes popping out of your head in her hands. Chris chuckled from behind his milkshake at the look of disbelief on your face as your burger was set down in front of you before he reached for the bottle of ketchup between you both. You took the top of your burger bun off, nose immediately wrinkling at the sight of four pickle slices resting on top of the lettuce and tomato.

“Ugh, I forgot to ask for no pickles.”

Chris looked up from where he was squirting ketchup onto his bun, his eyes meeting yours briefly as his face split into a grin.

“You’re not one of those people, are you?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you began to pick the offensive green menaces off your food and set them at the edge of your plate. “I like what I like.”

Chris reached across and began to transfer the pickles from your plate to his burger, smiling widely at you as he did so.

“Well, I might have found a solution to this particular pickle you find yourself in,” he chuckled at the exaggerated groan and roll of your eyes at the expense of his joke. “You see, I love pickles.”

“You love anything,” you countered. “You’re like a human dumpster.”

“Hurtful,” he replied as he clutched at his chest. “But also true so I’ll allow it.”

You picked up a fry from your plate and threw it at him, immediately filled with equal parts surprise and a strange sense of awe as he reflexively moved and caught it in his mouth.

“You really are a dumpster,” you grinned as you shook your head at the proud little smile he was giving you.

“I am, so how about you don’t ask for no pickles on your burgers and you just give ‘em to me instead?”

It was easy to agree to his proposal, not least because his logic actually made a lot of sense when you thought about it, but mostly because of the way his eyes were sparkling and the way his smile made you feel warm all over, like the falling snow and freezing air outside didn’t exist, like your fingers and toes hadn’t been numbed by the biting cold during your walk here, like there had only ever been sunshine. It was also why you’d agreed to let him carry you back through the snow to your dorm, his large hands hooked around the backs of your thighs and your arms draped over his shoulders much like during the walk to the diner. You’d protested initially, of course, not wanting to burden Chris or put you both at risk of an injury due to the slippery conditions, but he wasn’t about to be convinced otherwise and remained unperturbed by the weather, gently reminding you that he had in fact got you to the diner in one piece in the first instance at your objections.

Truthfully, despite the mild embarrassment you felt at your complete ineptitude when it came to walking on ice, you couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed at Chris’s sheer strength. You wondered then, about how hard he must work in the gym to develop such a strong core because while you knew from first-hand experience how slippery it was underfoot, he didn’t falter once throughout the entire walk home and with the way he was talking amiably about his favourite places in the city he called home, and how his hands were holding your legs so surely and securely, you felt safe as houses with your chest pressed into his back – even with your thick coats and layers of winter clothing between you.

He walked with you on his back right up to the entrance of your dorm, setting you down carefully on the pathway that looked to have been newly shovelled before he turned to face you, his cheeks once again ruddy from the cold and your walk home.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ twice in one day,” he grinned, sucking air in through his teeth and shaking his head slightly. “But didn’t I say that I’d get you home safely?”

“So what if you were right twice?” you rebutted with a playful nudge. “It’s not like it’s ever gonna happen again.”

“Watch it, Pickle. I’ll have you know that I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Pickle?” you barked out a laugh, watching as Chris walked slowly backwards down the path away from you with that smile still on his face. “What kind of a name is that? I don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” he called out into the growing distance between you both. “But I do, remember?”

You shook your head at him, chuckling to yourself with a smile on your lips that mirrored his as you watched him.

“See ya Tuesday then, Trash Can!” you hollered.

His raucous cackle cut through the silent flurry as he continued to walk slowly backwards, his grin clear as day even through the falling snowflakes.

“Trash Can! Fucking, Trash Can! Man, you got some serious chirps, Pickle. Can you throw hands too? I mean, I know you suck at keeping your balance on the ice but we could use an enforcer! I could push you around?”

“Anytime, anywhere!” you laughed, watching him with a grin until he had waved his goodbye and turned away before he retreated into the heavy snow.

Part ii

#it's all coming back to me fic #my writing #chris kreider #chris kreider fic #chris kreider x reader #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #hockey writing

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Ball’s In Your Court

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader, (platonic tony x reader)

Summary: Steve and Y/n have been playing games for years. But now that Rogers is acting like a little bitch, Y/n throws him a curve ball that will either make them or break them.

Words: 2.7k

Warning: None man. Its fluff and angst. Language (?)

A/N: I was experimenting with the third person P.O.V for reader. Hope it’s to your liking.

MASTERLIST

+++++

For as long as Steve could remember, their life together had been a game; bet after bet, challenge after challenge. He had met her when she was just entering her teens, a little girl with a lost wild look in her eyes. She was in all respects Tony’s daughter, rescued by him from the wreckage of his own weapons. He had almost done a double take when Tony had introduced her to the team.

“This is Y/n, she will stay with us from now”

The compound was not used to the pitter patter of little feet or their furniture appearing embellished overnight. She had lost everything, including it seemed herself. So, their first game ironically had been Hide and Seek. She was small and he lost count of how many times she had bested him by crawling under the cramped spaces of desks or vents (Thanks for teaching her that, Barton).

When Tony had complained about the hundredth time that she just wouldn’t eat, Steve would challenge her that whoever finished their breakfast first could choose the movie for tonight. When she refused to let them leave for missions, he would challenge her to a game of cards. She was too young to win against him but her stubborn streak never turned down a game.

Their every interaction had been a game. They could get each other to do anything by playing chess or softball or a game of Horse that drove everyone else up the wall. He got her to open up about school bullies by besting her at Pictionary and she had effectively gotten him to shut up about healthy food by kicking his ass at video games. They dealt with drama via games (Whoever tosses the least paper balls in the bin tells Bruce we fucked his experiment ), they dealt with humor via games (let’s see who can manage to steal Nat’s gun without getting caught), they dealt with grief via game (if you beat me at Heads Up I’ll let you choose the gravestone).

Growing up, she was Tony’s daughter and Steve’s best friend. While Tony raised her, Steve gossiped with her. They were pals and all was fun and games until she grew up from a little girl into a young woman. Steve didn’t know when things changed but the first he noticed it was when she had run into his arms bawling because some idiot boy broke her heart. It was when he found himself conflicted between anger at the boy and jealousy that this shit started.

He had tried, he had really tried to keep it in check. He had tried to keep up with their game’s night ritual, their silly bets and ridiculous challenges. He had tried his best to be a friend, but this was one challenge he lost. She was no more the 14-year-old girl asking him questions for her history project or the 16-year-old nightmare who would put cockroaches in his bed as revenge. This was a young woman in her 20s with curves for days and an attitude that raised hell. It was a classic falling for your best friend story (if only he weren’t old enough to be her dad or was her dad’s best friend).

He had of course been under the impression that he was being subtle about his change in feelings. He tried not to stare when they went out for a swim, he resisted the urge to lick her lips after a nacho eating contest. He was trying so fucking hard, but as anyone could have told him, “Steve, you don’t have a subtle bone in your body, you frisbee throwing maniac”. She was Tony Stark’s daughter; she was not raised to be stupid. She was smart and observant and almost as quick a study as her father. It was no surprise then that she figured out what had Steve so wound up around her.

Maybe it would have creeped her out had it been anyone else, but Steve was her person. He was her one constant, from kissing her boo-boos to getting her home after she drank herself silly, Steve was there. It shouldn’t have surprised Steve so much then when she cornered him one evening and planted a wet one smack on his mouth with a muttered, “This sexual tension it killing me, gotta do something about it because you won’t”.

He wished he could say he clutched her body to his and dragged her to his room for a wild night of passion. But in reality, he chickened out like a bitch and ran away. Not just from her, but he completely disappeared from the compound for two weeks. When he came back, it was with the intentions of telling her they couldn’t do it, it was wrong and a betrayal to Tony. But Steve needn’t have worried because he came back to the compound to find her introducing the team to her boyfriend.

As far as others know, Steve didn’t deliberately break those glasses that night or push the idiot boy in the pool. It was an accident, and if such accidents kept happening around men she dated then it was purely coincidental.

It was a new kind of game they played then, a more dangerous one and if one’s being honest, a very sensual game. She would date someone; he would scare them away. One of them will find the other, have a passionate make out session, probably end up straddling the other on a desk and then one of them will get up and leave with the same lie “This can’t happen again”. Repeat.

Gone were the days of challenges and competitions, in its place was a sexually charged game of Tag. A cat and mouse game where they always chased each other, touching fleetingly before retreating again. Neither would be the one to make a commitment, neither would concede to being the person who would put their hearts on the line. They were two bulls who were made to butt heads (who occasionally took time off to play a quick game of tonsil-hockey).

Steve had known there had to be an end to this. It had gone on for so long that he could bet other people suspected some shit. He had honestly expected for Tony to sucker punch him half a dozen times by now. Right now, he would have taken those punches to the news she had just given to the team.

“I am getting married!” She announced, offering her left hand so others can admire the gorgeous diamond ring that sat on her ring finger. She looked happy, absolutely radiant and it was all Steve could do to stop himself from dragging her out of here by her hair and throwing that offending ring into the garbage chute. What the fuck kind of game was she playing?

He waited until everyone was asleep before he broke into her room. Well, breaking into would suggest it was forced but truly only him and Tony had the authorization to enter. Their relationship may have changed from ‘you’re my best friend’ to ‘I want to be your best lay’, but they still knew each other the best and cared just as much as before, if not more.

She was under the covers in her bed, a small nightlamp on. It had been a while since Steve had been in her room and it was like taking a big gulp of nostalgia. Her room was her sanctuary, so it reflected her heart’s desires. Every surface of the room was littered with one of their memories together. Her pinboard was still holding the notes he would write to her in school, the birthday cards he made himself and the portraits he would sketch for her. On her desk stood the numerous gifts he had gotten her, each well taken care of despite the years between. Right beside her on the cabinet was a picture of them together, both of them holding hands and smiling at each other in what could only be called as “lovesick smitten idiots”.

He was cautious as he lowered himself next to her on the bed, her face so peaceful he felt like he would taint it by his touch and presence. He had looked at her for years, sketched her details hundreds of times and yet each time he beheld her, he felt his heart skip a beat. She was a memory that he tried to forget and yet it emerged every time he closed his eyes. She was in his skin, a part of him in a way that defied all laws of nature and social customs.

“Are you going to keep staring at me and be the creep from Twilight or do you plan on getting inside?”

Her voice made him jump because she hadn’t opened her eyes. She was smiling that lazy smile of hers when she would catch his bluff in poker. He chuckled and shifted the sheets, climbing under them and curling his body around her. It may as well have been cliché to say that they fit like a puzzle, but it was true. They were molded to fit against each other perfectly, like that lid you close over a box and the satisfying ‘tick’ sound it makes when it clicks into place. That’s what being with her felt like. Fitting in. Coming home.

“Why are you doing this Y/n?” Steve asked and she pushed her body into his so he could hug her tighter.

“Because you won’t do anything Steve. We’ve been running around in circles for so long now, and every time I think that finally we’ll be together, you abandon fort and run. I can’t do this anymore.”

Steve took her left hand and watched her ring twinkle in a taunt. It could have been him. It should be him.

“Don’t marry him. He will never give you what you want.”

“I know that Steve, no one can give me what they want because they aren’t you. But I can’t keep waiting for you in the sidelines hoping you’ll pull your head out of your ass. I want to be loved, preferably in this life.”

His arms were like tentacles around her, but she didn’t complain. Every embrace and moment between them was so fleeting, a stolen moment that she enjoyed what she could get. This was probably the longest in a few years that they had held each other without one running for the hills.

“I love you, you know that.” He whispered in her ear, longing evident in his voice.

“I know that, as much as I know that you won’t do shit about it. Loving someone is not always enough Steve. It’s just the beginning. I – I won’t keep my love a secret. I don’t want ten angry sensual minutes in the broom closet. I want walks in the park and two dogs and a cat. I want picnics with our family and pictures that are not restricted to my room. You can’t give me that. You won’t.”

She had run out of tears. Her fiancé may not be Steve Rogers but at least he was an honest man who tried his best to love her the way she deserved. She had met his family and they had met hers; they could post pictures on social media with cheesy captions and hold hands as they drank coffee from a cheap corner place.

“You can never love anyone like you love me” It was a sulky declaration by a hurt lover and she almost cooed to him like a mommy consoling her baby. Steve may have been older to her in years, but when it came to love he was an immature brat.

“That may be true, but I will try. I am not Penelope waiting in the balcony for Odysseus to return. I love you, and that love may never fade away. But my life will go on. It is your choice if you want to be a part of it.”

She faced him, her eyes open and clear. He didn’t know when the little girl who needed help to reach the jar on the shelf had grown up in this headstrong woman who could beat a sailor when it came to cursing. But he couldn’t bear the thought of her staying like this in someone else’s bed, looking at them the way she looked at him. Steve rarely coveted something in his life, but he didn’t realize until now how much he coveted her love. If he lost that, he feared he would lose himself.

“Your father is going to kill me” Steve groaned, and she laughed. Her head was on his chest and an arm around his torso.

“We can elope, you know. Run away and get married. It will be too late to do anything then. You’ll be stuck with me.”

“Did you just propose to me?” Steve questioned and she nodded, her eyes naughty.

“I’m always a step ahead of you Captain. I figured you would take another month at least to ask and I have wasted too much time already.” She whispered against his lips. He leaned up to kiss her deeply, unhurried for the first time. It was like their first kiss all over again, like two star-crossed lovers smashing through their final obstacle and uniting. Steve didn’t know how he had survived so long without having her like this, but as his hands found her soft curves, he swore he can’t go a day without it.

“Stop stop!” She said, pushing his chest and rolling away from him. “We’ve waited this long. You’re not getting your dick wet until you finally commit to me.”

Steve looked more dumbfounded than offended and responded by finally taking off the ring on her finger and throwing it away carelessly.

“I’ll steal the Quinjet, meet me in the hanger in half an hour. Don’t pack shit. We’ll make one stop for the rings and get the first officiant I can find to marry us. We’ll probably be back by breakfast. And then,” His arm wound around her waist “I will lay rest to the sexual tension of years by getting my dick wet. Repeatedly.”

+++++

It was to be expected that Tony’s daughter wouldn’t do anything halfway through. A flair for dramatics was her inheritance and she and Steve walked into the compound newly married in rumpled night clothes and shit eating grin. They found everyone eating in the kitchen, and greetings stopped halfway when the rest of the team noticed their clasped hands.

“What the fuck…” Bruce said, half eaten celery dangling from his open mouth.

Y/n flashed them her award-winning smile and showed the matching rings on her and Steve’s hand. It was a riot under a minute, chairs scraping as they crowded them, trying to see if it was a joke. Then just as suddenly everyone stopped and Tony stepped forward, a spatula in his hand that to Steve looked as threatening as a gun.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Tony shouted and Steve flinched. He looked at Y/n but all she did was wear a smug look on her face that should be illegal in about three continents. “You little bitch! You are supposed to be from the 90s! You were supposed to ask her hand from me like a gentleman you sick little fuck!”

Steve blinked in confusion while she laughed, hopping like a little girl to hug her father.

“Pay up, daddy! You owe me 500 bucks.” She said and Tony groaned, pulling out his wallet and handing her crisp five 100s.

“I – what? What happened?” Steve sputtered, still surprised he wasn’t being beaten by the Iron Legion.

“You weren’t supposed to elope you bastard. Always knew chivalry was dead!” Tony huffed then went back to cooking. “Congratulations by the way. Fucking finally. I’m not surprised my girl had to do everything anyway. She’s taken after me.”

This was a plot twist Steve never expected and he looked at his new wife with a look of horror on his face that could only be translated to as ‘what the fuck have I gotten myself into’.

“I told you baby, I’m always a step ahead of you.” She said, trying and failing to blush like a bride.

+++++

Taglist is open

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #tony x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

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onlyfreds · 3 years

Text

Unravelling Love’s Mystery | F.W.

Title: Unravelling Love’s Mystery

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Fred and Y/N had bad blood between them ever since their first year at College. But when they are partnered up for a project, what could go wrong?

A/N: This is my first time writing an enemies to lovers so, I hope I was able to give it justice.

In my opinion, love is the greatest mystery of all, probably even the mystery that no one can come to solve. It will always be a mystery on how two people fall in love, how two people come to have this mutual understanding and affection.

Love brings many emotions to a person: heartbreak, anger, a sense of longing, but those people who have found their one true love, they feel joy, peace, a sense of satisfaction.

And love can come to the most unlikely pair, who would have thought that two childhood best friends end up together? Who would have thought that your soulmate happened to be your grumpy boss?

In my case, I ended up with the most unlikely contestant, my sworn enemy, Fred Weasley.

The Psychology of Love, that was our lecture topic for today. Don’t get me wrong, it is quite an interesting topic. But there was one person in the whole universe who could make the tables turn, and that was an arrogant, stubborn, and increasingly annoying classmate of mine named Fred Weasley.

“Okay class.” Professor McGonagall started the lecture as the latecomers settled into the remaining seats, “As you may have figured out from your essay that is – in fact - due today, our lecture is about the Psychology of Love.”

She looked at all of us with a stern but gentle look, “Now, which one of you can tell me who developed the triangular theory of love?”

My hand, along with Fred’s, promptly shot up in the air. McGonagall looked at us, a bit bored, if you ask me, as it was always the two of us.

“Mr. Weasley.” She called.

Fred stood up, throwing me a smug smile from across the hall.

“American Psychologist, Robert Sternberg is the one who developed the triangular theory of love.” He answered, sitting back down when he finished.

I rolled my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest, wanting so badly to smack him at the back of the head with my textbook to wipe that smug smirk of his face.

“Very good Mr. Weasley! Now, who can state all the three components of love that can be found in Robert Sternberg’s theory?” Our Professor asked.

Fred’s hand and mine both shot up to the air again, we exchanged a challenging look. It was another race, another competition to prove who’s better, who’s the best. Because only one can be at the top.

“Ms. L/N.” McGonagall called.

Fred wore a defeated look as I stood up from my seat, “The three components of love is: intimacy – which is defined as the closeness between people in personal relationships -, passion – which is a strong liking or desire -, and lastly, commitment – or being dedicated to the relationship, in my opinion, it is the most important component. Because intimacy and passion won’t prevail if there is no commitment in the relationship.”

She smiled, “That’s a perfect answer Y/N! Very well explained!” She praised.

I sat back down as McGonagall started to discuss, not being able to help the proud smile on my lips.

“Any more questions?” Professor McGonagall asks as she ends her presentation. Silence spreading through the lecture hall.

“Okay then, now before I dismiss you, I’ll briefly discuss your project. You are to make your own theory about love and you will do it in pairs. And I already decided your partners for you. I will read them aloud right now. There will be no complaining and no switching of partners.”

She then pulled up a file on her laptop and started reading out loud the names of the partners. That was until she read the last pair of names.

“Fred Weasley and Y/N L/N.”

“What?!” I whispered, turning to my best friend, Hermione, who was sitting next to me.

“Did I hear correctly? Out of every single person in this lecture hall, I’m partnered up with Fred?”

She nodded, “Yes, you heard correctly.”

I groaned, sinking back into my seat, “This is officially the worst project ever.”

Ginny chuckled, patting me comfortingly on the shoulder, “Well, as much as I feel sorry for you Y/N. It’s not like you have a choice.”

Even if Ginny is Fred’s younger sister, she was nothing like her brother. To be honest, I was friends with all the Weasleys, except Fred. It’s actually hard to believe that he came from the same family.

I glanced over to the side and saw that Fred wore the same look of horror on his face as he ranted to his buddies.

I stood up, shouldering my backpack as I marched down the steps towards McGonagall’s desk, vaguely aware that Fred was hot on my heels.

“Professor.” I said, “You can’t do this to us.”

She raised a brow at us, “Do what?”

“Partner Y/N and I up together for the project.” Fred answered.

“Why is that?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

I sighed, fiddling with the strap of my bag, “Professor, you know how Fred and I feel towards each other.” I said, glancing at Fred.

He ran a hand through his hair, “I hate to agree with her Professor, but she’s right.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, “Well, you two will just have to work with it. Like I said, no switching partners. And may I remind you Mr. Weasley and Ms. L/N, that this project contributes to 60% of your final grade. So, it’s either you give both of your best or you both fail.” She said, before walking out of the door, leaving both Fred and I alone in the now deserted lecture hall.

Fred groaned as he leaned against the desk, “What are we going to do now.”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest, “Well, it’s not like we can do anything about it. Unless you want to fail, of course.” I said, before walking out of the hall, in search of Hermione and Ginny.

“No matter what you do.” Hermione said, looking up from her project with Ron, “You can’t avoid it. So, go and get this whole thing over with. Unless you want to fail.”

It’s been a week since McGonagall gave the project, and Hermione was right.

I groaned, taking my stuff as I walked towards the door of our dorm, “Well, failing is never an option.” I said, as I headed towards the library, where Fred and I agreed to rendezvous.

“So, what should we do?” I asked, sitting down in the seat across him.

He shrugged, not bothering to look up from whatever he was writing, “Well, in case you weren’t listening, we are supposed to make a theory about love.”

I took out my textbook and my laptop, placing it in front of me, “Obviously I know that. What I’m asking is what is our theory?”

He shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I asked.

He sighed, finally looking up from his work, “I thought you were smart.” He said sarcastically, “You can’t even understand something as simple as ‘I don’t know.’”

