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clubdionysus · 27 days

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[BAD DECISION #1] Purple Starfuckers

warnings: alcohol, clubbing

soundtrack: bad decisions - bts, passionfruit - drake, promiscuous - nelly furtado & timbaland

wc: 3.5k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist

"Don't think of it as a bad decision. Think of it as a lesson learned. Something to remember for next time."

The way Hoseok looks at you is borderline comical - face all scrunched up, mouth hanging ajar. He's scowling, but it isn't new. He's had a face like a slapped arse all evening. Kinda goes with the territory of a fresh break-up, mind you.

"You don't seriously believe that?" He scoffs, before swallowing his words down with the rum and coke that he's been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. It tastes like shit, and is far too strong - but he's the one who asked for a triple. No one else to blame

The bartender had raised his pierced brow, told Hoseok that he's "not allowed to do that" - but had offered to make him a double and pour a separate shot, instead. "What you do with that shot is up to you," the bartender had shrugged - and so Hoseok had poured it straight on in.

You finish your own drink with a roll of your eyes and shake of your head. "What I believe is that she wasn't 'the one', Hobes. Was a lucky escape, if you ask me. She was fucking vile to me and Danbi."

"You guys just didn't get to know her proper-"

"Hobi, she wore white to Jungmi's wedding," Danbi interrupted. Truthfully, she could not have cared less for how badly Hoseok's ex had treated her - it was when she started behaving badly around other people, embarrassing them in the process, that she started to take offence. If there was one thing Danbi had, it was pride. "WHITE! Who does that?! Poor Jungmi. She's a better woman than me. I'd have fought that bitch on the spot, right in the aisle. Don't care if it's my wedding day, when bitches deserve a slap-"

"Dan," you laugh but try and get her to quiet down, knowing that Hoseok is still reeling from the break-up. As true as her words are, he doesn't need to hear them right now. Turning to Hoseok, you stroke up his shoulder tenderly, with a soft smile on your glossy lips.

You didn't cover yourself head to toe in glitter just to sit in the smoking area of a shitty club all night. There's fun to be had.

"Look, Hobes, it sucks that things ended the way they did -" a screaming match over the price of asparagus in the middle of a supermarket, that was totally an argument about something more than that, but Hoseok is still in denial - "but not everything we lose is a loss. Okay? You've still got us."

Which is admittedly more than he deserves after how much of a shitbag he'd turned into during the relationship. He'd go days, weeks - hell - sometimes months, without getting back to you. You and Dan had been fine - you had each other after all - but it still sucked not having your third musketeer with you.

"Now c'mon," you smile. "Get that drink down you, and get that pretty ass of yours on the floor. We both know you're dying for a good dance."

"I don't feel like it," he groans - but he downs his drink regardless, and is dancing to a noughties classic within five minutes.

You think it's Nelly Furtado - it is - but you're so drunk that you can't really place it. It's the kind of song that everyone knows; the kind of song that gets everyone's hips moving just right. Bodies are hot and sweaty, the clammy dancefloor a pit of sin. To you, though, it feels like heaven at that moment. This is all you've wanted for months. You're holding Danbi's hands, Hoseok between the pair of you, unable to escape and not really wanting to, either. He's smiling, and it's the best thing you've seen all night.

The lights of the club beam down on you, pinks and blues reflecting the satin dress you're wearing. It's short, barely covering your ass, and silver. Picked out especially for a night like this; when attention is welcome, but not necessarily encouraged. You think you look like a trophy. Maybe someone will be lucky enough to win you. Maybe not.

From the bar, Jeon Jeongguk thinks you look like a little disco ball.

He's wiping a tumbler dry, fresh from the glass washer, making most of the lull in customers coming to the bar. There are only three of them behind it, and it always makes Friday shifts feel that little bit more hectic.

Dionysus, a club just on the outskirts of the party district, is always busier on a Saturday, so he prefers Friday shifts. A relatively small club, it has only a single dancefloor and a bar area with a few seats. The back entrance leads to the smoking area, which is where he'd first noticed you coming from with your friends. There's nowhere to hide, really, in a club like this. If you're in Dionysus, everyone knows about it.

Especially the bartenders.

"What do we reckon," Yeonjun, the youngest of the crew, smirks at Jeongguk as he nods towards you and your friends. "They all going home together, or what?"

A little air squeaks through Jeongguk's lips as he purses them, trying to get a read on your little trio. The way you're moving your hips towards the dude in the middle certainly seems a little more than friendly. At least, if a girl he'd never met before was dancing with him like that, he'd take it as a good sign he was getting laid.

What makes it interesting is the fact that there are two of you. You in silver, another girl in black. Both pretty. Both incredibly different, but both captivating nonetheless. Like a pair of shooting stars, he thinks, cracking through the crowd at a vibrancy that could blind. Is a little confused as to how the fuck you aren't being pestered by other guys - doesn't complain though. Makes for a clear line of vision.

It's nights like these which make Jeongguk wish he worked a normal job. He misses out on all the fun always being behind the bar, he thinks. Does also save him from making some bad decisions that he knows would surely haunt him. If anything, he should be thankful.

"Fuck knows," he simply says, closing the glasswasher and whipping the towel over his shoulder. "10,000 won says he's going home alone."

Yeonjun smirks. "You're on."

It's less of a bet for Jeongguk. More of a manifestation. He likes watching you dance. Doesn't like the thought of you dancing with the dude by yourself. Doesn't like the idea of you leaving with him, either. Considers the fact that maybe you're not even interested in dudes, and that it's the girl you're holding hands with who you'll be leaving with instead. He's less intimidated by that - at least your disinterest in him would be preference based - but it's still not his favourite scenario.

It's not like he knows you, nor will he ever know you. He just likes to live in the what-ifs. They're always so much safer. Can't get rejected if you don't put yourself out there.

And so he carries on with work just like he should, serving the next punters who stumble to the bar. He pours them a water with their order, because lord knows they need it, and laughs when someone tries to pay for it thinking it's a vodka lemonade.

"On the house," he shrugs, letting their drunk minds believe it really is a vodka lemonade. Easier that way. Will get them drinking water, at least, even if just for a sip or so before they clock on.

You're laughing, a little out of breath and not entirely steady on your feet, as you head to the bar.

He'd been so busy with the last customers that he didn't even notice until he saw you using the bar to help steady yourself. You aren't looking in his direction, but up at the row of spirits behind him, trying to sus out what you fancy.

Your hair is dark, up in a ponytail with grown-out bangs framing your face. The makeup you've been wearing has faded, melted off from the heat of the club, but the glitter remains. You really do look like a disco ball, he thinks. It makes him smile.

"Hey, sorry," you beam towards him, eyes just as sparkling at the glitter dusted on your collarbones. He raises his brows, expression open, receptive, as he moves closer to the bar. "What's something that can get me fucked up but also tastes delicious?"

Oh, how he loves a challenge. He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side. "What do you qualify as delicious?"

"No passionfruit," you say almost instantly. "So no pornstars." And then you gag a little, to emphasise just how much you hate passionfruit.

"No pornstars, noted," Jeongguk says as he pulls an imaginary pencil from behind his ear and pretends to jot it down on his palm. He looks back up at you, and doesn't bother fighting the way his teeth bite down on his bottom lip - why would he? You're giggling. He likes it. And he also knows you're probably drunk, so won't remember this interaction in the morning.

"Well, I mean, none of the drinking variety," you grin, tongue in cheek. "If you happen to know any of the human variety, send them my way."

He almost chokes on his own spit. The shock in his eyes has you laughing again.

"I'm joking, you idiot."

Although you kind of totally aren't. You haven't been laid in a while. You'll take anything with a pulse who is interested at this point.

"I knew that," he bluffs, and looks back down at his palm as if he's reading again. "Okay, so no pornstars - pornstar martinis. What else?"

"Don't like orange juice."

"Do you like anything?"

You like lots of things. So many things that your brain can't think straight, actually.

You like the way a tattoo is peaking out of his shirt sleeve. You like dancing with your friends. Being drunk. His smile. The way he's joking with you. The knowledge that Hoseok is probably doing the robot as you speak. Sunsets. The chain around the neck of the man in front of you. Those cute tiny straws he puts in some of the cocktails. Him.

But you narrow your eyes, and ignore your brain. "Alcohol."

He narrows his eyes right back. Purses his lips. Looks down at his fake notepad, then back up at you. "I think I have just the thing for you."

Reaching for the plastic cups which you know are reserved for water, you almost look offended. Does he not think you have eyes? Are too drunk to know he's giving you water?

He places it in front of you and smiles, lips together, eyes round - but still challenging you.

"It's water," you tell him, and he nods. No denial.

"Uh-huh. Cleanse your palette first."

"Are we fine dining?"

"We aren't doing anything," he assures you. He's on the clock. "But everything tastes like shit after a smoke, so if you wanna enjoy it, have some water."

Your brows furrow together, head tilting and then you're self-conscious. "Do I smell like smoke?"

You'd doused yourself in perfume and had been chewing on gum to hide it, but apparently not well enough.

Jeongguk shakes his head, realising how much wider your eyes are. You don't seem as confident. You're not smiling anymore.

"No, no," he says quickly and nods toward your clutch, which is propped open on the side of the bar. A packet of cigarettes are sticking out slightly, a lighter tucked into the side. "I just guessed - sorry. I didn't mean to- I mean, no. You don't. Not at all."

You follow his gaze, and find yourself smiling. Small misunderstanding. That's all. But he seems just as panicked as you had been. It's sweet.

"Fine," you elongate your response and let your eyes narrow again, to let him know you're ready to banter again. "I'll drink it - but whatever you're making better be good."

"If you hate it, it's on the house," he says, knowing that you won't hate it. He sets about making your drink as you sip on the water, not really watching him because you're trying to focus on not falling over. Water actually seems like a great idea. You're thankful for it.

When Jeongguk returns to your spot by the bar, he can't stop blinking. The glass of water - an entire pint - is finished. You're smiling, lips a little wet, eyes a little hazy.

"Thirsty," you shrug.

He checks your jaw to make sure it's not grinding, but it's perfectly still. Not a gram of MD - the drug of choice in Dionysus circles - in your system. You just really are thirsty - had been dancing all bloody night. He knows this, but he's naive to how hot it is down there. Hasn't actually been on the dancefloor himself in a while. Always working.

He accepts your defence, and holds up the shot in front of you. It's tiny, and pretty, all purple and shimmery.

Jeongguk smiles. "Purple Starfucker."

The water you've just finished almost comes back up through your system. "Sorry?!"

"Purple Starfucker," Jeongguk simply repeats. "Amaretto, peach schnapps, a little curacao and cranberry juice. Fucking delicious."

You do love all of those. It's the ideal drink for you. You've never had it before, but you know it's gonna be good. He places it down in front of you, but that challenging look is still in your eye.

He laughs a little. Can't figure you out. Has no idea what you're thinking. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," you grin, picking the shot glass up by the rim, raising it with a nod. "To Purple Starfuckers."

Jeongguk nods back. Toys with his lip piercing, the tip of his tongue peeking out ever so slightly before he bites down on his lip. "To Purple Starfuckers."

From his peripherals, Jeongguk can see Yeonjun leaning against the countertop at the back of the bar, watching him with a curious smirk.

Un-fucking-believable, Yeonjun thinks. Reckons Jeongguk is trying to fuck with the bet. Trying to lure Disco Ball away. He doesn't hear the conversation, but he can read your lips - 'Holy shit? That's fucking delicious? How much do I owe you?' - and watches the way Jeongguk shakes his head. Hands too. Shrugs. Bloody git is giving it to you on the house.

10,000 won ain't that much, but Yeonjun doesn't like losing. "Oi, Disco Ball. Get your friends"- he nods towards Hoseok and Danbi. -"We'll make you a round."

He ignores the way Jeongguk's eyes burn into him, knowing that his shit-eating grin is enough to wind Jeongguk up. They love each other really, but in a way you'd love a sibling. Fully capable of hating one another, too.

You glance up to Jeongguk, almost as if you're asking his permission. You kind of are. You trust him. He's been kind. This other bartender? He's a bit louder. Far brasher. And he'd called you Disco Ball? The fuck?

Jeongguk nods. Doesn't want you to leave, but equally knows the only reason you're looking at him like that - eyes all wide and innocent - is 'cause you're drunk. Doubts it would be the same if you were sober. When he comes to think of it, he'd rather you were with your friends. Safer that way. "Hurry. Before we get really busy."

And so you scurry off, running on the balls of your feet to avoid awkward heel mishaps. There's something endearing about it and it's almost enough to distract him from Yeonjun's taunts.

"If he doesn't take her home, I will."

"She's fucked," Jeongguk tells him, voice stern, eyes still on you. Fucking around with punters isn't against the rules, but taking advantage of drunk girls? Yeah, not on his watch. Doesn't matter who it is. He's seen enough creeps and enough girls in tears because of them to know when to step in. "You're going nowhere near her."

"I clock off in an hour," Yeonjun reminds him. Jeongguk the one who's closing the bar tonight. "Plenty of time to play catch up."

Yeonjun - brilliant, blue-haired, and with enough boyish charm to seduce almost anyone - isn't a creep. He looks up to Jeongguk. Respects him. Follows his lead. Would never take advantage of a punter. He just likes winding Jeongguk up a little too much.

Jeongguk ignores him. Doesn't put it past him. While Yeonjun likes to think he has values, Jeongguk knows he's just as horny and desperate as the rest of the fuckers in the bar.

That's not to say Jeongguk is discounting himself from the generalisation - he just actually does have morals. To some degree, at least.

You're on the dancefloor for no more than thirty seconds, dragging Hoseok and Danbi with you to the bar. They complain and moan - "but I love that song!" - though as soon as they're faced with a tray of shots, their moods shoot up. You go to pay Jeongguk, but he shakes his head.

"On the house."

"You're trying to get me drunk," you accuse with a knowing smile.

"You're already drunk," he smiles right back. It's not his goal. It's a fairly quiet night. If anything, this is entertainment. Not like there's much better for him to be doing. Not until his friends drop by later, at least. "I'm just a nice barman."

Part of you wants to protest. He's covered in tattoos - his hands, the ones peaking from his shirt at the wrist and the neck - and has more piercing in his ears than you do. There's a stud in his brow, and a ring on his lip. It's his eyes though, that you think scream danger the most. They're deep and they're dark, and you know better than to trust them.

And yet when he smiles like that, your tummy feels all fuzzy in the same way that your head does.

"Well thank you Mr Nice Barman," you nod and curtsey, because that somehow feels appropriate.

"Jeongguk," he corrects, before knocking his head to the side and nodding towards the dancefloor. "Go enjoy your night, trouble."

Not too much, though, he thinks to himself, but watches as you bounce back to the dancefloor with your friends.

The drinks were a small gesture, but one that he knows will have made a difference to their night. No skin off his back. He likes doing things like this. You're not the first, likely won't be the last - but he spends a lot longer than usual quietly observing you as you get on with your night. Doesn't notice the smile on his face.

Yeonjun does, though. Chooses not to say anything. Knows when to pick his battles.

Does warn him when he sees Jeongguk's friends bundle in through the door, though. "Watch out boss. Same as usual?"

Jeongguk nods, and Yeonjun sets about making a round of drinks for the usual suspects. Three malibu and cokes, one rum and lemonade and four purple starfuckers. Jeongguk'll make those. They're his signature.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he grins towards his friends, all a little worse for wear. Bleary-eyed, they're smiling and joking, having come from dinner - which turned into drinks, and then more drinks and then - fuck it - clubs. Dionysus is always the final stop. They like the atmosphere; like the free drinks even more.

"You know us," Park Jimin grins at him in the sleazy way he so often does, which lets Jeongguk knows he's up to no good. "Where the pussy goes, we surely follow."

"Speak for yourself," Namjoon snorts beside him, a little more sober than the others. Taehyung and Yoongi are engaged in their own conversation - something about the Samsung Lions and baseball strategy that Jeongguk doesn't care much for. "Quiet night?"

"Fairly," Jeongguk nods - which can only mean one thing. Same thing it means every week.

He'd always thought that by the time they hit their mid-twenties, they'd be over this lifestyle by now - but his friends like to make just as many bad decisions as he does.

"Round up boys," Jimin cheers, his voice booming above the bass of whatever noughties classic is on. "Purple Starkfucker time!"

Jeongguk laughs. Shakes his head, rolls his eyes. Unfolds his defensive arms. Glances up to the crowd - but you're lost to the night. Maybe not forever, but for now, at least.

And so he just nods, and cheers along with them.

"Purple Starfucker time."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk #jungkook x reader #jeongguk fanfic #bangtan #jungkook fluff #bartender!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #jeongguk fic #bad decisions #dappleddaisies

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historia-vitae-magistras · 6 months

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💯🔺 aus for the ask thing?

🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?

He knows how to shoot, box, and use the bush tools to deadly effect if necessary. The wadi or waddy too. He must have fiddled around with boomerangs at some point. He had periods when he desperately wanted to be blooded, to join the ranks of the imperial powers, and he got there in his way, but I don't think violence ever sat quite right with him. He's part of the British imperial system; god knows he's capable, but pushing him headlong into that ease with violence like Matt or Arthur doesn't sit right. The sheer length and breadth of protest history in multiple facets of Australian culture have me lean more towards 'will throw a brick at someone in a fit of rage or grief,' but putting discipline and time into learning a weapons system makes him incredibly uncomfortable.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

He's turned into a borderline insufferable food and drink snob over his life. Penal colony baby was just happy to eat, but it wasn't long before he ALWAYS had thoughts on what the cooks could do better. He will rip apart a chiko roll or a meat pie without complaint, but he will seriously ponder a wine pairing for dino nuggets. Coffee snob, too. An adventurous coffee snob, but a coffee snob. Straight-up British-style instant coffee will make him gag. He's almost in the Mediterranean club now, and his preference shows it.

He can be ungodly surly when he's hungry. Like no one in this family is a light eater, but he is a fricken vacuum cleaner. He spends WAY too much on eating out just because he does not stay in very much and always needs a snack.

He's pretty fricken reckless. Like there's a very thin line between brave and stupid, and this shithead has had Zee going, 'Can you keep some fucking blood in your body for fifteen minutes?" and he's just like, "Can we stop at the pub before the ER? I'll buy ya a pint."

Character Detail Ask Game

#the ask box || probis pateo #jack || a land of summer skies #goddamn lots of aussie questions #nice

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silverstagspirit · 10 months

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I have read the Yuu the scientific phenomenon, and I'm not sure if I send the ask, because I have memory problems.

But the idea of some of like dangerous food being commonly eaten, and Yuu not eating because it contains a lot more poison. Also, funfact bamboos can be poison especially bamboo shoots, that's why some people have to cook it, aka boil the poison out of it (atleast based on YT Shorts of Vietnamese person living in Germany). Because I wonder what food are poison in Twisted but isn't at out world (aka the grandillas), and what food that are like delicacies but Yuu will straight up die, if they eat it.

Also, you know that there is a place in our world where the gravity is a bit funky. Like really funky.

Tho, I know that Twisted have chilli's, but have they ever have the straight up fucked up chilli's that by just looking makes you cry (exaggerating ik). But Yuu just eating it being yummy and borderline calling the fire department, and going to the bathroom.

Speaking of bathroom, lactose intolerance, depending on where Yuu lives, they might have better lactose tolerance or worse. So Yuu going to bathroom, is just pain.

Also, what about peeps who have genetic mutation where cilantro taste bitter or like soap.

The lactose intolerant part has already been discussed on the biology tag.

But the Cilantro thing jogged a memory from my past. If you'd like to hear it, here it is:

That's the end of the story

We had a vegetable garden that was made in raised, wooden beds. My Dad had made these troughs with his own carpentry skills. And one time, we had grown Cilantro in it. During that time, though, a large rainstorm hit, and the raised bed's flooring collapsed. Me and my brother and I had to go out and save the plants from being washed away. But when I got to the Cilantro, I was hit with literally one of the worst smells in my entire life. It was so strong. And at the time, I didn't know what was causing it. I was being handed the uprooted Cilantro plants to put in a bucket. But I noticed that some of the plants had a transparent slime at their roots. And I realized the smell was coming from them. (The smell was actually so bad that I had to step away and take a few breaths every couple of seconds) If I had to describe the smell, it would be: if a bag of chlorine got together with decaying plant matter. After that whole dilemma, maybe some time later or right afterward with the same plants, my mom made butterchicken. She put in the cut-up Cilantro with the chicken, and I ate it. Let's just say I did not like it, then proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes picking all of the Cilantro out of my bowl.

As for the other bits:

The funky gravity part had me thinking about something I heard in science fiction. That, if humans were to live on Mars, they would become super tall and have very pale skin. Imagine a Yuu that lives on an Earth that has already made it to Mars and has people living there. And they're just another country to us.

The boys coming to Earth and passing by someone who had immigrated to Earth from Mars:

"So the next stop is that way. We better get moving if we want to—"

"Waaaarrghh?!?!?!"

"Huh?! What?! What is it?"

"There's some giant person over there!" *points at a Martian in the market.*

"That's rude, Ace! They're just getting fruit from the stalls."

"Prefect, didn't you say that there were only humans in this world?"

"They are a human, they're just a Martian."

"Martian?"

"People here have colonized the planet next door, and when you stay on that planet, you grow taller and become paler due to the lower gravity and staying in sealed buildings."

"So yer' sayin' that I can grow taller just by chilling in a certain place?!"

"Not necessarily, but you will grow taller if you live on Mars long enough."

"Mars?"

"That's the 'planet next door' that I mentioned earlier."

"Oh."

#twst #twisted wonderland #biology au #answering asks

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strayoblivion · 1 year

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vitamin sunshine (l.f.)

➵ pairing: felix lee x reader / non.idol!au / college!au / established relationship / gn!reader ➵ 881 words / soft fluff 🌸 / reader calls felix ‘lix’ ➵ in the midst of studying and feeling like you’re about to combust, all you really need is your dose of vitamin sunshine (felix lee) [masterlist ❣️]

felix lifts his head up for a peek for the umpteenth time today ever since you quite decidedly made it a point to i’m going to stay here until my brain rots and until i can no longer function. though it may seem extreme, felix decided he’d want to stay here with you more than anywhere else... which is why it’s a stark contrast of him merely doodling in one of the textbooks (definitely not yours) and you looking like you were about to self-destruct. ah, the joys of having finals during different times.

he’s proven correct in his assumptions of you burning out when your head is now on the table, face planted on top of a book you were trying to read. he shifts forward ever so slightly, turning his ear so he can hear you grumbling fragments of your train of thought: i’ll just start selling hotdogs... i can do that... what’s the worst that could happen? or i’ll just start selling feet pictures. my toes look fairly decent...

the last thing felix wants to do is laugh even though it’s his first instinct. you effortlessly make the corner of his lips tug up regardless of the things you say (take it with a pinch of salt). he is well-aware that if he were to laugh now, it may get translated in the wrong way so he keeps silent and decides it’s a good time to get up from his seat.

he makes sure to let you know as he kisses the top of your head (wherever he can reach) and murmurs a soft i’ll be right back, okay love? he bites back a chuckle when you mindlessly wave a hand without looking up from your position of trying to bury your brain in the book like your face has, a garbled bye bye echoing into his ears sadly.

maybe it’s ten minutes, maybe it’s fifteen. heck, it could very well been two hours and you’ll very gladly allow the library to sink you a whole because apparently nothing seems to make sense today.

what does seem to make sense is when you feel hands on your shoulders that lightly jolt you out of your reverie. though mostly silent, the gasp that you let out assures felix that maybe you dozed off (which is a good thing). he takes the seat next to you, opposed to his seat opposite you prior and you sit up straight with furrowed brows.

