#its okay to come to iowa as long as you leave
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Can some tumblr witches who live somewhere where yellow toadflax is good luck come and scour my garden for all the toadflax so I don't have to spend the rest of five years fighting this shit?
It's bad luck here because it outcompetes my cherry tomatillos and even though idk if they're edible (adjacent heavy landscaping) they are still extremely cute and I love them and I hate toadflax
#tumblr witches#toadflax#gardening#its okay to come to iowa as long as you leave#the seeds are good luck if you live in like wales or something#you can boil yellow toadflax in milk to make insecticide#but here its just a shitty plant that turns your gardenbed back into a grass lawn#the flowers are super cute but smell like piss
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Confession time. This photo has its own private room in a small corner of my brain. I try not to take it out very often since it tends to make me feral.
It also served as inspiration a long, long time ago. A little chunk from Chapter 2 of Dance Without Sleeping, a cancer-arc story I wrote in a different era that won me a few fanfic awards. I think it’s held up pretty well.
He turns over on his side and props himself up on an elbow, his attention pulling away from the movie to zero in on me. He lifts his hand and chews on the corner of his thumbnail. His eyes are soft and warm and he gives me one of his unique gazes that I can only describe as a come-fuck-me look. I feel the slow smile spread across my face and he seems satisfied to have captured my full attention for a few seconds.
He grins and asks, "You still full from supper, Scully?"
"Why? Did you stash some ice cream somewhere?"
"Nope," he tells me as he hops off the bed. "Got something better." He disappears into his room and comes back seconds later, his right arm hidden behind his back.
"Mulder..." My tone is somewhere between amusement and trepidation.
"I, uh..." He starts to say more but ends up shrugging instead. He brings his arm around and holds out my dessert.
Somehow, in late winter in a small town in Iowa, Mulder has managed to find cotton candy. It's even blue - my favorite.
"Mulder, where on earth...?"
"It's amazing what you can find in your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart these days." As I take the cotton candy by the long, rolled stick and begin to take off the cellophane surrounding it, he goes on. "I'm sorry I couldn't come up with a Ferris wheel, but it's kinda hard to find a county fair in March."
I can't help it. My eyes well over with tears. He sees them and reaches out to touch my arm.
"Hey, you okay? Geez, Scully, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I thought you'd get a kick out of it. I -"
I stop his unnecessary apology by placing my fingers over his lips. "Hush. It's wonderful, Mulder. Thank you."
He smiles beneath my fingers, and I leave them there longer than I should. He doesn't seem to mind.
I finish unwrapping the cotton candy and look back up at him. "Want some?"
"No, that's okay. I bought it for you."
"Have some." I pull off a thick strand and offer it to him. Instead of reaching for it he leans forward and takes my fingers in his mouth, wrapping his hand around my wrist. I go very still as he sucks the cotton candy from them, his tongue soft and warm as it curls around my skin. He lifts his eyes to mine, and I can see the mischievous glint there - along with a healthy dose of arousal. It flares and burns between us for a few endless moments before he drops his eyes and pulls back. My tongue snakes out to wet my lips and he studies my mouth. The moment ends when he pulls a hand over his face.
"I, um, I'm gonna," he nods in the direction of his room, "I'm gonna try to get some sleep. You enjoy your cotton candy."
My only response is to nod at him. I watch as he steps into the doorway connecting our rooms and begins to pull the door closed.
“'Night, Scully."
"Good night, Mulder."
He gives me another soft smile and closes the door. I sit down at the table and eat every last bit of the candy, counting my many blessings.
#x-files fanfic#msr#dance without sleeping#mine#a wee bit of self promotion#and a david duchovny appreciation post#26 years!#fuck i'm old
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A little idea that I had to write down. ❤️
Creature Comforts
On the run, the chance for a proper bath is like an oasis in the desert.
She sank down into the deep tub with an extremely contented sigh. White, foamy bubbles crackled as she closed her eyes and settled, the water so perfectly warm, she felt she could stay there forever.
How long had it been since she’d had a bath in a decent tub? She thought longingly of the claw foot tub in her apartment, with its many bottles of expensive oils and soaps, and she sighed again. How much she had taken for granted…
“Scully?” Mulder called, interrupting her thoughts.
Knocking twice, he opened the bathroom door as she opened her eyes and looked at him, the candle on the counter flickering. He grinned and she sighed with a small smile. “You good?”
She hummed in response, closing her eyes briefly and sighing.
“You need anything? There’s some tea in the kitchenette. I think it’s chamomile.”
“I’m good. More than happy to just lie here amongst the bubbles,” she said, moving her hands in the water, the bubbles crackling again.
“Okay,” he said, smiling and stepping closer to the tub. “Could I tempt you with…” She gave him a look and he shook his head, chuckling softly. “No. Not that. I know what this bath means to you.”
“Good,” she said emphatically and he laughed again.
“I found this in the cupboard above the coffee pot. Not opened, probably left by the last guest.” He took a bag of peanut butter m&m’s from his back jeans pocket and shook them sideways at her. “You want some?”
“Yes, please,” she said, smiling as she sat up slightly and stuck out a wet hand. He laughed as he ripped the bag open with his teeth and poured some into his hand.
“Here,” he said, stepping closer and offering them to her instead, placing them into her mouth, and bypassing her hand. “I’ll pour some into a mug and bring them back to you.”
“Thank you,” she said, crunching the delicious chocolatey treat.
“Be right back.”
She leaned back in the tub and sighed, closing her eyes again.
They had been on the run for six months now. Six months of living in the shadows, staying in dingy motels that charged by the hour or places that were quite run down, but also where they minded their own business and did not ask questions. They had also slept in cars and tents, showering at camping sites, always aware of their surroundings.
Driving through a small town in Iowa, snow covering the ground, they had stopped at a diner to pick up takeaway dinner. A brochure had caught Scully’s eye and she brought it with her to the car.
There were small cabins for rent a couple of miles from the diner. Pictures boasted small kitchen areas, breakfast nooks, a fireplace, cable television, and freestanding bathtubs.
Her eyes unable to leave the picture of the bathtubs, the decision was made. She had stopped at a local store and picked items they were in need of, along with some lavender scented bubble bath.
Coming into the cabin, she had gone straight to the bathroom and stared at the gleaming white tub. She had sighed happily as she touched it, ready to get in immediately, but knew they needed to tackle some tasks beforehand.
Now, she lay relishing the warmth of the water, the scent of the soap, and sound of the bubbles. They would be staying at the cabin for a week and she planned on taking a bath at least once a day.
Twice, if she could.
The door creaked open and she opened her eyes as Mulder came back in with a white mug, the m&m’s rattling inside of it. He smiled as he handed it to her, bending low to kiss her forehead.
“I’ve got a fire going and I think Indiana Jones is going to be coming on in a little bit.”
“Hmm, perfect,” she said, taking a piece of candy out and popping it into her mouth.
“Take your time. But maybe get out before you turn into a prune.” He kissed her again as she laughed and nodded. Walking out, he shut the door and she closed her eyes again, taking out another candy and eating it.
She stayed in the tub until it was tepid. Setting the mug onto the floor, she washed quickly. She stood up and got out as the water swirled down the drain. Wrapping a fluffy towel around her, she used another to dry her hair before wrapping it atop her head. Blowing out the candle, she opened the bathroom door.
Coming out into the open room of the cabin, she saw Mulder sitting on the small sofa. The fireplace to his left crackled, embers flying up the chimney. The television was on low, Indiana Jones playing on the screen.
She dressed hurriedly in underwear and one of his t-shirts, pulling her robe over them. Tying it, she put on a pair of socks and walked over to the sofa, laying her towel on a chair.
Sitting at the end of the sofa, she unwrapped her hair and lay down with her head upon his thigh.
“I was certain you had gone down the drain,” he said, rubbing her shoulders.
“And you didn’t come to check? And here I thought that you loved me,” she said with a hum and he chuckled as he moved his hand and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Next time I’ll be sure to check,” he assured her and she sighed, closing her eyes at his touch.
“Feels good in here,” she said, suddenly very tired as she stifled a yawn.
“I think we’ll let the fire burn while we sleep. Well, burn low anyway. Let it keep the room warm.”
“Sounds good,” she agreed, yawning again and wrapping her arm loosely around his calf.
“You want to go to bed now?” he asked softly, his fingers pausing in his massage of her scalp as he awaited her answer.
“Not yet. We’re watching a movie,” she breathed and he hummed out a laugh in response, his fingers moving once again.
She did not even make it through half of the movie and barely woke up when Mulder helped her into bed.