It took all of my willpower to bite back a retort, “Look Weasley, I am trying so hard to be nice to you. I don’t want to be here and neither do you. So, will you please stop being so arrogant and stubborn so we could get over with this?”

Fred scoffed, “Me? Being arrogant and stubborn? I’m sorry, but I’m trying my best to make this work because I don’t want to fail just because of a self-centered, ignorant little minx like you.”

“Me?” I said, “So, all of a sudden, it’s my fault? I don’t want to fail either Weasley. And I didn’t ask to be paired up with you. You think you’re so good and you’re so much better than anyone else! When in reality, there’s always someone better than you!” I spat as I abruptly stood up from my chair.

Fred followed suit, towering over me due to the difference in height, “Oh yeah? And who might that be? You?”

He scoffed, “Of course it’s you! It’s always you! You think you’re such a genius! You act so tough and strong but in reality, you’re a coward, you’re a failure. You think that you’re so perfect, that you’re so flawless. But let me tell you, you have flaws. Everyone has flaws.”

“So, you think you’re so perfect then.” I said, glaring up at him, feeling a rush of emotion crash down on me, all at the same time.

“At least I know that I could fail and I work hard to avoid that. You on the other hand, don’t. That’s the difference between the two of us.” He said, not backing down.

That was when it felt like the whole world was crashing down on my shoulders, that’s when I became overwhelmed, the stress, the emotions, the built-up anger caught up with me. The thick tension in the atmosphere around us started suffocating me.

I collapsed back into the chair I was sitting on earlier, burying my head in my hands, as I slowly broke down into tears.

I heard the chair next to me move as it scrapped against the metal floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I heard Fred’s voice ask, as he gently rubbed my back. I couldn’t come to believe that he was concerned for my well-being.

“Why do you care?” I asked in between tears.

“Because, no matter how much I despise you, my mum always told me that the worst thing a man can do to a girl is make her cry.” He said softly.

I looked up at him, a few tears still dripping down my cheeks, “Are you really concerned? Or you’re just looking for another reason to torment me?”

He smiled at me for the first time as I saw genuine concern in his eyes, “I’m really concerned.” He said, pulling me gently into a hug as I rested my head on his chest.

“So, why are you really crying?” He asked.

I took a deep breath, “I mean, I know I’m not perfect. Nobody is, but my biggest fear has always been failing. I’m an only child and when my parents found out that I’m academically gifted, it made me their greatest treasure, it made me their pride and joy. I’ve always been insecure about that, whether if I’m already good enough or not. And hearing somebody voice out those insecurities, felt a million times worst. That’s the reason why I’m always trying to one up you. Because, if I fail, I would go from my parents’ pride and joy to being the disappointment of the family in a split second. And it’s just so stressful. And with our little argument, I just got so overwhelmed by my emotions that I had to let it all out.” I explained.

At the back of my mind, I was aware of Fred’s demeanor changing in a snap. From the person I despised whom I was screaming at minutes ago, to the person who was now bringing me comfort. He handled me so gently in my fragile state, as if I was made of glass, that it would have been hard to recognize him as my sworn enemy.

To anybody who would pass by, they would’ve been so confused at the sight. Me with my head on Fred’s chest, as he comfortingly rubbed my back while his other hand gently ran through my hair as he apologized over and over again.

I just wanted to stay in our small bubble. I wouldn’t admit it out loud but, I like this side of Fred better, the quiet, caring, gentle side of him.

“We’re not so different after all.” He said, breaking the silence that lingered between the two of us.

“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly confused.

Fred started to explain, “The pressure that’s being put down on us. Well, you’ve met Bill, Charlie and Percy, right? Bill’s prefect and head boy and he’s got amazing grades. Charlie has a very successful business. And Percy is basically the epitome of the perfect student. So, this puts a lot of pressure on me. That, in order to make Mum and Dad happy, then I have to be just like them. That’s why I’m always trying to compete with you. So, we’re not that different after all.” He finished with a reassuring smile.

I looked up at him, offering a small smile, “You’re right. Why don’t we call a truce for now? And when the project’s finish and being friends doesn’t work out for us, then we can go back to our old ways.” I said, offering my hand.

He took it and gave it a small shake, “Deal. And don’t you hate agreeing with me?”

I shook my head, “No. Because: one, I like this side of you better. And two, you do have a point.”

“Falling for me already L/N?” He teased.

I laughed, shaking my head, “In your dreams Weasley.”

We then started to work, sharing our ideas and concepts and working it out together.

We decided to call it a day when it was around 1 in the morning.

“So, we’ll rendezvous same place tomorrow?” I asked.

He nodded, “Sure.” Then he started fidgeting with the strap of his bag.

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked, seeing his nervousness.

He gave a shy smile, “Well, it’s just that your dorm is 6 blocks from here. And I just don’t want you to walk out there alone. So, if you want, you can stay at my dorm for the night, I’ll even sleep on the couch. But, if you’re not comfortable with that, then I could always walk you home.”

I chuckled, “Should I be suspicious if you have any hidden agenda on taking me back to your dorm?” I joked.

Fred laughed, raising his hand in mock surrender, “I have no such intentions. I’m only worrying about your safety. Like I said, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I smiled, “Okay then. I’ll just send a quick text to Hermione so she wouldn’t worry about my whereabouts.”

I took out my phone, searching for Hermione in my contacts and sending a text to her.

>Hey ‘Mione. I’m not coming home tonight. I’ll be staying the night at Fred’s place.

I received her reply immediately.

>Woah, woah, I thought you despised him and his whole existence? What made you want to stay the night at his place?

<We called a truce, see how being friends works out for the both of us. Turns out we’re similar in a lot of ways.

>Yeah, and that includes staying the night at his dorm?

<Hermione, I’m ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. He deserves a chance. Besides, he swore that he has no hidden agenda and he’ll be sleeping on the couch.

I blushed as I read her reply, secretly hoping that Fred didn’t notice.

>Okay, I’m not saying that you’re making a reckless decision. But, at least the two of you are putting your differences aside. Who knows? You two might end up together.

>Hermione!

<What? I’m just saying ;)

“So,” Fred said, standing by my side a bit awkwardly, “What did she say?”

I licked my lips, “She’s fine with it.”

He grinned, “Okay then, let’s get going then.”

When we arrived at his dorm, it was more organized than I expected it to be.

“Your roommate is George, right?” I asked, placing my bag on a nearby chair.

He nodded, “Yeah. But he’s at Angelina’s dorm, so we basically have the place to ourselves.”

He headed to his room, coming out with a sweater and a pair of shorts in his grasp, then handing them to me.

“The bathroom is down the hall to the left.” He said as I gave him a grateful smile.

After I had changed, Fred had already set up his makeshift bed on the couch.

I bit my lip as I pulled my hair back into a messy bun, I felt like this was too much. I know that Fred was trying to make a good impression on our new-found friendship, but I didn’t want to abuse his kindness.

“Fred, I appreciate that you’re trying to make a kind gesture, but I’ll take the couch.” I said, gently.

He shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “No, it’s fine. I insist.”

I placed my hand on top of his, “You’re already letting me stay here for the night. So, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. Let me be the one who’s doing something for you other than glare and bicker.” I joked.

He laughed, “Okay, fine. But just because that I have a feeling that if we go on, we’ll never meet the end.”

After turning the lights off, we then took the break we both can agree we deserve.

I woke up at 5 am, surprisingly, the couch was extremely comfortable and I haven’t felt this rested ever since my first year of College.

I stretched for a bit, for the first time in my life, I felt lazy. Turning onto my side, giving myself five more minutes of peace and tranquility before I had to get up. I took a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scent of Fred from the sweater I was wearing, which just added to the calm atmosphere in my little bubble of relaxation.

Five minutes transitioned into an hour, that’s when I knew that I really had to get up.

I slowly walked to Fred’s room, opening the door a bit to take a peek inside.

The ginger was still fast asleep, his hair sticking up in all directions while his soft snores bounced of the walls of the room.

I leaned against the door frame, vaguely aware of the small smile that had seem to grow on my lips. I had to admit, he looked kind of cute.

I headed to the kitchen, deciding to cook some breakfast for the two of us.

“Smells good.” Fred said as he emerged from his room an hour later, just as I had finished cooking.

He sat at the table as I slid his plate of pancakes in front of him.

He raised a brow, “Should I be suspicious if you have any hidden agenda in making me pancakes?” He asked, quoting my words from the previous night.

I laughed, sitting down on the seat across him, “Not at all. Just think of it as a token of my appreciation.”

He then took a bite as I watched him closely in anticipation.

“It’s better than anything I’ve ever had before.” He said with a small grin.

I breathed out a breath that I hadn’t realized that I was holding in, “Thank goodness.” I said.

“You know,” Fred said a few moments later, “For someone who I’ve been on bad terms with ever since our first year of College, you’re an amazing cook.”

I chuckled, “It’s kind of funny isn’t it? We’re in our last year of College and we’ve done nothing but spend the last three years bickering and all that stuff.”

The door of Fred’s dorm suddenly flew open as George stepped in.

“Hey Freddie, I’m home! Woah.” He was suddenly taken aback at the sight of Fred and I sitting at the dining table.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” He said, “Because I am seeing the two of you in the same room and there’s no tension in the air.”

I smiled, “Yeah, we decided to call a truce to work on the project and we would see how being friends works out for the both of us.”

“You’ve got to try her pancakes mate.” Fred piped in, “There’re the best you’ve ever tasted.”

George took the fork that his brother offered him, “Merlin! I never knew you were a cook Y/N.”

I chuckled, “It’s just something I work on in my free time.”

“Looks like being friends would work out in more than one way for the both of you.” He said with a small wink.

After breakfast, Fred walked me back to my dorm, because we both knew how much of a worry-wart Hermione can get.

“So, I’ll be seeing you in the library later?” He asked.

“You bet.” I said, before entering my dorm.

Hermione and Ginny were waiting for me inside, to my surprise, they didn’t bombard me with questions.

“So, how was giving Fred the benefit of the doubt?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

I shrugged, plopping my bag down on the couch, “It was pretty good.”

Ginny placed her chin on her hand while her elbow rested on the table, “A little birdy told me that you cooked breakfast for Fred.”

I playfully rolled my eyes, “Let me guess, the birdy was named George. And yes, I did make breakfast for Fred and I. It was just a token of my appreciation.”

“Yeah, right.” Hermione muttered under her breath with a small smile.

“I heard that Hermione.” I said, causing the two of them to burst out into laughter.

We only had a week left to complete the project.

Fred and I were sitting in the library, laptops running, there was almost no more space on the table with the number of books that were opened on top of it.

As I was drafting out the key points in our theory, when Fred tapped me on the shoulder, handing me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” I said, taking the cup from him and taking a small sip, “How much is it?”

“It’s on me.” He said, “You already paid for the printing of the project, the least I could do was get you some coffee.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, the sound of the typing on the keyboard being the only noises that could be heard.

“So, what happens to us after this project?” Fred suddenly asked.

I stopped typing, looking up at him, “Well, it looks like being friends seem to be working out for us.”

Fred chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I actually kind of like it when you’re smiling and you’re not shooting me glares and stuff.”

“Ditto.” I said, “Ever since I’ve discovered your soft and sweet side, I don’t want that to change.”

“But is being friends enough for us? What if one of us wants more?” He asked.

I looked at him, slightly confused, “What do you me-“ but my sentence was suddenly cut short, when he crashed his lips to mine.

I placed my hand at the back of his neck, pulling me closer to him as he rested his hands on my waist.

He then lifted me up and set me down on a free space on the table, kissing me as if there was not tomorrow.

We pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, both of us blushing like mad.

“That’s what I mean.” He whispered, “Because I love you. More than a friend, more than my enemy. I want you and nobody else but you. So, will you be mine?”

I giggled, pulling him in for another kiss before answering, “I’d love nothing more than to be yours.”

“Unravelling Love’s Mystery.” Professor McGonagall read the title of our theory as Fred and I stood in front of her.

Class has already been dismissed, the three of us being the only ones left in the room.

“Your theory was very interesting.” She complimented, “Especially since you two found it fit to insert your own love story in it.”

Fred and I smiled, “Well Professor, we thought that it went with the central theme of the theory.”

McGonagall offered us a smile, “The two of you have the most outstanding project in the class. I have graded it with full marks.” She said.

I felt Fred interlock our hands together, “Thank you Professor.” We both said.

Then Fred placed an arm around my waist, placing a kiss on my temple, “As much as we would love to stay and chat Professor, we have to go so we don’t miss our date at the movies.”

Our professor laughed, “Go on ahead, don’t let me stop you. I have been working at this institution for years, but the two of you are the cutest couple I have ever seen.”

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting @wand3ringr0s3 @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading (If you are crossed out, that means I can’t tag you)

#fredweasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fredweasleyimagines #fred weasley fluff #fredweasleyfanfic #fredweasleyoneshots #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fredweasleysmut #fred weasley angst #hpimagines #college!au #muggle!au #enemies to lovers

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bonvoyagenoona · 4 years

Text

The Road to You (M) | 01: Call to Adventure

The Road to You | Masterpost

Word Count: 13,125 | read on ao3

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary

Armed with your quick wit, creative passion, talent for storytelling, and innate understanding of your fanbase, you have met every challenge, surpassed every goal, and achieved the unimaginable. Despite the earth shifting erratically under your firmly planted feet, you’ve always had a plan. You’ve made peace with the sacrifices you’ve had to make, and you’ve long forgotten the rejections and heartbreaks that came as a result. Your agent keeps reminding you that you’re at the precipice of something new, that your audience is waiting for your next project with bated breath. This is usually when you thrive. So why do you feel so lost? And who can you count on from your past to help you find your way?

Chapter Excerpt

“I’m just trying to get the point across that people are hounding me for your next project, and I feel like I’ve said it every other way already,” Sejin responds.

“You must really be desperate if you’re starting to get graphic.”

“I am.”

As you flop back down onto your couch, you feel a quick dose of reality hit you. You know that everyone is riding Sejin because your show was amazing. It was your first baby, the culmination of years spent studying, building, and honing your craft. You and your team really build something wonderful. Your cast and crew were bawling during the entire last week of production. Over the previous five years, you had faced production issues, PR crises, show misfires, actor drama, writer drama, fan drama, and the threat of cancellation. But you also found lifetime friends. By the end, you had created one of the best shows out there. You even found love.

And now, all of it was just over.

The reason you haven’t sent so much as three words to Sejin is because you’re terrified that you’ll never find any of it ever again.

Content Warnings: Anxiety/mental health issues, panic attacks are mentioned, hard and soft smut

Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld | the road to you @aliceollormusic (reply here if you want to be added!)

01: Call to Adventure

Your phone rings, and your manager’s triumphant face, stained with smears of blackberries from a pie eating contest, pops up on the screen.

“It’s called Return to Innocence!” you exclaim.

“What are you talk---”

“The song!” you exclaim. “The song that I’ve been trying to figure out for like a million years now? The song from the 90s that would be on those commercials for greatest hits compilations, the earthy, spiritual ones that have Enya and Yanni on them? I kept going on and on about it, how I’d be up writing late at night and see those old commercials with this song on them, and I finally figured it out! The song is called Return to Innocence, and it was by a German group called Enigma, and it was released in 1994, but it got really popular when it was on some commercials for the 1996 Summer Olympics---”

“Get out of your Wikipedia rabbit hole,” your manager’s brusque voice says from the other end of the line.

“But I didn’t even use Wikipedia!” you exclaim, laughing deliriously. “I was watching this choir concert online, and there was a chant done by the Amis people in Taiwan, and I thought it sounded a little like that song, and I realized that I had been searching with all the wrong key words because I had thought it might be a Native American or Inuit chant, and that kept taking me to different videos where---”

“I guess I’m glad that you’re at least awake,” your manager cuts in. “I wasn’t sure if 3 PM was too early for you.”

You check the clock and make a face.

“Sorry, Sejin,” you say, only now remembering that you were supposed to join him for a conference call an hour ago.

“You owe me at least two more of those,” Sejin mutters. “You also missed the book jacket photo shoot that we rescheduled for this morning, and I still haven’t seen any emails.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”

Sejin slams his car door.

Silence.

And then Sejin says, “It’s actually fine. The conference call was a waste of time. And when you didn’t show up to the shoot an hour early like we talked about, I canceled and said that we decided to go with a text cover for the book. I paid the photographer anyway, by the way. Tipped extra. That’s time they saved for their clients and can’t get back.”

“Sure, that’s perfect,” you say brightly, leaning back in your seat on the couch. You reach down for your bowl of chips and bring a handful to your face. “So, anyway, the Amis people have this fascinating culture where---”

“Have you slept?” he asks.

“Uh…”

You try to remember what time it was when you last remember waking up. You remember it being dark, but you didn’t know if it was start-of-day dark or end-of-day dark.

“Have you showered?” Sejin asks.

“Probably not,” you reply.

“Probably not? ” Sejin echoes.

“Is today Wednesday or---”

“It’s Saturday!” Sejin sighs and starts his car. “Jesus. I’m coming over.”

You jump to your feet. “No! I’m fine, I swear!” you exclaim. But you’re not. For one, if it’s Saturday, you now know for sure that you definitely haven’t showered, and for longer than you anticipated. A quick scan of your apartment tells you that it’s equally filthy. The trash and dishes are piling up, and you’ve stopped sleeping in your bed, so your couch feels like sweaty mush.

“I’m really worried about you,” Sejin says seriously.

You sigh. It’s a daily spiel at this point, so you know to expect his speech, but you still can’t time it, and you never know when it’s coming.

“Don’t sigh at me. Ever since the show ended, you’ve been acting really weird,” Sejin begins. “It’s been months. No one has seen you. They’re all going off of my reassurance, but I can’t convince them for very long. Unless…”

You roll your eyes. “Unless I send you pages?”

“I just need something to show people,” Sejin explains. “It doesn’t have to be pages. I’d settle for one page. Half a page. I’d nut on a treatment. Hell, I’d blow you for three words.”

You smile at your signature move. Once you became the head writer for a quirky comedy show with a wide and devoted fanbase, you knew you’d have to do something to help set you apart from all the other quirky comedy shows with devoted fan bases. So you set a simple game in motion with your writing staff. Each episode’s title would be the last three words spoken in that episode. It could be the same character. It could be three different characters. It could be groups of people. It could be an inner monologue. It was a small thing, but it was fun for the writers to play around with.

“Please don’t talk about what you’d sexually do to my writing ever again,” you say, chuckling.

“I’m just trying to get the point across that people are hounding me for your next project, and I feel like I’ve said it every other way already,” Sejin responds.

“You must really be desperate if you’re starting to get graphic.”

“I am.”

And now, all of it was just over.

The reason you haven’t sent so much as three words to Sejin is because you’re terrified that you’ll never find any of it ever again.

“OK,” you say. “I hear you.”

“So, keep hearing me. Let’s talk it all out. I’m coming over, and I’m bringing you some real food. Definitely bringing you a green juice, so prepare to choke that down. And don’t drink or take anything else other than water, alright?”

“Alright,” you say.

“Be there in half an hour.”

You hang up.

That gives you half an hour to disappear.

You rush into your bedroom and throw a week’s worth of clean clothes into your carry-on luggage. You set your arm straight across the counter and sweep all of your toiletries and makeup into your tote. You twirl around the room and collect all of your electronics and chargers. And you pack all of your things into your small, bird dropping-covered sedan.

Sejin calls you every fifteen minutes after he gets to your house. There are five missed calls on your phone by the time you reach the border of the town where you grew up, just over an hour away.

You smile as you pass the charming sign welcoming you back. You always found it sweet that the signs in your town treated everyone, regardless of if they had been there or not, like they were coming home.

As you turn the corner and drive up the street to your childhood house, you see your baby brother Youngho walking out the front door to greet you in the driveway.

You put the car in park and roll down the window, looking up at him in surprise.

“How’d you know I was here?”

He rests his hands on your car door and leans toward you. “Sejin called me about a half-hour ago, when he realized where you were escaping to.”

“What’d you tell him?” you ask.

“I told him that you weren’t here, and then I told him to fuck off!” Youngho laughs, making you cackle. You high-five, and Youngho reaches for your car door handle.

You so admire your younger brother for teaching you what it means to have someone’s back, no matter what. He’s grown into such an amazing person, an intelligent mind that is fueled by the kinds of big, life questions that people don’t expect a lead chemist to have. He understands that the answers to the life questions often lie in the little things.

He’s grown into a caring husband and father, and you’ve enjoyed watching him pass on his traits to their adorable baby girl, your first and only niece. They share his emotional nature, quick to anger, but quicker to forgiveness. They share his uncanny ability to make you laugh, no matter what state you’re in. And most importantly, they exude the same kind of warm love that your parents instilled in you, always starting with people from a place of understanding, always giving people the benefit of the doubt, and always trusting people at their word until giving you a concrete reason not to, a perfect balance of logic and empathy.

He opens your door as you shut the engine off, and as you get out, he walks back to the trunk, which you just opened. Youngho diligently starts unloading your things, and you tsk at the state of your car.

“I’ll take it for a wash,” Youngho says. “Just let me get your things upstairs.”

“No,” you say, “I’ll take it. Why don’t I pick up food for dinner, while I’m at it? Get your groceries done?”

Youngho smiles as he drags your belongings up to you. “That’d be great, thanks. I think Yunnie has the list on her phone. She’s inside playing with Mi-cha.”

“I’ll go say hi before I head back out,” you say cheerfully.