“augh, you already have drool on your face,” felix chuckles, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the corner of your lips as you stare at him with a small frown.

“what’re you...” confused, that’s what you are.

“you need a break,” he says, gently nudging your book away so he can place a familiar looking cup from a familiar looking cafè you frequent near the college premises. immediately it brings the sparks in your eyes, especially when you see the scribble of the barista’s handwriting: sunshine.

“that’s your first vitamin,” felix muses, lightly fixing your hair and holding back a smile when you look at him with admiration filling your eyes; gratitude lacing your pupils and the shy smile peeking through. it’s moments like these he’s reminded of the effect he has on you; the ability he has to make all the bad things dissolve, even if it’s just for a little while.

much like how you do to him, but maybe that’s for another time.

“what’s the other vitamin?”

“oh, i’m very glad you asked,” he smirks, leaning back in his seat and he gently pulls for your seat closer to him. you blink at him a couple of times to adjust to the proximity, then your eyes trail up to the way his eyes seem to be glowing at you.

“me.”

you barely have time to laugh when he somehow gently aggressively pulls you into his embrace and makes you cuddle up against him. his aura seems to be confident and borderline smug (rightfully so) but he can never put up with that demeanour for long especially when you’re peering up to him with your smile partially hidden as your lips press to his hoodie-clad chest.

though surprised, he watches as you mould against him almost immediately.

your arms snake around his waist as you scoot closer and turn the cheek so you can hug him properly. he sighs and rests his chin atop your head and lets his eyes flutter shut as he embraces you.

“how long does this vitamin last?” you murmur, giving him a small squeeze.

he returns the favour by putting his arms around you tighter, planting a kiss to the side of your head as he replies: “for as long as you need.”

((”as nice as this is, lix, i really need to get back to studying...”

“five more minutes,” he bargains, refusing to let you go as he presses his cheek to the top of your head, keeping you captive.

“i thought this was my vitamin and i got to decide when it ends?”

“nah, that was just a promotional marketing tactic,” he snorts, “this vitamin lasts forever.”

“wow, lucky me.”

“mhm, yes, lucky you indeed.”

“...seriously though, five minutes more then i’ll go back to studying, okay?”

“...fine.”))

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfics #stray kids reactions #straykids #felix lee #felix x reader #lee felix #felix scenarios #felix lee x reader #lee felix x you #felix x you #lee felix x y/n #felix x y/n #skz drabbles #skz reactions

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nctsworld · 3 years

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two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone off to one side.

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.”

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly.

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

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pingutats · 3 years

Text

be this close, forever and ever

you and harry have been together for a while. your nights at home are quiet and comfortable, and, well, you’re both just so in love.

warnings: sexual content (soft giggly sex), mostly fluff

word count: 2.5k

. . . . .

Living with Harry, the two of you start to fall into the same rhythm. It’s not easy with his schedule as chaotic as it often is and your lives so profoundly different, but the nights when he’s home are the quiet sanctuary you need from all of those stresses. His little rituals seep into your own. The evenings are for being together, enjoying each other’s company without distraction or pressure. It’s just you and him, and the routine you’ve constructed so delicately together.

It starts with a face mask. Just because he’s so famous, he receives packages from different companies hoping for endorsements. He doesn’t really do those but he keeps the boxes anyway and most nights the two of you pick out one to try. He reads through the ingredients while you wait for the prescribed fifteen minutes to pass: pumpkin extract, baobab oil, a white flower extract.

“Which white flower?” Harry asks, looking up at you.

His mask is wrinkled between his brows where he’s frowning and you reach up to smooth it out again, your hands coming away sticky. You wipe them on his sweatpants, which just makes him frown again. “Dunno,” you say, “but it must be a pretty powerful flower if it—” you snatch the packet out of his hand “—de-puffs, hydrates, and brightens our skin.” You scan the printed text for a moment. “I think this one’s supposed to be used in the morning.”

“Oh, fuck. The moon’s out. Was this all for nothing?”

After peeling off the masks carefully in the bathroom, you coo over each other’s soft skin ridiculously and move back into the living room for the next unspoken event of your night. Harry is borderline religious about meditating, somehow possessing the discipline to do it for twenty minutes day and night. You aren’t like him, but sometimes you join in. It is good for you, after all.

The two of you sit on the carpet, legs crossed and backs straight, side by side and within arms reach. The itch to reach out and touch him or lean over to put your head on his shoulder is strong, but you know it annoys him when you do that. He is so serious about it — “It doesn’t work if you keep poking me, the point is to be completely focused” — and even if you’ve never reached his fanaticism about the practise, you respect it so you keep your distance. Two minutes in, though, you’re starting to get bored. He can meditate for ages: twenty minutes is his standard, and you simply don’t have it in you to sit still for that long. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, you uncross your legs and stand up, padding across the soft carpet into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

When the soft alarm he’s set on his phone rings and brings him back to reality, he blinks open his eyes to see you in front of him, holding two steaming mugs. It’s the tea he buys especially to have before bed, something a friend recommended to relax him. You aren’t sure if it really does anything, but it tastes good so you always have a cup too. When you think about it, you do almost always have a good sleep the nights that you drink it. Those nights are the ones you’re sleeping with Harry, though, so maybe it isn’t the tea. You set the mugs on the table nearby.

“Thank you, love,” he says softly. He reaches to take hold of your hand and then suddenly drags you down to the floor, a tangle of limbs as you collapse on top of him.

You giggle and then shriek as his fingers find the ticklish spot along your ribs. “Harry! Get off!”

His attack ceases very quickly when you accidentally elbow him in the stomach in your attempts to escape.

“Sorry, H.”

“’S alright. Probably deserved it.”

“You did.”

But he’s mostly quiet in the evenings — doesn’t like to talk too much as he decompresses from the busy-ness of his days, so he shows his affection more through his actions. As the two of you sip your tea (still on the floor, because with the plushy carpet he has it’s just as comfortable down here as on the couch) he reaches out to drum his fingers over your knee while he tries to remember all the things he needs to do tomorrow. He’s always written himself to-do lists and he got you hooked on them too. You were sceptical at first, but they do make life easier. The little thrill of ticking off boxes in your black notebook with your initials monogrammed on the bottom right corner (Harry’s gift) is a bonus. He’s less driven by those superficial rewards, so he chooses to keep his on his laptop, which is rose gold. His hand leaves you only to type the next line of his to-do list, then he’s back to tracing patterns over the fabric of your borrowed sweatpants. He emails the list to himself when he’s finished. You’ve always found that funny, and you tease him for being grandpa-ish, but it’s just another one of his eccentricities that makes him more endearing.

You probably wear his clothes just as much as you wear your own. He loves seeing you in his stuff. He’s practically throwing t-shirts at you as soon as you walk into the house. He’ll take your stuff, too, sometimes. Dating Harry comes with an unspoken agreement to merge your wardrobes. There are a couple of pieces — a hoodie or two, sweatpants that are too big for either of you, a pair of extremely fluffy socks — that have been passed between you for so long that you can barely remember who owned them first. The sweatpants you’re wearing right now (paired with just a sports bra) are his. The old band tee he has on is yours.

He carries the empty mugs back to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher while you finish the last of your planning. There’s no discussion around it, just like no one asked you to make the tea in the first place. The two of you just now how to work together now, with all the times you’ve practised this routine. Sometimes it’s him who makes the tea, sometimes you finish your list first, but you never really have to talk. Harry usually picks out an album to play in the background over these moments, and that’s the only thing you need to listen to. It’s good. It makes you feel more connected to him, like you understand each other on a deeper level than just being able to talk. You know Harry like the back of your hand. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. It’s a quiet kind of euphoria, to love and be loved back. You don’t need the fanfares and the grandiose displays. You just need each other.

Later, you pull faces at each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth, bumping hips as you giggle around your toothbrushes. He’s finished in the bathroom before you are, so he lies in bed in just his boxers and watches you through the open doorway while you do your last couple of skincare and hair rituals. Satisfied, you switch the bathroom light off and enter the bedroom that you share, decorated with framed artworks you both chose, a bedspread that you picked out together. You quickly change into just a long loose shirt, then collapse into bed with him and crawl under the covers, his greedy arms pulling you to nestle into his side while he presses a kiss to your forehead. He likes to read before he sleeps, but you aren’t in the mood for that. You shuffle down until your head is at his chest and you throw your arm and leg over him, letting him rest his paperback against your bare thigh while he reads with you wrapped around him.

After a couple of minutes of just the sound of pages turning and your soft breaths, you start to sponge kisses over his bare chest. He ignores you at first, but you hear his breathing stutter as you move up to his collarbone.

“Let me just finish this chapter,” he murmurs. “Just a couple pages left.” His eyes don’t leave the page, but he gropes around until he finds your hand and brings your fingers to his mouth, kissing them before he lets your intertwined hands drop.

You don’t reply. You pull your hand out of his loose grasp and run your fingertips up the subtly defined lines of his abs, softened by the way he’s sitting. You trace the wings of the butterfly tattooed over his stomach, then draw a constellation between his four nipples — he chuckles and pulls your hand away, holding it tighter this time.

“Baby,” he says, a little firmer this time.

You kiss his shoulder again.

He sighs, closing the book (he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the page until it’s fully closed and you almost feel bad for distracting him until —

He throws the book on the nightstand and reaches over your body to plant his hand on the mattress, pushing himself up so he’s hovering above you. “You’re a pest,” he says, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours.

You giggle and bite your lip, wrapping one leg around his hip and pulling him closer to you. “Kiss me?”

He obliges, pressing his lips against yours. “That all you wanted?” His tone is slightly teasing. He’s always liked to see you squirm.

You shake your head, wrapping your other leg around him. You can feel the bulge underneath his boxers against your crotch and it sets a fire in your core. You thread a hand into his hair and pull him down to kiss him again, less chastely this time. You roll your hips against him, just slightly, and smile against his kiss when you feel him twitch.

He breaks away from the kiss and smears his lips over your cheekbone to your ear. “Tell me, angel, tell me what you want you want and I’ll give it to you,” he whispers.

You barely contain a whimper at how deep his voice has gotten. “Fuck me,” you say, gasping as he starts to place hot openmouthed kisses down your neck. When you first slept together, you were too embarrassed to ask him so openly. You don’t get embarrassed around him anymore. “Harry, please fuck me.”

He pulls back suddenly, smiling down at you. “See? All you had to do was ask nicely.”

“Harry!”

He’s laughing as he pulls his boxers down to free his cock, but his giggles fade into a low moan as he takes hold of himself and strokes a couple times. “Ready for me, baby?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes into you with one fluid motion, making your eyes roll back. He fills you so perfectly. Every single time he’s in you is better than the last, it never gets old — there’s no feeling that’s as good as how he feels. Sometimes it’s explosive, sometimes he’s brutal in how he fucks you, or passionate and needy, or the both of you get caught up in the roles you make up to play, but you treasure the times like this. The times where he’s on top of you, face-to-face, alternating between kisses and whispers and little giggles — this is where you feel the most love for Harry.

He takes his time, in no hurry to end this moment. The pace he sets is slow but he reaches deep into you on each thrust, his breath coming out increasingly ragged every time he buries himself to the hilt. You have your hands in his hair and splayed across his back — he has one clutching the pillow beside your head to hold himself up, the other roaming over your chest. It’s like he can’t decide what he wants to do with his mouth: he’ll kiss your lips, then along your jaw, down your neck, then back up to your ear where he whispers all the sweet little nothings he can think of.

“So pretty, baby, love you so much, taking me so well, always my good girl, my best girl, my girl, always feel so good…” He chants it like a prayer, his words taking on a firmer tone each time he thrusts in, starting to pick up the pace a bit. “Touch yourself for me, darling, want to see you cum underneath me.”

You moan and reach down between your legs, rubbing little circles around your clit while he starts to fuck you at a faster pace. “Feels so good, Harry,” you say, your words choked slightly by the intensity of what you’re feeling right now.

“I know it does,” he replies, kissing you again, swallowing your moans. That edge of cockiness, the way he knows how to take care of you, when you just need his mouth on you and he can’t keep off you — you love all these little traits. You love him. And he loves you. That’s maybe the feeling to triumph over all the others.

“I’m close, I’m close,” you chant, the hand on his back digging fingernail marks into his skin as the warm feeling in your core rises, threatening to explode.

He thrusts into you faster, his rhythm growing slightly sloppy. “Yeah? Let go for me, baby, let go, I’m right behind you.”

You cum, legs shaking around him and brows pinched as you stare up at him, while he watches you cum undone with an intensity behind his gaze that wasn’t there before. You say his name, over and over, trying to put all you want to say into just that one word. You hope it’s enough. You think it is. He gets you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, words cut off by a pant, as you feel the aftershocks of your own orgasm and the growing over-sensitivity. “You feel so good, baby, gonna cum so hard…”

You feel him spill into you as he cries out, his body collapsing over yours so his entire body is pressed against yours. You thread your fingers through his hair until he starts to come down from his high and rolls off you, his cock slipping out and you hiss at the slight friction.

“God…” he murmurs into the air. “That was so good.”

You giggle, twisting around and propping your head up with your hand so you can look down at him. “You say that every time.”

“It’s good every fucking time,” he says, a smile spreading across his face.

You poke his dimple and he tries to catch your finger with his mouth, biting the air playfully, but you pull it away. “You’re such a weirdo.”

He pouts for a second, but then his features soften. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You drop your head back down to the pillow, watching him stretch his arm out to turn off his bedside lamp. After a couple of swats at the switch, he finally manages it, and brings the same arm back over to drape over your body. It’s totally dark now. “Love you so much,” he tells you, kisses your forehead.

“Love you more. Goodnight, H. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, angel. Sleep well.”

. . . . .

hope you enjoyed -- let me know if u did, i like reading ur replies/tags !! i rlly loved writing this fic, it’s just so domestic and sweet and happy. the meditating and the to-do list (including the emailing !! ) is from the real harry.

btw !! my ask box is open for requests & general chatter, so come say hi :D

#harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #fic

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starshine583 · 4 years

Text

New Girl on the Block (2)

(So there are Journal Entries that are supposed to go with these fics, but I’ll admit they’re not as details haha. It’s up to you if you wanna read them or not, but please enjoy this chapter either way!)

Ch.1 / Ch.3

Chapter 2: Looming Support

Marinette bustled down the last few steps to the bakery and made a mad dash for the door. She should arrive at Rosemary right on time- for once in her life -but Felix was supposed to be meeting her there since they shared their first class together, and his demeanor gave her the impression that he preferred to get to class early instead of right on time.

“Oh- don’t forget you’re croissants for lunch!” Sabine called after her, causing Marinette to screech to a halt.

“Right, right, thanks Maman.” She replied hastily, nearly yanking the paper bag from Sabine’s hands.

“Careful with those! They’re fresh!” Sabine warned.

Marinette only nodded, as it was the only thing she had time to do, and ripped open the bakery door. The school was now five blocks away instead of two, but if she started running-

“Marinette!”

All thoughts of Felix and Rosemary flooded from her mind when the chipper voice of Adrien Agreste reached her ears.

She glanced up to see her former classmate- and former crush, for that matter -stepping out of his silver car. Her first instinct was to run, but her feet refused to move, as if they were rooted to the spot from sheer panic. Why was he here? No, nevermind. She knew why he was here. The look on his face gave it all away. That easy smile paired with those stupid, pitying eyes was a look she’d seen a thousand times before. He always wore that expression when he was about to give her another lecture on why she needed to be the bigger person and let Lila figure out the error of her ways on her own.

“Marinette, I’m so glad I caught you! I tried to visit yesterday, but Mme Sabine said you weren’t home.”

Marinette held back a smile, knowing full well that she’d been home all evening yesterday. Her mother was such a saint.

The humor didn’t last long, though, because Adrien continued, “I wanted to talk to you about your transfer? When did you decide to change schools? You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Involuntarily, she started shifting from foot to foot. Aside from the fact that merely looking at Adrien made her immensely uncomfortable, school would be starting soon. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Felix to be late if he decided to wait for her. “A-Adrien, I really need to go.”

His smile wavered. “Maybe I can give you a ride? I really think we should talk.”

Finally regaining command over her own two feet, Marinette shuffled a step back. “No, t-that’s alright. I don’t want to trouble you.”

Adrien stepped forward. “It’s no trouble-”

“ThanksbutIreallyhavetogonowbye-” The quick farewell shot from her lips as she tore off down the sidewalk, giving him no room to argue. She knew Adrien all too well, and she knew that he would keep her there all day if it meant persuading her into his vehicle- or anywhere private -for them to “talk”.

Marinette turned left and right, winding through the streets and back alleyways of Paris. It wasn’t the ideal detour, but she wanted to be absolutely certain that he didn't follow her. If Adrien was willing to show up at her house, she doubted that he would hesitate to show up at her school too.

So she ran, ignoring the burning in her legs and desperately praying that Felix wouldn’t glare at her too much for the inconvenience.

~~~~~~

Time: eight thirty-two in the morning, exactly two minutes after classes were supposed to start.

Felix never considered being late a problem so long as it wasn’t a regular occurrence. The tardy marks that assaulted his otherwise perfect attendance, however, were a bit of a nuisance. If it had been anyone other than Marinette, he would have left as soon as the class bell resonated within these borderline cavernous halls.

A pair of footsteps developed in the distance, faint at first. He didn’t bother turning his head until the sound grew into a loud tapping on the pavement, but what he saw surprised him. Marinette, the very girl he was waiting for, was sprinting towards him. If that wasn’t enough, she ran right past him and into the school! Granted, she spouted something in his direction as she passed, but he certainly didn’t catch it.

Felix, despite being thoroughly confused, followed her inside, where she was now bent over and gasping for air.

“I’m- I’m so sorry for- for being late.” She panted, briefly glancing up as she did. He noted that her gaze was focused more on the windows than him, though.

“It happens.” He murmured, curiosity prompting him to look out the windows as well. A few cars passed, but nothing out of the ordinary. What was she looking for?

“You’re not mad?” She huffed, flicking her eyes to the window again and taking a step to the right. Was she trying to hide from something?

Felix frowned. “No, but we should get to class. Getting detention on your first day isn’t the best first impression.”

Marinette nodded, drawing in one last breath and straightening. “Okay.. History’s first, right?”

“Correct. They’ve already started, though, so we’ll need to be discrete.”

She pulled a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s only the first class of the day. Once the next class starts, our schedules will right themselves, and our lateness will be forgotten.”

And it was. By the time Felix met up with the others for lunch a few hours later, Marinette was bright and cheery and not nearly as distressed as she had been that morning. He idly wondered what could have caused so much panic for her, but it wasn’t his business to ask. They’d only known each for a day, after all. If she wanted to tell him about her problems, she would.

“Ready to go, Mari?” Allegra asked, looping her arm with Marinette’s. “The restaurant is a bit far so I’m gonna have you ride with me, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re going to a restaurant?”

“Yeah, where else would we go?” Claude replied.

A soft “oh” passed Marinette’s lips, and she looked down at the small, pink package in her hands. “I, um.. I thought we were just going to eat at the park or something, so I brought my own lunch.”

“That’s alright!” Allegra smiled. “We’ll just go to a cafe instead. I know this outdoor one a few minutes from here that has the most splendid pastries.”

“Are you sure-”

“Of course we’re sure.” Allegra insisted, waving off Marinette’s concerns as they walked outside. “This lunch is for you, after all.”

Her bluebell eyes blew wide at the information. “For me?”

“It’s our way of celebrating a new member of the group.” Allan casually explained.

“Felix didn’t get a lunch since we already have to drag him by the ankles to everything else we do.” Claude added with a smirk.

Felix rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t disagree. They really did jump through a lot of hoops to hang out with him. Why the trio went through so much trouble, he’ll never know.

Marinette, however, giggled at the knowledge and stole a glance in his direction.

Feeling as if he should acknowledge her look, he leaned towards her and murmured, “You can still run. The ‘initiation lunch’ hasn’t started yet.”

She put a hand over her mouth to stifle her increased laughter. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were all climbing out of their respective cars- Marinette hopping out with Allegra -and deciding which table to steal for the half hour they had left. Claude jumped to a circular table near the edge of the street because it “had more sun”. Since no one else had a specific preference, they followed along behind him.

“We try to make it a point to have lunch together whenever we can.” Allegra said to Marinette as they sat down. “Usually, we get to have one at least once a week.”

“Felix always tries to escape, but struggle is futile when Allegra is involved.” Claude whispered to the ravenette. The fact that he had to lean all the way across the table to do so, however, caused everyone to hear it anyway.

Allegra pulled a cheeky smile, not even denying the comment. She knew how ruthless she could be when she wanted something, and it was a trait that she held in high esteem.

Marinette, once again, fell into a small fit of giggles. Felix found that he rather enjoyed hearing her laugh, which was surprising. People who laughed at every other word in a conversation usually irritated him. They were either looking for his approval or just had dreadful, snorty laughs in general. Not hers, though. Something about Marinette’s laugh reminded him of tinkling bells or pure sunshine. It almost made him want to laugh along with her.

“How long have you all been friends?” Marinette asked curiously, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on the back of her folded hands.

Allegra was the first to answer. “Claude, Allan, and I have been friends since childhood, but Felix was roped into joining us a little over two years ago.”

A waitress came by to take their orders for drinks and food, but after she left, Marinette continued the conversation.

“It’s cool that you all have stayed such good friends over the years. At my other school, I somehow got put in the same class of people for six years straight, but..” She trailed off, her smile fading slightly.

“But what?” Felix prompted, ignoring the surprised look the others gave him.

If someone had told him yesterday that he’d be asking a random girl about her troubles, he would have said they were ridiculous, or better yet, not responded at all. When it came down to it, Felix wasn’t a sensitive or compassionate person.

And yet, here he was, asking Marinette to continue addressing her woes- and they were woes. No one looked that depressed when thinking about cherished memories. -for a simple life story. Felix wanted to know what made her tick, how she became the person she was today. He couldn’t do that with the scarce information that he currently possessed. If she was close to telling them something important, why waste the opportunity?

Marinette’s eyes met his, also holding a bit of shock.

“But..” She repeated, casting her gaze downwards and lowering her hands. “I guess being childhood friends wasn’t enough to keep us from drifting apart.”

The table fell silent.

Even as the waitress came back with their drinks, even though Claude- who usually never shut up -was sitting right there, the table fell silent. It was one of those moments, Felix supposed, that had to be silent, to reflect on the grief that hung so heavily in Marinette’s words.

Finally, Allan put his hand on hers. “We’re here for you.”

The statement was soft, but strong and filled with sincerity. Allegra and Claude reached forward and grabbed her hand as well, showing their shared support.

Marinette put her free hand on top of theirs, her eyes glistening with tears, but her smile warm and grateful. “Thank you.”

Although Felix didn’t partake in the handholding, he offered her a meaningful look. “I told you: once the ‘initiation lunch’ is started, you’re stuck here.”

A choked laugh came from her, and she wiped away a single, stray tear. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

~~~~~~

Marinette popped the last bite of her meal into her mouth and started balling up the wrappers and dirtied napkins to put them back in her lunchbox so she could throw them away later. She’d decided to wait until the others got their meals from the cafe before eating her prepared lunch, which resulted in a time crunch that required her to somewhat scarf down her food. Marinette didn’t mind it, though. Allegra moved their entire lunch date to another location in an effort to accommodate her. The least she could do was wait an extra ten or twenty minutes before eating.