The fire gave off a warm glow as they slept holding one another. Outside, snow began to fall steadily, covering the ground and not melting.
The planned week would eventually turn into two, the snow trapping them in place.
But Scully, lying in a warm, lavender scented bubble bath, as thick flakes fell outside, did not mind one bit.
#the x files#xf fanfic#msr#love#on the run#forehead kisses#bubble bath#cabins#winter#snow#fire#snuggling on the couch#together
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A Holly, Jolly Crisis (M)
Author: @kpopfanfictrash as part of the Once Upon a Holiday... collaboration with @underthejoon , @fantasybangtan , @lamourche , @hobidreams , @suga-kookiemonster , @junghelioseok
Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight made this ridiculously gorgeous moodboard TT
Pairing: Hoseok / Reader (female)
Genre: Ex-Best Friends to Lovers / Rom-Com / Angst (?) / Holiday
Word Count: 36,243
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Fingering, Hoseok has a dirty mouth, Y/N semi-jokingly offers to slap him & he’s into it, condom-less sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, rough sex. Multiple friends/family members mention the reader has lost weight, but the reader’s exact weight isn’t specified. Seokjin uses a spatula as a microphone.
Summary: At this time last year, you thought you had it all. A kick-ass screenwriting job for the hottest TV show in LA, an actor boyfriend whose career was taking off and an affordable apartment with not one, but two bathrooms. Fast-forward to now and you’re single, soon-to-be jobless and searching for a way to scrape together January rent. Everything seems to be falling apart, which was why you told your family you weren’t coming home for the holidays. Enter your little sister, Sara, who recently became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi and needs you home to celebrate. The biggest problem? Returning home means you’ll be forced to face everything and everyone you left behind, including Yoongi’s best man – and your ex-best friend, Hoseok.
Dear Y/N Y/L/N,
Thank you for taking the time to send our team your screenplay for One for the Money. It was a pleasure learning about your characters and ideas.
Unfortunately, we did not select your spec script at this time for further consideration.
Not wanting to read the rest of the rejection email, you returned to your inbox and moved the message to trash. Releasing a sigh, you slumped in the hard, plastic airport chair underneath you. This had to be your fifteenth rejection email this month, which didn’t bode well for your screenplay’s future.
The screenplay in question was your self-written TV series – One for the Money. You’d been working on it for years and had just begun sending it out to studios. When a screenplay was written outside a studio and shopped around after, it was often called a spec script. This stood for speculative screenplay and you supposed that right now, this was the best descriptor.
A screenplay without a studio was practically nothing. Speculative, indeed.
Glancing up from your phone, you saw the flight’s status on the board had moved from green to red – delayed. Stifling another sigh, you switched apps on the screen and checked the weather. Winter storms were sweeping through the Midwest, resulting in a delay of holiday travel. This was precisely the reason you hadn’t wanted to go home this year.
Well, it wasn’t the only reason you dreaded your return to Josen Falls. You hadn’t seen your family in over a year but had still planned to stay in LA over Christmas. A wrench had been thrown in these plans when your sister, Sara, became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi.
Yoongi had only had one request when it came to wedding planning – for them to be married in the same church his parents had been, a beautiful venue north of the city. Of course, the only available date within a three-year time frame was June 30th. Seven months was practically nothing to plan a wedding, but Sara was determined to make it happen; hence the need to have you at home.
Don’t get you wrong – of course, you were excited about Sara and Yoongi. You’d been the one who introduced them, after all, through your former best friend. They were perfect together and you were nothing but ecstatic to see your little sister so happy. The only unfortunate part about her life coming together was it happened to come at the same time as yours falling apart.
A year ago, you would’ve said you were on the right path. Things had been going well in nearly every part of your life. Your TV show was on its second season, you’d been dating Darren for nine months and had found a reasonably priced one-bedroom apartment in a coveted neighborhood. Everything had been looking up, considering your previous year in LA, where paychecks had been scarce, and you’d been dangerously close to asking your parents for money.
Now, you found yourself in the same situation. Uncertain where your next paycheck was coming from, recently single and unsure how you were going to make rent next month.
Your coveted Hollywood job had been as a screenwriter for The Drop, a critically acclaimed show which ended abruptly this year after a dispute with the main actor. The third – and final – season was set to air in the new year on Netflix, but after that you’d be out of a job.
Hence the desperate pitch of your spec script to every mainstream television producer with an open inbox. Suffice to say, things were not going well.
This was evidenced by the uncomfortable chair you’d squeezed yourself into, having been forced to give up your pass to Admirals Club. The cost couldn’t be justified right now. Forlornly, you stared at the ticket sticking out of your purse.
It had been nearly a year since you’d last visited home. At first, this hadn’t been a purposeful decision. You’d been swamped with work, preparing for the Golden Globes and seasons one and two of The Drop. Your ex-boyfriend, Darren, had been nominated for an Oscar last year, resulting in a lot of holiday parties to attend.
Last year, you’d been too busy to come, but all that had changed in a matter of months. It began back in March, when contract negotiations stalled with your leading actor, Tory River. Tory fancied himself a method actor, so when you refused to pay him the GDP of a small country, he decided to walk. Without him, the studio had to scrap the show. Better to leave things at three solid seasons than add a lukewarm fourth without the main star.
You were told in May the third season would be its last and were highly encouraged to seek out other shows. Nothing had panned out since and then, at the end of the summer, you were dealt another blow.
You should’ve known things were bad when Darren, your ex-boyfriend, called you himself instead of Molly, his assistant.
When you first met Darren Carmichael in LA, he was a struggling actor from Des Moines, Iowa. The Darren of September 2020 was no longer the Darren of early 2019, though – he’d long ditched the Midwest accent in favor of designer shades and loafers. High off his Oscar nomination and with job offers to spare, you should’ve suspected something was wrong from his genuine contriteness of tone.
The first thing he said to you was, “Did you pass a newsstand today?”
At first, you’d been baffled because no one walked past newsstands anymore. Logging into Twitter, you immediately saw why your boyfriend had been worried.
DARREN CARMICHAEL AND CO-STAR, JESSICA AVEC, CAUGHT CANOODLING ON SET OF RECENT MOVIE!
Frozen, you’d barely listened while he pleaded his case. Instead, you scanned the article and felt your insides tighten with each word. Darren and Jessica had been caught making out when no cameras were rolling. You were only mentioned as a footnote, and not even by name.
Darren was previously dating a screenwriter in LA, although this seems to have ended several weeks prior.
You had wanted to scream, wanted to call up the author and berate them for proper sources, but you didn’t do any of that. Instead, you sat dejectedly while Darren yammered on and on about why he’d done what he’d done.
That had been the worst part. He hadn’t apologized to you – not really. Instead, he’d gone on about how hard it had been for him to be away, surrounded and worshiped by more available people. You had your career, he’d argued. You had other things, you didn’t need him and what he felt for Jessica seemed like the real thing.
Darren thought you should break up so he could begin dating her.
Numbly, you’d hung up the phone and immediately blocked his number. That had been nearly three months ago, but the sting of the breakup remained.
It wasn’t as though Darren had changed overnight. When you first met, he’d been the super-cute barista at your favorite coffee shop. You two bonded over being unable to find appropriately caffeinated beverages in LA and the rest, as they say, was history.
Then Darren landed a role as a recurring character on a popular Netflix show. What seemed like overnight, he became America’s heartthrob. Still, Darren didn’t change right away. He went to work every morning, came home in the evenings and continued to attend the same parties, run in the same circles.
Soon though, Darren was invited to more exclusive gatherings and slowly, his invitations transitioned from “Darren plus date” to “just Darren.” You hadn’t protested at the time, not overly interested in canapés and pretentious conversation. The time you did spend together dwindled, going from Facetiming each night on his movie set to a harried phone call every other day.
Maybe you should’ve been more suspicious. In hindsight, all the warning signs had been there, but you’d been too busy and worried about The Drop’s future to do anything about it. Darren had become distant and withdrawn, but you’d been okay because you’d become distant, too.
After you blocked his number, you kicked him out of your apartment. Packing everything he owned in boxes, you set these on the lawn and shut the door. It was unfortunate it rained before he could pick them up, but that couldn’t be helped. You refused to see him again – you even went so far as to have your assistant, Jimin, pick up Darren’s keys.
Jimin had done so gleefully, perhaps too gleefully, but you didn’t care. Darren had tried to contact you a few more times, but eventually he got the hint and the last time you’d checked, he seemed blissfully happy with his vapid co-star.
Gritting your teeth, you exhaled. That wasn’t fair – you had no idea what Darren had told Jessica about you. For all you knew, she could’ve thought you two had been broken up.