You turn and head toward the front door, but you feel Youngho grab your sweater sleeve and tug on it,

You face him, and he looks a little more serious.

“Noona,” he begins, “why are you here?”

You take a deep breath and look at the ground.

“Is it like last time?” he asks you.

You nod.

“OK.” His empathic gaze lingers. “I’m sorry. I just needed to know. No more questions.”

“Aw,” you say, pulling your concerned baby brother into a hug. “I know I’m kind of a mess right now… and you can ask questions, no problem. I’m just having a bit of a rough time, that’s all.”

He nods. “Yeah, I can smell it on you,” he says pointedly.

You laugh and push him away from you. “Sorry. After I say hi, I’ll jump into the shower and then head out.”

Mi-cha’s giggling and Yun’s delighted gasps lead you to the floor in the living room, where Yun is tossing baby Mi-cha into the air and making funny faces.

“My two favorite girls!” you exclaim, and Mi-cha and Yun both look up at you excitedly.

“Unnie!” Yun exclaims. She pulls Mi-cha to her chest and cradles her as she sits up. “See, Mi-cha? Your gomo’s here! Say hi to auntie!”

“Mo!” Mi-cha laughs, looking up at you. “Mo! Mo!”

“Baby girl!” you cheer, waving at her and making faces.

“Mo-mo-mo!” she cheers back.

Yun hands your precious niece to you before she gets to her feet, and as you hold Mi-cha close to you, she happily claps your cheeks with her hands.

“Be nice to gomo,” Yun chides, and smart Mi-cha heeds her almost immediately, resting her tiny hands on your cheeks and softly touching you in wonder instead.

You kiss Mi-cha on the forehead, and she babbles happily.

“Can you believe she’s almost a toddler?” Yun asks, out of breath.

“Aw, she’ll always be our baby girl,” you insist, looking up at Yun and smiling.

Yun is a beautiful, kind woman. She’s quiet unless she’s particularly excited or distraught about something, and not just something trivial, but something important. Something that really necessitates that level of volume and attention. She’s an even bigger people-pleaser than you, regularly going out of her way to greet people she peripherally knows, even if they’re across the street or rushing on their commute, just to make sure it doesn’t get back to her mother than she ever failed to say hi to any friend or family member. But with Mi-cha, Yun has learned to let go of keeping up appearances. In doing so, her beauty has evolved. Her arms are stronger from picking up and holding Mi-cha. Her skin is thicker from a tough pregnancy, and she’s better able to navigate when to hold strong and when to let things go. Now that she is a mother, something that she had been craving for so long, she looks more fully herself.

“You’re amazing, Yunnie. Look at this bright ray of sun,” you say, admiring Mi-cha, who now has her fingers in your nose.

Yun laughs and takes Mi-cha back from you.

“Wanna get settled in?” she asks, as you hear Youngho bringing in the last of your luggage.

“Yeah, just a quick shower, and then I’ll pick up your grocery list and some dinner,” you reply.

Yun sighs and widens her eyes. “Bless you.”

You go upstairs to the bedroom where you spent years forming your identity. Your parents have retired in a rural town a few hours away and left the house to your brother and his new family. Everyone has insisted on keeping your room pristine for you when you stay, though in a couple of short years, you’ll be moving your things out or to the attic to turn it into Mi-cha’s room. It’s almost scary just how preserved everything is, and you feel like you’re in a museum about you as you bring up your luggage and glance at all your old things. Books. Concert posters. Stuffed animals, Movie ticket stubs. Journals.

So many damn journals. All shapes and sizes. College-ruled. Wide-ruled. Hardcover. Softcover. Fluffy, sparkly pink journals. Serious black leather-bound ones. Each page, filled.

You think of your writer’s block, and you wonder if Past You can help you out.

You start the shower in your bathroom. The water takes a while to heat, so you sit on the foot of your bed with a stack of selected journals. You start with one of the serious-looking black ones, which you know is from your college years.

October 16th

I wish I had more friends. Not because I feel lonely, but because I wish I had another pair of eyes to help me deduce whether this TA is actually staring at me when I think he is. I feel his eyes linger on me whenever we talk about my work. I don’t know if he’s like this with other students. It feels meaningful for some reason. And I can’t deny that I’m starting to romanticize it in my head. I think I’m developing a bit of a crush, and I miss the days where you had a built-in buddy system, not defined by anything other than geographic location, that would giggle and gossip with you as you tried to process your feelings. Right now, I’m feeling the butterflies, but I wish I weren’t feeling them all on my own.

You smirk at Past You, knowing what’s in store for her with that mysterious TA.

You grab another journal, one that’s frilly and covered in stickers.

July 9th

I think I’m about to do it. I think I’m ready. He’s just so cute and sweet, and he isn’t like the guys my friends date. Those guys grunt when they laugh, and they usually spit when they talk. And they pressure them into doing stuff they don’t want to do. But this is different. We’ve talked about it. We want to be safe. And this is more like… doing something because it feels like it’s time. And I’m not even nervous about it. I’m really just so excited.

You wonder if your parents ever found these journals. If they ever read them. If they did, you thankfully didn’t know. They never hounded you about them. But you know your father would have had a stroke at the prospect of his little girl about to have sex for the first time.

Steam is floating in from the bathroom now, so you set your journals aside and jump in the shower. Soon, you’re looking like your normal self. Your hair is no longer dandruff-ridden and fraying around your face in a top knot that’s more like a side-of-the-head knot. Your skin is no longer dull but actually quite shiny, now that you’ve bothered to wash it and go through your typical skin care routine. You throw on a bit of makeup to brighten yourself up even more, and you feel a sense of calm coming over you.

You change into some comfy clothes and head downstairs.

“There she is,” Youngho says, smiling at you. He and Yun are on the couch, watching TV and feeding Mi-cha. She drinks from the bottle so quickly, which makes her burp so loudly. You think of how five-year-old you fondly watched baby Youngho do the same thing.

Youngho lets out a burp, making Yun roll her eyes and Mi-cha squeal with giggles.

“She’ll go down for a couple of hours soon, once the milk hits her tummy,” Yun coos at Mi-cha, who shows no signs of drowsiness. “That frees us up to cook and eat dinner, play with her more after, and then settle her down for the night.”

“Sounds good,” you say. “Did you text me your list?”

Youngho shoots you a thumbs-up.

“I’ll be super quick,” you say, heading out the door.

You take the car to a nearby plaza and stop first at the drive-through car wash. As the metal rods hug your front tires, you place your car in neutral and take a deep breath. You roll into the dark box, watching as the squeegees and brushes do their work.

You find the car wash strangely comforting. Your father figured out that he could get you to calm down after putting you in your baby car seat and taking you through one in a moment of desperation. After that, he resorted to this solution countless times, and each time, he wondered what exactly it was that made you fall asleep. On the surface, it seems like a terrifying place for a little one. Loud noises. Metallic noises. Soap sprays shooting at you. Brushes that whir with intense speed. None of that seemed to bother you, though.

As you grew, your father would continue picking away at this mystery, sharing theories as they evolved. When you were in elementary school, you had a particularly frustrating day with a bully, and he took you through a car wash after picking you up from school. You finally stopped crying, and he told you about your proclivity for car wash drives. He shared that he knew it had to be something related to feeling clean and refreshed afterwards, and he taught you the value of taking care of yourself when things get tough. When you were in middle school, when the story came up at family dinner, he shared a new development in his theory: he wondered if maybe the noises of the car wash brought distraction, giving you something to focus on rather than whatever it was going on in your tiny mind at the time. When you were driving off to college, with all of your things packed in the back, he took the car in for one quick wash, and you both teared up as you rode through. That’s when he shared that he also thought it had something to do with the predictable nature. Every car wash in every station in every part of the world operated in exactly the same way. It was nice for him to share that sentiment then, when all your roads were diverging, and you were nervous about where the one that you picked would take you. It was a reminder that some things do stay the same, and you can rely on those things to help you through.

You felt his hand on yours as the dryers came on, and you watched as the water droplets raced across the glass. It helped stop your own tears from flowing. It helped you focus on what was to come.

You almost feel his hand on yours now, as you shift the car back into drive and park in the grocery store parking lot.

A sense of solace hovers over you as you walk up and down the aisles, thinking of your father. You even start smiling and humming like he does as you pack your cart full with Yun and Youngho’s grocery list items.

You see the kind of dishwashing liquid that they use, and you reach for it, but a hand stops you.

“I thought that was you.”

You turn to see who the hand belongs to, and your eyes widen.

“Jimin?”

He stands before you, his charming baby face recognizable anywhere, just a tiny bit more mature. He’s even wearing a hoodie like the ones he’d wear in high school. Like the one he wore when you lost your virginity to him. Like the one you took to college with you after you broke up at the end of that beautiful summer.

“It’s like I’ve just stepped out of a time machine,” Jimin says excitedly, his eyes poring over you. “You look almost exactly the same.”

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you blush.

“You look great,” he sighs, his eyes settling into yours.

It’s been a while since anyone has told you that, given everything that’s happened.

You blush. “So do you. But you always looked great.”

He loves compliments, and everyone loves going the extra mile to give them to him. The reason why is because he reacts the way he does, like the way he’s reacting now, curling into himself bashfully, kicking at the ground, and smiling dangerously at you while saying something cute like, “Aw, shucks.”

You laugh, and he leans on his cart.

“What are you doing in town?” he asks.

“Me? What are you doing in town?”

You haven’t seen Jimin in person since you went off to college. You’d kept in touch for a little while, but your communication really ended once Jimin went for a semester abroad. It wasn’t for any other reason than life just made it too hard. You both were just moving in different directions.

“Well, I’m only here until Tuesday,” he begins, leaning on his cart. “I got injured a year ago, but that’s a pretty long run for a professional dancer. I’ve since started my own company. We’re up to over 500 dancers now, worldwide. I split my time in different locations throughout the year.”

You grin. Of course he’s still working in arts and entertainment. With that body? And that face? That talent? And that dazzling, megawatt smile?

“So, you’re here on vacation? Visiting your parents?” you ask.

“No, my parents moved down south to be with some family. I’m here on business. Checking in with a client who’s from here, of all places. We’re getting ready to move him to the city and be in the dorms.”

“Future Jimin discovering Past Jimin?” you ask knowingly.

Jimin sighs with his whole body, as if each of his organs is taking a breath of fresh air. He knew you’d understand how special this was to him.

You share a moment with him, the two of you just smiling at each other.

Seeing each other.

“But what about you?” he continues, blinking suddenly. “Are you visiting your parents?” He looks over at the dishwashing liquid. “Is that… is that for your mom?” he asks worriedly.

You laugh. Your overprotective mother certainly made an impression on your first boyfriend.

“No, my parents also moved away. But Youngho and his wife and baby girl live in the house now.” You cough a little. “I’m, uh, just visiting them.”

“Oh, shit. Youngho’s a grownup? And he has a wife? And a baby?”

You and Jimin giggle together, the image of Youngho as a boy flooding your memories fondly.

Jimin sighs again. You catch him readjusting his fingers on his cart handle. You know how grabby he likes to get, and you almost want to shove your cart out of your way and wrap him up in your own arms.

“I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you, but I wasn’t sure how,” Jimin says. “Obviously, I’ve seen what you’ve been up to.”

You just humbly shrug. “All the ideas that we talked about. All that dreaming. I never thought people would ever be into my shit. Who knew?”

Jimin looks at you and bites his lip. “I knew.”

You soften.

“I don’t know if you remember,” Jimin says softly, “but I was pretty into your shit.”

You smile. “I remember.”

He shakes his head, smiles, and straightens. “Fuck. This is crazy. How long are you in town? Can we catch up? Dinner? At my place?”

Your heart skips a beat. He’s still so excitable and in the moment, like a sweet puppy, and you chastise yourself for not remembering how cute he really is.

“I can’t tonight,” you laugh.

“Tomorrow, then!” Jimin exclaims. “Please!”

“Sure,” you say. “I’d love to.”

“What’s your number?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it, opening up a new contact file, and handing it to you.

You enter your number, smiling at the old nickname he’s given you: Princess.

He texts you when you give the phone back to him. You save him in your phone as Prince Jimin, and you text him back a screenshot with his nickname visible at the top.

He looks up at you and smiles so wide that your heart might explode.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.

“Sounds good,” you say, grabbing the dishwashing liquid and pushing your cart to the register.

You can’t help but smile and feel a little flirty as you pack up the groceries and load them into the car. It’s the first time you’ve felt good about something in a while. It might be shallow, but it’s also the first time you’ve felt good about yourself in a while. Muddling through any kind of social situation feels like a thousand paper cuts slicing into your skin, but Jimin always made it so easy. You close the trunk of your car and wonder if Jimin is in the parking lot somewhere, watching you and smiling to himself like he would sometimes from across the classroom, or in a practice room.

You save the family roasted chicken dinner and sides for last, placing them in the backseat so that they won’t tip over.

And then you get into the driver’s seat and head back to the house.

The sun is starting to set. You’ve been gone for almost an hour, but you hope the dinner that you bought makes up for it. You’ve checked your phone, and there aren’t any messages from Youngho or Yun. You figure that no news is good news.

You park and enter the house to find Mi-cha wide awake in Youngho’s arms, Youngho and Yun sitting side by side, their heads resting against each other, both of them completely asleep.

“Mi-cha, Mi-cha, Mi-cha,” you giggle, reaching out for Mi-cha as she babbles excitedly.

You carry her with you and take extra time unloading your groceries one-by-one, narrating what you’re doing to her and showing her each item. You squeal internally as she watches you with rapt attention, seemingly trying to take notes on everything you’re saying. You only move on to the next thing once Mi-cha’s eyes meet yours, and she gives you a seeming nod of approval, letting you know she’s ready.

It takes you twenty minutes to unload everything like this, but Youngho and Yun are thankful for their nap, and you’re grateful to have given them some respite.

You sit with them in the living room as they wake themselves up, rocking Mi-cha quietly as you wait and watch TV on mute. Mi-cha finally starts to show signs of sleepiness, and Yun happily takes the drowsy little one in her arms.

“She might sleep through the whole night with all this excitement,” Yun whispers to you. “I’ll go set her in her crib upstairs, and then I can get started on dinner.”

“Oh, no need, I went ahead and bought some chicken,” you tell her.

“I should’ve married you,” she tells you, and Youngho rolls his eyes.

You and Youngho set the table, and when Yun comes back downstairs with the baby monitor, you begin to tuck into the meal.

“I guess I should start by explaining myself,” you say, when the small talk starts to dissipate.

Yun and Youngo exchange glances.

“Is everything OK?” Yun replies. “You know you’re welcome here anytime. This is your home. We just… y’know. We just want to make sure you’re OK.”

“I’m sorry to barge in,” you say. “And I know I’m welcome, just like you three are always welcome at mine. It’s just been… hard.”

“You’ve said that a couple of times,” Youngho says. “Is it OK if I ask what’s hard? Like, what exactly are you talking about? Is something specific going on? Was there an antecedent? Or a trigger?”

Antecedent. Trigger. Youngho’s using the language that you taught him the last time that you suddenly showed up on their doorstep. It was the start of season five of your show, and you and the team had just decided it was going to be your last. In the two weeks before production started, you had started realizing that you would need to move on with your life in a little over a year, and that scared you. You started realizing that you wouldn’t see the same people at work every day. You wouldn’t be working on the same projects and shows. There would be one-offs or other mini-arcs that would never get resolved. You saw a window closing.

You didn’t know it yet, but you were also feeling the weight of being on the verge of breaking up with your fiance at the time. In a few months, you’d realize that the only thing that you had in common anymore was that show. Without that foundation, your relationship would be doomed.

The panic attacks started happening anytime anyone mentioned anything about the show ending. Then, the panic attacks started happening randomly. Then, the panic attacks started becoming the bulk of your day.

Medication has helped, and you’re off most of it by now. But you know that this is the real test. The other times were just dress rehearsals because you still had a show to put on. Now, you’re free-falling, and you have been for the past six or so months. Though this time has turned you into a veritable recluse, you know it could be worse. You know now that all you need is a time out. You just need to re-center and re-focus on yourself.

Especially if you’re expected to develop and deliver another amazing show.

You explain this to Youngho and Yun, and they smile and nod knowingly. They never judged you for crumbling into a whimpering mess any time Sejin called, but they’re glad that you don’t do it now, not for any reason other than you seem a bit firmer. Bouncier. Like your old-old self. The one who didn’t break apart when she fell. The one who made contagious waves when she landed. The Past You that didn’t care that you really had no business being on any set anywhere, but who still kicked down the door to announce your arrival.

“Stay however long you need,” Yun says.

“And let us know if you need anything else,” Youngho says.

You smile. “Thanks. I’ll obviously do my part while I’m here.”

“Please,” Yun laughs, standing to collect your now-empty plates and put them in the sink, “you’ve helped us out so much already in less than one day. I got to take a whole nap.”

“You saved our lives just getting the groceries,” Youngho chimes in.

You laugh suddenly, and they look at you.

“What?” Youngho says, smiling at you, knowing you well enough to know that something interesting is going on.

“I forgot to mention,” you say, feeling giddy. “I ran into someone at the store.”

“Who?” Youngho asks, and Yun returns to the table with some cookies and coffee for dessert.

“Jimin,” you say.

Youngho’s eyes pop open. “What the fuck? He’s here?”

“Who’s Jimin?” Yun asks excitedly, looking between you and Youngho.

Youngho shakes his head and laughs. “Jimin is the horny young man who defiled my sister.”

“Oh my god, your high school boyfriend?” Yun squeals.

You laugh again, careful not to laugh as loudly as you did earlier, remembering that Mi-cha is asleep.

“I love the stories about him. He sounds so dreamy,” Yun sighs, swooning, and making Youngho frown a bit.

“Well, he’s invited me to dinner tomorrow night,” you say. “Apparently we’re going to catch up.”

“Sure, ‘catch up’,” Youngho says, rolling his eyes and biting into a cookie.

“Don’t be gross,” Yun says in a gushy whine, keeping her eyes on you. “Aw, tell us more! What did he look like? What did he say? What did you say?”

You smile at Yun and share the details of the conversation you had in the dishwashing liquid aisle. You tell them about Princess being saved in his phone. Youngho even chooses to refrain from making a joke about how Jimin might just be doing that because he forgot your name. Because, while that could be the case, though you think it isn’t, it doesn’t matter. It’s all just fun to re-open these chapters and take stock of where you are.

“So,” Yun says, giggling. “You lost your virginity to him?”

Mi-cha starts to stir in her sleep, crying a little bit before moving into a straight-up wail. It’s been hours since her dinner, and she’s probably wet.

“Oh god, thank god, there’s my cue,” Youngho says, standing. “You gals chat.”

He scampers up the stairs, and Yun wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Well?”

You laugh softly. “Well, it was just like anybody’s first time. Awkward. Hilarious.” You soften. “But incredibly, incredibly sweet.”

It’s already the last week of May, but your friends are demanding that you change your dress color and cut to adapt to the new ideas they have for the spring dance. You’re the odd one out, wanting to stick with your golden dress, even though everyone suddenly wants to wear dresses in colors that start with the letter P: pink, periwinkle, plum, pistachio. Your wit still has to be sharpened with time and study, and that arguably foresighted side of you clamps down on your inclination to tell them that you don’t care if they call your dress piss yellow; you are going to wear that golden dress. You say that there isn’t enough time for you to buy a dress in two days, but the real reason that you are so adamant about wearing that golden dress is something you’d never divulge. The real reason is that your parents had dipped into the savings for that month to buy the fabric as a surprise. The real reason is that your mother had been working on that dress for months and is probably making adjustments as you speak. She works so lovingly, and you both adore the cut, style, and fabric. She made the perfect dress for you, like only a mother could.

All of that comes clearer into focus as Jimin comes clearer into focus, running his hand along the painted concrete of the wall, walking toward you with his backpack slung over one shoulder, a habit you’ve reminded him will put unbalanced stress on his shoulders and might affect his ability to dance. When you tell him this, he laughs at you. He’s young. He still thinks he’s immortal.

He joins you, and the girls fall silent. People usually do when he arrives on the scene.

“Hi,” he chirps, and with the way the girls react, he might as well have told them winning lottery numbers.

“Hi,” you say, as he leans over to give you a full, sweet, but chaste kiss on the lips.

“What are we talking about?” Jimin asks, turning to the group.

“Well, we were just thinking about switching our theme around,” you introduce as you gesture to the girls.

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“...So I don’t get to wear my gold suit?” he pouts.

The girls fawn over him.

“No! We never said that!”

“She’s just kidding -- we’re definitely not changing anything!”

“We can’t wait to see your gold suit!”

You smirk at Jimin, who’s playing his part perfectly.

“Oh, phew,” he laughs, even dragging the back of his hand across his forehead for dramatic effect. “I just got the alterations done. The pants were a little loose, so I had them taken in just a bit more.”

The girls find this information to be incredibly tantalizing. You can see the drool collecting in their mouths. You give Jimin’s torso a slap to warn him not to play with them too much, and he doesn’t even budge, making the girls go even crazier.

“If that’s settled, then can I steal her?” Jimin asks, wrapping his arm around your waist.

It doesn’t matter what they say, because you and Jimin are already walking down the hall and out the side exit, taking your stroll home at a leisurely pace, like you usually do.

Jimin breathes out and rubs his tummy.

“Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“Were you flexing?” you laugh.

Jimin grins. “Well, yeah, because you were about to hit me.”