“What is that heavenly smell?” Claude asked, going so far as to stand from his seat slightly.

Marinette, who had just taken out her mother’s croissants, smiled. “Maman packed me fresh croissants from our bakery this morning.”

“You have a bakery??” Claude asked next, rising further from his seat.

Allegra swatted at his arm. “Claude, behave yourself. We’re in public.”

The brunette sat down immediately, but his eyes remained on Marinette. Or rather, the paper bag she was holding.

Marinette giggled. “Yes, about five blocks from Rosemary.” She then opened the bag and fished out a croissant. “Would you like to try one?”

“Absolutely!” Claude said, almost urgently, as he shot out of his seat to grab the offered food.

“Claude!” Allegra hissed.

Instantly, he sat down again, reminding Marinette of a hyperactive, yet well-trained puppy. She couldn’t help grinning at the sight.

“They’re chocolate flavored.” Marinette informed as she handed it to him. “We also have a cheese-filled one, but I don’t have any of those today.”

Claude didn’t hesitate to take a bite of the croissant, and she watched with an amused smile as his entire being seemed to melt into the chair.

“Is it really that good?” Allegra inquired, reaching up to take a piece.

Claude jerked away, clutching the croissant to his chest as if it were a priceless heirloom. “No! She gave it to me!”

Allegra lips pressed into a thin, impatient line. “I just want one little piece.”

He shook his head. “Get your own croissant.”

“Claude-”

Before she could argue any further, Claude shoved the entire croissant into his mouth.

“Claude!” Allegra cried, both annoyed and concerned at the same time.

“I have more!” Marinette rushed to say, not wanting the conflict to worsen. Thankfully, the two turned back to her.

“Maman packed a few extras since she knew that I was eating with you guys.” She explained, taking out another croissant.

Allan put a hand to his heart jokingly. “Aw~, you talk about us?”

A light blush dusted her cheeks, and she handed Allegra the croissant. “Well, you four are definitely a memorable group.”

“We wouldn’t be fun if we weren’t.” Claude winked, taking another croissant himself. It was actually Marinette’s croissant, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. His giddiness as he bit into the breaded treat was too good to ruin. Besides, she could always snag another one when she got home.

Allan hummed with pleasure next to her. “How did you make them so fluffy?”

“Maybe you guys can come over sometime to find out.” Marinette suggested with a smile. They’d taken her to lunch, so it seemed only fitting to invite them to her house as thanks.

Claude immediately brightened. “Can we really?”

She giggled. “I don’t see why not. I’m sure Maman and Papa would even teach you how to make the croissants yourselves if you’re nice enough.”

“Girl, you just say the word. I will be the epitome of nice.”

A round of laughter spread amongst the group. As if Claude could be anything but chaotic for more than a few minutes.

“We would love to come over.” Allegra said, still holding a wry smile from Claude’s comment.

Marinette beamed. “Great! I’ll see when Maman has a free day.”

A beeping sound cut into the conversation, and Felix glanced down at his watch. “Time’s up. We need to get back to the school for our next class.”

“You have a timer?” Marinette asked, purely curious, as they all started getting up.

“Felix always has a timer.” Claude interjected.

Felix sent him a glare. “It’s a practical thing to do. If I didn’t set a timer, we would all be expelled by now for being late to class too often.”

“He has a point.” Allegra allowed, pulling her purse onto her shoulder.

Claude shot her a betrayed look. “Don’t side with him!”

Allegra merely shrugged in response. “We’ll see you guys back at school.”

“We?”

Allegra made a small gesture between herself and Marinette. “We’re riding together, remember?”

Claude straightened. “Hey, that’s not fair! You got to ride with her on the way here.”

Allegra rose a brow. “Your point?”

Claude flailed his arms, as if it were obvious. “So it’s my turn to drive her.”

“Your turn?” Allegra scoffed. “She’s a human being, not some object to be thrown around!”

“Says the person who gets to drive her.” Claude retorted.

Allegra narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Why don’t we let Marinette decide who she rides with?”

An involuntary squeak escaped Marinette’s lips as the two turned to her.

“Oh, um, well-”

Felix’s sigh cut her off. “Enough. I’ll drive her.”

Claude’s jaw dropped open.

Allegra blinked.

Marinette just stared at him, vaguely aware of Allan smirking approvingly next to her.

“If that’s alright with you.” Felix added, breaking their stunned silence.

“O-Oh! Uh, yes. That’s fine.” Marinette replied unthinkingly.

He nodded. “Good. Let’s get going then.”

Marinette shuffled along behind him, sparing a quick glance to Claude and Allegra. They were still staring, though Allegra now had enough sense about her to clench her jaw from displeasure.

She managed to give them both an apologetic look before Felix led her around the corner to where his car was parked.