Regardless, things had gone steadily downhill for you over the past year. Single, nearly unemployed and running low on your savings, you could easily call this a low point in your life. Worst of all – your family didn’t know the full extent of things.
They knew you’d broken up with Darren, of course – that had been front page news. They also knew your TV series was ending but had no idea you struggled as much as you were. Each time they called, you meant to tell them, but something managed to choke you every time.
Maybe it was how excited your mom was about the upcoming nuptials. Or maybe it was how diligently your dad watched The Drop. Admitting you didn’t have next steps felt like defeat, so you’d purposefully kept things brief until you had something to tell.
The problem was none of your next steps seemed to be panning out. Again, your mind wandered to the rejection email in your trash.
“Excuse me? Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”
Blinking, you looked up and felt your heart sink.
The guy standing before you looked around college-age, dressed in a MORDOR FUN RUN t-shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. Clutching his laptop to his chest, he looked at you hopefully and you felt your heart sink even further. He had to be a film nerd.
“Um, yeah,” you said, trying to smile. “That’s me.”
This had happened to you several times before. Even if you weren’t an actress, your name appeared at the end of every episode of The Drop. It hadn’t taken long for starry-eyed screenwriting ingénues to find you on Instagram.
Usually, you were patient in your responses, giving them as much advice as you could without being discouraging, but Lord of the Rings here had caught you on a bad night.
“No way!” he gushed. “I’m such a big fan of your writing. I swear, I’ve memorized the entire first season of The Drop.”
“Not the second, though?”
His face fell. “No, well – I, it’s a long series and…”
“I’m kidding,” you said with a smile. “That’s really nice.”
“I want to be a screenwriter myself, someday,” he said, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m in a program at UCLA and am searching for a summer internship. Any advice for someone who’s just starting out?”
Hesitant, you looked him up and down and wondered how honest to be. He seemed nice, looked hopeful and you were one hundred percent sure the industry would crush him.
“You want some advice?” you said as you stood from your seat. The light on the departures board had changed from red to green.
Eagerly, the guy nodded.
“Alright, here it is.” Slinging your bag over your chest, you said, “Don’t be a writer.”
The guy’s expression faltered. “What?”
“Don’t be a writer,” you said. “Screenwriting is one of the most fickle, unforgiving jobs in existence. Job security? None. Creativity? Only as much as shareholders allow. The industry will eat you up, spit you out and no one will give a damn. The glamorous profession you’ve dreamt of doesn’t exist. The best advice I can give is run the other way.”
The guy stared at you, wide-eyed and for a moment, you felt a modicum of pity. Brushing this aside, you steeled your spine – better for him to find out now, while he could still change his major to something stable, like accounting.
“I, uh…” He paused, and then swallowed. “Thanks, I guess?”
“No problem,” you said, brushing past him as group numbers began to be called. At the last second, you hesitated and turned around. “Best of luck in whatever you decide, though. Happy holidays, and all that.”
“Happy holidays,” he mumbled, in a daze.
As you entered the line, you bit down on your lip and began to regret your outburst. Some of your bitterness was based on your own experience; maybe his would be different. The guy had seemed excited and you’d just crushed his dreams.
Narrowing your gaze, you forced yourself to straighten. It would’ve happened to him sooner or later – of that you were certain. Better to warn him now than for him to learn it the hard way. You only wished someone had been kind enough to tell you this years ago.
Actually – a sliver of discomfort entered your thoughts since someone had told you this last year. Someone had warned you about Darren, about your job and LA, but you’d chosen not to listen. Instead, you’d let your friendship crumble and hadn’t spoken to them since.
Just another reason going home for the holidays was going to suck. Going home meant you’d be forced to see Yoongi’s friends, which meant you’d be forced to see Hoseok. Yoongi and Hoseok were close, after all – they’d become friends in college, which was when Yoongi had been introduced to Sara.
It had been nearly a year since you and Hoseok last spoke, despite having once considered him to be your best friend.
So, there it was. Reason six hundred and sixty-six why the holidays would suck. You were single, jobless and facing the imminent prospect of two weeks with people who either had their shit together or were a constant reminder of why you did not.
As you boarded the plane and settled into your seat, you pulled out your headphones and cranked up the volume. If you weren’t feeling particularly Christmas-y, you could at least try to numb the pain with alcohol and music.
Starting now, you decided, as you closed your eyes. Happy holidays, indeed.
Exiting the Terminal at LaGuardia airport, you found yourself shivering in the sudden cold. Despite having worn the warmest jacket you could find, nothing prepared you for the frigid blast of air on your face. Heat lamps were scattered beside the taxi stand, but this seemed to do nothing but attract hopeful crowds of tourists.
Bypassing them all, you dragged your suitcase to the end of Terminal B. This was the agreed-upon meeting place for all family members. Your sister, Sara, was on pick-up duty tonight. She lived and worked in New York City, so the airport had been an easy stop on her way to Josen Falls. Your hometown was only an hour outside the city, but it might as well have been Mars for how much cab drivers charged to get there.
Lugging your bag to the end of the row, you saw Sara’s black Subaru parked at the front. As soon as you were within view, the driver’s side door flung open.
“Y/N!” she yelled, exiting the car. “Y/N!”
You couldn’t help but laugh, half-running the last several paces to crush her in a hug. Your sister squeezed you back, trying – and failing – to lift you from the ground. Once finished, she took a step back and adjusted her glasses.
“You look skinnier,” she said with a frown.
Re-grabbing your bag, you rolled your eyes. “I’m not skinnier.”
“Have you lost weight?”
“I mean, some but –”
“Nope,” said Sara, lifting the trunk of her car. “I’ll call mom on the way home. She can heat up mac and cheese, or something.”
Shoving the handle on your suitcase down, you heaved this from the ground to place in the trunk. As annoying as Sara’s criticism was, you couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of your mom’s mac and cheese.
“Ugh,” you said as you entered the car. Plopping in the passenger seat, you buckled your seatbelt. “Honestly, that sounds amazing. Even the mac and cheese on the west coast is low-carb and no butter.”
Sara looked at you in horror. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Beats me. Masochism?”
“Must be,” she said, shaking her head and putting the car in drive.
Pulling from the curb, Sara eased seamlessly into traffic. She waited until you’d reached the highway to turn on the music, just like dad did.
“Anyways,” she said, drumming her hands on the steering wheel. “Everyone’s super excited to have you home. It’s been what – over a year since last time?”
“Around that, yeah,” you said, shifting uncomfortably.
Slouching lower in your seat, you turned to look out the window. It wasn’t snowing, but it had clearly snowed within the past couple of days. A greyish-blue sludge remained on the highway.
Sara glanced sideways. “Don’t slouch,” she said. “You’ll wrinkle those really cute pants – which, by the way, can I wear tomorrow night?” Beatific, she smiled. “Mom and dad are throwing me a tiny engagement party. Obviously, you’re invited.”
“Oh. Did you say tomorrow, because –”
“Nope!” Sara cut you off. “No excuses, big sis. You’re my maid of honor, so you have to be there. No ifs, ands or buts.”
Sighing loudly, you slumped in your seat. “Has anyone told you how annoyingly single-minded you are?”
“Often. I tell them I get it from my older sister.”
You snorted, but you knew she was right. You were equally stubborn – it was what had led to your current situation. Your family only knew the barest details about your life. If they knew the full extent of your failures, they’d instantly offer to help you out.
For you though, this would be considered the ultimate blow. When you moved to LA, they’d been hesitant about your career as a screenwriter. It had taken everything in you to prove you could do this. If you began to fail now, it would only prove them right.
You’d planned on telling them about Darren last month, but then Sara got engaged and everything was put on hold. Suddenly, your mom was consumed by the wedding; she barely had time for anything else. Everything was lace veils that, and yours forever that. It was hard being reminded of your singlehood in your own apartment, let alone each time you called your family.
As Sara continued to drive, her diamond engagement ring glittered in the lights of the highway.
“It’s even bigger in person,” you said, nodding across the console.
“That’s what she said.”
“Sara!”
“Sorry!” She cracked up. “You just look so tense. But yeah, I love the ring. Yoongi picked it out himself. Well, that’s not entirely true. He had some help from – uh, from no one,” she said, abruptly changing her tone.
“Oh, really?” you said, amused. “He had help from no one?”
“Yep.” Sara nodded.
You sensed bullshit on this but let it slide, reaching out to turn up the heat. If Sara didn’t want to say who, there was probably a reason. The reason you suspected made your heart twinge, but you didn’t want to think about him right now.