“You played it way too close to the line with the tailored pants thing.”

“Jealous?” he asks, teasing you.

“No,” you say honestly, “it’s just that when you give them little teasers like that, I get pestered. Now, tonight, on the phone, I’m going to be hounded for more… details.”

Jimin sighs softly. He loves your way with words. He loves that you know how to rephrase things. Make them more suggestive. Demure. Coy.

All descriptors that he learned from you, not in a vocabulary lesson, but by watching you work. He likes the space that you both thrive in, reassuring each other but also not pushing each other too far.

He pulls you in closer.

“Instead of making stuff up, you could just… y’know...”

He slows to a stop and faces you head on.

“...Find out.”

You lean into him and meet his lips. He deepens your kiss, and he starts giggling when he takes your fingers, slides them under his hoodie, and traces the line separating his abs down to the waistband of his jeans with your finger.

“Stop!” you laugh, pulling away and looking into his eyes.

He giggles and hums, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

He knows lines well. Really, really well. He thinks about them often. Those lines can be as soft as the pencil sketches he does of you in his notes, or as hard and defined as the line of those abs. His own lines shift and extend when he dances the kind of modern, oftentimes sensual routines that your charming but sleepy town only sees on TV. He knows how to walk those lines expertly, too, giving you just enough of a thrill to tease you, but respecting your boundaries enough to know when to stop. Especially when you tell him to stop.

You walk in silence, enjoying each other’s company and touch as you walk.

And then you say, “I… I think I’m close to wanting to find out.”

He nearly has a heart attack when you say this.

He flops down onto a neighbor’s yard and mimics electricity coursing through his veins.

You laugh and bend down to him, but he pulls you into the bed of grass with him when you extend your hand.

He hugs you close to him, on top of him, and kisses you again.

“My mom’s going to yell at me for getting grass stains on my uniform,” you warn when you pull away, eyeing your crisp, white button down, “and I’m gonna tell her it’s your fault.”

“Get on your feet, then!” Jimin yells in fake fear, though you know he’s secretly terrified of your mom.

You amble down the sidewalk some more, and he’s holding you even tighter than before. The houses on your path are getting smaller and smaller. More comfortable, you like to tell yourself.

“Thanks for thinking of her,” you mumble, thinking less about the uniform, and more about the golden dress.

“She worked so hard on it. My mom worked so hard on my suit, too. These other idiots don’t know what it’s like to save and plan and…”

He sighs.

“Anyway, you and I? We stick together. Right?”

“Right,” you say.

You turn the corner, and you stroll down the street toward your house. Like the perfect prince that he is, he walks you to your door with no hesitation, even though his house is in the opposite direction. It adds an extra 10 minutes to his walk, and you always point out that you can take turns, but he always tells you that he’d rather see you home first, and that he likes all the fresh air after being cooped up inside all day. You tell each other that even if your families had enough money to buy you both cars, you’d still stay true to this little routine. You both really believe that you would.

When you reach your door, Youngho runs outside with a new video game. It hasn’t even been opened yet.

“Are you staying for dinner?” he asks, meeting you as far as the sidewalk, breathless with excitement.

Jimin looks at the game case.

He looks at you, deep desire in his eyes, his body fidgeting.

You sigh. “Just make sure you’re done by---”

The two of them dash inside and scamper upstairs.

“Make sure you’re done by six!” you yell after them.

The days end more or less like this, with special occasions peppered in between. At prom, you and Jimin win the Sweetheart Couple award, and you’re the envy of the dance with your gold, homemade attire, no one the wiser, shining brighter perhaps because of it. Summer is filled with lazy days hanging out with friends, and honestly, hanging out with Jimin in your room, or his room, talking about college and what you’re looking forward to.

Soon, it’s June, and you’re perched at the foot of Jimin’s bed, unsure of how to say what you want to say.

“Jimin?” you ask, as he undoes the tape from his knee from dance rehearsal.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“We’ve been talking about school a lot,” you say.

“I know,” Jimin laughs. “Crazy to think we’re going to be on our own in a couple of months.”

He feels the significance in your silence, and he slowly turns to you to see you chewing on your lip.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, ripping off the rest of the tape recklessly and sitting next to you on the bed.

“Well, I just…”

You sigh. “What are we going to do?” you ask.

Jimin’s face sets firmly into place.

You both knew this was coming. You’ve talked about it in snippets. But you can’t hold under the weight of it anymore. Your foundation is starting to buckle.

You face each other, mirroring each other, one leg bent underneath you, one leg dangling off the foot of the bed.

“If we stay together, long-distance is going to be hard,” you say. “But if we break up, then---”

“Then I won’t even know who I am anymore,” Jimin says.

You smile and take his hand in yours.

“Neither will I,” you say.

He turns your intertwined hands over and kisses your wrist.

“We’ve done the pros and cons list,” Jimin says. “We have our plans, either way. And we love each other no matter what, right?”

“Right,” you say. “I love you,” you throw in, just for good measure.

“I love you, too,” he says, smiling.

You both take a breath. You realize that nothing’s really happening.

“How about on the count of three, we say what we want,” Jimin offers. “Stay together, or break up. Got it?”

You nod. “And if we say different things?”

“Then we talk it out again,” Jimin says, stroking your hair. “Like always.”

This is what you’ve learned to do when you’ve had to make difficult decisions, although, at the time, the difficult decisions were whether to see this movie or that one, or to go to this party or the other. You think it’s something Jimin taught you from when you were in elementary school. It helps that it’s coming in handy now.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you answer.

Jimin steadies himself as he looks into your eyes. You follow suit.

“1… 2… 3.”

“Break up,” you both say.

You both look horrified.

You look like you immediately want to take it back, but you don’t.

Jimin just looks miserable.

“We knew this was a possibility,” he says. “We’re going to different schools… Doing different things…”

You nod. You want to say that you want to take it back. But for some reason, you don’t.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, the tears flowing.

Jimin laughs sadly and pulls your head to his chest, stroking your hair again.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says quietly.

“I don’t want to hold you back,” you say.

“I don’t want to hold you back either,” he says, tears collecting in his eyes now.

“Don’t cry!” you whine. “I’m already crying!”

“But when I see you cry, I cry, too!” Jimin exclaims.

You laugh and sob together, kissing each other hungrily.

And when you go home, you cry more. You call him on the phone, and he helps you settle down. And then when he gets worked up, he calls you, and you help him settle down. And you do this over and over again, taking it in shifts the way you wished you could have taken your walks in shifts, or taken life in shifts. Anything that would have meant that you could have stayed together and seen how your life would have unfolded before you.

That’s why, in July, as you’re sharing your experiences signing up for dorms and roommates, it hits you.

You want your first time to be with Jimin. He won’t take it for granted. He’ll make sure you’re comfortable. You know that whatever happens, it will be a good experience.

You write in your diary about it. You plan for it. You think about what to do. What to say.

The perfect day makes itself known. Your parents are gone with Youngho for an overnight scout camping trip. You lied and said you wouldn’t have anyone over. Jimin lied and said he would be spending the night at his friend’s. You both were good kids, and both sets of your parents take you at your word.

Unlike with other lies, this one doesn’t eat you up inside. You know this has to happen. Right now, you want it more than anything.

Jimin brings you a bouquet of flowers that he’s picked along his walk.

You try not to cry as you wordlessly lead him upstairs to your room, which you’ve decorated with some candles.

Jimin hugs you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder as you find some old scraps from your prom dress. You tie it around the bouquet and set it on your desk, and he presses a kiss onto your neck.

You smile, and you turn around to face him, taking both of his hands in yours.

“It’s important to be clear about consent, so, I just want to say, well… OK, here goes… I want to have sex with you,” you declare, finally.

Jimin’s eyes pop wide open. “Wait, is that what we’re doing tonight?”

You crack up laughing, and he kisses you.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin giggles, “and I appreciate the planning. And the clarity. But you’ve just been so clinical about it.” He puts on a robot voice and stiffens his body. “I. WANT. TO. HAVE. SEX.” He pokes you in the stomach with his fingers, all pressed together like a robot’s would be. It tickles you, his hand making you squeal. “WITH. YOU. TOO,” he finishes, smiling easily afterwards, letting you know he’s just trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m scared that I’ll do something wrong,” you explain, laughing and kissing him.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close.

“There’s no right and wrong. We can just have fun with it, y’know.”

“Was it like that with your first girlfriend?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs. “It’s hard to say,” he reflects. “I don’t think any of that was real.”

You’re touched. You pull him into a kiss, and he takes it all a little more seriously now.

You fall into your bed, helping each other get undressed, Jimin kissing you and telling you how beautiful you are, even when doubt starts creeping in.

Suddenly, you’re on fire, the way you’ve only felt when you’ve been curious and completely alone.

And then, he does some… things. Things with his hands. With his lips. He tells you to tell him if you’re at all uncomfortable, and you’re not sure how to tell him that you’re so completely comfortable with him that you can’t believe you’ve waited this long.

He reaches for the condoms before you have to tell him, and you think you might start crying again at how he takes care of you. How he reads your mind. How he doesn’t push, and how he’s happily content to celebrate the things that you do want to share.

And finally, you’re connected. You feel every inch of him, and it hurts. But it’s a good kind of hurt. One that lets you know that the kind of tension and release you’ve experimented with yourself was only one of a million options, and Jimin is showing you a handful of them now. You’re thankful. These other kinds of tensions and releases are incredible and wonderful.

Afterwards, you lie in your bed, and he holds you so close that you’re having trouble telling which body parts are his, and which are yours.He breathes into you and fights off sleep, knowing that your days are dwindling.

“We can do that again, right?” you ask eagerly.

“Hell yeah! But I’m gonna need a sec,” Jimin replies.

“Not necessarily tonight!” you exclaim, still feeling sore.

Jimin wiggles his eyebrows. “But maybe tonight?”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “So, it was good for you too, right?”

Jimin sets his lips against your ear, and you feel his words as much as you hear them.

“Princess,” he mewls. “It was perfect.”

You feel weirdly proud when Yun sheds a tear for Past You. She tells you that her first time was in a parking lot after a concert with some guy that she dated for a couple of weeks. It was definitely fun, but it wasn’t much more than that.

You search for the Jimin-era journal when you get upstairs, and you climb into bed. You read more entries, skipping backwards and forwards through time, laughing at in-jokes, and tearing up when you read about the fights you had. You cry especially hard when you read the entry that you wrote the day after Jimin left for school. The day you and Jimin officially called it quits.

September 1st. Day One.

Jimin texted me today. He asked me, and I quote, “How do you feel?”

I said, “Good.” He said, “Good. Me too.” And we left it at that.

But I don’t feel good. I feel terrible.

You’re supposed to say that you feel good when people ask you. People want to check in, but they don’t want to carry around your shit along with all the other shit that’s sloshing around inside of them. We all have our wounds, and we all have our crosses to bear, and in the long run, I suppose this won’t matter. That’s why we broke up. We know that there’s going to be so many other things that we’ll need to make room for, and the timing between us, this connection, is just a peek at something greater.

But I also know that you’re supposed to be honest. You’re supposed to tell people the truth. And the truth is that I’m heartbroken. He was my Prince, and I was his Princess. We saved each other. I fear that I have lost the one person who has ever fully understood me, or at least been patient enough to let me figure out who I am. I fear that starting this new chapter without that person in my life is making this more cruel than it needs to be.

I fear that I’ve made the wrong decision.

You cry not for Jimin, but for that feeling. It still haunts you. It’s everything you’re experiencing now.

You feel a little despondent that Past You and current you are still grappling with the same things, still unsure of how to move forward. But you tell yourself that you at least know what moving forward looks like, and you’ll be able to bounce back even sooner than you did that summer.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake, you realize that you never changed into pajamas. You wash up, brush your teeth, and change your clothes. You wonder what you’ll do with the day.

Breakfast with Mi-cha is a fantastic start.

You walk downstairs to see Mi-cha throw her bottle right at Youngho’s face, and though you cackle with laughter, you hurry down the stairs to your brother to make sure he’s OK.

“God, that was a full bottle!” you exclaim.

“Shit,” Youngho complains, “I hope I don’t get a black eye or something.”

“It can’t have been that hard,” you say. “She’s just a baby.”

But Mi-cha gets you back when she slams into you with the back of her head, flailing as you try to pick her up and reposition her more comfortably into her high chair.

Battered and bruised, you and Youngho resort to leaving open jars of mushy baby food on her tray for her to stick her fingers in and lick for breakfast.

You start making some pancakes for you and Youngho, and he smiles.

“Like mom’s?” he asks.

You nod, and he sits at the table, gently cleaning Mi-cha when you start not being able to see her face.

Yun joins you soon, and you set three places of pancakes with chocolate chip hearts in them on the table, letting them eat first as you clean Mi-cha up and set her in her playpen to start her day.

You watch her alternate between staring at the TV, playing with her toys, and babbling to herself with old books.

“Only ten more hours until dinnertime,” Yun sings happily, as Youngho refills everyone’s coffee.

“What’ll you do until then?” Youngho asks, moving to your mug.

You shrug. “Do you want me to babysit Mi-cha while you guys get some more sleep?”

“No, we’re actually taking her to my mom’s for a visit,” Yun says.

“Sunday,” Youngho explains.

“Then I can give her a bath, if you like,” you say. “You both can take your time getting ready. And I’ll probably just putter around while you’re gone.”

“Thank you!” Yun exclaims. “I haven’t had a shower longer than 30 seconds in about a year and a half.”

Youngho pulls her chin up to him and gives her an appreciative kiss. “Couple more years, babe.”

“I know,” Yun says thoughtfully. “But I don’t want them to go by too soon.”

You give Mi-cha her bath, and you play with her in the living room as Yun and Youngho get ready. About an hour later, they join you, and they’re so thrilled with the look you’ve put together for Mi-cha that they do an impromptu fashion show, making her squeal and giggle at all the attention she’s getting.

“My mom is going to love this shit,” Yun laughs, bouncing Mi-cha up and into her arms.

You smile, and Youngho begins the long process of packing up the car with everything they’ll need.

Yun’s eyes find yours, and you know what question is coming.

“No,” you say.

“But you’re so good with her!” Yun exclaims. “Imagine one of your own. Imagine a little one for Mi-cha to play with. To guide. Like you did with Youngho.”

“I’m good with Mi-cha because she’s a down ass chick,” you say, making Yun laugh. “But I don’t know if that necessarily extends to any other babies.”

Yun sighs and looks at you with her dreamy eyes. You know that she truly believes that you’d be a good mother. Like everyone else, she thinks that it’s just a matter of time before you find someone and settle down.

She only knows what you let her see.

You spend the rest of your day lounging around the house, watching TV, snacking, and cleaning up after yourself until you get a call on your phone. You pick it up and see that it’s Jimin. You start feeling giddy, but you aren’t completely sure why.

“Hello,” you answer.

“Well hey there, Princess,” Jimin chirps, and you feel your heart rate increase.

You roll your eyes and smile. “Hi.”

“How’s your day been?” he asks.

“Nice, actually. Really… relaxed,” you decide.

“Hmm, that’s good,” Jimin says.

When he says, it sounds like he’s purring.

“What about you?” you ask, blushing a little at the sound.

“Finishing up some work and getting ready to cook you some dinner,” he says

“You’re cooking?”

He clicks his tongue, and you laugh. For as long as you’d known him, you hadn’t seen Jimin so much as look at a frying pan. The thought of him in the kitchen is too good to be true.

“I can cook now!” Jimin says, whining a little bit.

“Well, then, now I’m extra-excited for tonight,” you say, leaning back on the couch cushion.

“Good, you should be!”

“I just said I am!”

“How’s 7:00 sound?” Jimin asks, and you hear his smile crackle over the phone.

You grin.

“It’s perfect.”

You shower, spend some extra time on your hair, and throw on one of your newer sweaters and a pair of jeans. You put on just a little bit of eyeliner, but you can’t decide if you should put on lipstick.

It’s not a date.

It’s dinner with an old friend.

It’s not like anything will happen.

You put the lipstick on anyway.

And he notices it right away.

“I like that shade on you,” he says, as he slowly raises his eyes from its lingering gaze on your lips, up your cheek, and back into your eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, averting your gaze but smiling.

He guides you into the living room.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“This is a rental,” he says, gesturing for you to sit on the huge couch. “Do you want anything to drink? I was thinking some wine?”

“You thought correctly,” you say, looking around the huge house that you’re sitting in. There are massive framed paintings that you don’t doubt are multi-million-dollar originals. All of the furniture is white. The coffee table has soft, pastel-colored lights shining on the underside of it. You feel like you’re in some weird spaceship that made a pit-stop on Earth to go shopping for art.

Jimin laughs at your expression, returning from the kitchen with two empty glasses and a new bottle of red.

“Really? With all this white furniture everywhere?” you implore.

“I think we can handle it,” Jimin says, scoffing as he pours the wine.

You roll your eyes and find another amazing thing to look at: the impeccable crown molding. It’s ornate yet modern at the same time. You smirk.

“What are you thinking?” Jimin asks quietly but excitedly, sitting next to you and handing you your glass.

“I’m thinking this looks like the rich block,” you say, turning back to him, thinking of the first group of houses that you’d pass on your walk home.

“You’re one to bring up the rich block,” Jimin laughs. “How many writing awards did your show win again?”

You laugh. You’ve stayed modest, only using what you need. But you would be lying if you said there wasn’t an account somewhere that has things set up very nicely for you.

“And you,” you say. “You’re a manager/owner now?”

Jimin shrugs and turns to the side, running his hand through his hair and smiling. He brings his wine glass to his lips. You see a silver ring on his index finger, just popping out of his long-sleeved, crisp, white button-up.

“Do you still dance?” you ask.

“Not really,” he admits.

“You said you injured yourself?” you ask carefully.

“Yeah, shoulder injury.”

Your head snaps up, and he rolls his eyes. “Ironically, it was the other shoulder,” he says, “but you can say you told me so anyway. I know how much you love to say it.”

You smirk, and his easy expression returns to his face.

You chat about where life has taken you, and when you hear a timer beep, Jimin disappears into the kitchen and brings you some food to go along with your conversation. You feel like he just magically conjures the lasagna from the oven. You just can’t imagine him having the patience to make a bechamel sauce and lay each bed of noodles, but he’s telling you the recipe step-by-step from memory, and you decide to believe him in the end.

You sigh, feeling so warm and full at the end of the night that you might fall asleep.

Jimin’s looking at you with soft eyes, and every now and then, light from the traffic outside dances across his face.

“You know what I found?” you ask.

“What?’

“My journals.”

“All of them?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah.”

“Am I in them?” he asks, smiling.

You grin. You pull your phone from your pocket and show him a picture of the entry you wrote after he left for school. “You’re on every page of that one, and probably a couple of others.”

He looks up at you and stares into your eyes.

“What?” you ask.

“You didn’t want to break up?” he asks. “Or you… you regretted it?”

You shrug. “I mean… life is life, but… yeah. The day after you left, I definitely regretted it. And to some degree, I always wondered what might happen if we had tried to stay together.”

Jimin sighs. “I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it that one day. When we were in my room.”

You laugh sheepishly. “I did too.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? We stayed close for a little while,” Jimin said. “We could’ve…”

“I don’t know that we could’ve done anything about it,” you say. “I mean, if you ask me… I guess I figured you were going to do that semester abroad, and then you were touring internationally…”

Jimin nods. “Yeah. It was probably for the best. You might not have gotten your show, somehow.”

“Oh, I definitely wouldn’t have,” you say. “I wrote it after a relationship with someone else.”

You sigh and ease back into your seat, just enjoying the night.

But something feels unaddressed.

Jimin is still leaning forward in his seat, staring at you.

You watch him, and just his look pulls you in closer.

Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“I should probably go,” you say.

“How about on the count of three,” Jimin says, with a smirk, “we’ll tell each other what we think you should do. Stay, or go. OK?”

You take in a deep breath. The giddiness has returned.

“OK,” you say, trying to prepare yourself for whatever happens next.

Jimin smiles, looking down at the table. “Alright. 1… 2…”

His eyes flash up and meet yours.

“Please stay.”

You melt, and when you don’t immediately run for the door, he scoops you up in his arms. They feel so familiar. It’s crazy that you haven’t seen each other in over a decade. You fall back into your patterns so beautifully.

He kisses you, and you realize that he might’ve learned a thing or two since high school. You show him what you’ve learned as well, and he pulls away, giggling.

“What?” you ask, a bit irritated and self-conscious.

“I didn’t think you could get any sexier,” he says. “Your tongue just now? I don’t know. I got shivers. I just… I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile and giggle. “Me neither. It’s like you leapt out of the pages of my journal after I read it.” You pause and look at him. “I do still think about you. Things were so good with you. So easy. Even the hard parts were easy. I sometimes told myself that it was easy because we were so young, but with the stuff that’s going on with me right now… I don’t know if we give ourselves enough credit. I mean, even that night…”

You sigh.

“God, do you ever think about that first night?”

Jimin grins. “Every so often, you’d come to me in a daydream. Or I’d see an ad for your show. And I’d think fondly of you. Wonder what you were like now. Wonder if they got to you. Changed you. But I’m so glad they haven’t. You’re still you. Still perfect.”

You kiss him, touched by his words. And then you say, “Jimin… I think I… I really, really loved you.”

“I really, really loved you, too,” he whispers.