He helped her in, then got in himself and ordered the driver to take them back to school.

~~~~~~

Felix stared out the car window as he tapped his index finger against his thigh. They were alone now. Just him and Marinette. This situation provided a million opportunities. He could ask her more questions about her old school, or her home life, or how she was enjoying the school so far. If she assumed that he was prodding, she might clam up, though. So he should probably choose one subject for the time being. Which question was most important? Which would give him the most information?

His finger started tapping faster in thought. Her old school seemed to be a touchy subject. That would be shut down quickly. She’s also extended an invitation to her house. Any questions he asked about that would be answered eventually anyway. That left her opinion of Rosemary Highschool, but that hardly reflected much of her personal life.

Felix checked his watch. They would be at the school in roughly five minutes, and there was no telling when they’d be alone again, what with Claude and Allegra running about. He had to ask something.

He stole a glance in her direction. Marinette was staring out the window as well, quietly twiddling her thumbs. He found that it was something she did often- fiddling, that is. It must be a coping mechanism for her anxiety. She practically couldn’t sit still during their first class after the mysterious scare she’d had that.. morning..

Felix cleared his throat. He knew what he wanted to ask her now.

“Can I ask you something?” He began, hoping she wouldn’t be as annoyed by this as he himself would be.

Marinette startled, whirling around to face him. “Sorry?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Oh.” She said, relaxing a bit. “Okay.”

Felix drew in a small breath. So far so good. “This morning, you ran into the school and avoided the windows for the first class period. I don’t mean to pry, but were you running from something?”

Panic flashed across her features, and her hands trailed up to mess with the tips of her jacket. “It’s.. it’s nothing, really... I guess you could say I didn’t leave my old school on good terms.”

Felix blinked. That’s an interesting reply. What did the relations of her old school have to do with her running from something? (Nevermind the fact that Marinette leaving anyone on ‘bad terms’ was shocking. She didn’t seem like the type to make enemies easily.)

“..Is someone stalking you?” He asked, somewhat thinking aloud. The way she ran into the school didn’t strike him as someone who was casually hiding from an awkward situation. If she left her school on bad terms, perhaps someone was trying to corner her for revenge?

She shook her head frantically. “No, no, no! Well.. technically yes, but ‘stalking’ is a strong word. He-”

He?

“-just wants to ‘talk’.” Her expression soured at the last word, and Felix wondered what sort of things one must talk about to have her on the brink of scowling.

“You know we don’t mind picking you up.” He offered. It’s not his policy to involve himself in personal disputes, but Allegra would have his head if he didn’t suggest some sort of support. Plus, more car rides would provide more opportunities for him to ask questions. “If you’re worried about being followed, Allegra and Claude will probably fight tooth and nail to drive you to school too.”

Marinette shook her head again. “I really appreciate it, but that’s not necessary.”

Felix watched her for a moment, not missing the way her hands started fiddling a bit more in her lap. “Well, if you ever change your mind..”

“You’ll be the first to know.” She promised with a smile. It looked a bit forced in his opinion, but he nodded nonetheless.

Felix supposed he should feel wary towards the new student. She hadn’t mentioned why she left her old school, though she admitted she had unnamed squabbles there. That can be considered innocent, but it can also be a skillful way to avoid consequences. As far as he knew, she could be running from her victims who decided to rally against her.

And yet, he couldn’t help being filled with this sense of morbid curiosity. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a fashionista who appears to have a big heart and a troubled past. She lives in a bakery, yet managed to attend one of the most prestigious schools in the city- possibly the country. She’s riddled with nervousness, but every step she takes tells you that she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Who exactly is Marinette Dupain-Cheng?

Felix couldn’t wait to find out.

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks

#Felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #Quantic Kids #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block

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kevyfanfics · 3 years

Text

Remembering You

From @kevyfanfics to the @opal-earrings for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange event!! I hope you have fun with it because it was an absolute blast :) <3000

AO3 Link

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker & Peter Parker, May Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Stephen Strange, Helen Cho

Summary: All Tony can do is stare at the pale, unmoving form of Peter as hands force his heart to beat and air is pushed into his lungs. This time it’s different. There's no beeping to prove he's still alive as he lies there, no steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Tony doesn't realize he's on his knees until hands are gripping his shoulders.

“No. No no no no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please, don't go, I'm so sorry, I still need you, kid, I didn't-” He's cut off by his own sobs, vaguely aware of the steady arms that keep him up as he curls in on himself. I didn't mean it, he desperately repeats in his head, begging in a way he had never begged before.

Or: Peter gets amnesia after a grueling fight, forgetting who he is to Tony.

Possible TW // Temporary character death

Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

---

Tony sits with his head down, palms digging his eyes as he waits. And waits. And waits… God, he's so sick of waiting. It’s been weeks. Too many weeks to keep track of when all Tony can think of is the lifeless, comatose kid beneath pristine sheets and surrounded by get-well-soon gifts. The only thing that keeps him sane these days is the constant beeping from the heart monitor, but even that’s beginning to grate on him. It taunts him. The beeping never changes its pace, reminding him every second of every minute of every day that it’s the only proof he has that Peter’s alive.

“You should get some food.” Tony drags his half-lidded gaze to May who walks to Peter’s bedside. His eyes, surrounded by dark circles, follow her as she does so. He doesn't have the energy to respond. May expects the “what if he wakes up while I'm gone?” like every day…but it never comes. Instead, he stands and leaves without so much as a word. She worries that he's finally reached his emotional limit. That he’ll start to distance himself and detach from his emotions. That he’ll give up on them. On Peter. And god she can't go through this alone.

Tony walks down the empty hall, steps echoing against the linoleum floor. The LED tube lights above him only make everything seem more bleak then they already are. They flicker slightly, but he keeps his eyes downcast. Through pure muscle memory, he makes it to the medbay cafeteria and sits at a table. He doesn't get food, just…sits and glares at the metallic surface.

Don't fucking drag it out like this, he thinks with indignation. He just can't take it anymore, going in and seeing nothing change. He's at his limit. It’s too much. If you're gonna leave, just do it already. I can't keep seeing you like this. You already look dead. Just get it over with. All he can see is Peter’s bright, brown eyes lit up with excitement, his wide, lopsided smile that lights up the whole workshop. A soft sob forces its way past his lips as he tightly grips his hair in both hands. Stop it already. Stop it. Stop-

“Tony!” His head snaps up, eyes wide with a sudden panic that assaults his system. At first he thinks it was in his head, his mind already buzzing with voices, but then a crash cart is rushed down the hallway. No. He gets up so fast that the aluminum chair crashes to the floor, forgotten behind him. His shoes squeak as he sprints down the hall, breathing fast, heart in his throat, blood pumping through his ears.

When the flatline reaches him, he swears he could cry right then and there.

He skids to a stop, frantically scanning for something, anything to relieve his anxiety… But what he gets is a room of nurses doing too many things at once for him to discern.

“Baby, baby please don't do this,” May begs off to the side, one of the nurses doing their best to comfort and hold her back at the same time. All Tony can do is stare at the pale, unmoving form of Peter as hands force his heart to beat and air is pushed into his lungs. This time it’s different. There's no beeping to prove he's still alive as he lies there, no steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Tony doesn't realize he's on his knees until hands are gripping his shoulders.

“One milligram epinephrine and a twenty milliliter flush!” a voice shouts over the chaos, barely reaching Tony’s ringing ears. Everything is moving too fast and the whole scene blurs in his vision, but the asystole rings true. He can't take this.

“You've never given up a day in your life! Don't you dare start now!” Tony screams at the top of his lungs, but then he feels himself being dragged out of the room. Peter’s bed gets farther and farther away as he begins to thrash. “Let go! Get the fuck off me!” But the arms easily keep him at bay even as he fights against them.

“Tony! Tony, you gotta let ‘em work! C’mon, man! It’s okay!” The voice finally fills his ears and he whips around to see Rhodey. It’s been a long time since he’s seen tears in the man’s eyes, but they don't spill over. “It’s okay,” he repeats, “Peter’s strong. You know that.” Tony grips his forearm like a lifeline, pleading look never wavering.

“We’ve got a rhythm!” Tony’s attention snaps back to the room so fast it makes the walls tilt. More medical jargon is listed off but all he can focus on is the beeping. The beeping that annoyed him a mere fifteen minutes ago now filled him with hope and an indescribable relief as he continued sobbing silently.

He never complained about the monitor again.

His stare, however, still hovers over the bandages protecting the burns Peter endured all those weeks ago. Thousands of volts and the ear piercing scream of pure agony was almost more than Tony could handle. He still hears it echoing in his nightmares. Peter’s vitals have been stable for a week now and Cho said he could wake up at any moment, but the wait was still putting everyone’s nerves on edge…because there was still the chance he could never wake up. And that just wasn't an option.

Tony continues to sit in that damn chair, day after day, waiting like he isn't the most impatient person on the planet. He’d always wait for Peter.

Then the sheets shift under his touch, making him flinch at the sudden movement and sit up with his back straight as a rod. Peter’s moving. His eyes are squeezed shut and his white-knuckled fingers are gripping the blankets, but he doesn't move more than that. Tony can hear his blood pumping through his ears, searching for some, any, sign that this is it. That he's waking up.

“Fri, get May down here,” he gently calls, hoping to not jar Peter with the volume. He practically holds his breath in anticipation as the kid stills, color draining from Tony’s face and hope leaving his body in waves. No, he couldn't have just called May for a false alarm. He can't handle their hopes being drowned in despair again. They've waited too-

Those bleary, dravite eyes, that haven't opened for far too long, drag themselves open. Tony immediately presses the call button on the bedside railing before taking Peter’s hand carefully in his own, gingerly working on relaxing the fingers in his hold. The glazed-over look drags down to where their hands are connected, then back up to Tony’s face, finally acknowledging him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony greets with a watery smile, tears on the verge of falling. “You with us?” Peter’s stare bores into him, not quite lucid but more aware than moments prior. But he just…stares. His hand doesn't tighten, yet it doesn't pull away either. The tense atmosphere isn't what Tony expected.

“Peter?” The kid’s head lolling towards the wavering voice of his aunt.

“May,” Peter lets out in a relieved breath and his hand slips from Tony’s grasp to reach for her. Tony ignores the pang of disappointment in his chest, quickly shoving it down when he reminds himself that she actually raised the kid. The bandages pull at the unhealed burns, but Peter doesn't so much as flinch. Since he was comatose, his healing had been slowed along with his metabolism, going into a hibernation-like sleep that Cho assured was par for the course.

“Hey, baby.” May grasps his hand in a heartbeat, doing her best to reassure him with a smile. However, Peter swallows nervously and looks between her and Tony, a borderline panicked look in his eyes.

“Am I dying?” he chokes out, finally settling on asking May. Of all the things May expected her nephew to say after waking up from a coma, that certainly wasn't on the list.

“What?” Tony questions, completely lost and trying to keep up.

“I-” May cuts herself off, searching her kid’s face. “What do you mean?” She glances up at Tony, a hint of a threat if he kept anything from her, but he shakes his head.

“Is this some kind of Make-A-Wish thing?” Peter elaborates as his voice cracks. “‘Cause Tony freaking Stark is in here and if I’m dying I kinda wanna know what's going on.” The tension bleeds into thick silence, Tony’s wide eyes glued to the back of Peter’s head. He frantically starts pressing the nurse call button over and over. They're all saved from delving into the sudden jostling of their realities by Helen Cho rushing in.

“Peter,” she greets with a pleased nod, “you're awake. It’s good to see you again.” If Peter was confused before, he sure is now.

“Why- how am I- I don't-” His gaze flickers around the room in search of answers, then a squeeze of his hand pulls his gaze back to May. Tony feels like he's a third party to an emotional moment that he doesn't deserve to be a part of. Especially since Peter…

“You're okay,” May comforts with as much conviction as she can muster. “You're not,” she's quick to rephrase it, “you aren't going anywhere. Do you remember what happened?” Peter instantly opens his mouth, but it’s at a disconnect with his mind. Nothing comes when it’s called and having a now very obvious blank spot in his memory doesn't help with his anxiety. His fists grip the sheets at his sides, making the bandages pull at wounds he didn't even know he had. Wounds he doesn't even know how he got. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

I’m not gonna freak out in front of Tony Stark, I’m not gonna freak out in front of Tony Stark, I’m not- His fists shake, pins and needles enveloping them as he tries to keep his breathing under control. Despite his best efforts, tears gather and blur his vision as he fights for control.

Tony recognizes the signs in a heartbeat, but May’s hand is rubbing circles on Peter’s back before he can do anything. He has to sit there, watching as May talks Peter through a panic attack like Tony’s done countless times before. He should be helping. He should be able to tell the kid that he’s there, that he’s going to fix everything like he has before, but now…it feels like an empty promise. It goes against every fiber of his being to not hold his kid and rock them back and forth and do everything he would've done before.

Once Peter is calmed down, looking more exhausted than when he was actually asleep, Dr. Cho does a thorough physical and psychological examination to gauge where they’re at. The only thing that stands out physically still is the burns, otherwise his body did a great job of regulating itself. Psychologically, on the other hand…

“Amnesia?!” Peter squeaks out, staring at Dr. Cho like she’s grown another head.

“Simply put, yes. More than likely some form of memory repression,” she sighs, setting down her notes and crossing her legs

“But I don't- what am I even forgetting?!” He remembers May, he remembers Ned, MJ, all of Midtown High, so what else is there?

“Peter, the…voltage you sustained posed a number of problems. We’re lucky we got your heart back into sinus rhythm.” Tony tenses at that, knowing the grueling, arduous process of whether or not Peter was gonna make it, whether it was a shockable rhythm or time for CPR.

“Do we think it’s from the electrical shocks or…” the trauma dies on May’s tongue, worriedly glancing back to Peter.

“I'm thinking it could be a combination,” Dr. Cho answers honestly, catching her double meaning. “Any electrical shock from 120 to 52,000 volts can cause neurological damage. On a psychological level, what you went through was also traumatic.” She does her best to broach the topic slowly, but Peter’s anxiety is already kicked into high gear.

“Traumatic?” He knows it’s Spider-Man related, it has to be, but why would she know about it? God, he can't keep up. He just has to keep it cool. Yeah, cool. “So, like, I can't remember ‘cause something bad happened and now I have a Sam Beckett swiss cheese brain?” he clarifies, hiding his fear behind a façade of humor. Surprisingly, Tony snorts despite himself and the situation.

“You remember an arbitrary Quantum Leap reference but you don’t remember who I am?” He knows he shouldn't push it considering all the red flags, but since when does he keep his mouth shut? Peter might cope through humor, but Tony copes by shoving his feelings down far deeper than he needs to. Even though tears burn at the back of his eyes. Even though his throat aches with emotion. The bandaged teen’s head swivels back to look at him, his face looking caught between going pale and flushing.

“You're Tony Stark, I'm pretty sure I said that,” Peter says slowly, and suddenly Tony wishes those familiar, brown eyes weren't on him. Because he knows those eyes by heart, but they don't hold an ounce of recognition anymore. “It’s, it’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark,” Peter shifts his gaze back to May for help, “but shouldn't he…not be here for this kinda stuff? It’s embarrassing and there's sensitive topics and-” Just as fast as his ramblings, he looks back to the billionaire. “You're…you’re not here for Make-A-Wish…” Slowly, Tony shakes his head with a seemingly nonchalant sniff. He’ll never admit it’s from the unshed tears.

“No, kiddo.” He doesn't mean for the term of endearment to slip out, but it’s so natural after all this time that he doesn't even think to hold it back. The confusion shows in the way Peter’s eyebrows pull together. There's a warm hand threading through his fingers, and he welcomes the assurance.

“It’s okay,” May’s soft voice tells him from behind. “He helps with a lot. Especially Spider-Man.” This time, Peter’s face does pale several shades and he whips around to see her in shock. She couldn't have just said that. There's no way she just said Spider-Man. Oh god, she, she-

“You know?” he looks around the room, suddenly feeling like he's in the Twilight Zone while everyone else seems so frustratingly calm. “You all know?! Why do you know?! How do you know?! I-” Then, his features slowly relax as he makes eye contact with Tony once more.

He holds the gaze this time, not shying away or brushing him off. It takes every bit of strength Tony has left to not squirm under the stare.

“You're what I forgot,” Peter realizes in a whisper, not sure how to feel. “Why?” ‘Cause I'm like my father, Tony’s mind supplies him with, but this isn't about him and his insecurities. Instead he clears his throat, not exactly sure how to answer. Luckily, Cho saves him.

“Since it was an incident related to Spider-Man, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility to theorize that your brain did what it did to protect itself,” she summarizes as best she can. “The build up was too much, so it eliminated that pressure by removing the memories involved entirely. Including Tony and I. We don't know how far that spreads right now.” May nods along with her words and Tony tries not to bite through his cheek. I traumatized him so much that he-

“At least I can't remember that lecture,” Peter chuckles lightly, veering off on a tangent as he looks down at the sheets. “I bet you ripped my head off when you found out about Spidey.” May smiles fondly and brushes his cheek with her knuckles. “I'm sorry I, uh, forgot you, sir,” he finishes sheepishly. What Tony would give to run a comforting hand through those curls, but the “sir” is like a punch to the face.

“We’ll figure it out, bud,” he settles for, instead. It’s then that he stands, knees popping, and shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the trembling. “I actually know a neurosurgeon, so you're in luck.” He smiles tightly and makes his way to the doorway. “Let me make a few calls.” And finally he's out of the suffocating room, able to freely clench his fists even though he’d much rather punch a wall.

He's losing Peter.

Instead, he channels that frustration into something more productive, yanking his phone out and typing as fast as his shaking thumbs will allow. Within moments, a portal of orange and gold sparks appears in front of him.

“What's the emergency?” Stephen questions purposefully, still dressed in casual clothes due to the distressed S.O.S. message. Something about having someone part of their misfit family here, someone he’d trust his life with, makes his carefully placed walls crumble. The tears swell, his face turns red, and his breathing picks up.

“Peter woke up.” He had kept the doctor in the loop throughout the process, but this hadn't been the reaction Stephen was expecting when the kid eventually woke up. Before he can even ask for clarification, Tony is barreling forward. “He, he doesn't, Helen said-” A firm, grounding hand is placed on his shoulder. Stephen takes an overexaggerated breath for him to follow and nods encouragingly. Tony returns the nod, grateful for the man, and rakes a hand through his hair. “He doesn't remember me. Us. Everything before Germany is repressed because of the trauma. God, I was such an idiot bringing a fourteen-year-old kid into this.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes, despite the ever-present tremor in it, and he reminds himself to stay calm for Peter.

“We’re going to work this out,” Stephen promises, eyebrows set together in determination. “I'm not a psychologist,” he reminds, despite his copious amount of knowledge when it comes to the brain, “but it sounds like dissociative amnesia. Caused by copious amounts of stress and trauma that the mind can't handle, in Peter’s case evidently leading to localized amnesia.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters, followed by a deep breath. “Okay, alright, what can we do?” His voice is borderline desperate, but at this point he doesn't care how he sounds. All he cares about is Peter being okay.

“The good news is that dissociative amnesia tends to be relatively short,” the sorcerer is sure to point out. “Memories can be triggered by familiar surroundings, a phrase, anything, but it’ll likely come back all at once. All you have to do is get him comfortable and wait. I know patience isn't your biggest virtue, but I'm sure you’ll manage.” The snarky jab and slight smirk tagged on at the end helps things feel a bit more normal. Tony mirrors the smirk as much as he can muster

“Do me a solid and talk with May?” Tony requests, knowing it’ll be more succinct coming from him Over the weeks, Stephen has also become acquainted with May. They've been practically taking shifts with Stephen occasionally forcing both of them to rest. The doctor gives a curt nod, but doesn't release Tony’s shoulder when he turns to walk away. Tony looks back at him with an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“He’ll remember, it’ll just be a matter of time. Be there for him, Stark,” Stephen urges and Tony instantly gets what he means: don't run from the feelings. Tony huffs while waving him off, yet not denying it.

With that done, some semblance of a plan is put into place: Peter stays in the penthouse to help encourage the suppressed memories to resurface. It could be anytime from here on out, they just had to trust that it would, somehow, work itself out when surrounded by things he knows. Or should know. All in all, Peter seemed surprisingly unaffected. Aside from the obvious, buzzing excitement of staying with his childhood superhero, he didn't appear all that bothered. Awkward, if nothing else.

“So you're telling me I’ve been in your personal workshop? Me. Peter Parker,” Peter reiterates with disbelief. “This is insane!” He turns in a circle, looking at every corner and taking it all in.

“Sure have,” Tony confirms, sauntering in behind the kid with a brief smile. “You have your own room here, too. Personalized and all that shizz.” He vaguely waves his hand in the air as if it explains everything. However, Peter turns to him with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights. And for a faint, fleeting moment, Tony has hope. Hope that the mere mention is enough to make everything normal again.

“Personalized? Ned’s gonna freak!” Hope is a dangerous thing. Tony bites back the comment about how Ned already knows. To drown out the thoughts, he clears his throat and continues.

“We can do anything you want, kid,” he prompts as he leans on the nearby counter and crosses his arms. He wants to give Peter control over the circumstances. Still, the teen’s eyes flit from his surroundings to the ground.

“Um, what would we usually do?” he wonders, suddenly feeling out of place. It’s like meeting someone who knew you when you were a child but you, for the life of you, can't remember. With such simple words, Tony can't help but think of all those late nights in the lab, ordering pizza and talking for hours on end. What he would give to have that back.

“Well,” Tony starts, voice a tad too tight, “we could start in the lab if you want.” His suggestion is met with enthusiastic nods and, despite the slight discomfort between them, head down the elevator.

“What if,” Peter nonchalantly sniffs, something he doesn't know he got from Tony, yet Tony is painfully aware of, “what if I don't remember?” The insecurity and fear seeps into his voice without shame, something that rarely happens with the kid. Tony can't hold back the hand he clamps on Peter’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

“You will,” he says with a surprising amount of confidence. “Knowing your flare for the dramatic, it’ll happen when we both least expect it.” Peter snorts at that, but returns the smile he's offered. Because deep down, he knows Tony’s right.

And that's exactly what happens. They both know it can take up to days, weeks, rarely even months, but Tony sure as hell wasn't expecting it within the first few hours. They're sitting at Tony’s workbench, going over some of the Spider-Man suit schematics they left off on a few weeks prior to the incident.

“It was a choice between sacrificing tensile strength and compression because the nitrile-”

“It hurt.” The words violently rip Tony from his train of thought. It’s said so casually that it throws him for a loop before he snaps his gaze onto the kid. Peter’s staring straight ahead, through the hologram, as silent tears stream down his cheeks and drip off his chin.

“Bud-”

“It hurt a lot,” Peter continues, throat constricting this time as the emotion starts to show on his face. “It felt like I was being burned from the inside out and I couldn't- Electro he-” His own sob cuts him off and his arms curl protectively around his middle, the burns somehow flaring up at the onslaught of memories that hit him like a freight train. Tony isn't sure if he can touch the kid and comfort him the way he has so many times before because fuck what if he remembers the fight but not him? His hesitation is thrown to the as soon as Peter hunches in on himself and his breathing picks up.

“Hey, I've got you,” he gently says as he wraps careful arms around his kid, mindful of the bandages. “I know, kiddo. I'm so sorry,” he whispers while Peter’s brain catches up. It’s like the memories were never gone, and he doesn't feel any different, but being forced to process the fight with Electro so suddenly with his lungs on fire feels like torture all over again.

“I, Mr. Stark I thought I was gonna die and, and all I could think about was you and May and- you! How could I ever forget you, I'm so sorry-” He cries harder, burying his face in Tony’s chest and pulling his arms closer. “It was like, like looking at you but not seeing you and it, I just, it was awful.” He feels like the biggest disappointment on the planet, but Tony won't let that happen.

“Look at me,” Tony kneels, “let me see those eyes.” Slowly, Peter pulls himself from Tony’s sweatshirt, looking entirely like the piping hot mess he feels he is. “There is nothing that would ever stop me from loving you, Peter. You got that? You could forget me every day for the rest of your life and I would still call you my kid. Nothing’s gonna change that.” Peter presses his lips together to keep his face from crumpling further as more tears glide down his face, and nods.

“Okay,” he whispers with his whole heart. “I missed you.” He dives right back into Tony’s chest, desperately seeking the comfort they both need. Tony welcomes it and hugs the kid back, placing a kiss on the top of his head and holding him close.

“I missed you too, kid,” he reciprocates into the curls. Like he had wanted to when Peter first woke up, he gently rocks them back and forth, taking in the moment. They have each other back, and they sure aren't letting each other go anytime soon. Then, Peter tenses. Tony pulls back to see Peter has gone slightly pale. Of course, already on edge, he starts to panic. “What’s wrong?” he questions, looking over the kid desperately.

“I remember May’s lecture…” Peter says with wide eyes as a chill runs down his spine. Tony chuckles breathlessly in relief, bringing Peter back in to rest his chin atop the kid’s head. This kid might be the death of him, but he’d welcome it with open arms if it meant he’d have this.

---

Thank you for reading!🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

#tony stark #peter parker #Iron Man #spider-man #Irondad and Spiderson #iron dad #spider son #friendly neighbourhood exchange #amnesia #opal_earrings

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

you did the mini fic way i loved you (which was amaaazing) but how about champagne problems where remus says no to sirius' proposal because he gets spooked by a couple of purebloods :(

~Notes: Nonny babe! I can’t believe you made me write such angst😩😩😩 This isn’t quite that but I hope you like it anyways🥺🥺 ILU!!!

A Reblog Is Worth The Sexiest Bottle Of champagne! | The Way I Loved You FIC | Send Me A Prompt/Song??💜

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, but mostly, most sincerely, I am afraid of being completely unraveled by you, and you finding nothing you want in here.”

—L.M. Dorsey

When Remus’s father leaves for the final time three weeks before his tenth birthday, his Mam spends only two days in bed before she drags out an old bottle of Dom Pérignon and pops it open, pouring them each a glass with a smile the wrong side of worn as she beckons him forwards with an indulgent bend of the knuckle. “Come along, mon amour. Just this once, just to say farewell.”