It wasn’t long before Sara pulled from the highway, street signs and buildings becoming familiar. You hadn’t flown much before college, so the trip from the airport to Josen Falls was still new. Just another way your life had changed since high school.
“So, where’s this engagement party happening?” you asked, glancing sideways.
“Where else?”
“Raffi’s,” you both said at the same time.
Sara grinned and nodded. “Where else? It’s our celebration restaurant. Mom and dad had to uphold tradition.”
“Obviously. Who all’s invited?”
Barely noticeable, her hands tensed on the wheel. “Oh, the usual. Mom and dad, a bunch of the neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. Min, of course,” she said, naming Yoongi’s parents. “Some friends from high school. My bridesmaids. And uh, Yoongi’s groomsmen.”
“Oh.” You paused. “So, is –”
“Hoseok coming? Yeah.”
“Right,” you said, turning to look out the window.
Sara sighed softly. “That’s not going to be weird, is it?”
“Weird? Of course, not. Why would it be weird?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because of the whole ‘Hoseok thing?’” She made air quotes around the last two words.
“You mean how we once were best friends and now, I don’t even know what color his hair is?”
“That’s the one!”
“Hey, listen.” Reaching out, you touched her arm. “I promise things will be okay. Hoseok and I are adults – just because we’re not friends anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be in the same room together.”
“Promise?” she said, giving you a glance.
“Promise. It’s my baby sister’s wedding, after all. I have a contractual obligation to ensure nothing goes wrong.”
“We-ll,” said Sara. “You can’t be held responsible for everything that goes wrong. Like, what if cousin Sybil decides to wear white to the wedding? That wouldn’t be your fault.”
“It would be if I didn’t bring a spare dress for her to change into.”
Sara cracked a smile. “Okay, but what if the florist mixes my bouquet up with a prom one? That wouldn’t be your problem to solve.”
“That’s what cars are for! I’d drive to the florist and make them switch it back.”
“Well, what if Yoongi suddenly gets cold feet and decides I’m not the woman he wants to marry? That definitely wouldn’t be your fault.”
“You’re right,” you said, examining your hand. “It’d be his fault, and then it’d be his problem because I’d murder him. Cold blooded. He can run, but I’d hunt him down, tear off his testicles and make you a potpourri bag.”
“Oh my god.” Sara cackled. “That’s so violent. You’re the best.”
“And as the best maid of honor!” you declared. “I promise your engagement party will go off without a hitch. Hoseok, or no Hoseok.”
“Alright, alright.” She grinned. “Thanks, sis.”
“Anytime.”
As you passed through the downtown of Josen Falls, familiar butterflies began to fill your stomach. Not ones of excitement though, but ones of dread.
Sinking lower, you hoped none of your neighbors were feeling particularly nosy. So little happened in Josen Falls, you were certain your breakup with Darren was still front-page gossip. You could already hear the neighborhood busybodies.
What a shame they cancelled that show of yours, dear. What’s the next project? Nothing? Well, what about that actor you were dating? What’s his name – Darren! He was wonderful in that one movie. He seems like such a nice boy. Oh, you’re no longer together? Well, are you dating anyone new? No? Well…
Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the seat. Everything would be okay. All you needed to do was get through two weeks and you’d be back in LA. Your façade could last that long. Who knew – maybe if it held, you could apply to a few acting jobs when you returned.
Opening your eyes, you saw Sara drive past Whalen Court. Your home was two streets over, but Whalen Court was where the Jungs lived. Craning your neck, you watched their street disappear in the rearview mirror. You thought you saw lights were at his home but couldn’t be sure.
Before you knew it, you were entering your garage and Sara had placed the car in park.
“Home, sweet, home,” she sang, opening the door.
It took you a moment to convince your legs to work. Home, sweet, home was one way to put it.
The moment you stepped across the threshold you knew this had been a mistake.
“We’re home!” Sara yelled, shutting the door.
It wasn’t long before your mom rushed around the corner, beaming when she saw who had arrived.
“There she is!” she cried, crushing you in a hug. “Our star daughter, come home to visit us mere mortals for the holidays!”
Instantly, your heart sank. You should’ve known the first words out of your mom’s mouth would be a reference to your supposedly successful career.
“Hey!” Sara cried, dropping your bag. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“No,” said your mom, squeezing you tightly. “But we just saw you last week, dear. You and Yoongi came over for dinner.”
“Well… fine, that’s true.”
Your mom laughed, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. Giving you a critical sweep head to foot, she frowned.
“Sara was right. You’re too skinny.”
Jaw dropping, you turned. “When did you have time to text mom?”
“At the stoplight,” Sara said, breezing past.
Your mom stared in alarm. “Well, I certainly didn’t know that. Sara, that was very dangerous. You shouldn’t be texting while driving.”
“There she is!” sang your dad, entering the front hall. “The prodigal daughter returned!”
“Dad,” you groaned, but laughed when he hugged you.
Pulling back, your dad wiped his forehead and realized he still held the spatula. “Right, dinner,” he said, turning around. “Got to stir the sauce every minute or it congeals! Put your bag by the stairs, Lucy and I’ll bring it up later!”
Lucy was your dad’s nickname for you, even though your name wasn’t remotely close to the moniker. When you’d been a child, you’d been an absolute terror, so Lucy was short for Lucifer. Your Grandma Jan nearly had a heart attack when she learned of the name’s origin.
As your dad disappeared into the kitchen, you returned to your mom. “You know I’m going to bring my suitcase up myself, right?”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded. “Leave something for him to carry, though. You know your father likes to feel needed. Like he’s the man of the house, or something.”
Despite yourself, you grinned. Your dad was as far from toxic masculinity as a person could be. He sang only falsetto harmony to songs in the car, did all the cooking, and had a self-proclaimed ‘weakness for soft blankets.’
Your mom gave a shrug. “Sometimes,” she added.
Laughing, you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and pushed it down. Lifting this up, you left your laptop bag in the hall for your dad to carry. You wouldn’t need it for work, anyways.
With this somewhat depressing thought, you began to lug your things up the stairs. Halfway to the second floor, your mom poked her head over the banister.
“Y/N?” she called.
“Yeah?” you said, struggling to balance your things as you turned.
“There’s toothpaste and shampoo in your bathroom, but you’re sharing a hair dryer with Sara. I put it in her bathroom! Just make sure you knock because, you know…” Your mom lowered her voice. “Yoongi may stay over some nights.”
“Mom,” you said, hiding your smile. “I think I’ll manage.”
“Alright!” She disappeared from view. “So happy you’re home!”
You heard her laugh when she entered the kitchen and for a moment, you stood there and exhaled. Darren had never come home with you for the holidays, so you couldn’t be sure how your parents would have reacted, but you doubted he would’ve gotten the same treatment as Yoongi.
Your parents had always liked Darren, but he’d been considered an outsider. Darren had grown up in the Midwest, while Yoongi hailed from the same town. Yoongi was also more down to earth than Darren ever had been. You couldn’t imagine Darren waking up early to help your dad cook pancakes, but Yoongi did that each time he slept over.
Shaking your head, you continued up the stairs. It didn’t really matter how Darren was different from Yoongi, since Darren wasn’t here, and he wasn’t your boyfriend.
As you continued to climb, the sounds of the first floor began to fade. Pictures were hung carefully on the wall, proof of your past your dad refused to take down. Photos of you with little league trophies, Sara in her cheerleading uniform and a terrible grouping of photos from middle school.
Passing the ones on the landing, you paused to trace over familiar faces. These photos were all from your Senior prom. Only one was the obligatory shot with your date, looking prim, proper and perfectly coiffed. The rest were of you and your friends – mainly, you and Hoseok.
Placing your suitcase on the ground, you stepped closer. Hoseok had the same mop of floppy, brown hair he had throughout most of your childhood. Grin wide, his right arm was slung over your shoulder. In one photo, you two were posed back-to-back, Men in Black style. In another, you did the classic 80’s roommates sitcom pose. The final shot had you dragging your smiles wide, eyes crossed and tongues stuck out at the camera.
When you were in elementary school, Johnny Ludowski had said if someone pushed you from behind with your eyes crossed, they would get stuck that way. Hoseok had been terrified of the idea ever since, but you’d managed to convince him to do it on prom night – only for Seokjin to sneak up and push him from behind.
Screaming bloody murder, Hoseok had then proceeded to chase Seokjin around the yard, brandishing his boutonniere pin as a weapon. You couldn’t help but smile at the memory, although this quickly faded. It had been a long time since you and Hoseok were that close.