You kiss each other deeply, and he starts to move his head in more and more exaggerated waves, making you feel even warmer. He picks up the pace, and you match him, sprawling across the couch and making room for him to lie on top of you. He kicks his feet out to hover over you, and you moan as he kisses your neck.

“Mmm, lips,” you whisper.

He smiles into your neck. “Oh, these lips?”

You open your mouth to say something, but then he kisses it shut. He pulls back to see your face when he says, “Or these lips?”

You feel his hand rub against the crotch of your jeans, and you sink into the sofa, nearly gasping for air.

“You feel so warm,” he whispers. “Are you wet? I remember how wet you were that night. How quickly you got there for me.”

“Mmhmm,” you say, unable to say much more as Jimin’s fingers start to separate, all of them grazing against you as he rakes his hand up to your belt buckle.

“I can’t wait to taste you again,” he whispers into your ear, straddling you and pushing your arms up and back against the couch cushion.

He kisses down your neck, and he plays with the soft fabric of your sweater until he gets down to the fly of your jeans. He undoes the button and unzips your pants, and he yanks them down your legs, making you startle and shiver a little at the cool air. He sees that your panties are soaking wet, and he moans at the sight of them. He takes off your shoes and socks, and he drags your jeans completely off of you, spreading your legs after he tosses your jeans somewhere behind him. He kneels on the ground and holds onto your thighs, licking at your overflowing pussy.

“God, you taste so good,” Jimin says.

You hear a particularly enthusiastic slurp, and it makes you tremble, how much he enjoys you.

You feel his tongue start to separate your folds even more, and you feel him plunge into your cunt, dart up to your clit, and travel back down.

“Fuck, that’s driving me crazy,” you whine. That’s definitely a new move.

He starts to focus on your clit, now that it’s completely woken up and starting to beg for his attention. He places his lips around it and sucks as he inches his fingers into you. Slow at first, but faster, and deeper, and deeper still as you rock your hips.

“How does it feel?” he asks, watching you writhe.

You whimper something, but you’re not even sure what you say.

You hear him chuckle, which only makes you writhe more.

And then you come when he buries back into you, building it all back up and pushing until you can’t take anymore. Once the waves stop, and you can see again, you sit up and pull your sweater and bra off, tossing it to the side.

Jimin is still kneeling in front of you, rubbing your thighs and watching, waiting, as you float back to him.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jimin says, and you smile at him, brushing back your hair.

“You’re the gorgeous one,” you say. “Stand up and show me.”

Jimin smiles, and he straightens at your command.

He rises to his feet. You lean back on your elbows, licking your lips and swaying a little while you watch him slowly, slowly, unbutton his shirt. Making a show of it, he even folds it and gently sets it down on the couch next to you. You laugh, but when you see that line separating his abs, your eyes grow wide.

Jimin knows he’s thinking about how he would tease you with it, and he’s so glad that he did, because you sit up, magically seduced to it, desperately needing a closer look. You run your finger down that line, and you bite your lip, moaning at how toned he is.

He shivers at your touch, and you smile at each other.

You undo his belt buckle and pull his pants down, letting them rest at his ankles. He moves to lay you back down, but you don’t bend. You pull his boxers down, and his hard cock greets you eagerly.

“Can I?” you ask him.

“I. WANT. YOU. TO. SUCK. MY. COCK,” Jimin says in a robotic voice.

“Do you want me to suck it or slap it??” you scream, as Jimin throws his head back with booming laughter, making you fall in love with him even more.

“Oh my god, I almost don’t even care what you do,” Jimin pants, his laughter dying down. He runs his hand through your hair, and you smile up at him. “I’m just so ridiculously happy to be here with you.”

You sigh. “That’s sweet and all, but I mean, I still want you to care what I do.”

“That’s not what I---”

His head lolls back again, but instead of laughter, a surprised moan comes out of him as you wrap your throat around his length. You pull him out of you slowly, and you kiss the tip with your lips, letting it rest on them and licking his slit with your tongue as you gaze up at him.

“Please do that again,” Jimin begs you.

You smile, and you oblige, and he moans again, so much so that his legs nearly buckle, though the coffee table saves him. He leans back and places his hand down to catch himself. He’s so graceful that even his stumbles look like choreography.

He springs back up and watches as you work. His favorite thing that you do is that you moan and hum. He likes feeling the vibrations in his tip and shaft, but it’s more that he likes that you enjoy yourself when you do it. He didn’t know about that side of you because even you didn’t know about that side of you when you were last together. He likes learning about it now.

You play with his balls as you run your tongue over him, and he runs both hands through his hair, his fingers combing everything back before interlacing and resting on the back of his neck. He looks up at the ceiling and starts pumping into you. You take him until he says, “Shit, I’m close.”

You pull away, and you lie back, opening your legs to let him in.

“Um, shit, I don’t have, uh,” Jimin stutters, reaching down for his pants and checking his wallet.

“It’s OK,” you say. “I’m on stuff.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes wild at the prospect.

You smile. “I want you to. I want you to fill me up.”

“Mmm,” Jimin purrs, bending and leaning over you. “That’s not how a princess talks.”

“You’re right,” you say. “It’s how a queen talks.”

Jimin licks his lips and moans devilishly at your words. He kisses you as if he is worshipping you, and then he sinks into you, making you gasp. He goes slow at first, and you know it’s killing him. It’s all so wet and warm. You clench tighter and tighter, and Jimin leans forward, biting on the cap of your shoulder.

“Good?” you ask.

“Fuck, so good,” he pants.

He rolls his hips against you, and things really start to shake when he leans back to get at a new spot. He moves just like he did the first night you were together. Painstaking slow, and wonderfully deep.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” you whine, unable to take much more of his intense, unfathomable thrusts.

“Good,” Jimin moans. “Come for me. I wanna see you.”

“Faster,” you say, your walls quivering around him.

Jimin chuckles, getting off on watching you beg for him.

“Faster?” he asks.

“Please, it’s so good.”

He leans forward again, and he starts slamming into you, making you cry out. Soon, you come, and as you ride each wave higher and higher, he comes, and you feel as if you and Jimin are unraveling into one another, everything inside of you spilling out, from emotions to your sweet releases. Jimin drops to his knees and sucks you nearly dry, laughing happily as he does it, as you giggle and squirm at his tickling lips.

He looks up at you, smiling a bit self-consciously when he realizes you’ve been watching him for a while. He kisses each of your thighs and smiles at you. “What?”

“You cleaned me out,” you say.

Jimin smirks.

“Think we can use the same strategy on that?” you ask, gesturing to the mess of red wine and lasagna staining the white furniture, and seeping into the expensive white rug.

“...Fuck.”

He sighs, letting out a long, low puff of air.

He smirks and turns to you.

“Whatever. I’ll worry about it later. Come here. I wanna do more stuff to you before we really have to go.”

You drive home after a few more wonderful hours, absolutely satiated, the cherry on top being Jimin’s frenzied look at the mess in the living room once it was really time to have to deal with the issue. You’re glad that you have each others’ numbers now. Not for these kinds of cravings, necessarily. With all his jet setting, you doubt that you’ll get to see him in person again for at least another decade.

You’re glad that you have Jimin’s number so that you can share those delicious bellylaughs together, reminding you of the joy that life can bring you, all wrapped up in a person so bubbly, fun, and caring that you’re forgetting about your wounds long enough to stop picking at them and let them heal for a bit.

When you sneak into the house, even remembering to avoid the creaky stair as you pad to your room, you notice that the lamp is on in your father’s old office.

You tiptoe over and see Yun rocking Mi-cha in her arms to get her back to sleep.

You knock softly on the door, and Yun gestures for you to join them. You close the door behind you, and you walk up to see Mi-cha, who seems like she’s finally passed out.

“Stay here,” Yun whispers. “I want the details. Let me just put her back in her crib.”

You blink, and Yun’s already back. You giggle and bring her to your room so that you can wash up and change while you give her the details.

You finish with the bit about the food and wine stains as you’re both poring over your old journals and knick-knacks from the past.

“He sounds like a god,” Yun gasps, her eyes lingering on a picture of you and Jimin from prom.

“He’s better -- he’s a dancer,” you say, and Yun laughs.

She looks over your journals, and you smile to yourself. You’ve always loved having a baby brother. It made it more socially acceptable, or at least socially understandable, for you to be as aggressive and crass as you usually are. But you’ve grown to love having a little sister, too. She’s a fellow thinker. A little softer. You know she’s got loads of journals tucked away somewhere in her childhood bedroom, full of songs, and poems, and pressed flowers.

“I don’t think I ever dated a dancer,” she reflects. “Some singers and drummers. But not a dancer.”

She looks at the pictures tucked into the journals, some of them surprising you when they fall out. There are six, all in all. You tell her a few details about them. How you met them. What you liked about them.

“What about this one?” she asks, holding up an old polaroid. “He doesn’t look like any of the others.”

You frown and look at the picture. It’s of an elementary school-aged you exchanging happy smiles with a boy in a Bert and Ernie shirt. Even at his age, he has soulful, knowing, dark eyes, though they’re hidden behind a mop of curly, black hair. His fingers are in your hair, and you laugh when you remember that it’s because one of your barrettes had fallen out of your hair, and he was putting it back into place.

Your heart expands, threatening to burst out of your chest when you realize who it is.

“Taehyung,” you say quietly, smiling.

You run your thumb over the picture, and Yun’s eyes grow wide.

“Who’s Taehyung?” she asks. “I’ve never heard you say his name!”

“Jimin was my first boyfriend,” you say, handing the polaroid back to Jun and grinning at her, “but Taehyung was my first love.”

Read | 02: Supernatural Aid →

The Road to You | Masterpost

#my fics #the road to you #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction #bts au fanfiction #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n

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suituuup · 3 years

Text

pieces - chapter fourteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn't expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rating: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

“A bit higher.”

Beca pushed the small mountain-shaped shelf an inch higher, looking over her shoulder as she held it. “Like that?”

Chloe nodded, smiling. “Perfect.” She walked over and handed Beca the drill, watching as she skillfully made a hole into the wall and inserted a dowel. “I didn’t know you were handy with tools.”

Beca snickered. “Basic things only.” She twisted the screw in and hung the shelf, taking a few steps back to observe her work. “That looks cute.”

Chloe glanced around the room, nodding as she absent-mindedly rubbed her belly. She had just reached thirty weeks, and Bean’s arrival was scarily close. The nursery was coming along nicely, the crib having just been delivered today, while the rest was pretty much done.

The closet was full of onesies, tops, pants and a few dresses, swaddles, blankets, and loveys, and the dark oak changing table (matching the yet to be assembled crib) was stocked up with diapers, wipes, bodysuits, and a variety of creams and oils.

Chloe had channeled her stress into reading as much as she could about newborns, what to do and not do, and while she had experience with babies from back when she was a teenager, she was relieved not to be doing this on her own.

“It does,” Chloe agreed, loving the subtle woodland theme she went for and all the love they poured into making this safe place for Bean. “It’s really cozy.”

“Alright, now onto the big project,” Beca said, nodding towards the large package laying on the floor. “You’ll get to see how limited my knowledge of tools really is.”

Chloe laughed and helped take the different parts of the cribs out of the box, then headed into the kitchen to get them some refreshments.

The last six weeks had been really good. The Bellas welcoming her back with open arms had definitely helped with Chloe’s recovery, and her talk with Beca, that promise that she would wait for her to be ready filled Chloe with a renewed sense of self-worth and made her fall in love with Beca a little bit more.

Chloe was now just over six months sober. The nagging for booze and snow sat somewhere at the back of the brain, and she doubted it would ever go away, but she was getting better at not listening to it.

She stifled a laugh at the sight of Beca looking awfully perplexed by the instructions when she walked back into the room. “You good?”

Beca chuckled. “Yeah. Just trying to make sense of this.” She glanced up to Chloe, accepting the glass of homemade lemonade with a smile and setting it beside her.

“They sent us two baby monitors?” Chloe asked as she sat on the floor, noticing the two exact same boxes. They had ordered a bunch of stuff from the same website, and quite a few boxes had come with the crib while Chloe was at her NA meeting, and Beca had put everything in the nursery. “We only ordered one.”

“No, um, I figured one more would be handy,” Beca said as she picked up one of the crib ends and two of the four legs, along with four bolts. “So I hear Bean when she cries at night, too.”

Chloe shook her head. “I can take care of nights. I don’t want your whole sleeping rhythm to be thrown off because of Bean, you’ve got work, too.”

“I know, but I’m concerned the lack of sleep might mess up with your recovery if you handle it on your own. I’ve read some horror stories about some babies waking up every few hours and that for six months.” Her focus shifted from the crib assembling to Chloe. “I meant what I said when I told you you wouldn’t be on your own with this. But I don’t want to overstep either, so I want you to tell me if you need me to back up a little. I promise I won’t be upset.”

Chloe’s heart swelled with more love. She didn’t know why she kept being surprised every time Beca showed her how dedicated to the both of them she was. Still, she felt a little guilty for disrupting Beca’s routine, but she knew Beca was right.

“You’re not overstepping,” Chloe assured her, softly. “And I want you guys to bond, so I think you taking care of her without me might be a great way to do that.”

“Okay,” Beca murmured, smiling as she went back to her task at hand. “The label already knows I’m taking two months off once she’s born, so I’m around to help out. Maybe she’ll sleep through the night by the time I have to head back.”

Chloe chuckled. “We can always dream.” She cleared her throat. “I was also thinking about Bean’s guardians, in case something happens to me, and I’d like for you to be one of them.”

Beca paused mid-screwing in a bolt and met Chloe’s gaze. It was clear she was moved, and it made Chloe smile. “Of course. I’d be honored.”

“Aubrey will be the other guardian, just so you know. So if I die, you’ll be seeing a lot more of her.”

Beca’s nose wrinkled. “Is it too late to backtrack?” She asked with a soft laugh. Chloe knew she was just joking, as she and Aubrey got on really well, now. “I think Aubrey is a great pick. At least I know I won’t have to be the bad cop. But let’s hope she and I never have to be Bean’s guardians. I’m good with just being the cool aunt.”

The crib was easier to put together than they had originally thought. It only took Beca forty-five minutes, and once it was all done, Chloe grabbed the mattress and set it inside.

“It’s just missing one thing,” Beca said, casting Chloe a smile before she left the room, coming back a minute later. “Close your eyes.”

Chloe did so, and it sounded like Beca was fumbling with something by the crib.

“Okay, open them now.”

Chloe let out a soft gasp at the sight of the animal mobile set up above the crib. A fox surrounded by mountains and clouds. “Beca…”

“I wanted to get Bean a gift, and you mentioned an animal mobile, so I had this custom made with a friend of a friend.”

“It’s perfect,” Chloe whispered, blinking back the tears pricking behind her eyes. She was used to crying over the smallest of things by now that she wasn’t embarrassed anymore. Wrapping an arm around Beca’s waist, she leaned her head over her shoulder, basking in the warmth and peace being in close proximity with Beca brought her.

“I think so, too,” Beca murmured, her own arm coming up to wrap around Chloe’s back as she brushed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Summer chilled to fall over the following week. Chloe was thankful for the cooler temperatures, as her body felt like a furnace on its own, she didn’t need any additional heat. Now thirty-one weeks, she had started to waddle, much to Beca’s amusement, it seemed, even if she only claimed to find it adorable. She also got winded after walking up a single flight of stairs and was insanely grateful for the elevator in Beca’s building.

Hanging a left when it reached the right floor, Chloe headed down the hallway, pulling her keys out of her jacket pocket and sliding them into the lock.

“SURPRISE!”

Chloe jolted slightly, her hand shooting up to her chest in shock. Most of the Bellas stood in Beca’s decorated living-room, beaming at her. Above them hung a cute oh baby banner and a table was laid out with various snacks and a cake.

“Oh my gosh, you guys!” She exclaimed as soon as she regained her composure, stepping further inside to hug each one of her friends tightly. “Did you do all this?” She asked when she got to Beca, awe leaking in her tone.

“Aubrey helped,” Beca said, nodding towards the blonde standing to her right.

“Thank you,” Chloe murmured as she pulled away, embracing Aubrey next. It had taken some time for them to find their way back to how they used to be after so many years apart, and Chloe was so grateful Aubrey gave her a second chance. “Love you, Bree.”

“Love you, too.”

The afternoon was filled with fun activities such as onesie decorating, a Name that Tune game with songs that had the word baby in it, and a cupcake decorating contest. Towards the end of the day, Chloe was coaxed into opening the girls’ present, starting with the one Jessica set in her lap.

“This is from all of us,” she said, smiling as Chloe peered into the bag.

She fished the item out, her heart bursting in her chest as she unfolded the blue and gold onesie which bore the Barden Bella B. “Oh… I love it. Thank you.”

The girls definitely spoiled Bean, gifting Chloe with a bunch of adorable onesies, animal stuffies, mittens, swaddles, a bear winter jumpsuit for those freezing days ahead of them, and an expensive-looking electric swing.

“This is too much,” she croaked out once she had unwrapped the large box, shaking her head in disbelief as the girls simply waved her concern off.

“Oh, that’s from your parents,” Beca chimed in as Chloe reached for the second-to-last present.

Tears pooled in her eyes (she had honestly lost track of how many times she’d cried in the last couple of hours) as she took the familiar item out of the bag. “It’s my baby blanket,” she told the girls as she unfolded the mustard blanket her mom had knitted while she was pregnant with her. She traced the name she had picked for her baby girl, which her mom had added in white lettering in a corner. Chloe smiled as she brought it to her nose; it smelled like home.

The last gift was a pampering kit for Chloe, as well as a few items she would need for after labor.

“I learned some stuff about childbirth that I wish I’d never known while looking for items to add to this,” Amy said with a grimace, drawing a giggle from Chloe. “I didn’t know things could tear like that down below.”

Chloe winced along with the rest of the Bellas, her chuckle coming out strained. “Thanks, Amy.”

Beca ordered pizzas for everyone, and the girls stuck around until nine pm, helping to clean up the living-room before they left. Chloe changed into her pajamas and made herself some herbal tea for her and Beca, joining her on the couch.

“You okay?” Beca asked as she took one of the mugs from Chloe.

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed out, curling up on the opposite end of the couch. “Thank you for today. It was so nice to see the girls again. I’m really lucky.”

“You’re welcome, Chlo.” She motioned towards her lap. “C’mon, hand me those feet.”

Chloe giggled, setting her feet on Beca’s thighs and biting back a moan as she started kneading the sole of her right foot. It had become a sort of a ritual these past few weeks, for Beca to give Chloe a foot rub while they chilled on the couch after dinner. “Am I going to lose those privileges once I’m no longer pregnant?” She teased.

Beca smirked. “We’ll see.”

“I heard back from my old vet school, this morning,” Chloe said, following a few minutes of comfortable silence. She had been communicating back and forth with the advisor over there, who finally heard back from the head of the department. “Since I did two years of vet school already, I’d only have to do one more year to become a vet tech. They offered for me to jump into the school year in January, but that feels a little too soon after Bean gets here, so I think I’ll wait until September next year,” she explained as she rubbed her bump. “But I definitely plan on getting a part-time job waitressing or something by next spring, as soon as Bean is old enough go to daycare.”

Finding a good daycare with availability had been a headache, but Chloe had luckily found a spot at the one she had set her eyes on in the neighborhood.

“That’s great news,” Beca mused aloud, smiling. “I’m proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t be where I am without you, Bec,” Chloe murmured, returning her smile. A groan flitted past her lips a second later. “Ugh, I need to pee again.”

Beca chuckled as Chloe heaved herself to her feet and waddled to the bathroom. She had just shut the door behind her when a sharp pain in her lower belly made her double over, her hand shooting out to grip the counter while the other one cradled her bump.

Panic gripped her insides as she slowly straightened when her head stopped spinning, letting go of her stomach to dip her hand past the waistband of her sweatpants. Her fingers met something warm and sticky, and Chloe’s heart lurched to her throat when she pulled them out, eyes zeroing on the blood.

“No, no, no,” she muttered to herself, forcing down the lump forming in her throat with a hard swallow. She called Beca’s name, her voice wavering as tears rose to her eyes.

“What’s wrong??” Beca rushed out as she rounded the corner, the sight before her answering her own question. Her eyes widened, and she paled, freezing for a couple of seconds before setting into motion. “I’m taking you to the ER. I’ll grab your shoes and coat.”

Chloe gave a faint nod even though she wasn’t sure she registered Beca’s words. Her feet seemed rooted to the floor while Beca’s hurried steps faded. She couldn’t move. She kept staring at her bloodied hand as the most dreaded, terrible, gut-wrenching feeling seized her entire being.

“I can’t--” she found herself saying when Beca appeared in her line of vision. The air got stuck in her throat before it could reach her lungs, just as her words died before it reached her tongue. She couldn’t lose her baby. “Bec.”

“I know,” Beca murmured as she helped Chloe slip her jacket on. Her own hands were shaking. She bent down to guide Chloe’s feet into her sneakers, one by one, then grabbed a towel from the cupboard under the sink.

Another cramp made Chloe cry out, and she felt more blood seeping out of her, in a greater amount this time around. She felt it dripping down her legs and choked on a sob, clutching at her stomach.

The elevator ride and walk to the car was a blur, and Chloe found herself blankly staring out the window as Beca rushed to the hospital, hoping with all her might that her baby would be okay.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #period piece

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kaistarus · 3 years

Text

Enchanted

Chapter 1

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Word: 2.2K

Summary: When your best friend enters a relationship with a prince your life changes in ways you never thought possible. You gain new friendships, learn dangerous secrets, and discover that maybe love might exist for you after all...