As he thumbs the skinny tumbler bubbling with the amber liquid that’s been his mother’s favorite ever since growing up in her Northern French town on the outskirts of Paris, Remus wonders if he’ll ever forget the words his father spewed before leaving— the declaration that they must be cursed if their first child turned into a monster and their second came out stillborn. Wonders if he’ll ever forget the livid, borderline murderous expression that spilt over his mother’s delicate features before she screamed at him to leave for the final time. Wonders if he’ll ever not feel so weary— So destitute.

“’S all just champagne problems mon petit lapin,” she says in that airy way of her’s that somehow still radiates a knowledge beyond his reach. “None of it ever matters, not truly. Not ever.”

Remus eyes the dark circles smudged against her pale skin, and the way her caramel curls fall limply from her bun. She’s always been the most beautiful woman in the world through his eyes but he now thinks she might be the strongest too. So strong that she’s sitting there, right in front of him in their small kitchen— and she’s pretending that her tiny son, her first and only born, hasn’t brought absolute ruin to her life that should’ve been buoyant and lovely for such a pretty, quick witted Muggle girl.

“Yes, I know Mam,” he says instead of the truth, because if he’s being at all honest he’s always been a bit of a coward and a bit too desperate for some semblance of normality.

It becomes a mantra of sorts to Remus as he stumbles into adolescence. He calls every inconvenience in his life, champagne problems, and drinks the hurt away in a secret nook off the astronomy tower that he purposefully left off the map he and his friends had created with a sheer pulse of brilliance and adventure and a need to leave their marks on this stupid sodding castle. A castle that’ll inevitably kick them out on their arses from it’s relative safety with such cold indifference. A castle that will soon be brimming with a new generation of students sullying the same spaces, same corridors they once spent their days laughing and jeering and frolicking about— creating mischief in it’s hallowed halls. The one and only time that Remus was able to hold his breath and wrap himself in warmth he never knew and will never know again, not ever in the same sort of youthful ignorance— One that he only feigns to hold when around his friends because he thinks he’s never been young, not the way they are. Remus reckons he aged a century and a half after the bite and a century more after his father had left, and then a millennia when his mother was diagnosed with third stage breast cancer when he was a fresh fifteen. A death sentence dressed up in bows of apology by the doctors and shiny wrapping-paper of potential hope if the aggressive treatments they employ make a difference. And soon enough the ever green that was his juvenescence will turn brittle and gray and awash with memories of hopelessness, only adorned sparingly by memories of Peter’s quiet companionship and James’s affable grins. Lily’s easy laughter and Sirius’s searing snogs. Instances of respite that were eventually drown out by the shitty Wizard champagne he’s able to finesse after sucking off the twenty something who works night shifts at the Hog’s Head.

But it doesn’t matter.

All of his issues are inconsequential at the end of the day; from a paper cut, to his worst transformations to the time his first boyfriend sneered at him with pure distain after he had snubbed his wanting to go further subsequent two months of furtive touches and inconspicuous dates. It’s all just a load of shit, a collection of champagne problems just like his Mam had said all those years ago.

Even that incident the morning in fifth year when he found out that his best friend— the boy he would’ve done just about anything for, anything only just to see him smile— had weaponized his most hated form. When Sirius nearly made him into a murderer, into a beast, when he nearly proved true the self fulfilling prophecy that every werewolf is as dark as creatures can become. The charms of veelas, combined with the insatiable cravings of vampires and the wily natures of goblins. When Sirius had nearly turned Remus inside out, made him everything he hates.

But no. That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Because paper cuts heal, and the full moons set, and James hexes a legion of boils to sprout up all along Quintin’s face. And at the end of the day, he’ll always love Sirius first and last and the very most. He’ll always forgive him any indiscretion because when Sirius’s hand— soft palms and callus fingers— caresses his side, Remus feels close to whole, close to alive, close to something real. And God Remus loves him so much it aches in his chest and creeks in his bones.

So when he comes back to Hogwarts the night after his mother’s funeral— two months divorced of that incident, two months of painful quiet and empty arms and heart wrenching need— Remus lets Sirius collect him into his embrace, and lets them cry together under the canopy of night fall, and when Sirius begs him to come back to them, to forgive him, to let him inside the most protected nooks of his mind once more, all Remus says is “yes,” and “All right,” and “I never stopped.” He doesn’t tell him that he doesn’t think he’s ever ben there’s in the first place, doesn’t think he’s ever been here or anywhere. He doesn’t tell him that sometimes it feels like he’s some faded sepia photograph come to life in the form of his too skinny body and too large eyes and too gangly limbs. He doesn’t tell Sirius that he doesn’t think he’s ever been anything meant to last on this plane of existence, but he does let Sirius kiss him and hold him and fuck him because it’s the first time since Sirius left Grimmauld back in December the he looks something close to at peace. And Remus knows that he never wants to be someone who makes him frown with that protruding vein on his temple. Someone like Sirius— Someone so beautiful, so vivid, so alive— deserves a life painted in technicolor. And Remus refuses to be the person to drain the vivacity from his every breath. To scuff out his lust for life.

The first time Sirius asks Remus to stop gulping down the champagne and gin and Ogden’s finest by the fist fulls, it’s their final night of their final term and after Remus barbs a little too forcefully that their dingy little dormitory is the one place for him after Lily jokes that it’s a madhouse.

“It’s gonna bloody kill you Remus, it’s already doing it for fucks sake. You can’t even walk straight most mornings damn it!” He shouts in the quiet of their room while James and Lily are ensconced in her own bed on the other end of the tower and Peter is off snogging his Hufflepuff girlfriend in some deserted third floor closet.

“All right,” Remus tells him after swallowing down the last of his champagne, words pouring out his mouth like warm molasses and arm slugging languidly when he tosses the empty bottle to the side before patting the empty end of his bed for Sirius to lie down besides him. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t have the energy for the shouts and accusations and hurt that they always fling at each other during these more heated moments. He supposes he doesn’t have much energy for anything at all anymore.

Sirius stilts from where he’s looming above him, tongue poised for another verbal lashing. But he must see something in Remus’s face, or probably just feels exhausted in similar ways, because he only breathes in— tension melting from his shoulders— and slinks off his jacket before shuffling into the comforter besides him.

And in the future Remus will wonder whether if he remembers it correctly that it felt like everything was standing on an axis as Sirius rode his cock— slow and steady and minutes that feel like decades. Or maybe he’s just recalling it differently because he realized for the first time that night that for every inch of him that loves Sirius, the other boy feels that same sort of enthralling passion. Only difference is that Sirius’s always been the greedy sort, the once and future king of all or nothing. Remus is the contrary of that. He’s lived with nothing before and he’s perfectly fine with living that way again, had never really expected much from his life anyhow. But Sirius deserves to have everything and Remus knew then— will always know, that he could never give him that.

The year following their graduation is beautiful in that way that transitional periods always are. A turning of an age eclipsed by sunlight and laughter and kisses that makes Remus feel like they’re melding into one another, becoming indelible parts of each other’s very skin and bones.

But it’s also a time when Remus realizes just how helpless his condition has made him, how despite his top marks in no less than seven NEWTs, he’s always just a werewolf in the eyes of the Wizarding world. So while Lily studies in St Mungos and Peter takes up post at the ministry and Sirius joins James in the Auror’s academy, Remus works days at a quaint bookshop with a doting elderly woman who makes him soup when she thinks he’s looking peaky, and a gay night club with a handsy boss that leers at him with an intrusive air and asks regularly if he’s still with that boyfriend of his.

Remus feels like a fraud.

So when he gets that letter from Dumbledore sent to the flat that Sirius insists is their’s but Remus only ever calls his— he replies with a hasty scrawl on the back of some spare parchment, telling him that of course he’ll do anything to help the Order. Tells him that he understands the discretion that’s required of such a mission. He tells his past headmaster that he grew up collecting secrets like school children collected friends, so this won’t be an issue. He doesn’t tell him how it’s a practice so ingrained into him that sometimes even he doesn’t know who the fuck Remus John Lupin is most days, doesn’t know the seams that string him together like a pair of tattered trousers. He doesn’t tell him that he’s only afraid of one thing and it’s his boyfriend’s dedication, because Sirius is the sort who loves unadulteratedly and without conditions. Sirius doesn’t yet understand that the boy who he’s let inside the most intimate parts of him, the boy who he shares a bed with night after night is the same monster a younger him— in a spur of passion— had planned to deploy as a means of destruction.

Sirius doesn’t understand how foolish it is to intwine his life with Remus’s, even if he thinks it’s some sort of challenge, if he looks at it with the romantic lends that he could love the monster out of someone. And it’s positively idiotic to think as much, like Sirius’s tender hands and sweet whispers can be Remus’s cure.

It’s so fucking stupid! And occasionally Remus wants to bash his head into a wall, but instead kisses him with devouring intent before he could.

The owl nips at his finger for the last remnants of the stale biscuit Remus had offered it in thanks and he watches it soar away like he could never do.

The first time Sirius tells Remus he loves him, it’s in the bathroom of the Longbottom’s small cottage— amidst panting breaths and thrusting hips and grappling hands as they try to get one another off as quick as possible before someone finds them in such a compromising state.

Remus has just spent three weeks in a werewolf camp in the south of Glasgow, and came here to find Sirius as soon as he can home. And while they get lost in one another in this cramped loo he forces himself not to think of how Sirius had been chatting up and chuckling with Emmeline Vance.

Emmeline Vance, who is a beautiful blonde witch with vibrantly green eyes and a full smile that isn’t even slightly crooked like Remus’s own. Emmeline Vance who is the pure blooded daughter of the Swedish Minister of magic, and who came here to London because her country has never discriminated against half bloods or muggle borns— even if they brand their dark creatures with tattoos and lock them up in cages whenever they try to speak up against their lack of human rights.

Emmeline Vance who is the perfect complement to Sirius’s dark brooding and pale eyes and charisma that radiates off of him like the leading man in a novel written during the generation of disillusioned artists who had survived the first great war in the Muggle world. And Remus sometimes feels like Sirius’s gaze is trained on him like Gatsby towards the green light he watched every night thinking of his beloved. And sure Lupin and Daisy might be a pair of flowers but one is poisonous and the other is bright with life and Sirius has always been the sort to pick the worst option because he’s a glutton for punishment, and sometimes Remus thinks that’s all he is. Sirius’s warped way of punishing himself for being born into such a fucked up family— fettering himself to a poor, halfblooded, halfbreed, as some sort of declaration that he’s not the heir of the House of Black any longer, that he rebelled against them with every fiber of his being. That he’s the precise antithesis of their values even if he shares the same eyes and imperious air and steadfast beliefs on top of his effortless genius— even if they are beliefs that juxtapose against his family’s blood supremacy.

And Remus hates these sorts of contemplations, hates how they make him feel like a trader to the love between them. But he forgets about it all when he remembers how Sirius glanced up and caught his gaze when he first stepped into the living room, amiable expression morphing to one of pure wanting the second he spotted him, coldly disregarding an extremely glum looking Emmeline, as he strutted towards Remus and dragged him to the only empty spot and kissed the moonbeam scars that litters his skin and calls him beautiful despite it all— Maybe even because of it.

The eleventh time Sirius asks Remus to marry him, it’s the night of Regulus’s funeral, when his limp body was found slashed against the grounds of the Hampshire woods after three weeks of being declared missing.

It’s spoken in a voice that’s so raw and primal and demanding that it makes Remus curl into himself when he hears it, getting lost in the sensations all around him— Sirius’s hot breath skirting the back of his neck, and Sirius’s large hand clenched around his dick, and Sirius’s length pounding into him with such force that their headboard smacks against the wall. And when they’re done, Sirius slides out of him amidst a round of peppering kisses along the ridges of his spine and expanse of the shoulders and on the hinge of his jaw. It feels like not an apology so much, but a plea. And Remus knows that the last year has been rough on them, on their relationship. Knows how difficult it is that Remus has been spending nearly as many nights spying on the wolves as he has in the flat. That Sirius wants to know where the fuck Dumbledore is sending his boyfriend, that he hates Remus only slightly because he’s so tight lipped about it all.

He’s argue that James tells Lily what he’s up to, and Remus would remind him that they’re married, and then Sirius would get a look on his face that’s so betrayed and so pained and so furious that Remus spends the night on the sofa instead— Well he would if Sirius didn’t have a habit to coax him back into his arms with mumbled apologies and gentle caresses and barely their kisses before the night ends.

So Remus lets him do the same now, and he ignores the questions about where he was all this time and shrugs off the way Sirius tries to reason that none of them know how long they have left living, how he wants to spend the rest of his days as Remus’s husband. And he watches Sirius flutter his eyes closed and waits for his breath to even out.

He never tells Sirius that he wants to wed him so badly that it’s cutting against his heart like a knife licked with flames, even if he’s been in love with Sirius for practically half his sodding life. Ever since he had jauntily invited him to sit in the cart with him and a bespectacled lad, along with another that was a bit plump and eager looking.

No. Through all the shouts and begging and sneers of tonight, Remus never dared tell him that. Remus knows Sirius, and if he had said as much, then that would’ve been it for him. Sirius would have fought for Remus with every inch of his being. He would’ve made sure that Remus excepted his love, that he would have utilized the ferociousness and ferocity and indignation that breathes in his every vein and what makes up the marrow of his bones as the beautiful and brilliant and incandescent scion of the ancient and most noble House of Black— would’ve done so until Remus gave into his demands.

Remus promised himself a long time ago that he’d never be the one to scuff out the light that shone in Sirius’s very soul. He’d never watch himself turn Sirius into a burnt shell of anything bright and fluttering and lively that ever existed in the spaces of his ribs and the valleys of his chest. Not like what he did to his Mam— eventually killing her. Not like how he drove his father away because the dread was too heavy of a burden to carry.

Remus would rather Sirius hate him then watch him suffer through that.

Anything but that.

So Remus quietly packs his few belongings in the same trunk he’s had since first year with a flick and swish of his wand. And he pens Sirius a missive that he just doesn’t feel the way he had when they were in Hogwarts. And he tells him that his missions have him traveling all over the continent and it’s too much work to constantly be coming back home. Tells him that he knows about the brunette Muggle boy he had fucked back in August when he thought Remus was fibbing about his whereabouts and he lies that it’s all right because he tells him that he’s been shagging a professor from Beauxbatons named Benjy for the past six months whenever he was sent to France under duress of Dumbledore. Even if the truth is that he refuted his every advance because his love for Sirius will always sing the loudest in his heart.

He sets the goodbye on the dresser that is only piled with Sirius’s things now, and doesn’t let himself sneak one last kiss while Sirius continues to doze. Tries to imprint the image of him— so gorgeous and so so human— in his mind’s eye, hopes he’ll recall the precise slope to the small of his back and the flyaway strands of his ink black hair and how he breathes in two beats longer with every third exhale. Knows that he’ll never memorize just how jutting his cheekbones really are, or how his lashes kiss the top of them with such grace that it’s close to angelic. And he’ll never again feel the neediness Sirius could evoke with his fingers and tongue and cock, but maybe that’s all right. Maybe Remus got his time in the sun and now he has to repent for steeling that snatch of heaven for all these years.

Nothing could’ve kept the flame between them flickering for long, and that’s a truth Remus knows as inherently as his knowledge that Sirius was the great love of his life— But Remus was always destined to either spare him or burn the golden tapestry that made up the picture of Sirius Black until it was nothing but ash.

So he leaves and he tells himself that it’s the right decision for both of them.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

#wolfstar #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #I'm sure no one will like this lol #sigh #spilt ink

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

Text

peace | t. seguin

a/n: had this idea for a hot minute. finally felt like writing it out!

wine pairing: a port wine, pretty much as sweet as wine gets.

warnings: cavity causing sweetness. some swearing.

word count: 2.8K

Tyler Seguin had taken a while to grow up, longer than some people wanted, longer than even Tyler himself had wanted at some points. Some people had lost faith he ever would, even some of the people closest to him. It made him cautious and caused him to retreat further into his comfortable shell of youth and false innocence. It prevented him from becoming the person he was always meant to be. Youth and the mistakes that come along with it weren’t forever and he had always know that. But it was easy. Continuing down a straight, defined path was easier than taking one that branched off into the surrounding mist with no idea what the end would look like, even if the path he was on would end in a brick wall he’d seen coming since he’d started on it.

Until you.

Meeting you for the first time was one of Tyler’s foggiest memories. He had been absolutely trashed, falling all over himself at a bar. You had been there with a few friends, celebrating something that good that had happened at work, a good presentation, a new client, a promotion, Tyler couldn’t remember for the life of him. Tyler had tried to be smooth and offered to buy you a drink, but the interaction instead ended up with you flagging down a bartender to get him a glass of water and slyly confiscating the whiskey sour from him when he was too lost in the effort of trying to impress you to notice. You got two cups of water in him before he had even noticed. To be fair, Tyler hadn’t noticed much of anything that night, just that you were beautiful and that he had liked your smile from across the bar.

Somehow, someway, you had given him your number before he left under the guise of letting you know when he got home safely. It wasn’t a guise on your part, but Tyler had used it as an opportunity to ask you out to brunch, the most innocent sounding of dates, as a way to say thank you for taking care of him. By some grace from something Tyler wasn’t even sure he fully believed in, you had agreed to brunch. He was all but convinced you were going to stand him up, realizing that he was just the mess you’d seen that one night, and that you could definitely do better than him. But you were there when he arrived, put together and so good, so much better than him. You were still there really, since Tyler had shown up fifteen minutes late.

He didn’t know why, considering you were probably the most beautiful person he had ever been allowed in twenty feet of, but you laughed, you smiled, you enjoyed his company. You told him you did. You were blunt, strong in your beliefs in the face of any test. In all the time Tyler had known you, beginning with your choice to show up on the date even though he was certain everyone in your life who looked out for you told you not to go, you never wavered from your convictions, not even for a second. Your feet were firmly planted in your viewpoints, roots wrapping around each one to hold you in place, strong enough to weather any storm.

You showed up for a second date, then the third, then Jamie’s birthday party, then to dinner with his mom and sisters. You kept showing up, even as Tyler held his breath, waiting for you to realize that he was so flawed compared to you. You were a future masterpiece and Tyler was at best a work in progress, but it was already so obvious that while you deserved to be hung in a prominent spot in the Louvre when you were finished, Tyler’s top showing might be an abstract college art gallery in a hidden New York alley. But god, did he love getting to be the person who got to stand next to you, seeing each brush stroke of the life you were building in motion. You were the most impressive person he had ever met and you continued to be, every layer of paint containing something else that astounded him and made him feel inferior, like he was tarnishing, borderline ruining, the masterpiece that was you by putting his hands in the wet paint of your life. You swore to him he was only making you better.

He didn’t know how that was possible, but he trusted your words. Your integrity ran too deep in the foundations of who you were to lie to him. With every addition to your life, your integrity ran through it. You knew exactly the person you wanted to be and you would drag yourself there kicking and screaming if that’s what it took. The depth of your integrity was the thing that made Tyler most terrified, because he barely had any idea of who he was before he met you. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a hurricane that made up his life and he was a sapling among the winds, green and flexible, but with swallow roots, barely sunk in, constantly in danger of being lifted from the soil at the words of shitty friends and strangers on the internet. You were solid, firm, sunk deep into the soil next to him and thank god for that. Tyler wasn’t great at a lot of things when he met you, but he knew he had to hold onto you. If holding onto you was the only thing he ever did right, it would be more than enough.

Except Tyler felt guilty for doing it, because while Tyler matured with you, his roots growing deeper along with his convictions, he still felt small standing next to you. Sometimes when he got to do his childhood dream of a job, a grown man playing a little kid’s sport, talking shit on the ice, in interviews, in the locker room, he felt like he was wasting the good person you were, like he was wasting your integrity and honor with his own actions. He could give you adventures, fulfill your wildest dreams. He could give you the family you always wanted. He could hold your hand through the worst storms, help you fight off the potential robbers of your happiness. But the storm would always come and the robbers would always be on your doorstep because Tyler was the one pulling them in. His job brought attention, resulting in a chaotic version of your life that you never envisioned for yourself. He could never stop it, only stand next to you as you stood tall in the storm.

Standing there, with the sun slowly setting behind him, barring down on his neck, his suit felt heavy on his shoulders, but not as heavy as the velvet box in his hands. He’d had it for over a month now. Designing the contents had been easy, arguably fun even for Tyler who had thought it would be like a root canal, but the second the jeweler had handed him the finished product, the doubt started forming, dragging his mind down. Before he held the ring, he felt like he had been floating on the best memories of your relationship, giving him confidence that you would say yes. Those cherished memories kept his mind afloat, far enough away from potential pitfalls to move forward with creating this symbol of your relationship in his hands. But without warning, he was in mental quicksand made up of past fights, the negative outside opinions he has always pushed aside and hoped you did to, and past versions of himself he didn’t like as much, and he felt like he couldn’t get his head above water long enough to find any possible reason you might say yes instead of no.

But here he was, unable to handle the doubt anymore, velvet box in hand, ready to ask you to marry him because the only way he couldn’t doubt your answer was if he knew it. Tyler bounced on his heels, his new dress shoes creasing with his movements. Why had he gotten new shoes for this? Didn’t he have enough dress shoes? That’s what you asked him when he’d brought them home a week ago, after he finally realized he was going to feel like he was drowning until he asked you. He had waved you off, saying he didn’t have a pair this particular shade, which was a lie. They were black. Shades were a little irrelevant in the realm of black dress shoes. He didn’t know exactly why he had bought them, or why they helped bring him to this point, the park where you’d walked together after your second date, but they had and because of that, he didn’t regret buying yet another pair of black dress shoes.

He checked his watch again for easily the twentieth time in a tenth of those minutes. You would be walking down the path any moment and this would be real. This was the last moment that Tyler could live in limbo, the last moment of carrying the doubt that was hanging so heavy on his mind, but also the last moment he wouldn’t know if your answer was no. God, what would he do if you said no? He didn’t have a plan for that, for what it would feel like to watch his entire future go blank in one moment, for what it would feel like for his heart to come out of his chest through his throat only to have it tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper. Tyler shook his head softly and turned the box over in his hands again.

He heard your laugh before you came around the bend and it made him smile. It made him remember exactly why he had started this horrible journey to this moment in the first place; he couldn’t imagine his life without that laugh, without your hair ties scattered across his house, without you standing at the front door every single time he came home from a road trip, no matter the time. Tyler’s breath caught in his throat when you came into view. You looked beautiful every day, but that was his favorite dress, the one from your fourth date, and you were wearing the heels he had bought you for the first birthday of yours he spent with you. As you came closer, he saw the earrings from Christmas this past year and the necklace that matched them that he followed up with for your anniversary a few months ago. There were touches of how he touched your life all over you and it made him feel, for a second, like maybe you might just say yes.

“Tyler,” you smiled at him softly and he had to let out a long, strained breath to try to get his head on straight, “what is all of this? Jamie didn’t tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I told him not to,” Tyler laughed a little, trying to expel some of his nerves in his laughter.

“What’s going on, Ty?” you pressed again, taking in the flowers, the candles, and Tyler’s suit, which at least made you feel less like the only person overdressed for a walk in the park.

Tyler didn’t answer with his words. He let his eyes find yours and he thought about how central the woman behind them had become to his entire life. He didn’t have a speech planned. He knew he would have forgotten it anyway. He slowly dropped down onto his right knee and just let the words tumble out of his mouth, just trying to keep the pace somewhere near where you could possibly understand.

“When I met you, I was someone else. I was a guy who never showed up anywhere on time. I hated mornings and responsibility. I didn’t know who I really wanted to be, let alone how to get there. I didn’t really believe in much of anything, least of all myself,” Tyler started, “but you changed all of that, just by being there. You showed up in my life and didn’t try and change a single thing about me. You showed up and I realized I wanted to be better. You were the catalyst. You started this chain reaction of change that made me realize the person I wanted to be was the person who deserved someone like you.”

Your hands were covering your mouth as the tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn’t speak so thank god you didn’t have to. You just needed to listen, so you did.

“I’m still not some perfect guy. I’m a work in progress and I know that. I’m not a hundred percent sure of who I’m going to be, but I know I’m ready to be the best husband to you. You’re the person that I tell everything to, my wildest dreams, my fears, my ups, my downs, my lefts, my rights, but you’re also the only person I can sit in silence with and feel comfortable doing it because I don’t feel alone in silence if you’re sitting next to me in it too,” Tyler continued.

“I see your brother as my brother, your family as my family. God, I want to create a new family with you so badly, give you that child I know you’ve wanted your entire life. I want to keep you warm during the cold nights. I want to make sure your head stays above water when the blues come in waves. I want to love you in a way that’s only meant for the two of us to ever understand. I want to be your husband. I want to be your husband more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Tyler cleared his throat. The tears falling down your face were mirrored in his eyes now, threatening to spill over. He couldn’t talk if he cried, so he looked up toward the sky, willing the tears to let him finish first.