Despite attending separate colleges, you and Hoseok had remained best friends throughout. You’d seen him each holiday, summer and even during long weekends at home. Except for the drought sophomore year when you began dating Ren What’s-His-Face, of course. Ren hadn’t liked your friendship with Hoseok, which ended up being one of the reasons you eventually broke up.
It was after college when things began to fall apart.
You’d lived on the east coast for a year and a half, staying in New York as a copy assistant for the New York Times. This job left you feeling thoroughly disillusioned by anything to do with the media. Craving creativity and distraction, you began applying for screenwriting jobs on the west coast.
Hoseok had been in grad school at the time, working two jobs and nearly as busy as you were. The little free time you had was spent together; that summer in the city was one of the best of your life, aside from the whole hating-your-job thing.
When you landed a screenwriting job at the start of the next year, the offer took Hoseok fully by surprise. He was on the cusp of graduating to start his PhD for behavioral psychology. You’d thought the timing was perfect – Hoseok would be so busy with school and research, he’d barely have time for you in New York.
Hoseok saw things differently. That was your first big fight – admittedly, you may have waited too long to tell him about the move. It had just been so difficult to figure out timing. You kept putting things off until finally, it was a week before Christmas, and you needed to move in two weeks.
You bit the bullet right before you went home, curled up on your sofa while you watched a movie. During a commercial break, you told him and Hoseok went still, though you saw him trying to hold it together. This was your dream job, and he’d wanted to be supportive.
Well – dream job was a loose term. It had been a crappily paying job writing for a kids television show, but you’d hoped it would lead to bigger things down the road. Hoseok had been remarkably calm until you said when you were leaving. Then he froze, staring at you in shock as you repeated the date.
Even that though wasn’t enough to end your friendship.
You patched up that fight quickly, unable to stay mad at each other for long. Hoseok had even helped you to move, packing up your New York apartment and flying with you across the country. He was the first guest you hosted in your new apartment, although apartment was a loose term for the hovel you lived in.
A four-bedroom apartment with only one bathroom and three other roommates. Hoseok had taken exactly one step inside before he turned around and said, “Absolutely not.”
Grabbing you by the wrist, he’d semi-jokingly tried to drag you to the curb. You’d laughed, managing to convince him that yes, this was your place and no, it wasn’t dirty and yes, you’d look for a new apartment as soon as you could afford to. Hoseok had begrudgingly agreed, making your room look as homey as possible before he had to leave.
That year was one of the hardest for you on record. Living on your own in LA, twenty-four and surrounded by unfamiliar people. Your roommates were nice, but they weren’t your friends, and they had their own problems with crazy jobs to boot. It was rare you saw them outside the house.
When you first met Darren, it had felt like fate. He’d also been lonely, a recent transplant from the Midwest and you’d instantly bonded. This had been March 2019, right after you’d begun writing for The Drop. Your PBS show had ‘released’ you – a fancy term for fired – in July and you’d waffled for a while before The Drop picked you up in November.
The Drop’s success had turned your work life around, but your personal life didn’t pick up until Darren. All throughout this, you were still best friends with Hoseok. Despite being an entire country apart, you continued to text, call and visit when you could.
As luck would have it, Hoseok planned on visiting at the end of the summer, so you were excited for the chance to introduce him to Darren. Darren’s career had begun to take off and he was in the middle of shooting what would be his first Oscar nomination. You found yourself thoroughly smitten and had recently begun saying the l-word to each other.
By the time Hoseok’s visit came, you felt as though you were on top of the world. Finally, your life was going as you’d imagined. Perfect job, perfect boyfriend – everything was beginning to fall into place.
You picked Hoseok up on a Thursday, balmy wind whipping his hair as he exited the terminal. When he saw you, he broke into the biggest smile and you remember feeling your heart twist a little. For the first time, an inharmonious chord sounded and you began to grow nervous about Hoseok meeting Darren.
Even the ride from the airport felt strange, with Hoseok quieter than usual after putting his things in the trunk. He’d rolled down the window when you entered the highway, soaking up the Los Angeles sunshine. As you passed a familiar exit, he’d frowned.
“Hey.” Hoseok had sat up, squinting out the window. “Am I going blind, or did you just pass the exit you usually take?”
Uncertain, your fingers drummed the wheel. “You’re not going blind.”
Hoseok looked at you suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
What was going on was you’d moved in with Darren about a week prior. It was still new and had been impulsive, but one of your roommates had stayed up fighting with her fiancé again and you’d simply snapped. Darren had suggested you move and it had seemed like a reasonable option.
“Okay,” you’d said, grip tightening on the wheel. “Don’t freak out.”
“Why would I freak out?” Hoseok had said, wondering. “I wouldn’t freak out, unless…” Trailing off, he looked at you sharply. “Are you… living with this guy, Y/N?”
“First off, his name is Darren and yes. I’m living with him.”
“Are you serious? You’ve known him for what, five minutes?”
“We’ve been dating for five months, actually –”
“Oh, so much better.”
“Don’t be an ass,” you’d said as you scowled.
Hoseok had rolled his eyes and settled back, but the tension between you lingered. He was quiet when you parked at Darren’s place, warming a little when he first met your boyfriend. Hoseok had always been good at putting on his mask when he needed to.
Later that night, Darren needed to run to the studio, so you and Hoseok had sat on the patio and made homemade margaritas. Begrudgingly, Hoseok agreed Darren’s apartment was nicer than the shithole you’d lived in and given his approval.
It had been tentative, though – you could tell. Deep down, you knew something lingered between you. Resentment, maybe because you hadn’t told him and anger from you, since Hoseok couldn’t just be happy for you and Darren.
The silent truce held until his last night of the trip. That night you went for drinks with Darren and his friends, who were quickly becoming your own. Except for Jimin, who hated Darren because he once saw him litter, and rarely chose to attend the same events.
At some point, you’d gone to the bathroom and when you came back, you found Hoseok with an odd look on his face.
“What’s up?” you’d said, sliding into the booth. Darren had wandered off, grabbing another round of drinks at the bar. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Hoseok had slowly turned to face you.
You’d hesitated, stomach dropping because you knew that expression. Jung Hoseok was usually the nicest, most positive person you knew. When he decided to be serious, it was no laughing matter.
“Y/N…” Hoseok considered his next words carefully. “Are you happy with him?”
“What?”
“With Darren,” he’d clarified. “Do you love him?”
“I… what’s with the third degree all of a sudden?” you’d said, laughing nervously.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Hoseok had paused. “Look. This is super awkward, but I think Darren was texting someone earlier.”
You had frozen, staring at him with blank eyes. The bar around you seemed to blur into nothing.
“I… Darren?” you’d said finally, shaking your head. “That’s impossible. Who was it?”
“I didn’t get a good look at the name,” Hoseok said. “I just saw him type ‘u up?’ to someone. He angled away when he noticed me looking. I asked him who it was, and he said a friend. Then he left for the bar.”
Mind whirling, you’d glanced at the bar. Darren laughed with his friends, chatting as though nothing were the matter. When he’d seen you, he’d grinned and shot you a wink. Your heart flip-flopped in your chest because his actions just didn’t match with what Hoseok said.
Unwittingly, resentment uncurled in your stomach. At one point, you would’ve overanalyzed Hoseok stepping in to be your white knight. Back in high school, you’d fancied yourself to be in love with your best friend, but that had been a long time ago. When years passed and nothing happened between you, you’d forced yourself to move on.
It was never a sign of anything more when Hoseok didn’t like your boyfriends. He was a protective friend and you could live with that, but not when it got in the way of you making life choices.
Defensive, you’d turned back. “Well, maybe it’s not what you thought it was.”
Hoseok’s eyes had widened. “Come on, Y/N. You have to admit that doesn’t look good.”
“Well, no,” you admitted. “But I’m not about to ambush him in a bar, Hobi. Not over something you may or may not have seen on his phone.”
Annoyance clouded his expression. “Are you seriously going to trust him over me?”
“He’s my boyfriend, Hobi. He deserves for me to at least hear him out. I promise I’ll talk to him later.”
Looking away, Hoseok gave a harsh laugh.
“Talk to him. Sure, that’ll work.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” Hoseok returned to you, gaze fierce. “I guess I’m just not surprised. You’ve been so distant ever since you started dating Darren – just like you were with Ren. Whenever you date someone, Y/N, you get so caught up in them you forget who you are.”
You had reeled backwards, staring at him in shock. “Are you… serious, Hobi? Have you ever stopped to wonder if maybe I’m not the problem here – maybe you are?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re unreasonably protective!” you’d said. “Every time I date someone, you don’t like them and then you butt in until they break up with me. That’s what happened with Ren, you know. He thought you were in love with me.”