A/N: This is going to be a longer project and I’m super excited for it!! :) I already have the next several chapters drafted so we’re looking good

Masterlist

“I cannot believe you’re being courted by a literal prince,” you rested your chin on crossed arms, watching the crowd wandering the festival grounds-couples arm-in-arm while admiring the colorful decor hanging from trees and strung across poles, children chiming with laughter as they chased through their parent’s legs, and musicians creating a melodious tune that floated gently above the ruckus. “I have yet to find one decent man, but you get a prince.”

“You’re the one who decided to skip the town’s annual pie judging contest,” Hinata smirked down at you and your glare strengthened.

“Because it’s a stupid event. How was I supposed to know the prince would show up?”

“They were bound to let him out eventually,” Hinata leaned against the counter with a cocky smile and you clenched your fists into the material of your dress.

“I don’t think the prince would have liked you anyway,” Yachi appeared from behind a curtain holding a tray of baked goods, sliding it onto the wooden countertop, “judging by who he chose to spend time with.”

You groaned, planting your forehead onto the wood’s surface. “I’m going to be alone forever.”

“Well, you’re not exactly the kindest to anyone that tries flirting with you…” Yachi raised a dainty brow while transferring cupcakes onto a display.

“That’s because they’re all the worst,” you waved her off. “Anyone my father sets me up with is a snob.”

“I’m impressed you’ve gotten this far,” Hinata commended while overlooking the festival grounds, “that your father has not just married you off already.”

“My mother would never let him,” your nose crinkled at the concept. Regardless how difficult you became you knew that someone would have your back. “You’re lucky, Yachi. You don’t have to worry about this nonsense.”

“I suppose that is true,” Yachi smiled apologetically, holding the tray tightly to her chest and observing her display. There were various pastries-cupcakes, scones, croissants, tarts-lined up and stacked in neat patterns for viewing pleasure. “Does it look okay?

“It looks great,” you grinned.

“Are you sure?” Yachi twisted a few baked goods an unnoticeable amount. “I don’t want to let my family down.”

“They wouldn’t have put you out here if they didn’t think you were ready.” You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, you have me.”

Hinata chuckled before his eyes widened in panic, hand shooting out to grip yours painfully. You whined, trying to pull him off while following his gaze to figure out what could have possibly caused such a reaction-an amused smile grew when you saw prince Kageyama entering the festival grounds.

“Oh, your prince charming has arrived,” you said with a teasing lilt. Hinata glowered at you to which you childishly stuck your tongue out in response.

“I didn’t know he would be here.”

“He surprised you,” Yachi clasped her hands together. “How romantic.”

Hinata whined in despair and you giggled at his misery, and with all the attention the prince was drawing in you had nearly missed the guard that entered the festival with him. He was dressed very casually, walking a languid pace with his hands clasped behind his head-the only thing giving him away was the weapon sheathed at his hip.

Your expression dropped, “he brought a babysitter.”

“You seriously thought they were going to let the prince walk around unprotected?”

Your shoulders slumped at the familiar condescending voice and you side-eyed the pair approaching Yachi’s family’s booth. You welcomed Yamaguchi’s warm smile any day of the week, but Tsukishima could quite frankly never come near you again and you would die happy.

“I just didn’t notice the guard,” you glared at Tsukishima’s belittling smirk. The guard didn’t exactly look anything quality the royal guard had to offer, you observed after giving him further inspection. He looked more like a last minute grab. “He doesn’t look like much protection anyway.”

“Doesn’t look like-” Yamaguchi looked between you and the guard bewildered. “That is the Guardian Deity.”

You blinked several times before your eyes widened in surprise, locking back to the guy following prince Kageyama at a comfortable pace. That was the highest ranking guard in the royal court? You crinkled your nose after giving him another once-over. After all the tales you had heard you had expected the Guardian Deity to be… bigger? More intimidating for sure.

Honestly, based on appearance, you felt like you could handle him in a fight.

“He doesn’t look very scary,” Yachi said, sounding uncertain.

“Why?” Hinata’s cheeks were puffed up in annoyance. “Is it because he’s short? What are you trying to say?”

“I think it’s more because his hair is so stupid,” Tsukishima snickered.

“I don’t think we should be mocking him,” Yamaguchi said warily, shrinking into his shoulders. “I heard he has insane hearing.”

“That sounds made up, Yams” You crossed your arms.

You glanced back at the guard and stiffened when you made direct eye-contact with him, quickly shooting your stare to your lap. Surely that was just a wild coincidence...

You heard Hinata take a shuddering breath beside you before straightening himself out, “alright, I’m going in. Wish me luck.”

A chorus of encouraging words, aside from Tsukishima, rang behind Hinata as he left the safety of your group. You tapped your fingers against the counter, unable to control your nervous jitters as Hinata noticeably stumbled over his opening lines while prince Kageyama smiled down at him-the guard clearly attempting to hold back a laugh.

The Guardian Deity had a bright smile while introducing himself and Hinata seemed to easily relax in the man’s presence, which further added to your skepticism of his identity. He didn’t fit the grand title at all.

“I guess dating a prince will be harder than we realized,” Yachi pressed a hand against her cheek thoughtfully.

“If anyone can do it Hinata can.” Yamaguchi said, reaching for a pastry before Yachi swatted it.

“It’s still unfortunate he can’t embarrass himself in peace,” you frowned, leaning your cheek in your palm while watching the guard do his best to remain straight face.

“I have an idea,” Tsukishima started with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about you go and distract the guard?”

“How about I what?”

“Hey, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Yachi added while she swatted Yamaguchi’s hand after another failed attempt at swiping a muffin.

“Are you guys not listening about how that is the Guardian Deity?” Yamaguchi gestured wildly in his direction. “You can’t just waltz over there and distract him, are you crazy?”

“Oh, so you’re saying I can’t do it?” You narrowed your eyes at him and he blinked.

“That is exactly what I just said. Yes.”

Your cheeks puffed up and you stood from your stool. “Highest ranked guard means nothing. This will be easy.”

“(Y/N) this is such a bad idea,” Yamaguchi pleaded as you walked around the stand, brushing the nonexistent dirt off your dress. “You could get in serious trouble.”

“No, she will be completely fine.” Tsukishima waved you off. “You can do it. I have complete faith in you.”

Everyone paused and slowly turned to stare at Tsukishima. Yachi began waving you back to her nervously.

“On second thought I think Yamaguchi is right. This might be a bad idea.” She frowned.

“Too late,” you sighed, pivoting toward the trio wandering around the festival. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

You marched in their direction with Tsukishima’s off putting words of encouragement echoing behind you and felt your heart pounding stronger the closer you got to the group. Once in range you caught Hinata’s confused stare, shifting between you and the guard before a knowing smile formed. You narrowed your eyes into a ‘you-owe-me’ glare and took a calming breath before standing before the Guardian Deity.

He glanced over, doing a double take once he realized you weren’t walking away. You opened your mouth, freezing up once you realized you had confidently marched over with absolutely no game plan. The Guardian Deity raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“Uh… hi.” You lamely stumbled out.

“Hello,” his lips quipped into a quick smirk and you felt yourself die a little inside from embarrassment.

“How is the, uh, night-how is your night going?” You clenched your fists. You needed to get yourself together before you went back a failure and gave Tsukishima an actual reason to make fun of you.

“Good,” he crossed his arms and gave you a once-over.

“Great, that’s great.” You rocked on the balls of your feet. “You always want… good nights that is very important.”

He hummed, glancing over your shoulder. “How’s your night?”

“It is a night… for sure.”

“Great. I’d be worried if it was anything else.” His eyes held a hint of amusement and if you weren’t meant to be distracting him you would be more irritated by it. He bowed slightly. “I’m Nishinoya.”

“Oh, (Y/F/N),” you returned the gesture before raising a brow. “No first name Nishinoya?”

“Unfortunately not.”

You hummed, assuming it was classified for some reason or another-likely rank. You briefly wondered what other secrets he had while subtly peeking at where Hinata had been, smirking when you didn’t see him.

You were better at this distracting thing than you thought.

“If you’re looking for your friend he and the prince snuck off to the woods,” Nishinoya threw a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re probably making out or something.”

Your shoulders stiffened and you slowly met his eyes. “You were watching them?”

“Well, that’s my job,” he glanced over your shoulder again. “Yachi and Yamaguchi look pretty impressed with your distraction skills though. Tsukishima just looks mad, but that is supposedly his default.”

Your mouth opened and closed several times before you furrowed your brow. “How do you know their names? What did you-” You covered your mouth in shock. “Oh my god, could you hear us?”

“Hear you?” He cocked his head to the side confused. “No, I had to do a background check on Hinata so Kageyama could come here.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling your face warming. You knew Yamaguchi was just saying stupid rumors. “Wait, does that mean you already knew my name?”

“No,” he said with a mischievous tone. “Even if I did it’s always better hearing it from the original source.”

You gave him a skeptical once-over. “You seem pretty bad at your job Nishinoya if you’re willingly letting the prince out of sight.” You accused and he blinked a few times before a sly smile filled his face.

“And you seem pretty rude for a Lady,” Nishinoya crossed his arms, “trying to flirt with a high-ranking guard to let your friend sneak off with a prince doesn’t fit your family’s status, does it?”

You puffed up your cheeks in annoyance. “Well, flirting with a Lady and letting the prince sneak off seems unprofessional for a high-ranking guard.”

“Except I worked out an agreement ahead of time with prince Kageyama to let him be alone with Hinata,” Nishinoya gestured toward the forest, “and I’ve been keeping an eye on them this whole time, so I am professional, contrary to your opinion.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but fell short, feeling yourself getting flustered. “So, you just let me try to distract you for no reason?”

“I like you distracting me,” he smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. “You should do it more often. It’s fun.”

You scoffed, “not a chance.”

You pivoted around and began stomping away toward your friends when he called after you, “but we barely made it past introductions.”

“I have a feeling you already know more about me than I’d like,” you shot over your shoulder and by the innocent smile he gave back you knew you were right.

“I’ll see you soon.” He waved.

“Don’t count on it,” you called back, pouting when you heard him cackle before you were out of hearing range.

“I knew you could do it!” Yachi cheered when you plopped back down into the stool beside her.

“Yeah,” you looked away with an awkward chuckle. “I told you it would be easy.”

“I don’t believe it. He probably let her do it or something,” Tsukishima rolled his eyes and you sneered at how accurate he was.

“Was he terrifying?” Yamaguchi leaned over the counter inches from your face. “Did he have super hearing? Could he shoot lightning from his sword? How fast were his reflexes? Did he tell you how he got the blonde streak? Could he-”

You pushed his face back and rolled your eyes, “no, Yams. Those were all just rumors. He’s a normal guy.”

Yamaguchi’s shoulders sagged in disappointment at your unfortunate news. You raised a brow at his pout since you never knew Yamaguchi was such a Guardian Deity fanboy.

Your eyes drifted to Nishinoya leaning lazily against a tree trunk near the entrance of the festival, eyes scouring the event. You supposed if all anyone heard were rumors it would be possible to like him, but in reality he was no different than any other guy you’d talked too-annoying and cocky.

As if he could sense your insulting thoughts his eyes flickered in your direction. You held your breath as you locked eyes with his intense amber stare, expression dropping when he relaxed into a cocky smirk. You stuck your tongue out childishly and turned back to Yachi who was helping a customer choose between a cupcake with pink or orange frosting.

You really hoped Nishinoya was wrong. You didn’t want to see him anytime soon.

#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kagehina #hinata shouyou #yachi hitoka #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #nishinoya yu

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mimsylovesloki · 3 years

Text

Episode 2-Play by Play Reactions (Spoilers)

Ooooooh mysterious...

Oh so this variant can (at least briefly) cont people with a simple touch? No need for a scepter?

I NEED A HEROOO!

Oh this variant is taking that lady away? I wonder why

Miss Minutes is gonna move me to violence

Loki is me studying

Hahahahaha get her Loki!

Loki, leave Mobius’ magazines alone

Wow he got into the work force rather fast huh? Bit of a whiplash type scenario considering the end of episode one

No, YOU’RE a cosmic mistake! 😤 my boy looks hot regardless

Sooooo Loki is the most common variant? Why does this not surprise me?

Is... is he a football cup champion??? Omg 😂

Smart boy. Illusion projecting is different than duplication casting. Neato. LISTEN TO MY SMART BOY. RESPECT HIM.

Dude loves wheeling

Yea Loki. Work on getting to the time keepers. Overthrow the government.

Dude is smart with these questions.

Propaganda is INDEED exhausting so that’s fair

Fist hostage... maybe he’s (or she?) gonna use her as a body transfer like Loki in the comics with Sif?

Oh please let this be a genuine smart Loki moment and not just setting him up as a joke and embarrassment...

“Where there are wolf’s ears, wolf’s teeth are near.” Good to know basic mammalian anatomy is still applicable to Asgardian wolves...

Cmon Loki do something cool. Please. Please Loki. Please.

Preach my man, but please, do something cool. My anxiety that you’ll be turned into a joke is spiking.

Is he actually waiting outside or is Loki really just trying to mess with them and throw them off? Or is he just being too cocky for his own good and it’s gonna mess him up? Please please please don’t disappoint me. I have merch for this show already that I can’t return

Bargain baby, bar again. Do it.

Is he actually concerned for the time keepers orrrrrr

Dangit Mobius

Does... being reset... hurt?

Bye C-20 I guess... for now? We’ll see

Of course it’s a friggin theremin that’s playing

Mobius x Judge Renslayer? Oooooooh. Tsundere Renslayer.

Use a coaster my man

Oh her first name is Ravonna

Controversy is the best thing though

You can never understand this Loki. As soon as you begin to understand, he changes. He’s unpredictable.

“I know you have a soft spot for broken things.” Ah, so this entire fandom then?

“But Loki is an evil, lying scourge.” YOU TAKE THAT BACK YOU WENCH!

“That is the part he plays in the sacred timeline.” Well you clearly haven’t been paying enough attention to the files then, hm? Here, let me redirect you to one of the many character analyses I’ve written. Now if you read here........

He doesn’t need to change. He’s already not evil

I don’t trust Renslayer or the time keepers... or Renslayer WITH the time keepers... I think she plays a bigger, antagonistic role than I thought.

You just TRY and delete him Mobius... just... TRY... I will find a way to break the fourth wall and no time keepers can keep you safe from the rage of a million fan girls. Nothing... we don’t need magic...

Omg Loki just sitting there in a chair outside the office like a kid while their parent is talking with the teacher about their “recent behavior”.

Cmon Loki, you don’t need to make excuses or impress him.

My poor boy is SOOO out of his zone.

Tbf mobius, you ASKED. You asked what makes him tick.

Hey hey hey, let’s not gaslight my boy...

The Loki is... uhhh something... gotta keep my hopes up. Trust in Tom Hiddleston...

Mobius showing his true colors...

Please Loki... be badass... not just a joke... please please please... PLEASE!

Mobius, play nice.

I hope this “superior” Loki thing, if it is a female, isn’t a desperate attempt at feminism pandering, chocking up her “superiority” to being female. Please give the characters real stories. Flesh them out.

Juice box time?

No?

More homework?

Bugger...

The sass is off the charts

Librarian lady gonna get killed

Oh boy

Pffffft—

I miss Casey.

Hey don’t ignore Loki. That’s rude.

Bell is the answer?

Poor Loki. Stop trying to fit in. You are best when you are genuinely yourself.

What’s to stop Loki from grabbing the other files?

Homework... I thought I escaped this when I graduated...

Whatcha seeing there?

Oh...

Bye bye Asgard...

Cmon... not more feels.

AGGHHHHHHHH

Please allow him confirmation of Thor’s survival and beating of Thanos!!! He needs that confirmation! He needs that reassurance.

Hear him out Mobius.

“He’s hiding in apocalypses.” Sooooo is that why they go to presumably Mount Vesuvius? I assume?

Mobius, let Loki have your salad.

Rip salad

CASEY

Casey’s juice box

Poor Casey and mobius salad...

Loki, your logic astounds me.

Well, pushing Hulk off of the bridge WOULD have an effect...

VESUVIUS HERE WE COME

He hasn’t really stabbed anyone in the back... except Thor... but not 50 times

Pompeii, here we come!

Ooooooh we gonna see Loki dance with a lady? 😏 get ittttt

Well, if you do cause a branch, can’t you just reset the timeline?

CAUSE SOME CHAOS MY LOVELY MAN

OMG IM HEARING THE LOVE OF MY LIFE SPEAK ITALIAN

I can die happy now

Loki... you look insane.

Uhhh run

Okay you’re good

Sleepy Loki

Let him sleep!

Soooo, I mean, technically, Loki’s actions would still cause the timeline to change, but said change wouldn’t have an impact on the future, just the current moment... so shouldn’t it still be detected by the TVA? At least as a little fleck?

Jet skis?

Omg I just snorted at Loki begrudgingly agreeing with Mobius that jet skis are awesome

Mobius offending my History Teachers for 50 minutes straight... that’s it. That’s the episode.

Mobius really in love with jet skis for some reason

We better get to see Mobius on a jet ski

Fighting for jet skis?

Lol mobius has a point about the magical Asgardians and Jötunns

Glorious purpose

Cmon Loki, destroy this man’s beliefs.

OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT

DO IT

TEAM UP AND THROW THE TIMELINE INTO CHAOS

How would you know what the time keepers are doing when you’ve never met them?

How can you meet in peace at the end of time with no chaos?

“You see, I know something children don’t. That no one bad is ever truly bad. And no one good is ever truly good.”

Mobius, don’t patronize my boy. Go jet skiing.

“I know.” Oh good, that point in the trailer was edited.

No candy on Asgard? Poor Loki.

May the best man win? Well that automatically means Loki.

Getting National Treasure vibes

Love you

Alabama will still exist in 2050? That’s disappointing.

Roxxcart.

Loki is very smart. Thank you show.

Renslayer, if you claim Mobius is your friend, trust him.

Kachow!

“For all time.” “Always.” TVA is definitely a cult.

Weapon?

WEAPON!

...weapon???

no weapon...

Meanie...

Are we gonna see what this Loki variant looks like?

I have a feeling this variant is gonna be the female, blonde (I’m so sorry, at the moment I forget her name) in those pictures we saw. Guessing because 1) she was wearing a Loki outfit. 2) her and tom Hiddleston were wet in that picture as if rained on 3) the scene when they enter Roxxcart occurs when it starts to rain due to the upcoming massive storm. So I’m placing all of my money on the table the Loki variant is Lady Loki. Blonde, for some reason. (Or maybe she just didn’t have a wig on in the picture of her we saw?)

Yea please don’t prune this Loki.

Storms a brewing

Good to know Alabama, at some point, does get destroyed. That’s comforting. (Btw this is a joke. I have nothing against Alabama lol. Idk why my brain thought this was funny lol.)

All wet and rainy.

HAHAHAHA USE THAT MAGIC BABY

LET MOBIUS STICK WITH LOKI

Ooh ooh! Is Loki gonna use powers to yoink the roomba here?

Uh oh. Forgot to take into consideration that most big businesses, especially stores, have security cameras, huh?

Times ticking...

Wait was that a reset charge?

Awkward silence

Spookyyyy

Poor dude lol

Or not

Hmmm

Oh???

I RECOGNIZE THAT MAGIC!!! ITS HER!!!

HUNTER (forget her number) IS THE LOKI VARIANT!!! When was she replaced? Or was she always the variant?

That or the other Loki is projecting herself into the hunter? Maybe used the shopping dude as a conduit?

Moment of realization

Smiling contest

No no, Tom Hiddleston’s Loki is superior. I don’t care who else tries to play Loki, Tom IS Loki.

Oh no

Baby crying?

These poor people...

No need to be rough

Is Mobius genuinely caring

Oh... poor C-20

Team up please? Please?

Ah so they really can just send themself into any body they wish, huh? Just by touch?

Loki, learn that trick please.

Sooo, is the other variant Loki’s body tangible? Do they project their conscience into other bodies via touch, or do they not have a corporeal body and rely on others to exist?

Doctor Who vibes

TEAM UP PLEASE

YES

Please

Please?

Offended by Loki name?

Haha sympathy for Thor

Go randy.

Soooo what are you interested in if not ruling the TVA?

Who’s that planting charges? The real body of the other variant Loki?

You okay C-20? (Off topic her actress reminds me of the actress who played Ava Star aka Ghost in Ant-Man and the Wasp) what is real and what about it is so mind capturing for you?

Oh no

Poor girl

Cmon B-15

Hello?

Reset charge

Oh? Bye bye?

HEY!

That’s rude

I miss Randy too

Cmon Loki fight like the badass I know you are

Please

HAHA! TELEKINESIS

Cartwheel WEEEEE

Oooh he swore

Lokis have a pattern of swearing only while taking other peoples forms

Cmon Loki. Go back to mobius. Help them. Prove your goodness. Please.

Poor trucker man

Hello?

Hello!

Fave reveal?

I KNEW IT

Oh????

Flashlights?

RUN!

Is this actually a Loki variant or just sylvie? Or Amora?

Uh oh...

What’s happening

Is she absolutely destroying the timeline?

Poor Doctor Strange. I wonder if he knows about the TVA?

Loki is all alone? Why is he standing still?

Where is she going?

Cmon Loki... help them please...

Loki...