“But baby, I can’t ever give you peace. I can give you all of me, my absolute best foot forward every single day, but I can’t give you peace. I can’t give you the quiet, calm life that you deserve.” His voice was cracking and breaking every other word, the pain he felt behind the words hanging onto each syllable unyieldingly. “There’s always going to be people talking shit, saying terrible things about you, about us. We’re always going to have to live behind high walls with narrow gates. The storm is always going to come for you if you’re standing with me and that kills me, because you deserve to feel safe and secure and at peace in your life.”

Tyler wiped his eyes with the back of his hand slowly, letting out a deep, shaky breath as he tried to pull himself back to a place where he could actually ask you what he came here to ask you. He didn’t think it would be this damn hard. He might have tried to practice otherwise.

“Is it enough?” Tyler asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would I be enough, even if I can never give you peace? Is my love good enough to overcome that for the rest of your life? I hope so, because I’m asking if it’s enough. I’m asking you, if everything I can offer you is enough to overcome all of that. If it can, let me be your coparent. Let me be your partner. Let me be your husband.”

Tyler opened the velvet box he swore weighed a ton right now and you gasped behind your closed mouth. His mind was too foggy and too anxious to try to figure out if your reaction was positive or negative at this point.

“Will you marry me?”

The words, the four words that had felt like a shackle on his mind for months now, finally came out of his mouth. The doubt was gone. There was no reason for it anymore. Your answer would be what it was and there was nothing Tyler could do or say to change your mind now. Nothing he said in this moment would. If you wanted to marry him, you would’ve decided you did long before you showed up here today. Your answer was fixed long before Tyler’s speech and he knew that now.

Tyler watched you with anxious eyes, taking in the tears sliding down your face, your hands shaking over your mouth. He watched as you slowly took your hands away from your mouth. Your lower lip was quivering not unlike your hands as you slowly fanned your face in an effort to calm your reddened checks and put a dam on the tears that were still flowing. Even if he hadn’t said a word other than those last four tonight, you already knew your answer.

“Yes, Tyler. Yes.”

You offered your hand out, watching as his shaking hands clumsily collided with your to slide the ring onto your left hand. Tyler’s arms around you and his mouth on yours happened in a blurb and you melted into his strong chest. Your fiancé. Your future husband.

Tyler was wrong though. He thought he would create endless noise in the background and foreground of your life, robbing you of the ability to live a good, quiet life. But Tyler gave you all of the peace you could ever want in moments like this, where the entire rest of the world drowned out by his warmth and his love, when you were pressed against his chest.

This was peace and it was more than good enough. It was everything you had ever hoped for.

#Tyler Seguin #tyler seguin fanfic #tyler seguin fanfiction #tyler seguin imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine #folklore writing series

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dread-on-arrival · 4 years

Text

Richard Ramirez - The Night Stalker: Childhood Part 1

Serial Killer Masterlist

This is part 1 to my series on Richard Ramirez’s childhood, I wanted to make this series so we could go through - in detail - the influences and triggers in his childhood and early adulthood.

I recommend reading the first in the series Richard Ramirez: Family Background.

Word Count: 2576

Richard’s mother and sister recall him as being a quiet baby. His sister Ruth treated him as though he was her own child, she would dress him up like a doll: ‘He was particularly good looking, with a well-formed face and big, round, long-lashed eyes. As with his fathers and brothers, his hands and feet were large’. - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo. She’d bring him everywhere with her and would talk to him in both Spanish and English so he would be somewhat prepared when he started school. His mother noted his love of a music from an early age, if the radio was playing he would move his head and feet in time at a very young baby.

During this time Joseph had had around fifteen operations. Even though these operations mostly took place in the summer holidays so he wouldn’t miss school he still missed large chunks of his education. He was in hospital for such long periods of time that he started to miss school dearly but he didn’t complain.

At this point all the siblings apart from Richard were in school however Ruben was starting to struggle in school. Not because he did not understand - he was of average intelligence - but it was because he argued with other children and teachers. His report cards stated that he was a behavioural problem and was put into the ‘slow’ class. When his father found out about his ‘problems’ he beat him with a water hose, it didn’t help at all. Joseph was a below-average student due to being in and out of hospital. Robert was moved to a class tailored to his needs - it had became apparent he suffered from learning disabilities.

At 3 years old, 1963, Richard and his siblings saw their father lose his temper for the first time. He was working on the car outside the house and couldn’t fit the filter into the engine. It wouldn’t fit right and rather then taking a step back or giving it five minutes so he could calm down (anyone could get annoyed by something simple not going their way), he started to swear and shout but it escalated further then that. He repeatedly hit his head against the side of the house until blood started pour down his face. ‘”I’ve never seen anyone ever get so made,” Joseph said later. “He would just lose it totally. To see him doing that, making himself bleed and all - it was scary. When that happened, all the kids ran. My mom would stay out of his way totally. The funny thing was, he got more mad at objects than people.”’ - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

Robert was the third oldest of the siblings but he was the biggest, he was also the most relaxed, Ruben was rebellious and Joseph went along with pretty much everything, never really questioning his brothers. Ruth had all the good qualities of her brothers combined, she always helped Mercedes without being asked but could also play rough with her older brothers. She was often having pranks played on her but never took them to heart and would often quip back with clever pranks of her own. Still though, she clashed with Ruben. If she didn’t do as he said quickly he’d hit her and if it wasn’t for Joseph she would have been hit far more often. Later she said Richard would be the one to defend her, he loved his older sister more then anything and trusted her most of all.

After eleven years of saving the family began looking for a new house, their current house wasn’t exactly big enough for seven people. The house was one-story, three bedrooms, a large kitchen,a driveway, a backyard but no garage. It was located on Ledo Street, in Lincoln or La Roca (The rock) because of the cemetery, Cordova, close by.

Since Mercedes had gone back to work at Tony Lama’s - after they had been sued by a previous worker they now had ventilation equipment available - she needed a babysitter. She wanted a Mexican women so communication would be easier for her. Socorro was hired not long after to look after Richard unit Ruth and her brothers were back from school. Julian wasn’t around often since he was still laying tracks at the Santa Fe railroad. The further away he travelled the longer he was away.

Richard’s mother said that he could keep himself entertained for hours on end. Whenever his siblings were busy at school he would come up with his own little games such as Cowboys-and-Indians, one neighbour even spoke to Mercedes saying that Richard was exhibiting odd behaviour in the front yard. He would pretend to shoot the air in front of him before running to the spot where he had ‘fired’ and would act as though he would have been shot with great drama. He would act out other scenarios too but a lot involved some huge drama and battle.

Richard Muñoz Ramirez at age three on his first bike. He was a good child and able to amuse himself for hours on end. (Authors Collection) - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

One day when Richard’s parents and siblings were out he was left alone with Socorro. Socorro was watching television, not paying much attention to little Richard, this was a normal occurrence. He asked for her to put on the radio, he still adored music. The two-year-old asked for a further ten minutes yet he was told no so he took matters into his own hands. He went into his parents room where the radio sat on top of a large wooden dresser, using the open drawers as a kind of ladder he began to climb his way towards the radio. He made it to the third drawer but his weight caused the dresser to topple forward on top of him. It knocked him unconscious, creating a large gash on his forehead. Socorro pulled the dresser off of him and called Mercedes. She put a towel onto the gash, when Mercedes arrived they took him straight to the hospital. He had been unconscious for around fifteen minutes - being unconscious for at least that long is a sign of a brain injury. He had received a concussion and if he was to become dizzy or had problems with his equilibrium he should be taken back to hospital immediately. Thirty stitches were need to entirely close the wound, the scar was still visible once Richard was an adult.

Julian asked Mercedes to fire Sorocco and find a new babysitter. One that would be able to keep an eye on a restless child who could never sit still, someone who would able to pay a lot of attention to him for at least six hours a day, five days a week. She listened, fired Sorocco and the incident was never payed the slightest bit of attention again.

Their father’s hopes of the American dream for his children were beginning to falter, Ruben’s ‘rebellions’ were becoming worse. Whenever it was just the children home and no babysitter was present Ruben would bring over his ‘Bad group of boys’ as Mercedes called them. They would sniff glue in the house, Ruth saw it but never told her parents or anyone else. If Ruben found out she ‘snitched’ he’d beat her, their parents weren’t around enough to protect her from his rage.

A phone call from the police was Julian’s breaking point. Ruben, with his cousin Miguel and some of the other glue sniffers had been arrested in a stolen car. Julian picked up his eldest son from the police station in a rage that hadn’t been seen before. After working for so long at the Santa Fe railroad it seemed as though his temper was becoming more severe, like his father he was becoming withdrawn and no longer smiled as much. He was rarely home and when he was he would sit by himself, like he was brooding. Ledo street was in a good area of El Paso, it could sometimes be tough but the people their tried their best. They were hard-working Mexican-American first and second generation, all went to church often. Good people. Not many were arrested in that area, let alone in the Ramirez family. The Ramirez family may have been poor but none had ever been arrested, simply being arrested would be shameful for the Ramirezes. Julian slapped Ruben at the station, the moment they got back to the house he completely lost it. He beat him and beat him as Ruben begged him to stop. Ruben’s brothers and sister ran and hid where they could, Mercedes tried to stop are enraged husband but he ignored her. She prayed.

Richard listened to his brothers cries of pain, his brother begging for his father to stop. Richard began to tremble in fear and cried.

Once it was over, the anger gone, Ruben was left battered and bruised. Julian had broken his vow to never commit violence against his own family but he justified it to himself, his son should never have been arrested. He made him swear not to steal and that he must stop being friends with the ‘glue-sniffing boys’. However whenever his father was gone he would just go back to his old ways. He grades continued to drop only adding fuel to the fire of his fathers anger.

Not long later Ruben broke into someones house. He was arrested again. He viewed it as some sort of hilarious joke with his friends. This crime was far more serious and Julian beat him even harder. Previously the beating was borderline abuse (in today’s standard it would have been abuse but back then it was ‘discipline’) this time the line was crossed completely. Mercedes tried to stop her husband’s blind rage but she couldn’t. Both Joseph and Robert had fled and hidden. Ruben was beaten senselessly.

6 year old Richard once again overheard his older brothers desperate pleas, the cracks of the blows across his brother. He started to sob, terrified of his fathers rage and for Ruben, Ruth went to her little brother. She tried to calm him but when that didn’t work she just held her little brother Richie.

Mercedes put herself between her husband and son, begging for him to stop this. She cried it was too much and had gone to far, this wasn’t discipline this was abuse. Julian did stop. He left the house and went to the nearest bar to drink, he rarely drank because he was a diabetic but he was angry. He didn’t come home until late that night.

Ruben still didn’t listen and still continued his rebellious escapades.

It didn’t take Robert long to start sniffing glue, then Joseph started. Glue sniffing helped Joseph ignore the pain in his bones but he didn’t stick to it. He had seen his father’s anger and did not want to be on the receiving end of it. Robert however, was not deterred and he too started getting in trouble with the police. Both Ruben and Robert started fighting other kids and failing in school so they started to receive regular, severe beatings from their father. Even when he left, the family could feel his anger as if he was looming over them.

One Saturday all the children were home except Ruben who was out playing some ball game somewhere down the street. With Joseph’s help, Julian was fixing the sink. Julian couldn’t get the drain to fit with the wall connection and began shouting and swearing. Joseph could sense the volcano starting to rumble so he considered getting out of there but if he did how angry would that make his father? Ruth and Richard were together and could hear their father shouting so they gave the kitchen a wide berth. After a while of shouting and cursing Julian started hitting himself in the head with a hammer, like the car incident, blood started to run down his face. Joseph reconsidered his options and left as quickly as possible. Robert, Ruth and Richard all hid and waited for their father to calm and when he did they acted as if it was forgotten, but they couldn't forget that, Ruth said she never forgot it. ‘“My father,” she said, “would get so mad at things that he’d lose it totally. He’d get more angry at objects like the sink than at people. It was scary. Richard, all wide-eyed and frightened, was there, and he saw the blood as my father hit himself.”‘ - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

The kids were close with one another, after all they were very close in age. The older brothers liked to pull pranks on Ruth. They never were malicious and they never bothered her, she often came back with her own pranks so it was all fun and games. Although Richard was quite protective of his older sister, he felt that some pranks went too far. Ruben and Robert would often hit Ruth to get some sort of reaction - as siblings do - but if Richard saw a mark being left on Ruth’s skin he would get between his older brothers and sister and would defend her, telling them to leave her alone.

At 5 years old Richard went with Robert to the local park to find Ruth. Ruth was on a swing, in his excitement Richard ran to her not realising the danger of his action. She couldn’t stop her swing and it collided with a sickening thump into Richard’s head. Knocking him out cold. Robert carried him home hurriedly to their mother. She screamed when she saw her youngest child unconscious and bleeding from his head. He got his head stitched up at the hospital but the doctors said he would be alright.

Ramirez at six in an El Paso playground where he was knocked out for several hours by a swing. (Authors collection) - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

Richard’s first day at school came and went. Both Ruth and Joseph stayed out of trouble and were doing okay in school. In contrast Ruben and Robert were failing miserably and fighting anyone they disagreed with. At this point Julian was away from his family for weeks at a time. He was disappointed with their progress, he wanted them to do well in school and have a shot at the ‘American Dream’. He had hoped one of his children would be famous one day.

Part 2 should be up soon, if you think I have any facts wrong message me.

I have gotten my information from a range of articles, youtube videos such as Georgia Marie’s video on him, The Last Podcast on the Left’s two parter on him and Philip Carlos’ informative book ‘The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker’.

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botanicials · 4 years

Text

backpedal

... in which harry accidentally moans the wrong name

... word count: 4.4k

... theme: angst

Being memorable was one of Harry’s most redeeming qualities, you had figured that out early on in your relationship.

Not only would he remind you about plans you’d made with friends or meetings you were scheduled in at work; he’d remember the small things, like when once whilst telling a story from years ago, you’d mentioned that you could only tolerate cherry-flavored cough drops. Two months after the small comment, you’d caught a cold and amongst the care “basket” (large reusable grocery bag) he packed up was a heavy bag of cherry Ricola.

He knew that when your nose scrunched up, you were having a hard time keeping your thoughts at bay, which perfume you wore according to the season, which sweaters you preferred whenever you were over at his because “Harry it’s cold out why would you possibly need the A/C on at night?”.

One thing he happened to not remember however, at such an unfortunate time, was your name.

It wasn’t like he’d just gotten back from promos, recording, writing even, or that the two of you having sex was anything new for fuck’s sake. He was back from the states, the album has been done for months, and it wasn’t even fifteen hours ago that you two were in this very position.

There was no other reason for his mind to be elsewhere. No other reason for him to focus on anything other than you.

It happens when he dips his hips at a certain angle, the back of your head digs further into the pillow and he buries his face into the exposed side of your neck, warm breath sweeping over your skin as a groan escapes his lips.

You could feel nothing but him: the weight of his body, the thin layer of sweat on his back under your fingertips. His movements seemed so impulsive, habitual and that made the entire situation so much worse.

He brought his hand down to grip your waist, lips parting open. “Fuck, Cami-…” His throat closed up, body seeming to instinctively stop himself from saying her name as his eyes flew open in a panic.

Your hands immediately fly to his shoulders as you push and turn your head to the right, eyes unable to reach his. “Off. Get off, get off–”

“I didn’t..” His words die out and he removes himself from you and rests on his side, arm now supporting most of his weight. “Baby-” he whispers, reaching to try and grab at your wrist but you’re too fast.

One second you were under him, holding, pulling on his forearm to have him closer; and the next, you were pushing him as far from you as possible, grabbing the throw blanket sat at the end of his bed and wrapping it around your body before practically sprinting to the ensuite bathroom.

“Love, love, love, love, love…” his words are rushed as he quickly follows after you, not bothering to cover his lower half. The haziness in the room had dissipated, and he now found himself in panic mode trying his best to get to you as soon as possible.

Yet again, he isn’t fast enough, because the door slams right in his face and he has to snap his fingers from the frame so they aren’t caught. “Baby, I… shit.” He whispers to himself, grabbing at his sweatpants that were left tossed over the armchair.

None of this feels real to him. It can’t be because he couldn’t have possibly just done that. There’s no fucking way.

It’s as if he’s watching all of this unfold from someone else’s point of view. It’s as if he’s dreaming; his head is spinning and nothing makes sense- this can’t be real.

His fingers tremble as he ties the drawstring taut around his hips, shaking his head to himself as he moves over to the door.

“I don’t…” Fuck. Fuck. “Wasn’t thinkin’ about ‘er. I wasn’t. And I… I know that sounds like absolute shit, but I swear it. Baby, I… I wasn’t thinkin’.”

His heart is beating out of his chest as he explains because he loves you. He does. Told you that for the first time just four days ago. You’re easily one of the best things that have ever happened to him in such a long time and this wasn’t anything but an accident. There was no deeper meaning.

“Don’t know what else t’say, darling… I’m sorry. I am- and I know that might not mean much right now but I.. I’ve never been more sorry.”

It’s when he hears you sniffle from behind the door that his heart drops even further and tears sting his eyes. His hands rest on his hips and he tilts his neck back to blink up at the ceiling.

Things were just starting to become real with you-- not that they never were, but the two of you weren’t just dating anymore. He was getting ready to introduce you to his family, he had just started thinking about the thought of you two being together. The house and the kids and a ring and it’s fucking ridiculous, he knows that, but now it isn’t. Now, it’s borderline impossible. All because of tonight.

A slip-up.

He’s aware of how selfish he’s planning on being; preparing on asking you to look past his mistake, to forget that this had ever happened, but at this point he needs you. It’s desperate and pathetic but it’s all he could bring himself to be at this moment.

A handful of minutes pass of a teary-eyed Harry pacing back and forth in front of his bathroom door and you sniffling from behind it before he decides to finally sit on the wooden floor beside it.

You both stay like that for a while, quiet sitting nearly back to back on opposite sides of drywall and it’s not like you two, not knowing what to say, what to do, or how to act around one another. Not in so long, so the feeling is too foreign. Unwelcome.

Harry clears his throat. “Just… take as long as yeh need, love. M’right here.” He finally says and the thought of you wanting him anywhere but there makes him rest his head in his hands. A part of him knows he should leave to another room, give you some space. Yet that same selfish part of him wants to do nothing but hold you as close as possible and explain himself. Explain what happened those moments ago, even if he didn’t know how. He just wanted a chance.

About fifteen minutes go by before he speaks again. It’s nearing two in the morning and you’ve been quiet for a while so there’s a possibility you’re asleep, but he decides to gamble.

“I love you.” He starts. “I meant it when I said it the first time and I mean it now. So.. so much, angel. Yeh have no idea like… really s’just– this whole thing is..” He runs a hand over his face before resting his elbows on his bent knees. There’s no way this was good for his back.

He’s frowning to himself as he prepares. “When I said- When I almost said Camile’s name I–”

His apology is cut short when the ensuite door practically slams open and his head snaps over to catch a blur of navy blue fly past. You’re still wrapped in the velvet soft blanket, nothing too out of the ordinary, only you’re not half asleep asking him to “Please stay a little longer?” with a soft pout at your lips.

No. Right now you’re fast and focused, throwing his white comforter around in search of your clothes. You aren’t begging him to get back in bed until the sun comes up, you’re trying to remove yourself from the room as quickly as possible.

Harry’s standing now, lingering as he rubs at the knot growing in his neck, eyes on you.

“Baby-”

“Please.” You breathe out, hand spread out in front of you. “I can’t right now, Harry.”

The sound of your voice makes him freeze, arms falling to his sides as you resume searching for your bralette, he’s assuming, considering you’ve already snatched up everything else.

In these last twenty to twenty-five minutes, you’re clearly exhausted; and if his mind is running miles a minute he can only imagine what scenarios you’re thinking up. He understands, really he does because if he was on the other end of things he’s not sure what he’d be presuming right now.

It’s just that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to sit back and watch someone that’s made him look forward each day leave without putting in any effort. He’d beat himself up over this entire situation even more if he didn’t at least try.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ straight–“, he decides to repeat. Everything he rehearsed in his head is long gone and he finds himself unable to elicit what he’d already said from the other side of the door. “Wasn’t thinkin’ at all because it’s just you. S’all you. Just sit and-” He panics when you finally grab the white lace that was twisted in his comforter and make a beeline back to the bathroom. “Woah, woah, woah.”

He’s able to catch you before you can make it this time, his hand wrapped loosely around your arm, eyes trying to find yours. “Love…”

“Let go.”

He murmurs your name and his shoulders sag. “Look a’ me. C’mon-”

“I said let go.”

The room goes quiet as he stares at the side of your face and you realize how heavily your actions affect your future; what effects these next few moments would have on what could be the remaining of your relationship. Every decision you make right now is going to alter whether you and Harry will end up together or not. And that’s all too much right now.

You reluctantly turn your head to look over at him; with your red-rimmed eyes and in a raw voice you whisper, “.. I really can’t right now.”

Harry’s lips are rolled into his mouth when he nods his head, eyes falling to the ground before removing his hand from your skin.

He has to take in a shaky breath when you close the door behind you, sniffling as he wipes at the wet under his eyes. He’s realized that you leaving tonight was the only option for right now, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t.

Harry Sunday 4:36 AM I love you so much, darling. I wish I could apologize a million times over. I understand if you need time but whenever you’re ready to talk to me, I’m here. I’ll wait for you.

Harry Monday 11:12 AM Just woke up. I’ve got a meeting at 1 until 3 or so, but if you need me please don’t hesitate to call. I love you.

Harry Yesterday 9:02 PM Know it’s late, didn’t forget about you. I was at another meeting. Still here, love you so much.

It’s past-noon now, however many days later, and Harry is sat on the lounge he had on his backyard patio, a thick blanket heavy on his shoulders. The outdoor fireplace was lit in front of him, warming mostly his legs and the mug of hot chocolate he sat on the small table beside it. Flurries in the air confirm the fact that he should not be outside, but he’s always found the sounds of the river a few meters down to be therapeutic, icy ripples that weren’t yet frozen over resonating as the sky turns into a hazy purple.

He’s able to think back on how much you enjoyed laying up with him out here. There was usually a book in both your and Harry’s hands, maybe a homemade drink if Harry was feeling particularly generous.

He brought you out here the first time you visited his house, it was around the same hour it is now; the sunset, the snow wind, the ripples. You’d both gotten into such a spellbound conversation that he’d forgotten to give you a full tour; the two of you stayed out there all night just… talking and Harry doesn’t think he’d ever appreciate such a simple moment more.

Speaking with you was always effortless up until now, where he’s only been in contact with you once a day for the last few. Through text.

He didn’t want to overwhelm you, he knew you wanted-- needed space, so he succumbed to daily texts, so you knew that he was still fighting. The last thing he needed was for you to think that he gave up.

Flowers or edible arrangements… they crossed his mind, but this wasn’t something that could be fixed with something materialistic; you deserved so much more than that.

Harry Today 6:58 PM Hey.. I hope you’re doing well. Our coffee place has a special on the cinnamon bagels you like. x

“That was cordial,” he says to himself, reading it over a couple of times before tossing his phone on the cushion beside his leg.

You hadn’t answered the last three messages, he doesn’t even know if you’ve read them-- and a part of him wonders if he isn’t trying hard enough. Are you expecting the flowers and chocolate covered fruits? Him on his knees begging at your front door?

Deep down he knows he knows you, and any other day he wouldn’t second guess you needing your space, but you seem much too far away than he’s used to and his confidence in his knowledge of you is beginning to slip away.

His phone dings and he jumps, heart buzzing as he looks at the notification.

Mitch Today 7:06 PM You still going to Los Angeles next Thursday?

“For fuck’s sake…”

Harry Today 7:06 PM Don’t know yet, I will by Wednesday. x

It’s a second after sending that he receives another message.

Today 7:07 PM I’m doing okay, thank you for the exposé.

Harry’s heart stutters as he rereads your name at the top of the notification. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Okay? Much better than bad, so he takes that as a positive, just like how he took the fact that you’d left your toothbrush at his as a good sign as well.

Harry Today 7:09 PM Course. x

Harry Today 7:10 PM I could grab you some? I’m on the way out to the store.

Lie.

Today 7:12 PM it’s okay, don’t want you to go out of your way.

Harry Today 7:13 PM It isn’t, really. I don’t mind.

Harry Today 7:13 PM And I’d really like to see you.

It’s the longest you two have gone without seeing each other whilst being remotely in the same area. He’s convinced himself that the sniffles he’s had for the last few days are allergies and not from him being a bit lovesick.

He stares once a grey text bubble pops up on his screen, taunting him almost as he tries to anticipate your response.

No.

Too bad.

Fuck off.

Fuck you.

Those replies all seemed pretty rational to him, it’s what he expected; so when the text bubble disappears, his eyebrows pull together in a nervous furrow. His thumb reaches up to pull the screen up as if the messages would refresh, and flinches when you resume typing again.

He figures that a short message would be better than a long one, but a long one would be better than nothing; so he settles.

Today 7:16 PM is that a good idea??

Harry Today 7:16 PM It’s all up to you, love. I didn’t mean to force anything,

Today 7:17 PM you aren’t, I appreciate you giving me the space you did.

Today 7:17 PM if there’s a sale, do you think there will be any bagels left at this hour? haha

At that, Harry finds himself smiling.

Harry Today 7:18 PM Welllllll, for your sake I would hope so.

Today 7:19 PM if they don't, I'll take a cinnamon roll then.

Harry Today 7:19 PM Cinnamon roll or cinnamon bagel. Noted. See you in 15?

Today 7:19 PM yeah, the complex gates should be open

Harry Today 7:19 PM :)

“Don’t stress about it, you’re just gonna make yourself cry again.”