Hoseok’s jaw dropped. “Can I not tell you what I think? I’m supposed to be your best friend! Of course, I want the best for you. And Ren was an ass! If he felt that threatened by you having guy friends, he didn’t deserve you.”
“Sure, but Darren isn’t like that!”
“You’re right,” Hoseok said with a scowl. “He’s worse. I think he’s cheating on you, Y/N.”
Abruptly, you’d stood from the table. “You’ve been weird ever since you got here,” you’d said, fighting back tears.
Hoseok had stood as well. “Yeah, well maybe if you’d told me what I was walking into, I wouldn’t be acting weird. You said Darren was just some guy! Said you barely saw him between all your work on The Drop. How in the hell are you living together?”
Cheeks heating, you’d shrugged aside his words because you didn’t have an answer. Hoseok was right – you’d downplayed your relationship each time you two had spoken and you didn’t know why.
“I think you should go,” you’d said stiffly, folding your arms over your chest. “I’ll talk to Darren, I promise, but I think you should go.”
Hoseok had stared at you a moment, breathing ragged. “Is that… is that really what you want?”
No, it had not been what you wanted. You hadn’t wanted to see Hoseok leave, but you couldn’t fathom a response which didn’t hurt either one of you more.
“Yeah,” you’d said softly.
Hoseok had swallowed. “I… alright, fine.”
Finishing the last of his drink, Hoseok had set his money down and called a cab. You’d mumbled an excuse to Darren later when he asked, saying Hoseok hadn’t been feeling well. By the time you returned home from the bar, Hoseok was asleep. You barely talked the next morning on the drive to the airport.
It wasn’t as though you and Hoseok had never fought before that night. You didn’t make it through nearly two decades of friendship without ups and downs, but this had to be the longest down you’d ever had. One of you usually broke down and called the other, but not this time. This time felt oddly final.
The distance had hurt you at first – really hurt. It felt almost like a break-up, that’s how strange it was to have Hoseok out of your life. Luckily, you’d had Darren to help pick up the pieces. Losing Hoseok had brought you closer to Darren and for a while, you’d thought that was how things were meant to be.
Obviously, you’d begun to rethink things lately.
You never did ask Darren about the text Hoseok saw and now, you realized Hoseok had probably been right. It was painful to imagine Darren cheating on you so early on. The idea of him falling in love with his co-star hurt a lot less than the idea of her being the latest in a long line of flings.
Swallowing hard, you picked up your suitcase and continued down the hall. Entering your old room, you flipped on the light and shut the door. Opening your suitcase, you began to unpack and then released a sigh, flopping down on your bed.
Staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but smile. Glow-in-the-dark constellations speckled the paint, some of them nonsense and others mirroring the real thing. It’d taken you and Hoseok hours to glue them in place. He’d been obsessed with Greek Mythology at the time – talk about a behavioral psych project – and you’d been terrified of the dark.
Familiar constellations stared back at you. Cassiopeia, Orion, and your personal favorite – the little dipper. You loved the idea of Polaris, the North Star, calling you home. There were less conventional constellations there, too. Directly overhead was the outline of a dick.
It had been a joke at the time, intended to be moved, but Hoseok had used the Krazy Stick glue. Your parents had been furious, grounding you for a month in retribution. Still, the sight never failed to make you grin.
Your smile faded though, realizing how long it’d been since you last laughed with Hoseok. Rolling onto your side, you wondered what tomorrow night would bring. Sara had forwarded the party details to your calendar when you got home and you highly her saying it’d be a small affair.
You liked Yoongi a lot and were incredibly happy to have him in the family. He’d gone to your same high school as you but had been a year older and you hadn’t become friends until college. Yoongi and Hoseok attended the same University and had bonded over their shared hometown.
That was how Yoongi had met Sara. You, Hoseok and Yoongi had hung out one night when Sara decided to show up at the bar. The rest, as they say, was history.
It wasn’t a surprise you’d see Hoseok this weekend. You’d known as soon as you agreed to come home it would likely happen. You had hoped though, with weeks to prepare, you would’ve come up with something better to say.
It had been a year since you’d talked and during that time, Hoseok had been proven right about everything. It would be humiliating to face him, more so than anyone else. Nausea prickled your stomach and you sighed, closing your eyes.
You could do this, you told yourself. A week of polite chit-chat, skirting around important topics and pretending to everyone you had your life together.
Then, you could return to LA and fall apart again.
The next morning you found yourself seated around the breakfast table, wondering if you’d been wrong to dread coming home. Honestly, there was nothing better than your dad’s homemade omelets in the morning.
As soon as you began eating though, your mom asked what jobs were on the table and you instantly realized it had been a trap. You brushed her questions aside with vague remarks about choosing the right next step. Once you were finished, you hightailed it upstairs before your mom could pry any further.
Coincidentally, Jimin had sent over a bunch of job postings that morning. None of them were super interesting, but at least they were something. A Disney Channel show about a hidden princess, a reality TV dating show, and a crime-thriller drama. With a sigh, you pulled your laptop closer and sent your resume and examples.
At this point, you just needed something to make rent at the end of this month. You could figure out your career after that, but until then you had bills to pay. A few seasons of a successful show weren’t enough to guarantee success in this business. You couldn’t afford to have any pride.
Sighing again, you finished sending out emails and closed your laptop. Staring out your room’s window, you watched the street below.
Mrs. Haberdash power-walked on the sidewalk, jabbering a mile a minute to Mrs. Mum on her other side. Both were dressed in the latest Target athletic wear line. Seeing them, the corners of your lips lifted. Hoseok had always called them the tweedles – after Tweedledee and Tweedledum. This had been the height of hilarity for twelve-year olds, made even more hilarious by the fact that Mrs. Haberdash’s first name was Dee.
The Tweedles happened to be two of the most annoying creatures on the planet. Mrs. Haberdash was the neighborhood busybody, but Mrs. Mum was the one you really had to watch out for. She usually chose to garden out in her front yard, trimming the same bush while listening to all her neighbors.
You hadn’t missed them much in LA, but it was comforting to know they were up to the same old tricks. Josen Falls felt like this each time you returned. You didn’t realize how much you missed things until you were here, surrounded by people who’d shaped your early life.
Josen Falls never seemed to change in any of the ways that mattered. It was the land time had forgotten; a town where people bought name brand groceries only if they had a coupon. A place where Lou, the milkman, was more known than any Hollywood actor.
Indeed, your initial decision to leave for LA had always been met with confusion. It was bad enough a lot of your friend group currently lived in New York. They were viewed with vague suspicion, including Yoongi and Sara, whom Mrs. Haberdash called ‘hoity-toity’ behind their backs. This was Josen Falls’ version of the b-word.
Speaking of whom – Sara had greatly misled you when she said all you needed to do was show up tonight.
As it so happened, a lot needed to be done before the party started at 7:00 PM. You spent most of the day running errands, going down Sara’s checklist with painstaking precision Jimin would’ve been proud of.
Jimin was your only real friend in LA. You’d happened upon him purely by chance, working the shit PBS job you’d had for less than a year. Jimin had been the assistant for all writers at PBS, so when you began writing for The Drop, you’d managed to finagle him a job as well. Jimin had been your assistant ever since, taking on additional clients as his fame grew.
Currently, he worked for you pro bono, but this couldn’t continue for much longer. Jimin always waved aside your insistence of paying him back. He said you’d made his career, but you hated having this hanging overhead. Once you started working again, Jimin would be the first check you’d cut. Simply put, he was the best in the business, and he deserved to be paid.
Despite this, Sara’s list of demands would’ve made even him flinch. You needed to get floral centerpieces, the cake from the bakery, procure blue and silver streamers and drop baking supplies off at your grandma’s. This was only the front side.
By the time you returned home around six, Sara was in a tizzy. Everyone needed to leave for the restaurant in forty-five minutes, and you still needed to shower. Hurrying upstairs, you yelled that everything was under control. After the fastest shower of your life, you made good on your promise and rushed out the door at 6:40 PM.
Your mom had left earlier to ensure decorations were perfect, so when you got there, Raffi’s was a veritable winter wonderland. Blue and silver streamers hung from above, paired with elegant flowers and vases on the table.
There wasn’t much time to appreciate this, though, since guests began to arrive soon after you did. Yoongi was the first one through the door, following Sara’s detailed instructions down to the T. When he entered, Sara’s anxiety melted as she rushed to greet him. Yoongi let out a muffled grunt when she hugged him, but from the goofy grin on his face, you knew he was faking.