CLIFF HANGER

NOOOOO I CANT WAIT ANOTHER WEEK AGHHHHHHHH

Are they gonna be okay?

How is the variant traveling?

What is her goal?

Why is Loki going after her?

Why is Loki leaning towards the apparent evil side?

Is this actually lady Loki or sylvie or amora since her hair is blonde?

WHAT IS HAPPENING???

So much just happened in so little time. It’s like Marvel wants to slowly spoon feed us with the first 3/4 of the episode and then in the last 1/4, they waterboard us.

Why is this female Loki variant so much more powerful?

So Loki DID know what was going on at the Renaissance fair and was intentionally stalling for her... why?

Her horned helmet is similar to the one kid(?) Loki wears in the comics. One horn broken. How did that happen? Why does she still wear it, especially if she doesn’t want to be called Loki?

No end credit scene yet.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #disney #loki on disney+#Loki show #Loki series #disney plus #disney+#disney+ loki #loki disney #tom hiddleston #Loki episode 2 #loki spoilers #loki reaction

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starkexposition · 3 years

Text

The Bachelor: Tony Stark Edition

Forced myself against my will, at gunpoint, to update this. Here it finally is.

Chapter 2: Electric Boogaloo

Rating: Teen/Mature, it's from college!Peter Parker's perspective Pairings: Tony/Steve, Tony/Strange, Tony/literally everyone, Happy/May, Peter/MJ, Peter/Black Cat, many token ships eventually Summary: One man. Twelve contestants. Several weeks in paradise. All through the horrified eyes of one sticky, adopted son.

“Mr. Stark…”

Most people have normal dreams.

“Can you hear me?”

Nice ones.

“It’s Peter.”

Weird ones.

“Hey.”

Bad ones.

“We won.”

Ones you forget.

“Mr. Stark…”

Or in my case, ones you wish you’d forget.

“We won, Mr. Stark.”

They say when you dream about a person, it’s because they’re dreaming about you, too.

“We won—you did it, Mr. Stark. You did it.”

That never explained why I kept dreaming about him when he was gone.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

It was never different. Never had a different ending—never even a nightmare. Just the same weak eyes followed by the same labored breaths, every single dream. And each time, the woman who believed in him most would sit with him, hand held to his heart, and promise to him that everything would be okay. And with that, the man who never sleeps would find the peace to finally rest.

There was nothing like it. I had already been through my fair share by then—whether it was the plane crash, or Uncle Ben, or the girl that I loved… Mr. Stark was different. There was no regret, or blame; it was only the mission. The worst part about it was struggling with the selfish feeling that something had been taken away from me, all while balancing the pride that I felt in what he did for the whole universe—and most importantly, for the family that was built around him.

To us, it was a sacrifice. To Iron Man, it was a responsibility.

I guess that must be the reason it kept replaying in my dreams. It didn’t need amending because of the good that it caused, but hell—it kept coming back like a nightmare.

Even after he came back, most sleeps would end the same way: with everyone around us taking a knee for him as the air grew quiet in his passing, Captain Rogers would rise to his feet, place a hand on my shoulder, and say through watered eyes and a weakened smile:

“It was all for you.”

And with Pepper’s blessing, Steve would step forward and pick Tony up from where he laid, carefully carrying him back as Pepper, Rhodey, and myself would slowly walk alongside them.

Some nights, if I got lucky, I’d wake up before Steve’s words.

But not last night.

My brain managed to string out every last excruciating detail of the dream it possibly could in an effort to stay asleep and ignore the sound of repulsors powering down to a low hum beside me. But as they hovered nearby, the stinky air of New York was blown through the ventilation of my suit, which, unfortunately, can be stinky enough to wake you when you become aware of it. A figure took the place of the city’s rising sun, casting a shadow that darkened the scene and gifted me with my daily post-dream reminder...

“You know if you prefer this for your room and board situation, I’d be happy to take up the bill.”

Tony Stark lives.

Which is great. Quality of life really did improve when he came back—for myself, and others, too. Being adopted by him, however, kind of spiced things up a bit. From mentor to parent meant that I was proving myself to him from a parental standpoint, and that consequently resulted in me becoming far more relaxed with him. ‘Cause he’s kind of stuck with me now, you know?

But even in times like this particular morning, when I had a curfew the night before and had to get back to the house upstate by a certain time and specifically did not do so in favor of fighting crime and flirting with a kleptomaniac in a leather suit, I still don’t think I couldn’t be grateful for that fact even when I am abruptly woken from my slumber on a rusty fire escape in New York by Iron Man.

There was always something about those slitted glowing eyes in the faceplate that managed to relay the disappointment behind it so well.

“How’d you find me?” I asked as I kicked my leg up onto the platform, letting my eyes settle on the ladders above.

“Same way I always find you—” Beep-beep, beep-beep! Karen pulled up a GPS screen in my lenses that pinpointed my location, with an additional flashing blip for where the Iron Man suit was just a few feet away. “Installed another tracking device in your suit.”

I pulled off my mask and sat up quickly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he gestured to me, his tone dripping with annoyance. “I don’t have time to play hide-and-go-seek in the alleys and dumpsters of New York every time I need you.”

“I have a phone.”

“That you don’t answer.” Tony then tossed over my backpack that was webbed up on the dumpster below. “You know, you could be sleeping on a fire escape in Cambridge right now.”

“MIT doesn’t have MJ—” Oof. Too quick there, Pete. “Or-or Ned. Or May. Or… you?”

The face plate turned to stare at me with slitted eyes once again, Mr. Stark tilting his head. “I thought you broke up with MJ.”

Of course, he won’t ignore it.

“We broke up,” I corrected him, even though that was also technically wrong, but he definitely did not need to know that. “Besides, we’re fine. We’re friends.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Last week,” I told him, pulling the mask over my face again.

Mr. Stark stayed silent, faceplate staring into my soul with those narrowed eyes as he waited for me.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, swinging down from the escape, “a month ago.”

I shot a web to the wall of the building across from us, and like that, we were en route home.

“Ouch.” Naturally, Mr. Stark’s voice came in through the suit itself while he traveled closely behind me. “That bad, huh?”

“Not really,” I lied. “And I mean, we did try the whole friend thing. That’s not gone. It’s just that… well, sometimes when you break up, it makes it a lot harder to stay broken up when you try to be friends right away, you know?”

“So…” He paused for a moment, as we turned a corner to Avengers Mansion. “You’re not friends?”

I landed on the walkway and pushed my way inside. “I stressed her out too much. I’m just giving her space.”

Mr. Stark’s suit was entirely gone by the time he followed me into the kitchen of the mansion. Making a beeline to the coffee, he raised an eyebrow at me as he pulled the pot and two mugs for the both of us, fixing mine up with sugar before he poured. “That must be easy for you at least.”

“Never said it was.” I informed him as I rummaged around the refrigerator for something, anything with sustenance… Bingo. Pizza. The only consistency that truly exists within the Avengers is the ability to almost always find leftover pizza in the fridge. “But is that stuff ever really easy?”

“Well…” Tony’s voice raised suggestively as he circled around the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “It sure seems like it is now that you’ve got yourself a feline to keep you company.”

I came to a halt, cold pizza at my lips. “Seriously? I’m not talking about this with you.”

Tony cackled, sipping his coffee as he slipped from the kitchen to the elevator, finger pressed on the ‘open door’ button as he waited for me to gather my pizza and coffee to join him. Moments later, we were entering his workshop, which was remarkably as cluttered as I had seen it last. He walked through slowly, moving papers and hardware around to organize the place and put away his projects reluctantly, and each time he seemed lost in thought, staring at some weird looking, half-dismantled device, he would take a sip from his coffee before making his decision on what to do with whatever it was he was holding.

“All packed?” He asked as he pulled the mug from his lips, tossing something into the trash.

I gripped the mask in my hands and turned away from him to face one of the blueprints on the wall, pretending to read it. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good,” he said. He stopped at the door to his office and looked at me with expectant eyes. “Well? Get dressed so we can go home.”

Before I could even turn away, the door to his office was shut behind him, the blue glow of his holograms flashing through the opaque glass of his office doors and windows. Whatever it was he was working on must not have required too much attention, as he was waiting impatiently for me by his car in the mansion’s garage only a few minutes later, toes tapping the ground while he leaned against the hideously orange supercar.

“Really?” I asked. “This one again?”

His eyes perked up over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows shooting up in offense. “Would you rather walk?”

I shook my head and walked over to the passengers side with Mr. Stark moving out of the way to the driver’s door. “I just think—” I got in, stuffing my bag by my feet, “—you could spice it up sometime. Maybe you could go red next. Or a matte black… now, that’d be nice. All electric, so smooth. Stealthy. It’d be great.”

Tony sat beside me, buckling his belt as he looked at me in disbelief again, “I’m sorry, can you even drive?”

I stared at him and waited for him to realize, but he just stared back. “I’m 19,” I reminded him.

“And?” He said as he started the car and drove closer to the garage door, allowing it to open automatically at his approach. “You never drive anywhere.”

His gaze looked past me then, encouraging mine to follow, and we both looked at the gray Audi that sat on the far right end of the mansion’s garage collecting dust. I looked back at Tony, ready to defend myself and my apparent preference for swinging as my primary mode of travel, but he just grinned and floored it, pulling us away from the mansion, the city, and to upstate New York.

* * *

Saturday nights at the Stark Residence meant one thing: family dinner. It wasn’t required, obviously, since most weekends I couldn’t make it home, and even if I could, I usually chose to not to, as I was 19, in college, had homework, Ned, and was constantly in an internalized battle of wanting to win my ex-girlfriend back and my unexplained desire to spend an unusual amount of time around one of my more recent torments in life:

Felicia Hardy.

And if I’m honest, I’ve probably spent more of my Saturday nights playing cat and mouse with Felicia than I have been doing homework or playing games with Ned. Only thing is, lately it has seemed more like she’s the cat and I’m the mouse—appropriate, since she is the Black Cat and all—despite that I have almost always been in pursuit of her. But my naivety always manages to lead me into falling for her traps and doing whatever it might be that she had planned for me—which, of course, almost always results in me failing to “catch” her.

What a shame.

Of course, that does exclude all of those nights where I did catch up to her. On the rooftops, quips and riddles, jabs and flirts, and the few times I got lucky enough for her to lift my mask up just enough to leave a…

How did I get started on Felicia again?

Right. Family dinners. Instead of seeing her. Just a prelude to the next few months. Did I even remember to say goodbye?

Sigh.

Anyway. Family dinners.

The only night of the week we managed to get (mostly) everyone together. Between Stark Industries and some Avengers work for Tony (remotely, of course, since the man really can’t help himself), Morgan in school and clubs, the vast Morgan Babysitting Unit (Rhodey, Maria Hill, Aunt May, and Happy mostly) trading off the rascal throughout the week, and of course, whatever Happy and May got up to in their free time (don’t remind me), Saturdays were usually the one time in the week that everyone tried their best to set aside for visiting with each other. You know, for Tony’s sake. While the ladies, including Tony’s new personal assistant, Charlotte, would split a bottle of wine as Happy and May cooked the meal together—Italiano, as they introduced it this particular time—the rest would buzz around the house, catching up on the week’s events and sharing laughs like a normal family would.

Normal.

Of course, with it being my first time home for dinner in a few months, most of the attention was on me during the meal—as Mr. Stark cleverly directed it to be, in an effort to avoid talking about the obvious circus that was set to begin the following day—with Rhodey and Maria mainly prying at me for school and hero related questions, but they were sure to cover every topic in the book, like the one I was hoping to avoid.

Girls.

Or, more specifically, MJ.

It took me going from my typical sarcasm to getting quiet and frustrated when the questions persisted for the conversation to finally fizzle out, bringing our dinner party to an end. Rhodey stood up from his seat beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it in understanding, as he grabbed his plate to leave. Everyone, apart from myself and May, began to disperse with him, heading to the kitchen with their empty plates.

I lifted a rogue spaghetti noodle above my face and caught it in my mouth between my tongue and teeth as Aunt May poured herself another glass of wine. She looked up at me as I practically inhaled the noodle, eyes slimming into an unamused look as she stared at me over the rim of her glass.

“This is our last dinner together for a while and you’re not even gonna use your manners?” She tilted her head, hair sliding down from her shoulder.

I made a face and shook my head, reaching for the spoon in the pan. “Not when it’s spaghetti night,” I shrugged in refusal, dumping a small second serving on my plate.

May eventually followed in suit, her eyes nervously checking up on me again and again. With a breath and returned eye contact, I braced myself for the inevitable questions—

“You’re all packed?”

“Yes.”

“Have your passport?”

“Yes.”

Her face fell and she leaned forward, brows furrowing in worry. “… Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It was my idea to begin with.”

She lowered her voice. “I mean for Tony.”

“Well, why not?”

Aunt May stared at me for a couple seconds, noodles sliding off her fork back onto the plate. “I don’t know, he just… you know, this is a lot of publicity for someone who, you know… was dead—”

“—in a coma—”

“—less than a year ago,” May let out a sigh, her shoulders sinking. “Do you have to get technical with me?”

I set my fork down and sat back in my seat, biting my lip in frustration. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Tony’s been back for, what? Seven months?” She crossed her arms.

“Publicly, yes, and it’s not like he really kept it much of a secret before that, anyway,” I said, crossing my arms back. “He’s been alive for almost two years. A lot can happen in two years. A person can grow.”

She let out another sigh of concern. “And you don’t think all of this is too much for him?”

“He’s two years old. Of course not,” I said, dropping another noodle into my mouth. “I was ready for that kind of attention when I was his age.”

“Peter…”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Peter.”

“Listen,” I sighed, “he agreed to it at his own risk. Besides, no matter what he does, publicity will follow. He knew this ahead of time. That’s why he waited until his rehab was over—he wanted to be ready. And if he says he’s ready…”

Her eyes looked over her glasses’ frames at me. “We both know he’s not ready.”

“You know, this might actually be good for him,” I offered. “A good way for him to kinda get back in it, you know? It’s like a nice, long vacation with a bunch of pretty people gawking over him. I honestly don’t see the problem with it.”

“A bunch of pretty people trying to use him for his money, maybe,” she started picking at her food again.

“That’s the life he always used to live, May. Which is why I think it could be good for him. Might teach him to have fun again—you know, center him,” I sat up in my chair again, picking up my fork and stuffing my face with more noodles. “Plus,” I said through chewing, “it’s good promotion.”

“Promotion for what?”

“I don’t know, really,” I swallowed my food at her look of distaste. “Something to do with clean something something. Something for the planet. Or something. He was talking about it with those fancy people from the network out at dinner the other night.”

“And you didn’t listen?”

I wound up more pasta and took another bite. “No, why would I?”

Aunt May stopped her movements and stared at me for a moment before continuing to scoop up the noodles. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re gonna need for the trip?”

“Positive,” I smiled.

“Alright,” she let out a sigh, “if you say so.”

I smirked a bit, and took another bite full. “Are you sure you’re gonna make it that long without me?”

She took a small piece of a noodle from her plate and chucked it at me. “Zip it, you. I’ll be fine.”

I peeled the noodle from my cheek and looked at it. “Man, Aunt May… Nice aim—” And with that, I launched the noodle back at her.

By the time Morgan and I had finished clean up duty, with me washing the dishes and her wiping down the table with a cloth I gave her, the adults had migrated to the lounge with another bottle of wine, loud chatter and laughter filling up the air around them. Tony was off with Charlotte, going over a checklist with her to ensure that he had everything he needed for the trip before our departure in the morning. I stopped Morgan before she headed upstairs, holding a finger to my lip to keep her quiet as I pulled the freezer door open for her, and before we knew it, we were sneaking upstairs to our rooms with a popsicle in Morgan’s hand and snacks in my own.

The crinkling noise a bag of potato chips makes as you open it is one of the most satisfying noises in the world. Especially in the safety of your own home—unabashedly opening up a new bag without holding back to muffle any sounds. Just that sweet, sweet tearing noise as the smell of greased up, salty potatoes fills your nostrils and momentarily takes the place of that super sweet tub of Ben & Jerry’s beside you. One plus about upgrading to a king sized bed is finally having the room to keep your food beside you as you lie there—it’s a great way to be lonely without entirely feeling lonely. For the most part. Except when you remember that you’re eating an whole pint of ice cream entirely by yourself, because that’s when it starts to hit you that you’re actually, seriously doing this and you really shouldn’t be—

“Really, Pete?”

I looked up from my snacks as I pulled out an earbud, my eyes meeting the unamused eyes of my father. “What?” I asked.

He closed the door behind himself as he walked closer, crossing his arms. “We just picked those up for the flight tomorrow and you’re already eating them?”

“I was hungry,” I told him before grabbing another chip.

“You’re supposed to be getting everything ready,” he grumbled.

“I am,” I said, pointing the chip towards the half-zipped suitcase on the floor, with shirt sleeves and socks and pants sticking out the sides… Well. I tried. “Over there.”

His gaze followed my potato chip to the suitcase and he walked over to it, opening it up to see the jumbled mess of clothes that I neatly tossed into the suitcase from my closet—which, mind you, was already half packed from the last field trip we took in school a month ago. Clever, I know. I mean, half of the clothes were dirty anyway, and a lot of them I just grabbed from my floor… so really, most of them were at least a smidgen dirty. Probably, like, 90% of them were dirty. But none of that really mattered, you see, because we are staying in an actual house while we’re there, and real houses always have washers and dryers, right?

Right?

That didn’t quite matter any longer either, as my father’s eyes fell into that absolutely terrifying “disappointed” look that I was unfortunately seeing a lot of as of late. But just as he went to close it, his eyes widened at the sight of something else and he knelt down to tug on a piece of cloth.

A red piece of cloth. And blue. And black. That turned out to be more than just a piece of cloth. And that was suddenly being dangled in my face for a split second before it was folded over my father’s arm.

“No suit,” his stern voice rang through the room as he turned back towards the door.

My eyes widened as I jumped from my bed, almost knocking over my ice cream, and I followed him out. “What do you mean ‘no suit’? I can’t just go away for that long without it—”

He opened the door, looking back at me. “And is that seriously how you’re taking care of this thing?” He pushed through, lifting the suit to his nose. “God, Pete, it smells…”

“Dad,” I pleaded, “I can’t leave without it.”

“Seriously. When’s the last time you sent Hap to get this thing dry-cleaned?�� He turned back to look in my room, pointing at the suitcase as the door swung shut. “By the way, pal, one half-assed packing job isn’t gonna cut it. We’ll be gone the whole summer. Pack accordingly.”

I stopped in the hall as he continued up it with the suit still slung around his arm. “Dad, please,” I begged.

He began walking backwards, a smirk plastered to his lips. “No can do, kiddo,” he said. “You’re not supposed to work while you’re on vacation.”

And with that, he was gone, spending the rest of his evening with the usual entourage before they headed out to Happy’s place for the night.

I didn’t notice myself falling asleep. I wasn’t planning on it either—I don’t think I ever even rested my head for a second. But there I was; it was one o’clock, N64 fan roaring, half-eaten pint of ice cream melting accompanied by an opened bag of potato chips, and I had fallen asleep, controller still in hand. I peeled myself out of bed slowly, grabbing the snacks and heading downstairs to put them away in their respective places. As I was sealing away the tub of ice cream in the freezer, I noticed the door to the workshop downstairs slightly propped open, a faint glow coming from it and the distant voice of FRIDAY.

Curiosity killed the cat, right? Wish me luck.

Ever-so-thankful for my powers, I creaked the door open quietly and jumped up to the ceiling, slowly crawling down the spiral staircase until I finally reached the workshop. Everything was dark and put away apart from the desk, where Tony sat in his rolling chair, staring up at the blue holograms projected around him.

As though his breath had been hitched in his lungs for a long while, Tony let out a sharp sigh as he let go of his frozen stature, leaning forward in his seat. “Alright FRIDAY,” he pulled a pen from his desk and started scribbling on a piece of paper, “run the scans.”

“Certainly, boss,” FRIDAY said, and the holograms began pulling up hundreds, thousands—hell, even millions of files of footage. “Scanning all known devices now.”

Tony sat back in his seat again, jaw clenched in fear as hopeful eyes watched the projections around him. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched FRIDAY sort through the files, hurt filling the contortions of his face and… That’s when I noticed him.

How had I missed him?

“Come on,” Tony prayed, his eyes daring to well up into tears. “Come on, Cap.”

As files were sorted, discarded or scanned again and again, the screen running through images and clips so fast it hardly even flashed with the changes, the files were compared to an image presented to the right of them, none of them matching up with with the familiar head of blond hair that was almost damn near waiting for a match.

Years later, and Tony Stark was still searching for Steve Rogers.

I guess it sort of came as a surprise to me. He didn’t talk about Cap very often. If he did, it was usually short lived—it was never really something he chose to dwell on. And anytime someone tried to bring him up, he never spoke of their time together like it had the weight that I knew it did—like they were just some old buddies back in the day, and that was it. With everything going on in his life, I guess I just assumed he was a bit forced to move on from it.

Then again, when Tony came back—which, mind you, will forever be the most shocking moment of my entire life—one of the first things he asked about was Steve. Just to know if where he was… if he was okay. I was the one who told him he was gone, that he had brought the stones home, and was never to return.

He gave me a small nod when I told him, eyes drifting away from me, as he forced out a quiet, “okay, then.”

And that was it. That was all he ever asked about him. After he quickly regained his composure, Pepper ushered him away to get him some nourishment until they both finally decided it was time to wake Morgan up to see him again after seven long months apart.