“Shut up, Anais..” you mumble, frowning at your laptop screen. Your friend only smiles, applying more of the mellow green face mask to her cheeks. “It’s just… not gonna be the same, I could feel it through the fucking screen, it’s weird now. And I know I’m being dramatic--”

“No, no, and no, I’m joking. You can’t be sorry for feeling hurt. He’s thinking about an ex, of course that hurts, it’s a problem.” Anais was the only person you could bring yourself to tell about the entire situation, far too embarrassed to bring it up to anyone else. That, and the two of you are the polar extremes of the same personality so you balanced one another out. “Whether it was an innocent mistake- which is what I’m leaning towards the most -or if there’s even the slightest possibility that he’s still got more feelings for the girl than he should.. babe, you have every right to feel upset either way.”

“See, and what’s fucked is that I figured as much in the beginning. They’ve only been broken up for like a year, but he went and wrote like.. almost an entire album? There’s got to be some kind of-” You circle your hands in front of you. “- deeper connection there. You know?”

Anais twists her lips. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t be upset with him for feeling how he feels, but I can be upset about him stringing me along.”

“Mm! That’s good, write that down.” She points at your phone through the screen. “Just not the stringing along part. Too harsh. Say… upset about him being with you when he doesn’t know what he wants.”

You get as far as typing doesn’t before you sigh, setting your phone down on the couch beside you. “This isn’t gonna work, I feel like I’m prepping for a presentation.”

The two of you conjured up a bullet list of highlights to mention ever since Harry said he was on his way, as of now, all you had was:

don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry

“I’ve decided that I deserve more because I do”

try to bring up feelings?? somehow?

talk about how you’re feeling and then how it affects the relationship?

“You don’t have to read it right in front of him, just reference it before you open the door so you have like, some idea of what to say. Do you know what you want to say?”

“No, and he could get here literally at any minute now, fuck.”

“Okay, okay. New plan.” Anais starts, and your face is buried in your hands. “Ditch the phone. Just.. when he’s in front of you, you’ll think more clearly. You said that once, right?”

“It’s different now.” Your words are muffled.

“You’ll figure it out. You figure everything out.”

With another sigh you drag your hands down your face and leave them covering your mouth and chin, Anais sees easily through the screen that your eyes are watered over. “I’m so fucking scared, Ana.”

And it’s true. Clearly.

In the small number of months you’ve been together, Harry had become someone you couldn’t quite imagine life without. He was so warm and inviting, homey. Once one of the easiest people to talk to and now somehow you couldn’t fathom him sitting on your couch in a few minutes, a place he’s been more times than you could count.

You didn’t want to lose him and right now that seems like the only resolution.

Your best friend watches you from her own apartment, her face turned down into a frown. You’re cuddled up with your biggest throw at the very left side of your couch, laptop sat on the console you situated in front of you. The lights were dim, curtains and blinds wide open displaying the snowfall. You should be sipping on Stella Rosa from the bottle with that cliche ABC movie Snowglobe playing, but here you are on the verge of tears over something so minuscule yet complicated.

“I don’t know.. it all just seems so inevitable-” You pause when three solid knocks sound at your front door. “He’s here.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I’ll…” You take in a deep breath and move the blanket from your lap. “I’ll call you back?”

Anais nods, a small frown on her features. “Text me if I’m not awake. Love you.”

You try to smile. “Love you.”

You didn’t realize how much the white noise of Anais’ call filled the room. Everything went quiet, and Harry’s presence from behind the door is evermore distinct.

Your sock-clad feet pad lightly upon the wood floor, your nerves seemingly pulling you in the opposite direction. Thoughts of you sat on his bathroom floor reappear in your memory; the embarrassment of not feeling like enough, the regret of deciding to go over to his in the first place.

If he never invited you over for homemade soup none of this would’ve happened, you’d be tucked under his arm trying not to fall asleep-- but it then makes you wonder if this was something that needed to happen. That you were only a temporary fix before he could go back to the one that still held onto his love strung heart.

With your fingers on the deadbolt lock, you twist and push down on the nickel door handle. A rush of frosty air slips from outside and into your foyer, the wind shifting the baby hairs off of your face.

Once the door is fully open, you find Harry’s stood in a thick white sweater and navy coat, a soft blush has grown upon his nose and cheeks. His hair is much curlier than usual, toppled over to one side thanks to the unpredictable weather. He’s holding a bag from Coldwell’s in his right hand and under his scent of vanilla and pine, was the sugary smell of cinnamon bagels. He’s squinting ever so slightly and his lips are a deep shade of pink. Despite it all, you find yourself admiring your boyfriend and for that small moment, everything that happened that night is forgotten.

“Was gonna knock again, wasn’t sure if you’d heard.”

“No, yeah, I did. Sorry, I was-” You clear your throat. “Sorry.”

Harry frowns and you realize then that he’s been outside for a bit too long now. “S’fine, no need ‘t apologize.”

“Um, come in.” You say, stepping behind the door and Harry moves to shuffle through. You shut and lock the door as he toes of his boots.

There are a few tiny snowflakes still sat in his hair and any other time you’d brush them away and bring him in for a kiss.

Now, you only glance up at them and quickly advert your eyes before finding your way down the hall.

The two of you end up on your couch, you on one end (where you’d been bundled up majority of the week) and Harry in the middle. There was an incredibly odd amount of space between the two, but him being here isn’t as incredibly off-putting as you imagined it would be beforehand.

His coat is hung up in your front closet, and the bag of bagels he’d promised you sit on your coffee table, the heat of them creating moisture on the wooden surface.

You shift to tuck your foot under you, moving a stray hair from your cheek. “I’m not really sure where to start,” you admit, focused on the fluff of your blanket.

Harry sniffs and clears his throat, gaining your attention. “I love you. And I know I’ve said it countless times now I just.. Me saying her name that night was.. nothing but an honest mistake-- wasn’t actively thinking about her I-I know that Mark asked me a question about her maybe the other day? Like, beforehand and.. tha’s the only like, reason I could think up of why I said it.”

You’re silent, allowing him to explain himself the best he could, so he continues.

“Know s’not something you could just.. forget about and move on from-- I’ve hurt you in one of the worst ways possible. Know that completely and I.. I can’t apologize enough, love.. I just want you to that I’m recognizing that I was in the wrong, you know? Not that you.. are putting any blame on yourself-- fuckin’...” He sighs, running a quick hand over his face and it’s clear that there are tears gathering in his eyes. “I dunno, I’m like, ramblin’ now-”

“No, I um.. I think it’s more humiliation than anything. Not that I shouldn’t feel the way I do, it’s just.. fucking embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry. I am so so sorry.”

“I know-”

“No, y’really don’t because I.. really don’t want to lose you over this, you’re.. undoubtedly the best thing that’s happened to me in so long.”

“That doesn’t mean that there might be lingering feelings for her, H.”

“But there aren’t,” he nearly cuts you off.

“I care about you,” you start. “I do. And this.. entire situation kind of just made me.. think about my worth. Um... I promised myself that I’d never let someone have that much of an effect on how I view myself because I’m always going to be me, you know?”

Harry nods, eyebrows drawn into a frown and you continue.

“So I.. I thought about it and reevaluated what I deserve and I know that it’s a bit more than that.”

“It is. S’so much more.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about the two of you.” You advert your eyes for a second. “When you love, Harry you give so much and... not that I can tell you how you feel, but I’ve... I don’t know.”

Harry blinks. “I don’t have any other reason as to why I could’ve said it. I don’t but what I do know is that I don’t feel the way I did before about her now,” he pauses. “I know with everything in me that I’m in love with one person, and she’s sat right in front of me.”

It dawns on you then (not that it hasn’t crossed your mind already) that this could indeed be nothing but a mishap with no hidden meaning. You aren’t an expert on how brains work, and this thought doesn’t submerge the ache and betrayal you felt, but ending such a potential relationship over a genuine mistake makes your stomach turn.

“Camile and I were together, yeah? I wrote some songs, we broke up, I wrote some more and yes, I was in love and then heartbroken but all of those feelings are so minuscule to how you make me feel. To how you’ve made me feel the last few months I’ve known you. You’ve got no idea how much I mean that. Baby, you have me. I don-”

You take his hand that was outstretched towards you- him being ever adamant on speaking with gestures - and rise to your knees, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He wraps his around your back right away, pulling you closer into his chest.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your skin. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. I love you.”

“I love you,” you finally say, eyes burning with tears. “I know I sound stupid; asking you for reassurance I-”

“No, hey, no. You deserve all of the reassurance in the world after that, darling. I can’t apologize enough.”

“It’s just gonna take me a little time, okay?”

“I know, love.. I’m sorry.”

Another one of Harry’s redeemable qualities was his integrity. You were aware of his morals and how authentic he was and despite the hurt and embarrassment you went through, you knew his heart.

There is no doubt that the two of you would be taking baby-steps for a spell; the important thing was that Harry was willing to wait as long you needed. And luckily for him, with the snow still brushing your window, there was an excuse for you to stay cuddled up with him for the remainder of the night.

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twdbegins · 4 years

Text

A Little R&R

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Some sexual references.

Word Count: 2,110

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.”

Nobody has ever said that being a doctor is easy work. As a matter of fact, being in any job in medical field is probably one of the most demanding jobs there can possibly be. However, you had gone through a lot of school to become a doctor and while it was hard work, it was rewarding work. Nothing filled you with more joy than helping others. It was something that made you super passionate. It reminded you that, despite the fall, there’s still good in the world.

With that being said, there were still times when the workload did sometimes get to be a bit much. At least before, when you were in a legit hospital, you had nurses and other doctors to provide their hands-on help. Now, it was pretty much just you. If you were lucky, Simon or another savior might be able to offer some minimal help, but in an overall sense, you were on your own. Another challenge refers to the more sanitary side of things. Since you weren’t in a hospital, the infirmary wasn’t as sterilized as you wanted it to be. You cleaned the infirmary from ceiling to floor every single day and as often as you could. You always deep cleaned your tools and sterilized them, but at the end of the day there was no way for everything to be completely clean.

The worst part of it, though, was the fact that you had every single solitary patient. Obviously, if you’re the only doctor, then everyone is going to come to you. Some days you would have one person come in and some days you would have 40 people come in. It just varied from day to day. Your absolute least favorite day was check-up day. After you had been at the Sanctuary for about a year (and Negan realized you were there to stay) he found it necessary for every savior to have an annual checkup. Everyone. On the same day.

The first year you had to do it was absolute hell. Everyone showed up at random times during the day and there was no order whatsoever. However, the next year, you put a system in order. Every savior would have to come at a specific time, starting with the highest in command to the lowest (this was per Negan’s request). So, Negan always went first, Simon next, and so on and so forth. You usually averaged about one savior every fifteen minutes. Which doesn’t sound that bad, but considering there’s an average of about 150 to 200 saviors, it makes out to be a long day of work.

It was checkup day, November 11th to be exact. You had made sure to hydrate plenty the day before and get a good night of sleep, because you were not taking any breaks to try and get this over with quicker. Sure enough, you heard Negan’s familiar voice in the doorway at 6:00 A.M. sharp;

“Well, good morning, doc!” He chirped.

You gave a smile;

“Negan.” You said acknowledging his presence.

Negan always went first because he was indeed highest in command. He also liked to just get it over with so he could still get a useful day of work. He knew the drill. He stripped off his signature leather jacket, setting it on the chair in the corner with his beloved Lucille. He had this rather unsettling smirk on his face. As much as you respected him as a leader, he could be quite disrespectful to you. Not in a “I don’t respect your feelings kind of way”, but he was known as a ladies man (his multiples wives as evidence to that). It didn’t at all offend or bother him to have a woman put her hands on him, in a professional way or not. He sat on the table as you began his checkup exam. He stayed silent for a little while, but you knew it wouldn’t last. As you were listening to his lungs and overall breathing, he spoke;

“You know, if you really want to see how I can handle myself, you can close that door and I’ll just show you.” He prided.

You hushed him, waving a hand in front of his face. You couldn’t properly hear what you were listening for if he was talking. You stayed quiet as you finished listening to his lungs before you answered. You hung the stethoscope around your neck as you tested his reflexes.

“Now, that’s not a very professional thing to say to your doctor is it?” You said grabbing the reflex hammer off of the counter.

He shrugged;

“I mean, doctor-patient confidentially, right? Or does that not apply anymore?” He asked.

“No, it does...depending on who you are,” You said truthfully.

You tested Negan’s reflexes on his knees, noting that his response was a little slow;

“Reflexes are delayed,” You said taking the back of his hand and checking for dehydration. Nada. “Did you drink last night?”

He nodded as you wrote it down on his chart. He was healthy as a horse.

“Well, other than the reflexes, you’re good to go,” You said truthfully.

Negan smiled;

“Sweet,” He said getting off of the table and retrieving his jacket and weapon of choice.

“Will you send Simon in, please?” You asked.

Negan zipped his jacket;

“As long as you two promise to behave in here.” Negan said approaching the doorway and motioning for Simon who was right outside.

Simon walked in, Negan giving him a slight glare as he left. Simon raised a brow and looked at you;

“What was that about?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes;

“Turned him down. Again.” You said referring to his advances.

That wasn’t at all an uncommon occurrence. Negan was always trying to pick you up and had even thrown a marriage proposal your way before. All to which you denied and continue to deny every time. It was kind of a running joke between you and Simon now;

“Shocker,” He said pulling you to him, “Mornin’, baby.”

You gave him a quick kiss;

“Hi.” You replied.

He sat on the exam table, eager to get this over with. He hated going to the doctor, although he was willing to make an exception. You checked his eyes and ears first, both in perfect condition. You checked his lungs and breathing next, as you had done with Negan.

“Take off your shirt, please.” You asked.

He smirked as he lifted it over his head;

“Yes ma’am.” He set his shirt aside and winced at the cold metal of the stethoscope against his back.

His hands were on yours hips, rubbing in circles as you listened to his breathing and heart beat. His heart rate was a little elevated, but that was most likely from the fact that he was raking you over. You were asking just some general questions (all of which you knew the answer to) along the way. You had your hands at his neck, feeling for any swollen or tender lymph nodes;

“Have you had skin irritation or any noticeable changes to your body lately?” You asked as you felt his neck gently, his skin sensitive to the feel of your touch.

He groaned;

“Mmhm, well, you’re gonna see a noticeable change if you keep that up.” He said.

You pulled your hands away and tried not to laugh;

“Sorry. I’m almost done.” You said reaching for a tongue depressor.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” He asked curiously.

You shrugged and gave a questionable look;

“Late for sure. Open wide,” You instructed, “Maybe midnight?”

You checked his throat for any signs of inflamed tonsils or strep throat as he attempted to speak a response that was just muffled;

“Huh?” You asked taking the depressor away.

“I said to come to my room when you do get off. I’ll be up.” He repeated.

You nodded, jotting the final notes on his chart;

“You don’t have to wait up for me.” You kindly said.

“Sure, I do. I want to.” He retorted.

You smiled, and sighed contently when you finished his examination;

“Well, my love, you are in perfectly good health.”

He laughed at your monotonous tone and slipped his shirt back on, before standing back up;

“Do you have any breaks today?” He asked.

“Nope. Straight shot from start to finish.” You replied.

He nodded with a slight grimace. He hated seeing you work yourself too hard. But you wouldn’t do it any other way. He kissed you again before leaving;

“I’ll see you tonight. Don’t work too hard.”

The day went by horribly slow. Person after person came through. You repeated the same tests over and over until you felt like you’d freaking pass out. Finally, low and behold, you examined the very last savior at around 12:15 AM. Basically 18 hours of straight work with no breaks. Honestly, it should’ve been longer than that, but some exams didn’t take as long as others. You were exhausted and drained. You cleaned the infirmary as usual, used the shower, and finally were lights out at 12:45. You locked up and straggled to Simon’s room, which felt like miles away. You walked into his room and, sure enough, he was awake and waiting for you.

You looked tired, to say the least. He offered a comforting smile;

“Hey. All done?” He asked.

“All done.” You affirmed.

Your legs and feet had never hurt so bad in your entire life. You quite literally collapsed onto the bed, letting out a sigh of relief that you felt in your soul. He sat on the end of the bed as you just took a moment to mellow out. Your feet were a horrible shade of dark pink, borderline red from the heavy blood flow from being on your feet all day.

“126. 126 saviors came through. That’s a personal record.” You said with a laugh.

Simon shook his head in disbelief;

“I don’t know how you do it. Anybody that you think will kick the bucket this year?” He asked slightly joking but also not.

You scoffed;

“From a physical health standpoint, no. Mentally though, that new guy Derek might be in for it if he doesn’t change his attitude,” You stated honestly.

“Oh, yeah. The tall redheaded guy, right? I think Richie got into a tussle with him a few weeks ago.” Simon said recalling the big fight that went down.

You hummed in affirmation as you watched him trace circles on your leg lazily with his index finger. You groaned and rubbed your face;

“My feet hurt so bad. I feel like I’ve been standing and walking all day.” You growled.

Simon got up from the bed and laughed;

“That’s because you have,” He grabbed a bottle off of the dresser and sat back down. You suddenly felt a cold presence and rubbing sensation on your leg. You looked down and let out a groan of relief upon realizing Simon was rubbing your legs and feet;

“You are an absolute angel, you know that?”

He smirked;

“I do my best.”

His hands worked wonders on your aching lower limbs and appendages. You raised a brow;

“Where did you get lotion from?” You asked examining the dark red, label-less bottle.

His hand gently gripped and slid down from your knee to your ankle;

“I have my ways,” He grinned; “I thought you outta know that by now.”

“You’re still full of surprises. I never know what tricks you have up your sleeve.” You laughed heartily.

He still grinned;

“Yeah, well, I gotta keep it interesting,” He joked, “No, but I found this last week. I’ve just been meaning to give it to you.”

The lotion’s scent was so good and so calming. You definitely could’ve fallen asleep right where you were.

“At least I know I’ll sleep good tonight.” You stated.

“Speaking of, I think it’s time to call it a night.” He said rubbing the last bit of lotion in and returning the bottle to the dresser.

You groaned and rolled over to your side of the bed with him quickly sliding into his side. You rested yourself against his side, immediately feeling like you were about to fall asleep. Before you drifted off, however, he softly said a few last words for the night;

“You really do keep this place running,” He said kissing your head, “I love you. And I’m really proud of you and everything that you do.”

You looked up at him sleepily, kissing him softly before falling asleep in the arms of the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

#simon x reader #The Walking Dead #the walking dead simon #simon the walking dead #simon twd #twd simon #simon twd x reader #simon twd fanfic #simon twd imagines #twdbegins

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alias-levi · 3 years

Text

flash fic friday #5

@liz-pooh this is for you, hun 💙💙

gooood evening people (or whatever time it is when you are reading this)! after hardcore plotting one of my wips for two weeks then procrastinating doing the next step of drafting my best friend came in with a request for me to write. the final result actually happens to be a bit too long for a flash fic but i’m just going to pretend that i don’t know that. here are some basic infos:

fandom: twilight word count: abt. 1.8 k pairing: Felix/fem!oc warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, verbal fighting

summary: For weeks Volterra’s streets have been reeking of mutt. The smell seemingly following Liza whenever she leaves the castle’s property. While doing some shopping, she catches a reflection that be able to explain why.

[ID: imagine, Paul imprintes on Felix’ mate]

source: unfortunately we lost the post where this matter was discussed so if anyone know is/has it/finds it, please feel free to share it with me via private messages so i can give proper credit!

thank you and the text is below the cut :) enjoy!

It’s a dark day, the sky heavily clouded. There is a thunderstorm to come, that is for sure. Liza in the meanwhile uses the time wisely, strolling through the narrow streets, doing some shopping. Girly stuff.

For umphteenth time Liza wrinkles her nose. The almost unbearably gross, musty smell of wet dogs wavers around her. Bypassing a shapeshifter occasionally is nothing too far off the possibility scale but this right here is borderline suspicious. For a few weeks now this smell has seemed to show up every time she had left the properties of the castle.

With a sigh, and a suppressed gag, Liza takes off the sunglasses she had just tried. Turning back to the nice old man owning the small shop, Liza smiles. “Thank you very much but I don’t think these are my style.”

The man eagerly nods and tries to convince her of another pair, but Liza stops him and kindly bids her goodbyes. Just as she takes her first step to walk away, her eyes catch something in the mirror. A reflection. Someone who seemingly fits the natives yet her brain screams at her that something is off. And then the person is gone. Liza frowns. Then her eyes widen.

A few well-measured, yet fast steps later, Liza disappears into the same small backstreet the man in the reflection had stood in.

“I know you are here. I have been smelling you for weeks wondering why Volterra has turned into a hotspot for mutts.” She spits the last word out with as much disgust as she can manage. The smell has gotten worse and Liza wonders if she would throw up.

The man doesn’t hesitate now. Stepping out of the shadows and into her way he looks down on Liza, swallows hard then takes a step back. “Listen I wish I could have saved us both this situation but I have to talk to you.”

Liza snorts then spits on the floor right in front of his feet. “I’m flattered you came all this way just to get your ass kicked, Paul.” An oh-so-sweet and innocent smile plays around the vampires lips and her violet eyes sparkle with excitement. Watching the werewolf almost shrink under her gaze, breaks Liza’s smile into a grin, revealing her fangs.

“Liza, no. Please, it is important that you listen to me.”

“Then you better spill the tea, mutt,” she puts her weight on one leg, tilting her hip and cocks an eyebrow at him, “I don’t have all day.”

“I will try to make it as quick as poss-”

“For fuck’s sake, Paul, get to the fucking point!”

“Yeah, yeah! I got it, I got it, okay?” Paul raises his hands in surrender. “Listen, remember a few weeks back when Felix and you were-”

“-in Forks and kicked y’alls asses? Yes I do remember, why do you ask?”

Entirely unphased by this snappy interruption Paul continues, “Remember that moment in the woods where I suddenly turned back? You just made a comment and then ran off.”

Rolling her eyes Liza says, “course I do. What was up with you anyways? Fell in love with the most badass vampire chick you’ve ever seen?”

“I imprinted.”

She snorts, “on what, mutt? The trees? The dirt under your nails?”

“On you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes Liza’s next comment get stuck in her throat. He wouldn’t travel all this way around the world to find her and tell her this if he was joking. Only slowly the full extent, the full meaning behind his words, seeps into her brain. Oh fuck.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yes, indeed. Listen I will try my best not to-”

“How the fuck am I even expected to react in a situation like this?”

“This is unprecedented. There is no knowledge of something like this having happened ever before. Believe me if I knew how to deal with this, how to make this work for the both of us- I would! But for now I just had to let you know. You are in this-”

Liza can see the muscles under his skin straining. He is fighting the urge to run, yet his brain tells him to stay with his imprint. This is fucking ridiculous.

“No, stop talking, Paul.” Closing her eyes for a second Liza sighs. She then fishes out her cell phone out of her coat’s pocket. “Give me your number I’ll call you in a couple of days. I- I need time to think.”

Paul is surprised. In all the time he had known Liza, nothing could ever knock the smartass out of her. But he obeys and states his number. He knows that he has no say in who he imprints on even though this is by far the worst scenario he could have imagined.

“Uhm, I’m sorry, you know,” Paul watches Liza scoff and nod slowly. He looks defeated, tired and worn out.

“Yeah, whatever.”

A shy smile tilts the corners of his mouth upwards upon hearing her sass returning.

---

The conversation with Paul gave Liza much to think about. So much, that her initial confusion has now turned into full blown anger. Paul imprinting on her is an unforeseen and definitely not welcomed inconvenience. No matter how exciting being the first of anything might be- This is not it. Liza doesn’t want it. Nursing a glass of rum and coke, Liza stares out of the window. Volterra lies quiet and peacefully beneath the castle, a stark contrast to her seething mind. The door behind her opens and Felix enters their chamber. Immediately he gags. “You smell even worse than the past days. I swear I will find and kill every single one-”

“Leave it, Felix.”

Liza doesn’t bother turning around. Neither does she bother saying anything else for the next two hours. She just stays right there, at the edge of her seat, straight back, the glass in her hand close to bursting in her hard grip. Keeping her eyes trained on the streets, Liza almost feels Paul’s eyes on her.

“Okay,” Felix sits up on the bed and puts the book he was reading into his lap. “Okay, would you please finally tell me what the fuck is going on with you?”

Felix is sick and tired of having Liza filling the room with the most annoyed energy, making the air almost thick enough to cut. Her occasional, totally unnecessary overly dramatic, huffs don't exactly make it better. Apart from breathing, Liza has not moved an inch and Felix thinks that if she sits there just a little bit longer, her drink will simply evaporate.

Another very patient fifteen minutes later, Felix realizes that Liza’s hands have started to fidget and her knee has started to bounce up and down rapidly. From staring out of the window, her eyes glazed over and she also stopped pretending to blink.

“Liza,” his voice is quiet but nonetheless demanding, “What. The hell. Is. Going. On?”

She takes her time and Felix hates her for it. But if he had known what she was about to tell him, hell, he would have relished every single second of not knowing.

“Paul imprinted on me.”

The words are so quick to leave her mouth, and oh-so-quiet, that Felix almost misses them. But he doesn’t. His brain makes sure to let him know, with the burning sensation of jealousy pumping through- no, simply filling his body. His fingertips are burning and aching to scratch that boy’s eyes out. Through gritted teeth he finally manages to press out, “He did what?”

Felix’ voice is dangerously quiet.

Eventually Liza turns to face him. “I met him today. He asked me to talk and then told me that. Explains why the streets have been reeking.”

“Yeah, no, but- Why on you?!”

Liza smiles upon the barely contained anger in Felix’ voice now, the fire, the jealousy burning in his eyes.

“Well he doesn’t exactly have the power to control it!” Her voice is sharp and louder than intended.

“I know that, Liza, I ain’t exactly fucking new in this business.” After a pause of just staring at each other Felix adds, “When did that even happen, huh?”

“Remember when we were in Forks a few weeks ago? Found the pack at the beach and had some fun with them?”

Felix nods along and Liza smiles sourly at the absurdity of this situation. The exact same conversation had happened just hours before, yet, she had been the one listening and Paul the one talking. Providing delicate information.

“You yelled at me to not go too far but I followed them into the woods anyways. Well,” Liza sighs and Felix rolls his eyes at that, “one after the other veered but one of them didn’t. He was so eager, so... hell-bent on outrunning me. It was so much fun when I finally had him, pinned on the ground he looked me in the eyes and went still. At first I thought I had been too harsh, hurt him, or broke something. Then he turned back into his human form. Looking at me like he had seen a ghost.”