Yoongi was a man of medium-height, slight build, and an intense demeanor. Luckily, your sister was the type of person who instantly saw through that. When she first met Yoongi, he’d barely said two words to her, and she saw it as a personal challenge. She would get Yoongi to speak to her.
Little did she know, he’d been harboring a fat crush on Sara since she walked through the door. Sara tended to have that effect on people. When Yoongi did speak, it was to blurt out in frustration he fucking liked her. Sara had been the one floored at that point.
Pulling back from the hug, Yoongi removed his coat to hang on the rack. As he entered the main room, he spotted you and walked over. Sara stayed by the door to greet Yoongi’s brother.
“Y/N.” Yoongi grinned, coming to a stop. “Long time, no see.”
“The longest,” you agreed with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
You had missed him – that wasn’t a lie. Part of the downside to staying in LA was missing time with your friends from home. Of course, you still had the friend group chat, but it wasn’t the same.
“You don’t have a drink.” Yoongi observed your bare hands.
“Not yet.”
“Sara will fix that soon.”
As though on cue, your sister popped up beside you. “Here you go, Y/N!” she said, handing over a glass of red wine.
Yoongi winked and you laughed, accepting the glass you were handed. Catching this exchange, your sister pouted.
“Were you talking about me?” she said.
“Yes.” Yoongi squeezed her against his side. “Terrible things, all of them.”
“Good.” Sara raised her drink to her lips. “How boring would it be if people complimented you when you left the room?”
Snorting, you tried not to spit wine back in your glass. The other hardest part of living across the country was being away from your sister. Sara loved taking care of people – already, you saw her scanning the room for who else needed a drink. Even though she was the youngest of the family, she loved to play hostess.
As Yoongi sipped his whiskey, neat, you noticed his eyes continually stray towards your sister. It was sweet. His world truly seemed to revolve around her, and you couldn’t help but hope someone would look at you that way one day.
As another of Sara’s bridesmaids arrived, she squealed and darted across the room. Yoongi sighed and followed, taking his whiskey with. He waved goodbye, not seeming unhappy in the slightest as he followed your sister.
You watched them go, glad Sara could enjoy the party despite the small ache in your heart. As happy as you were for them, you couldn’t help but look at Sara and Yoongi and see yourself. Not long ago, you’d had someone to stand beside you at parties. Darren wasn’t that person to you anymore, though. If you were being totally honest – Darren had never been that person to you. Not in the same way Yoongi was to Sara.
Sighing quietly, you took a large sip of your wine and looked up as the door opened.
A gust of snow blew in, along with a familiar face, and all the blood instantly drained from your expression.
Whirling around, you chugged the rest of your wine as you made for the bar. The taste made you wince – no wine was meant to be chugged – but it couldn’t be helped. There was absolutely no way you’d be in direct line of sight when Jung Hoseok entered the party.
Setting your now-empty glass on the bar, you gave the bartender a weak smile as you ordered another. While he was busy with this, you tapped your fingernails against the counter. Quickly, you glanced over your shoulder.
Hoseok remained in the entrance, not looking in your direction – thank the lord. He was paused in removing his coat, nodding at someone who stood before him. Based on the back of their head, it seemed Hoseok was talking to Mr. Min, Yoongi’s dad.
His jacket was unfamiliar, a plaid pea coat thrown over a white button-down. As he bent, your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. Hoseok had dyed his hair black, which was something he’d always wanted to do – and was that an undercut? Shit.
When Hoseok laughed, his eyes crinkled, and you felt your heart tighten. As he fully removed his coat, you saw the outfit underneath. He’d paired the crisp, white shirt with navy pants and those dumb Balenciaga sneakers he loved to wear. When you saw them, you nearly groaned but caught yourself just in time.
Hoseok’s gaze flicked up.
Instantly, you turned and saw your wine before you. “Thanks,” you said, sliding a dollar across the bar as a tip.
Grabbing the glass, you immediately moved as far as you could from the entrance. All you needed was a group of people to disappear into. You picked the first one you could find, wedging yourself between two older women who moved aside easily.
As soon as you looked up, you realized you’d chosen wrong.
The Tweedles stared back, along with a few other neighborhood busybodies. Mrs. Haberdash seemed thrilled, while Mrs. Mum looked – well, she looked how she always looked. Barely awake.
Weakly, you smiled. “Hi,” you said with a wave.
“Y/N!” Mrs. Haberdash clapped her hands. “Home for the holidays, I see. What a surprise!”
Although it wasn’t a question, you found yourself nodding as though it was. “Yes,” you agreed, taking a sip of your wine. “Had to be home for all the celebrations.”
“Oh, of course, of course. But how awkward,” she said, lowering her voice a pitch. “Why, we all saw the tabloids. Your mother told us not to say anything, but you’ve been through such an ordeal. That actor boyfriend of yours… what’s his name again? Derek?”
“Darren,” you said with a tight smile. “We broke up over the summer. I don’t see how that’s related to Sara and Yoongi, though.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Mrs. Haberdash assured. “It’s just so brave of you to show up here, all alone and –”
“She’s not alone,” said a familiar voice, stepping into the circle. “She has me.”
Kim Seokjin slung an arm around your neck, pulling you close in a semi-chokehold. It was less a romantic gesture than a modified wrestling move, but that was Seokjin. One of your closest friends growing up, he now lived in Seattle, so you were pleasantly surprised to find him home for the holidays.
“Oh!” Mrs. Haberdash looked between you. “I apologize. I didn’t know the two of you were, um, well…”
“Lovers?” Seokjin supplied helpfully.
Mrs. Haberdash nearly spit out her drink.
Turning around, you plucked a mini quiche from a passing tray. “Here, sweetums,” you said, lifting this to Seokjin’s lips. “Open wide!”
Before he could oblige, Mrs. Mum cleared her throat. “I’m out of wine,” she said, much to your relief. “Dee, why don’t we…?”
“Ah, yes,” said Mrs. Haberdash. Shaking her head, she seemed to compose herself. She’d been staring, a bit dazed, at Seokjin’s open mouth. “Well, it was lovely to see you, Y/N…”
Trailing off, she practically ran from your presence, the rest of her group following within seconds. Once they’d all disappeared, Seokjin snorted.
“Damn,” he said, looking at you. “I really thought you were going to feed me that mini quiche. You know what food play does to me, Y/N.”
“Gross,” you laughed, wrinkling your nose. Stepping out of his chokehold, you gave Seokjin a hug. “It’s good to see you, despite your weird kinks.”
“Same.” Seokjin pulled back to give you the swift onceover. “Yoongi was right. You’ve lost weight.”
“Will everyone stop discussing my appearance?” you wondered out loud. “Guess what – my weight? Off-limits!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Seokjin laughed. “I mean, you look hot whatever weight you are. Yoongi had to issue a group ban to his cousins, telling them the maid of honor was off limits.”
“Really?” you said, glancing around you with interest. “Why’d he do that? Maybe I want a rebound.”
“Take that up with Yoongi,” he said. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s good to see you. It’s been awhile since you came home.”
Exhaling softly, you glanced down at your glass. “Don’t make me give you the same excuses as Mrs. Haberdash,” you said quietly. “I’ve been busy. Out in LA, getting my heart stomped on, you know. The usual.”
Seokjin was silent a moment and when you looked up, his gaze was shrewder than he had any right to be.
“You’re right,” he said at last, plucking the empty drink from your hand. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about what alcohol we want to drink next. I think I saw Namjoon at the bar.”
“Joonie?” you said, perking up as you followed.
Seokjin was right – as you approached the bar, you saw another childhood friend, Kim Namjoon, leaning against the counter. As a rising civil rights lawyer in New York, he was now considered to be something of a Big Deal, but this didn’t stop Seokjin from trying to give him a wedgie.
Namjoon dodged. “Thanks,” he said, only to spot you behind Seokjin. His eyes widened. “Y/N!” Namjoon said, nearly spilling his drink to wrap you in a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming home tonight!”
“Yeah,” you said, grinning as you pulled away. “Just got in last night.”
“It’s so good to see you.” Namjoon beamed.
“Yeah, yeah.” Seokjin leaned on the counter. “An appletini for me and for the lady, a glass of your cheapest red wine.”
The bartender stared, baffled and you came to his rescue.
“Chianti,” you said, then returned to Namjoon. “Ah, seriously. I’m so glad we’re all together again.”
“Same,” he said, looking you up and down. “Wow, you look –”
“I swear to god. If you say one thing about my weight.”
“… cheerful,” finished Namjoon weakly. “Must be the holidays.”