I always wondered if Captain Rogers would have stayed if he knew Tony was coming back.

I guess that was part of the tragedy, wasn’t it? How could anyone have known that by some miracle he would come back? I hadn’t, Pepper hadn’t, nor did Rhodey, or Morgan, or Happy. There was no way Captain Rogers would have predicted that, either. He, like the rest of us, altered his life accordingly.

But if he got the chance to see what I was seeing, would he come back?

“I’m sorry, boss,” FRIDAY said solemnly. “The scans were unsuccessful.”

I suppose we’d never know.

Tony sat still, defeat stealing whatever energy he had left in him, as he tried desperately to understand the holograms before him. He stared for what felt like ages, breathing through the frown on his lips, swallowing back his guts here and there whenever he needed it. Finally, his eyelashes fluttered as he looked away from what was before him, energy joining him once again to neaten his paperwork. “Well, then,” he forced out, “let’s wrap it up for a while, shall we?”

He stood from his desk, picking up a mug of cold coffee and bringing it to his lips as he turned and started walking away, papers still in hand. He walked to a cabinet, dropping the papers into a file as he slowly lowered the mug, swallowing back his thoughts with his coffee.

“Would you like me to keep an open scan going while you’re gone?” FRIDAY inquired.

Tony’s eyes broke from wherever they had drifted, running in my direction on their way to look at the hologram—

Uh oh.

I managed to scurry back right as his head stopped its movement, hiding out of sight before his eyes flickered back over in my direction.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Footsteps. “Let me know if you find anything on your radar.”

Goose bumps. Skin tingling. Danger. Danger. Danger. I don’t think I’ve ever crawled on a ceiling faster than I did, barely making it to the door in time to leave it cracked where it was before he noticed it. It was faster to go out through the porch and up through my window than it was to run through that maze of a house, and I still only made it just in time to get under the covers before my father cracked open my door to check if I was sleeping. The pixelated N64 screen and controller by my hand was seemingly convincing enough, as he turned out the rest of my lights and left me to sleep.

* * *

To be honest, I wasn’t the most excited person when I realized that being adopted by Tony Stark also meant moving off to some cabin in the deep woods of upstate New York. The whole farm life thing never exactly appealed to me the way it did others, I guess. I was perfectly fine with living just a block away from my favorite hoagie joint, a couple blocks down from my best friend, the same part of town as the girl I sorely wanted back, and you know, the same city as the college that I attended daily. The drives back and forth from campus whenever I actually did make my way home only started to get better when I was actually doing them on my own, but they were still painfully long when Ned wasn’t able to join me for a weekend. And when your only entertainment for an entire weekend (or even week) is a six-year-old who is particularly obsessed with outsmarting you, Happy Hogan, and a video game that you somehow manage to fall asleep to while playing pretty much every night as of late, life can get pretty lonely up in the boonies.

Still, there was something to be said about waking up surrounded by nature instead of the city.

You’d be surprised as to just how calming it is for the morning sun’s glow to slowly enter your room, birds chirping in the trees outside your windows, wind chimes twinkling as a soothing voice peacefully rings throughout the four walls of your room…

“Everybody was kung fu fighting—” I don’t think I could have slapped my alarm any faster.

I attempted at covering my head with a pillow to block out the light, but the disturbance of voices downstairs disrupted my Sunday morning a bit early again—although this time, the voices seemed to amount to more of a crowd.

Great.

“Peter, your father will be arriving at your door in fifteen seconds,” Karen warned, lights brightening in my room as I hopped from my bed, placing in my earbuds. Like clockwork, the door creaked open as I paced my room in an effort to make myself seem busy.

“Pete.”

I pulled an earbud from my ear and glanced up at my father before heading to my closet. “You know, you should try knocking sometime.”

Mr. Stark trailed into my room behind me nonchalantly, looking around at the mess spread across the room as he picked up notebooks from my bed and placed them on my desk. “You say that like your alarm didn’t go off two minutes ago.”

“So?” I picked up the notebooks and moved them to my pile of schoolwork. “You never know—I could have been changing.”

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze tracing up to mine with a single eyebrow cocked up in disbelief. “Really?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but pajamas before two on a weekend.” He forced back a smile. “Besides, my point stands, you weren’t doing anything embarrassing. Which, by the way—”

“—that’s not my point—”

“—what exactly was it that you were doing?” He turned on his heel, looking around my room. “And what is that smell? Garbage? Gym clothes? Dirty sheets?”

“Dad.”

“When’s the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Dad.”

“Can we get some windows open in here?”

“Of course,” Karen complied, the panel windows rotating open on command, the sound of the leaves following the breeze that filled the room.

“Much better,” he exhaled.

I collapsed on my bed again, then, placing the earbud back in my ear. “Do you always have to act like something died in here when you enter my room completely uninvited?”

“I’m saving your skin, you know. May is downstairs and if she smelled whatever’s going on in here, you’d have a much bigger problem on your hands.”

I jolted up in horror. “May? What is May still doing here—”

“I invited her,” he stated simply. “For Happy’s sake. Surprise.”

I scowled. “Don’t encourage them.”

“Which reminds me, where are your bags?”

“Bags?” My eyes then drifted to the very same suitcase from the night prior, just as untouched, half-full, and dirty as it was the last time my father told me to work on packing it.

My father followed my sight and immediately let out a sigh, his back to me, and I just knew the face that he was about to hit me with before he even managed to turn around. And then he did.

Here we go.

The look of unsurprised disbelief with a flavor of sheer, utter annoyance as his eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

Personally, this was my favorite look of disappointment from him. His “shocked” face that I always seem to get whenever I prove time and time again that he really should stop having any sort of faith in me being able to do anything that is not Avenger, homework, or video game. I mean, it’s only fair. To the both of us, really.

He finished his eye roll, those disappointed eyes falling to mine before he finally headed to the door. “Get dressed and be down in five. Say hi to the crew quickly and then please finish packing. We can’t be late for this.”

“We’re leaving today?”

“Seriously?” He was out the door in seconds, calling back, “How on earth are you more like me than I am like me these days?”

I jumped from my bed and grabbed a t-shirt that was folded on the top of my dresser, pulling it over my head as followed Mr. Stark down the hall, door clicking shut behind me. “How long until we leave?” I asked, catching up to him on the stairs.

“Around an hour.” He muttered, head tilting towards mine. “You definitely did not get dressed that quickly.”

“I’m not going in there alone,” I told him.

He halted about half-way down, looking me up and down in my sweatpants and Midtown gym shirt. His lips flattened into a line, the look of annoyance returning to his face. He then unbuttoned his suit jacket, turned, and shrugged. “Fine.” And as we finished our trek down the stairs, he expanded his arms grandly, cleared his throat, and projected an embarrassingly loud, “Everyone—Peter has finally decided to join us!”

Every pair of eyes in the room fell to mine.

… I brought this upon myself.

It was barely seconds before the only person from ABC that I actually recognized managed to catch my attention—and yes, there was, once again, a gray hair sitting intrusively on the blazer.

“Peter!” She exclaimed, peeling her way through the group to shake my hand. “Are you excited for the next few months?”

“Sure,” I offered, my eyes drifting from hers in search of Aunt May. I looked back at her, squinting a bit as I studied her face. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting your name.”

“Nellie Freeman,” she reminded me. “I’m one of the producers for The Bachelor.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded my head. The whole bullshitting portion of this thing was already wearing on me, and I was only about… a sentence and a half into it. And it was obvious, as a rather awkward look of concern started to form on her face. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you, Ms. Freeman,” I sighed, slouching a bit. “I just rolled out of bed. I really just came down here for food before I get ready to leave.”

Nellie nodded then, stepping aside. “You should probably focus on that, Peter. And please, call me Nellie.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll find the chance to talk later, alright?” She said, clutching her mimosa close to her hair-intruding blazer.

I nodded, turning to make my way to the kitchen. “Okay, Ms. Freeman.”

And with that, I was free, and doing one of my favorite past times: rummaging the refrigerator for food. And as I rolled out each and every tray, drawer, compartment, searching high and low for just a little bit of cream cheese, I felt a very gentle tug at the hem of my shirt. I paused, raising my eyebrows to look down at the very soft, yet expectant face of a six-year-old, a small smile playing at her lips.

“Hi,” she said.

“Good Morgan,” I greeted her, stifling a laugh as she let out her usual giggle. “Staying out of trouble so far?”

“I need your help,” she said. She then waved for me to get close, so I did, crouching down and offering my ear to her. She cupped her hands, leaning close to whisper. “Can I have some of your root beer?” She asked, pulling back with an innocent look on her face.

“Maguna,” I sighed, turning towards her totally. “You do realize it’s still morning, right?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“And that our father is right on the other side of that wall?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

I raised my eyebrows again, pointing in the direction of our living room. “And that if he catches me giving you root beer at seven in the morning without asking his permission, he’ll get very mad at me?”

“Yes,” she said, this time with a single, big nod.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” I told her, standing up and pulling a bottle of root beer from the fridge, “not sure if it’s worth the punishment.”

She tapped my arm this time, tugging at my shirt afterwards. “Please?”

“Hmm,” I looked between my sister and the bottle of root beer in my hands. “Are you ready to leave yet?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I set the bottle on the counter, along with the bagels and cream cheese, closing the fridge and crouching back down to meet her height. “Go on up to my room, then. I’ll bring some up to you when I finish getting my breakfast and you can play Mario Kart while I pack.”

And for the last hour that we spent in our home for the time being, my sister and I kept sanctuary up in my room, with Morgan sprawled out on my bed, trying to make sense of an N64 controller as I coached her on how to take out Bowser as revenge for his ruthless attack on her Luigi. My bags were carelessly tossed together in a matter of minutes, suit staying tucked away underneath heaps of clothes, and my Playstation carefully wrapped (and hidden) in clothes in my second suitcase, zipped away until further notice. I had bravely ventured downstairs to grab the next round of root beers, and the two of us were able to stay far away from any parental units paroling the household for the remainder of the hour—shocking, since Morgan’s got quite the big mouth when it comes to video games.

Packing the vans for our departure to the airport wasn’t chaotic until the rest of the black-blazer-with-a-stray-strand-of-gray-hair-obtrusively-standing-out-and-distracting-me-once-again people from ABC arrived. It went from packing up the car for a nice family vacation to me pretty much being sent up to my room to pack yet another whole bag with all of the items on their list of things that I had to bring for my “wardrobe” that I didn’t know were “required” for my nice, lovely, family vacation. And then came the labeling of each and every bag—which, of course, followed their security check of each and every bag.

That’s right. They brought security for us.

I know.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure the ridiculousness of checking Iron Man for safety threats was the tipping point of my sanity, so by about eight o’clock, I was lying in the middle of the driveway and tossing a rock up into the cloudy sky. At some point, Mr. Stark’s hand suddenly reached out and caught it and he looked down at me with a tired smile.

“You ready?”

I raised my eyebrows and caught the rock as my father dropped it. “Did my background check already make it in?”

“Funny,” he rolled his eyes as he reached down to grab my hand, pulling me up. “You should be praying that they don’t find it.”

“What do you mean?” I laughed, picking my backpack up from the curb as I followed him up the driveway to the big, black, spy-like SUVs. “Peter Parker is as threatening as Happy when he falls asleep on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner.”

His hand rested on my back as he guided me to an open door in one of the SUVs. “Have you read your high school disciplinary record?”

“No. That’s your job,” I grinned at him as I climbed in and slid to the end, grabbing the buckle.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark’s eyes widened at the thought as he got in his seat beside me. “And your poor Aunt May’s.”

“Well, she knows about the whole… you know… Spidey thing, now, so it’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sure it explains a lot.”

Happy’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Wait until you can’t use that excuse this summer.”

My jaw fell only slightly as I let out a chuckle. “No, no—not an excuse. I won’t need it, anyway. No suit, no hero antics, no need for doing anything absolutely stupid.”

Happy’s eyes looked up again in the mirror as he stopped at the end of our driveway. “The suit isn’t what causes you to be stupid.”

And with another small, Pikachu gasp escaping my lips and laughter bellowing from Aunt May and the man beside me, the window rolled up slowly, separating him and May from myself, Morgan, and our dad for the rest of the ride to the city.

The car ride inbound was far more easy-going than the last long one we had heading outbound, on our way home from my grand, very belated ‘adoption party’, where this whole Bachelor thingy began. I was silent, overwhelmed, sort of regretting the amount of root beer that I had consumed.

I think, like, five glasses, maybe? Full glasses, too. Like the big ones, not the little scotch glasses. All five, sitting in my stomach over every pothole and rock we ran over.

“Come to think of it, Pete, I didn’t really see you much tonight. Was it the nerves? Too many people?”

I nodded assuringly. “Too many people. Definitely.”

He eyed me in suspicion and then let out a sigh. “Listen, Pete. Don’t let this whole… moving into a multi-billionaire’s million dollar lakeside New York mansion thing scare you into thinking you have to respect me any better.”

“I think,” I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him in confusion, “I think just saying that… does?”

“What I’m trying to say is now that I’m officially your father and you’re officially my son, that weird, politeness type of respect isn’t necessary anymore,” he went on, looking forward at the street as Happy drove their car back to their home. “If anything, you should respect me less.”

“I feel like this is a test,” I told him.

“It is and it isn’t,” he grinned to himself. “Just be a normal kid, alright? No more Mr. Starks, no more asking permission for every single little thing. Just ask permission sometimes, when it’s necessary. And don’t call me ‘dad’ while wearing your suit. That’s when you call me ‘Mr. Stark’. Got it?”

And that was it. I’ll be honest, the whole transition from “Mr. Stark” to “Dad” hasn’t exactly been easy, but I think I’ve got it down.

For the most part.

Happy took a sharp turn then, breaking my thoughts as we went off of our course to the airport. “Sorry,” he shouted from the front seat.

“Mr. Stark…?” I muttered, staring out the windows in confusion. I looked at him and he raised an eyebrow expectantly. I realized my mistake but refused to correct it, staring back at him with my own eyebrows raised expectantly as the SUV pulled to a stop in front of the mansion, film crews piling out of one of the vans ahead. “What’s going on?”

“Showtime—” was all he said, before jumping out of the vehicle and heading over to the makeup artists, who, of course, swarmed him.

It was going to be a long summer. And it was only April.

The beauty of college was that the summer typically began in May, anyway, and with some teeth-pulling trips home away from the hyperactive, crime-filled city, I was able to set aside blocks of time to get my work done early in an effort to finish my semester earlier than most. I must say—midterms and finals all within two weeks of each other were not exactly the highlight of my college career so far, but finishing the semester by the start of April in exchange for an extended summer was pretty worth it.

Apart from the makeup brushes that were suddenly advancing on my face.

“Wait—” I held up my hands in defense, waving the brushes away. “No, no—not me, not my thing. I’m fine with—you know,” I gestured toward my face, “this.”

“It’s for lighting,” one of the artists argued.

“And that,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, “is what editing is for. Tell Ms. Freeman I said that.”

Like clockwork, Nellie Freeman ran towards me, calling my name. “Peter!” She said, excitedly, “Go on over to your father. Share a laugh with him.”

Share a laugh?

I was guided over to where he was and before I knew it, cameras were pointed at us in all directions as Mr. Stark put an arm around me and looked at me to chat, pointing to me. “Are you ready?” He asked, charming smile flashing on his face.

“No,” I said, forcing a smile, trying hard not to look at the camera. “How long do I have to do this?”

“Entire summer,” his smile grew proud.

My face fell.

“Remember, this was all your idea,” he let out a laugh then, and it was apparently enough to satisfy the cameras.

Worst moment of my life.

So far.

As a small part of the crew followed me around the front of the mansion—which, I had inferred was for their introduction to the show, as they were filming numerous angles of the mansion itself, as well as our family by the gates out front, and even a small moment of Tony driving out of the garage in yet another hideously orange supercar—the sound of a small explosion a couple blocks over rumbled through the streets. Myself and the camera people with me, who happened to be closest to the noise, all turned in fear as cop cars zipped up the street towards whatever it was.

My heart pounded a bit as the adrenaline came through my body with my senses and I looked at the crew urgently, “You should probably go distract Iron Man before you lose camera time with him.”

They took my advice.

Barely a minute later, I was in my suit, swinging through the streets of New York City.

Standard bank robbery: getaway car at the corner of the block waiting in drive, hold up in the lobby of the bank, gunmen standing guard outside, and my favorite—two pyromaniacs blowing a hole in the alleyway wall to gain outside access to the vault.

Minutes later, the vault guys were webbed to the brick walls of the alley, the gunmen were knocked out and webbed up, the two guys holding up inside were webbed together in a nice, snug hug, and the getaway car was stopped mid movement by me mere seconds after I had webbed up its passengers to street lights in their escape.

A standard day in New York City for Spider-Man.

Man, I was going to miss it. Genuinely. It was a hobby as much as it was a passion and a responsibility. It had its perks, of course, but swinging through the city, stopping to fight whatever crime was impending, and then getting back into the air moments later just to return to whatever I was doing, or like in many cases, to the backpack I webbed up to a dumpster in an alleyway a block away from the mansion. I undressed from my suit as quickly as possible and got back in the clothes I was wearing before, stuffing the suit into my backpack—

Spider sense. Spider sense. Behind you, Peter—Peter. Peter. Peter.

I turned quickly to see an old bearded man standing at the end of the alleyway by the sidewalk, staring at me as I stuffed the spider suit into my backpack.

I felt my cheeks burning red as the man just watched. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise,” I smiled nervously. “I just found it in the dumpster. It’s probably—it’s probably not even real.”

The old man let out a chuckle, approaching me slowly. “It’s okay, Peter,” he said with a smile. “You don’t need to worry.”

I froze in that moment, movements halted as I registered the voice and the way it said my name—yes. My name.

My name?

“How did you…” I trailed off as the main presented a large pouch to me, reluctantly taking it from him. I stared at the pouch and then up to those old, tired, glistening eyes. “Are you one of the wizards?”

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You might wanna grab a lab kit for that before you leave, by the way.”

And that was how my Breaking Bad career took off.

Kidding. Sort of. Hopefully. All that was in the bag from what I could tell was some old rusty gear and tech and a few pieces of paper to accompany the items. I looked up from the bag and back at the old man, who just watched with a pair of what seemed to be proud eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the familiarity in his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man’s face fell slightly for a moment and he placed a hand on my shoulder, dipping his head down a bit as he blinked slowly, lips curling into a smile once again. “You’ll see.”

The sound of repulsors taking off echoed through the streets, followed by the sound of flight, and both myself and the old man turned in its direction, looking up to the sky as Iron Man appeared over the rooftop.

He hovered there for a moment, silence dripping between us for a split second, before he finally let out a confused, “Pete?”

I widened my eyes. “I can explain,” I started, stepping towards him, “You see, I was helping this nice gentleman over here and—”

He flew passed me to where the man was, but as I turned around with him, the old man was gone.

Tony landed in his place, stepping towards the sidewalk slowly and looking around. “It doesn’t make sense…”

Okay, Peter. Time to be honest. I took a deep breath, “Well, to be honest, there was an explosion up the block, and it turned out to be a huge bank robbery, so I kind of had to step in and—”

“I said no suit.” He stated bluntly, but he was still distracted by our surroundings.

“I know. It’s just—it’s hard,” I confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Tony was silent in response; he was evidently listening to Friday as opposed to me, focusing in on whatever it was they were examining in the alleyway. Moments passed in silence, before he finally let out a sigh, “Alright, let’s go. We have a flight to catch.”

He lifted me from the ground, returning us to our group at the mansion a couple blocks over, cameras and all. The obligatory clips of the Iron Man suit removing itself from Tony that ABC insisted on filming bought me enough time to sneak into the mansion and snag one of the lab kits we had set aside for missions. I was able to slip it into the SUV by the time Tony finished with his numerous close-ups with the film crew.

The remainder of our morning once we actually arrived at the airport was just that. Cameras, interviews, weird filmed moments where we all chatted about absolutely nothing in an effort to seem like we were actually engaging in real conversations—then pause, break, and we were back to loading Mr. Stark’s private jets.

Yes. Jets. As in plural.

Because we weren’t going to fly with the ABC people, right? They had to be there waiting for us upon our arrival anyway.

Eyeroll.

It was only about eleven in the morning by the time we took off, but it felt like the day had been going on for hours already. The jet we were on, which was Mr. Stark’s newest of his hybrid engine class, had quarters for him, myself, and Morgan in the back, which were separated by the full bathrooms in between. It wasn’t long before I had passed out on my bed, the shades closing on the windows to leave me in a nice, quiet slumber…

“Pete, wake up,” My father’s voice called from the door to the cabin. I stirred a bit, covering my head with my pillow. “Shower quickly and get out here, we’re landing soon.”

Soon? Already? How long had I been asleep?

I sprung out of bed, heading to the bathrooms to shower in the circular full shower, washing up as fast as I could, before I dressed in some warm weather clothes and headed out to the cabin, natural sunlight blinding me a bit before I could see outside the windows at the…

Islands? Surrounded by turquoise… lagoons?

How long had I been asleep?

My father walked over to me, looking out the window alongside me with a grin on his face. “Welcome to Bora Bora, Peter.”

#the bachelor: tony stark edition #bachelor au #tony stark #peter parker #stevetony #stony #stony fic #stevetony fic #tony stark fic #endgame fix it #mine

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