“He imprinted on you,” Felix deadpans. “That motherfucker really fucking imprinted on you!”

Fury seeps into his voice as his body goes entirely still. Liza knows this look, his reaction, the unmoving body. Felix is like an animal, waiting, preparing for that one leap that will get them their prey. With slow movements she puts her glass down onto the floor. She might be naive. Trying to hold back who is said to be the strongest vampire to ever exist, is not in her power. After almost half a century together, Liza knows that she will not be able to stop Felix if he doesn’t let her. His abilities simply exceed her power.

So, Liza does the only slightly realistic thing that comes to her mind. Keeping up her slow movements she stands up, walking over to the bed ever so quietly. Neither of them is breathing. With a gentle smile on her lips, Liza cautiously cups Felix’ cheek, feeling him release a breath he has never held onto her palm. Their eyes stay locked this whole time.

Bringing their faces close together, she stops only an inch before him. “Let’s not deal with this today, okay? I don’t want to think about it anymore for now.” Her voice is gentle, calm and barely more than a whisper.

Felix surprises her in leaning up, closing the small gap between them and pressing a chaste kiss onto her lips. “You reek of mutt, querida.”

Liza bursts out a short dry laugh. The atmosphere is clearly more relaxed now. “Right,” she stands up again, “I’ll take another shower then... Care to join?” With a wink she leaves Felix on the bed and walks towards the bathroom.

#twilight #imagine #twilight imagine #felix x oc #paul lahote #imprinting #request #prompt #oc: liza #ps i love you #Flash Fic Friday

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Jim’s Best Friend

Part Twenty Three: Why Did We Agree To This Dinner Party?

Word Count: 5.2K+

Author’s Note: honestly, I was just writing and the ending of this caught me by surprise but I had to keep it in for y’all so I just hope you love it like I do.

Warning: discussion of Michael’s vasectomies

For previous chapters click here.

April, 2008.

The entire office had been asked to work late. You, being the receptionist, were getting a large brunt of the work because, somehow, everyone needed things copied now that filing was taking place. The entire office seemed to forget to file all year round, until Michael asks them to work late, check inventory, all that stuff. Then you suddenly have more work than you can handle. You wondered, as you did another trip around the office with people's copies, how Pam had done it all.

"This is ridiculous." Stanley said as you passed him, you then having to work your way past a hovering Michael.

"Nobody likes to work late, least of all me." Michael reminded the team, turning on his heel and heading over to Jim's desk as you returned to reception, beginning to box up some new documents. At this point you didn't know what was on anything anymore, you just wanted to be done as quickly as possible. "Do you have plans tonight?" Michael asked Jim, who pulled a tight-lipped smile, shaking his head.

"No, I don't. Remember when you told us not to make plans because we were working?" Jim said quickly, and you looked up at Michael, taking a second to eavesdrop: sure you wanted out of the building, but you didn't mind listening to whatever Michael had to gossip about.

"Yes, I remember." Michael nodded, stopping for a moment before letting out a groan. "This is B.S, this is B.S. Why are we here?" He exclaimed to the office, garnering everyone's attention. "I am gonna call corporate! Enough is enough. I'm, God, I'm so mad!" Michael yelled, heading into his office, and Jim gave you a look of confusion. Who knew what Michael was up to? "This is Michael Scott, Scranton. Well, we don't want to work. No, we don't! It's not fair to these people. These people are my friends and I care about them!!" Michael yelled the last sentence, and you could see Jim closing his eyes and shaking his head, and it made you smile a little wider. "We're not gonna do it!" Michael ended his call and walked back out into the main area, and you couldn't help the smirk on your lips.

"So?" You asked, and Michael stood in a power stance in the centre of the sale area.

"Everybody, I just got off the horn with corporate and basically, I told them where they could stick their little overtime assignment." Michael announced. "Go enjoy your Friday!"

"Thank you Michael." Dwight said loudly, starting a clap a few of your co-workers joined in on.

"Oh, well, I think we dodged a bullet there." Michael commented to Jim.

"I think you did."

"I think we should celebrate. How about you, Y/N, mi casa. A little dinner, dancing, drinks?" Michael proposed, and before Jim could refuse, he spoke again. "You said you didn't have plans." The shock on Jim's face was priceless, though it could be matched by the shock on your own. "That's what you said."

In truth, you had been asked to dinner by Michael at least nine times now. And you and Jim had managed to always deflect: someone was sick, or dead, or tax season, or whatever. And here you both were, sharing a look of disbelief at your boss' plan.

"I've got to admit, he got me." Jim confessed to the cameras. "Because I'm starting to suspect that there was no assignment from corporate."

"Do you think Michael realises that Jan hates me?" You asked Jim from the confines of his bathroom, talking loud enough that he could hear you from the hallway. You fixed your hair one last time, running your hands down your dress. It was sweet, the sort of thing you might wear out with Jim's parents for dinner, a jewel neckline short-sleeved dress that cinched in at the waist and went down to your knees. It was black with little red flowers printed on, and you had paired it with some low black heels and sheer tights. You wanted tonight to go well, even if Jan disliked you to an unfathomable degree.

"I think Michael has given up thinking. We need to go though, so..." Jim called from the hall, and you let out a laugh, blotting your lips once more before exiting the bathroom, Jim pushing himself off the wall as you did. A smile appeared on his face, and you did a quick twirl. "You look gorgeous, I love the dress." He complimented you, and you bit your lip.

"It has pockets." you responded, slipping your hands into the side of your dress, showing off the hidden design feature by wiggling your fingers.

"God, you're perfect." Jim breathed out gently, and you felt the blush on your cheeks. Even after months together, it still felt a little surreal to have him look at you like that: like you were the only girl in the world.

"Want me to drive?" You offered, taking the keys from his hands and making the way to his front door with a bounce in your step.

"Which one of us will be needing alcohol to survive tonight?" Jim asked, following you out to the car, locking the front door behind him. He had grabbed the bottle of wine you'd picked out earlier, a gift for your hosts.

"If it gets bad, we'll get a taxi back." You offered, and Jim nodded, getting in the passenger side of his car. The drive over to Michael's place was one you had made plenty of times before, and you were knocking on the front door of the condo within fifteen minutes of leaving Jim's. The door flew open, you coming face to face with Jan and offering a smile. It took a second for her body to register, her frown at your appearance switching to a practised grin.

"Hi, how are you?" Jan greeted, Jim gesturing for you to step in first.

"Hello! Come on in, amigos." Michael came into view as the door fully opened. "Good to see you." Michael smiled, giving you a hug as Jan wrapped herself around Jim.

"Thank you for having us." You responded, quickly pulling back and unbuttoning your coat.

"I'm so glad we finally got to do this with you guys." Jan said. "You wanna take their coats, babe?" Jan turned to Michael, who took a second before nodding.

"Yes, I would. Okay." Michael quickly helped you with your coat as Jim took his own off, Michael taking both and then promptly hanging them behind you. "So, what have you been doing?"

"Since... Since we saw you an hour ago?" Jim laughed through his words, his hand finding it's place on the small of your back. "We've been getting ready, then driving over here."

"Well, we've been doing pretty much the same thing... Except driving." Michael was never great at small talk, so you turned your attention to Jan, holding out the bottle of wine.

"We got you guys this." You said with a smile, doing your very best to avoid looking at Jan's chest, which was on full display thanks to her red v-neck top.

"Oh, well, Y/N. Thank you. This will be great to cook with." Jan said quickly, walking past you to place it in the kitchen. You and Jim shared a glance, neither of you saying a thing, but you knew if Jan continued with the passive-agressive behaviour, it would end up being a long night.

"So, come on in, make yourselves comfortable. This is our casa." Michael insisted, moving in between you and jim and taking you down the two steps from his entryway to the lounge.

"You guys have really decorated since the last time I was here, it's lovely." You complimented, and Jan looked between you and Michael.

"Huh, well then... what do you guys think? Should we do the tour first? Appetisers first?" Jan asked, looking more to Jim than you for an answer.

"Tour. Let's do the tour first." Jim decided, a smile on his face and his hands stuffed in his pockets. He sent a wink your way, and you smiled back.

"Okay! You have a preference babe? Upstairs first?" Jan asked Michael.

"Totally your call, babe."

"Alright, well, let's go then." Jan moved past you all, leading you all upstairs. Michael ahead of you, Jim behind, you turned to mouth the word 'babe' to your boyfriend, who did his best to stifle a laugh, urging you to follow the older couple up the stairs.

"So this, is my office." Jan opened the first door, showing a room that looked so remarakbly clean it was unsettling.

"Yep, never been used." Michael remarked.

"Not super exciting." Jan said with a terrifying grin on her face. She opened a door to the left of the office, walking straight in and gesturing for you and Jim to follow. "And this is my workspace."

"This is it. Check that out, you smell it?" Michael asked. You most certainly did. The scent of the candles surrounding you was borderline overwhelming. "As you can smell, there's a lot of odors going on in here."

"It's nice that you have an office separate from in here." you commented, and Jan nodded, taking a deep inhale.

"Yeah, it is. I just, I cannot create in the same space as I conduct business." Jan explained, and from the corner of your eye you could see Jim edging towards the doorway for some clean air. She held a candle up to your nose. "Smell that. It's bonfire." Jan urged, and you took a sniff. Michael was in the background doing his best Sean Connery impression, and Jan sighed. "You know, when I get frustrated, or irritated, or angry, I come up here and I just smell my candles!" Jan exclaimed. "And poof, it all goes away."

"Just like that?" Jim asked, having taken in enough fresh air that he could talk without inhaling.

"Just like that." Jan nodded, walking past the pair of you and towards another room. The look in Jim's eye was one of thanking God, he even took the time to shut the door over as Michael exited. "And this," Jan called from the other end of the hall, once again beckoning you to follow.

"We'll be here another ninety minutes..." You whispered to Jim in reassurance, taking his hand as you followed Michael. He squeezed back.

"This is the master bedroom, and these walls, they used to be, like, white. Like and asylum. So I wanted it to be softer, so I had it painted in eggshell white." Jan explained.

"Guess what? White and eggshell white are exactly the same colour." Michael said, following the comment with forced laughter. A few weeks ago, Oscar had told you about Michael's money problems, and Michael had come into the main office to declare bankruptcy, quite literally. By the look of the house, you had a feeling it wasn't Michael spending all of his earnings.

"Babe... I thought you said you were going to tidy things up." Jan said, noticing and quickly putting away a camcorder that sat on a tripod. "Shame on you." she slapped Michael playfully on the backside, and you shared yet another look with Jim.

"How about we go see the lounge?" You suggested, and Jim nodded quickly. "Did I see a plasma tv?" You asked, seeing Michael's eyes lit up.

"Yes, yes follow me." Michael led you all back down stairs, almost breaking into a jog as he stopped by a comically small tv mounted on the wall. "I finally broke down and bought myself a plasma tv. I actually hung this on the wall myself. Oh, I want to show you something. A lot of people in the room? You need more space? Voila, right into the wall." Michael pushed the slightly extended tv back into the wall, earning a sound of awe from Jim and a nod from you. "Sometimes, I will just stand here and watch television for hours. I love it. I love this tv." Michael looked at that tv with so much love it might as well have been his child. "Oh! I built this table too." He gestured to 4 planks of wood with a square block holding them together that percariously balanced a candle.

"What is that, chestnut?" Jim asked, playing along, his hand moving back to the small of your back and rubbing circles with his thumb.

"No, I believe it's pine or nordic cherry." Michael corrected, Jan muttering pine after him.

"Michael, I'm just terrible at all this stuff, so that's really cool." Jim falsely confessed, nodding in what Michael could only view as admiration. Despite knowing Jim's true capabilities with any sort of hard labour, you played along.

"Yeah, I asked him to set up my new computer system for me, and I couldn't get sound for a week or so. I couldn't figure out what he had done." You smiled up at him, biting your lip as he grinned back. Jan let out a little laugh that showed way too much teeth.

"If you ever need any help, I'm just a phone call away." Michael offered, and you nodded as Jan's smile disappeared.

"I bet you are." She muttered, but before anyone could question it the doorbell rang. Jan ran up to welcome the next set of guests, Michael gesturing for you both to sit as he followed. Another round of pleasantries followed at the door, Andy and Angela being welcomed in, the former armed with a bouquet of flowers so colourful your eyes hurt.

"Tuna! What, are we having Tuna for dinner?" Andy asked, continuing to use Jim's nickname outside of work. "Bet your sick of tuna, right? Have tuna every night?" Andy asked you with a nudge, and Jim let out a sigh.

"All right..." Jim stopped Andy's rambling, quickly changing the subject as Angela walked back into the lounge with Michael and Jan. "The Dundies! Nice to see them all there. I'm surprised they're not all out on the coffee table for everyone to see."

"Well, it was between the neon beer sign and the dundies. So I said, 'Honey, keep the trophies'." Jan answered instead of Michael as Andy sat himself down on the couch beside you.

"Oh honey, I have the best trophy right here." Michael wrapped an arm around Jan's waist, the pair sharing a quick embrace. "Aside from my dundies..."

"So, should we do the short tour and then I'll start dinner?" Jan suggested, and you stood up.

"I can help with what's left of dinner if you'd like?" You offered, and Jan held up a hand of refrain.

"Oh no, it's just the osso buco needs to braise for about three hours. Everything else is done." Jan said, and you had to stop your eyes from widening.

"Do you mean, like, three hours from now? Or three hours from like, 4 pm?" You asked, unsure if you had heard right. Surely Jan was not about to keep you all in the house until 11?

"You know, Y/N, in Spain they often don't start eating until midnight." Jan informed you, another passive-aggressive insult in your direction like you hadn't lived in the country for a year. The thing was, you had, and Jan was spouting bullshit. "Upstairs first? Let's go." Jan led Andy and Angela upstairs, Michael following. Once they were out of earshot, you whispered quietly.

"I'll need that drink..."

"I'll open the wine." Jim nodded, walking to the kitchen in a daze, pouring two glasses of wine, downing his own, then refilling before he came back over.

You had no idea how two people could be so unsuitably matched for one another and still end up together, but you were very aware that you were watching a relationship deteriorate over a game of charades. Jan's rude comments had been dispersed over you and Michael the entire evening, and Angela had only fueled the fire with her own opinions of you: it seemed that not helping her the week before with a client had backfired.

Jan took her first possible opportunity to change the subject away from Mcihael's terrible attempt at the party game, turning Hunter's CD on for the second time that evening and suggesting that we all just listened to the 'raw music'. In truth, the more you listened, the more you were certain that Jan had slept with her 23-year old assistant.

Your hand rubbed over your arm slowly, wishing you had dressed more appropriately. You knew you had in theory, but you had known Michael long enough to have prepared for a massive gaping hole in the wall covered in tarpaulin. Michael had informed you all that they were in the middle of replacing their sliding door. As soon as your boss caught you rubbing your arms to warm youself, he lifted the blanket from beneath him, offering it to you to keep warm.

"Thanks Michael." You said softly, wrapping it over your shoulders like a shawl, and smiling slightly in Jim's direction.

"You know, I'm so, so sorry for the temperature in her, Y/N. The uh, the sliding glass door shattered." Jan spoke up, and you looked over to her, shaking your head.

"Oh no, it's alright. I'm not even that cold." You protested, but Jan just tutted at you.

"It's actually a really cute story. Do you want to tell it, babe? No? It's a cute story, Michael ran through the sliding glass door because he thought he heard the ice cream truck." Jan let out some forced laughter in hopes the rest of the group might feign amusement, but no one else made a sound.

"Stop! Stop it. I mean, I like ice cream, ok? Sue me. Oh, wait, don't. I shouldn't say that jokingly because she will sue me! She loves to sue!" Michael proclaimed. Jan had tried to sue Dunder Mifflin at the start of the month, it had not been a pretty event. "You know what, babe? That glass door was so clean, it looked invisible."

"You are so right! The glass was always covered in smudges before I moved in! And I cleaned it, so I must be the devil!" Jan and Michael were trying to match each other's hysteria.

"You are! She is! She is the Devil! I'm in Hell!" Michael responded, and you quickly stood up.

"How about more wine? Andy, Jim? Yes?" You asked, starting towards the kitchen.

"No, let me do that Y/N. What sort of host would I be if I didn't get my guests wine. You know what? We'll make it a girls' trip. Girls' trip! Angela, come on." Jan screeched, the petite blonde letting out a strained sigh as she followed you both to the kitchen, Michael leading Andy and Jim to some other remote corner of the house.

"Not even close..." Jan spoke up, making her first task in the kitchen to check the braising dish in the oven.

"You keep a very clean house, Jan." Angela complimented, and Jan laughed, pouring more wine for herself and you. Angela was on water.

"You should see the bathroom after Michael takes a bath. Wow!" Jan chuckled, glancing over at you as you sipped the red. "I don't have to tell you that though, do I Y/N?" She commented, and you looked up.

"What?"

"Oh, don't tell me that he's really changed since you guys dated." Jan continued, and you had to refrain from spitting out the wine in your mouth.

"You... Jan, I never dated Michael. Ever. I mean, He's known me since I was eighteen I... I have never wanted to date Michael, ever." You clarified, setting down your wine.

"I see the way you look at him." Jan said, deadpan in her expression and tone, like she knew something about your fictional sex life with Michael.

"No, never..." You insisted, and Angela made a noise to your left.

"I mean, I've noticed how you look at him, Y/N. daddy issues and all that." She commented, giving you a sly smirk, Jan humming in agreement. You shot a glare Angela's way before touching your phone, trying to make a convincing face of genuine surprise.

"My phone is vibrating, excuse me." You quickly left the kitchen for a bathroom, closing over the door to get a breather. You had to find a way out of the party, anything to get you away from Jan and her chaos. With an idea in mind, you walked back out into the lounge, the men having returned from an adventure to God knows where.

"Hey, Y/N. I was just telling everyone." Jim said, stood in the room's centre. "My landlord just called, the apartment's flooded." He explained, and you put on a frown. He had thought the exact same scenario as you had, and you nodded.

"I'll get our coats." you said quickly, walking towards the entryway.

"Wait, both of you don't need to go." Michael pointed out, and you looked at Jim, his eyes guilty. He was going to leave you there, with Jan and Angela and charades and Big Tuna Andy.

"I mean, your landlord can deal with it for a few more hours right?" You asked. "It's not like we'll get another party like this again."

"I don't know sweetheart. All my stuff is at the apartment." Jim fought back, but you hung up his jacket. He wasn't leaving you in the tenth circle of Hell alone.

"But this party, Jim, surely you want to be here instead?" You implored, holding onto his arm. Your eyes were begging him to stay, and as he nodded, leading you back to the couch, a knock came on the door.

"Who is that? It's like, 10 o'clock..." Jan muttered, getting up and heading over, opening the door to Dwight and a stranger, armed with a cooler, a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Hello." Dwight said with a smile, and you couldn't help your own as it erupted on your face, the look of dread on Angela's features making it even wider.

"What are you doing here?" Jan asked, folding her arms.

"We came here to eat dinner and to party. This is a dinner party, right?" Dwight said with a shrug.

"What is he doing here Michael?" Jan asked, Angela repeating the question.

"Dwight is my friend. You said that I could not invite Dwight because he was not part of a couple, and because we didn't have enough wine glasses. Dwight brought glasses and a person." Michael said slowly, trying to hide the smile on his own features.

"Fine, whatever you want. Just like always! Whatever you want." Jan raised her voice with each statement.

"Whatever I want? It's never whatever I want. When I wanted to see Stomp, and you wanted to see Wicked, which did we see? Wicked! When I said that I wanted to have kids, and you said you wanted me to have a vasectomy, what did I do? And then, when you said you might want to have kids and I wasn't so sure, who had that vasectomy reversed? And then when you said you definitely didn't want kids who had it reversed back? Snip, snap! Snip, snap! Snip, snap! I did! You have no idea the physical toll that three vasectomies have on a person! And, and I bought this condo to fill with children!" Michael finally took a breath, a timer ringing in the kitchen, indicating that the braised dish was finally fucking ready. But you were gripped, so disgusted by how much you now knew about Michael that you couldn't look away.

"I am so sorry that I don't want to bring kids into this screwed up world, ok? But look, if you want to have kids, then fine, you win. Let's have a fucking kid!" Jan yelled, taking a moment before heading to the kitchen, letting out a sob as she went.

"So... Can we come in?" Dwight asked from the awning.

You were counting down seconds at this point, thanking Jan silently as she set food down in front of you. All you had wanted from tonight was some dinner and polite chatter, and now, looking at the dry meat and questionable rice in fornt of you, you wondered if you'd even be able to eat what had been prepared. It looked like someone had thrown it up onto you plate, and you were beginning to envy Dwight's turkey leg, the man sat beside you on a camping chair, digging into it along with some beet salad.

"So, how do you and Dwight know each other?" Jim, one hand on your leg, the other holding his wine glass, was addressing the older woman Dwight had brought as a companion; she looked old enough to be your grandmother.

"I was his babysitter." The woman said, biting into a chunk of squash.

"It's purely canral, and that's all you need to know." Dwight added, taking another chunk of his turkey leg as he spoke through the chewing.

"Can I get your email? I have so many questions..." Jim asked the woman by his side, who looked more than a little confused.

"What's an email?"

Michael, at the head of the table, took a moment to dip a forkful of meat into his wine glass out of nowhere, causing Jan to sigh loudly at the table's other end. You poured more wine into your near empty glass, glad Jim had found the courage to switch to water and sober up; you certainly wouldn't.

"Can you not do that? It's disgusting." she said quietly, causing Michael to look up from his food.

"You know I have soft teeth. How could you say that?" He asked, giving Jan a pointed stare. When she rolled her eyes in response, Michael's cutlery clatterd against his plate, and he pushed his chair out from the table. "Excuse me a second." He left through the kitchen, heading to the garage. You knew this because when Jim had managed to leave for the bathroom, he texted you explaining how Michael had offered both he and Andy a chance to invest in Jan's company while they toured Michael's 'gym'.

"I really like the meal, Jan." You said to break the silence.

"You haven't eaten anything. Don't lie." She snapped back, and you began massaging the side of your forehead. Maybe with enough merlot you would forget what even happened that night.

Michael returned a minute or so later, carrying a large object in his right hand. He walked all the way around the table to get back to his seat, and set about removing the abstract painting from the wall and replacing it with the neon beer sign Jan had mentioned hating earlier in the night. The hum of the light fixture was nothing compared to the sheer brightness of it, the entire dining area and kitchen being bathed in the blue light.

"Ok! Everybody enjoying their meal?" Michael asked with a smile, settling back into his chair.

"Hey babe? How about we take the beer sign down until our guests leave, and then we can discuss it?" Jan proposed, and Michael shook his head, feeding himself another mouthful of rice.

"No, no. I'm gonna leave it up. I think it ties the whole room together." Michael spoke through a full mouth. And it seemed the neon sign was the last straw for his 'babe'.

"Ok." Jan squeaked, throwing down her napkin and standing from the table, walking to the CD player and putting Hunter's god awful music back on, beginning to sway to the guitar and vocals.

"Jan thinks Hunter's very talented." Michael spoke over the music, prompting Jan to turn it up louder. "You know what? I don't think he's that good."

"At least he's an artist." Jan dragged her words out, her eyes closed and head tilted back.

"B.F.D. I'm a screenwriter." Michael said through another mouthful of food.

"And I'm a candlemaker but you don't hear me bragging about it!" Jan yelled, and you set down your napkin, beginning to look for the easiest escape.

"No, all you do is you get me to try and work on my rich friends." Michael proposefully dipped a chunk of osso buco into his wine, chomping down on it while glaring at his significant other.

"For an investment opportunity!"

"Man, I would love to burn your candles!

"You burn it, you buy it!"

"Oh, good, I'll be your first customer!"

"You're hardly my first."

"... That's what she said!"

With the speed of lightning, Jan turned from the dinner party, grabbing one of Michael's many Dundies from the shelf and launching it at the TV. Michael rose from his seat, walking quickly to see if it was real, if she had really just broken his tv.

"That is a $200 plasma screen TV you just killed!" Michael shouted, and you quickly got up from your chair, Jim following suit, walking around the table with your wine glass and finishing the contents. "Good luck paying me back on your zero dollars a year salary plus benefits, babe!"With that, Jan ran off, and you took your cue.

"Thanks for inviting us Michael." you said quickly, dropping the blanket Michael gave you in place of your coat, Jim helping you slip it on before seeing to himself.

"Aw no, guys, she'll be out of the bathroom soon." Michael tried to get everyone to stay, but Angela and Andy were heading for the coats too, Jim quickly heading back inside for a moment, and the turning off of Hunter's CD gave way to the sirens of a police car approaching.

You were the first to leave the house, heading straight for the car, Jim following as the police came up the driveway. You didn't need to see the aftermath, neither of you did, and before anyone could tell you to stay, and before Michael guilt tripped you into something as stupid as this dinner party, Jim had reversed out of the driveway and sped off down the road, heading for the nearest all night fast food place.

"That was... Traumatic." Jim said after a few minutes, and you nodded in response, eyes glued to the road ahead. "You know what though? I learned a few things."

"Really? Like what?" You asked, Jim making the turn into the drive-thru, taking a few moments to order before turning back to you.

"Well, I now know Michael had three vasectomies, Dwight's babysitter is a cougar, and whatever Michael and Jan have isn't love." He said decidedly, paying for and taking the food from the window attendant.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." You managed to laugh, finally taking your eyes off your focus point and looking at Jim as he parked the car, offering you a burger and fries. You found yourself smiling a little, taking the food and unwrapping the burger quickly, taking a bite and letting out a moan of relief. You were starving.

"And, I love you." Jim said quickly, causing you to stop, and swallow your bite.

"What?"

"I mean, I've been in love with you for a really long time now, like, way too long... Since you got back from Europe too long, but I haven't said it yet. So, I'm saying it now." Jim couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he looked at you. "I love you."

"I love you too." You said with not a moment of hesitation, your cheeks flushed red, His hand resting on your leg.

"Oh, uh, I got you something... But I did a bad thing to get it." Jim said quickly, taking a bite of his burger. You did the same, looking at him to explain further. In response, he lifted up a CD case, a picture of Hunter on the cover. "I stole this." He said after swallowing, and you let out a laugh, helping him open it and slot the CD into the car's stereo.

"Jim, you know..." You spoke over the music, taking a few chips and chewing them thoughtfully. "Maybe this should be the song we play during our first dance... Really sets the mood, doesn't it?"

"I say I love you and now we're onto marriage, huh?" Jim teased, and your eyes widened.

"It was just a joke I-I..."

"Calm down Y/L/N, take it easy. It's coming." He said with confidence, and you turned your whole body towards him.

"What's coming?"

"A proposal. When you least expect it. I promise you that." Jim responded, the pair of you unable to hold back the joy you shared.

Maybe the dinner party hadn't been so bad.

Tags: @imsuperawkward @poppirocks @rosie2801 @onceuponahuntersrealm @aziggya @suitelifeofafangirl @legendaryoafhairdozonk @dxbriksx @retrodrummers @sugar-snap @art-flirt

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