Seokjin snorted, turning with a green martini in hand. You accepted the glass of red wine he handed you and glanced around. Despite your earlier threats, it was good to see them. Like most things about Josen Falls, you never realized how much you missed them until you were here.
Scanning the room, you realized the restaurant had started to fill. You spotted Sara and Yoongi walking in, stopping to chat with Lana, who owned the local coffee shop. Just behind them stood your mom and to her right – your stomach swooped.
To her right was Hoseok.
He was chatting with one of your aunts, making her laugh in a way she rarely did. Dimly, you hoped they weren’t talking about you.
Forcing your gaze to Seokjin and Namjoon, you took a sip of your wine. “Wow,” you exhaled. “So, how long has it been?”
“Let’s see.” Seokjin swirled his appletini. “I think the last time we were together was for Namjoon’s sister’s wedding. So, what was that – last spring? Damn, that feels like forever ago.”
“It’s been nearly eight months,” Namjoon agreed. “Seems longer. Especially since Y/N was only there for part of the weekend. She left early to be with – uh, to go do something. I don’t… remember what, exactly.”
Shutting up, Namjoon’s cheeks turned pink and you tried not to laugh. He’d been about to say you left to be with Darren on the set of his movie. This, of course, had been before you knew Darren was cheating on you.
“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Don’t feel like you need to tip-toe around it. It’s just the Mrs. Haberdashes of the world I’d rather avoid.”
“Tweedledee?” Namjoon made a face. “Is that who Seokjin rescued you from?”
“The one and only.”
“She was asking Y/N about that douchebag,” said Seokjin. “Acting like Y/N needed to be pitied when really, this is a good thing! Y/N is free from all that hair gel and we have our Y/N back.”
Blinking, you stared at him for a second. You hadn’t realized how your friends felt about Darren. Sara had alluded to something similar when she was drunk, but you hadn’t realized the true extent. Possibly Hoseok had been right – you did tend to get blinders when you began dating someone.
Glancing around, you began to panic when you realized Hoseok had moved. Covertly scanning the premises of the bar, you failed to spot him anywhere else.
Leaning casually backwards, you glanced at the hall – no Hoseok. This put you on edge, the same way being in the room with a dangerous animal might make one nervous if they couldn’t see it.
“Crick in your neck, Y/N?” Seokjin said pleasantly. “Namjoon went to school for a long time. He probably knows how to fix that.”
“I went to law school, Seokjin, not med school.”
“Are the two different?”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced before Namjoon’s eyes could bug out any further. Placing your glass on the counter, you turned and patted his arm. “Catch up with you later, okay?”
Both of them nodded, Seokjin taking a long sip of his drink before frowning. As you left, you heard him say, “But seriously, Namjoon. What do you do for a living?”
Namjoon sounded vaguely insulted in his response, so you slipped to the hall. Continuing to scan the restaurant, you found yourself distracted by the sheer amount of people around you. Hoseok was nowhere to be seen, which only served to increase your nervousness.
You were so busy looking for him, you failed to notice where you were going. As you turned the corner, you tripped on a rug and stumbled – straight into Hoseok, who exited the next room.
Both of you reeled, trying and failing to right yourselves.
“Shit!” you blurted, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt not to fall.
Hoseok’s right hand encircled your waist as you fell against him. His back hit the wall, your chest flush to his while you stared at him, wide-eyed.
Meeting your gaze, Hoseok froze underneath you. His hand remained on your waist; your body curved against his in a way which felt strangely intimate. Heat radiated between you for a moment, and then you came to your senses, remembering who you were and what you were doing.
“I – I’m sorry,” you said, scrambling backwards. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“Me neither,” said Hoseok, sounding hoarse.
Hearing his voice, you forgot what to say. You thought you’d been prepared to see him again, but now you realized how woefully wrong you’d been. Nothing could prepare you for standing before him, with Hoseok holding himself like that – as though you were a stranger.
Swallowing away your discomfort, you met his gaze. You could do this, you told yourself. You could smile, thank him for coming and then move past.
“You look good,” you blurted out.
Or – you could do that. Inwardly, you cursed.
Hoseok blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”
You waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, you began to feel foolish. Wishing the earth would swallow you whole, you glanced past Hoseok and stared at the door.
You hadn’t been lying, though – Hoseok did look good. Had you been through a breakup, you would’ve said he was the winner. You two hadn’t been dating, though. You’d only been best friends; he’d only been the most important guy in your life before your friendship had ended.
The pain of this burned, stinging the back of your throat.
Hoseok slowly exhaled. “So. Yoongi said you’re Sara’s maid of honor?”
Surprised, you glanced back. You’d nearly forgotten. “Yeah,” you said. “You’re going to be Yoongi’s best man, right?’
“Yep.”
“… Cool.”
Silence fell between again and, somewhat miserable, you looked away. Hoseok clearly had nothing to say and you couldn’t think of anything better to say than cool. He seemed so unmoved, so unruffled by your presence and you could barely hold it together.
You couldn’t help wondering what Hoseok had heard about you. You wondered if he knew you’d broken up with Darren, if he knew The Drop was ending after this season. You wondered if he knew you thought about him way too much to be considered normal.
While you were wallowing in self-pity, Hoseok cleared his throat. This time when you looked, he seemed vaguely uncomfortable.
“Look,” Hoseok exhaled, but you never found out what he was going to say, since Jungkook came barreling around the corner.
“Y/N!” he yelled, rushing forward.
You let out an oof, laughing as he hugged you. Jungkook was one of your sister’s best friends from high school and had since become one of yours by default.
Pulling back, Jungkook glanced between you and Hoseok. “Oh, hey Hobi,” he said, as though nothing was wrong. “Yoongi was looking for you a minute ago. Said something about cufflinks in your car?”
“Oh, shit.” Hoseok winced. “Which room is he in?”
Jungkook pointed and Hoseok, after a glance in your direction, nodded and left. He didn’t say goodbye before he disappeared and you stood there for a moment, staring at his back.
Deep down, you’d known this was how things would go. Nothing had changed since you stopped being friends except, you’d broken up with Darren. While that may have started the fight between you and Hoseok, it had been over a year since. Lots of hurt and confusion had come between you. It was foolish to imagine something might have changed.
“Want another drink?” Jungkook interrupted your thoughts. “Namjoon and Seokjin are inside at the bar.”
Nodding gratefully, you followed Jungkook into the restaurant, realizing belatedly you hadn’t gone to the bathroom. Not that you’d needed to go. That had only been an excuse to escape Hoseok, which had majorly backfired.
As you rejoined the group at the bar, you ordered another drink and tried to forget. It was strange to be in the same room as Hoseok and not stand beside him. Some basic, molecular part of yourself refused to accept the fact you were no longer friends. This part of yourself longed to cross the room and tell Hoseok about your run in with the Tweedles, but you couldn’t.
Still, you forced yourself to keep smiling. This was Sara and Yoongi’s night, after all. Pushing Hoseok from mind, you drank and attempted to forget the mortification you felt each time you caught sight of him in your peripheral.
It was in this way the night passed. By the end, you were relieved to make it through without major incident. Your friends were the last to go, Seokjin shrugging on a bomber jacket you deemed completely inappropriate for the temperature outside. He kissed you on the cheek, loudly calling you his lover again for Mrs. Haberdash’s sake (who had left an hour prior) until Namjoon physically pulled him out the door.
You helped your mom clean until she shooed you away and told you to leave. Your dad, who’d been labeled designated driver, grandly bowed before leaving to heat up the car.
It was your job to wrangle Sara, who had her arms wrapped around Yoongi’s neck and was refusing to go. Yoongi, whose cheeks were pink with alcohol, didn’t seem to mind, but he flushed a darker shade once he realized your dad was waiting.
“C’mon babe,” he said, handing Sara over to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Promise.”
Sara sighed, but allowed herself to be extricated and led out the door. Hoseok had left around the same time as Seokjin and Namjoon, so he wasn’t there when you entered the parking lot. It had begun to snow again, so you walked as fast as you could towards your dad’s car.
Placing Sara in the backseat, you entered the passenger side and turned on the radio. It was tuned to the Christmas station, which made you think about holidays when you were children. The night felt largely the same, with Sara singing in the backseat while your dad harmonized in falsetto.
You laughed and joined in but couldn’t seem to shake the heavy weight from your chest. If this were really like your childhood, Hoseok would have texted at least twice by now.
As it was, your phone remained empty the rest of the way home and you fell asleep that night wondering what he’d been about to say.
The next day passed uneventfully, with Fridays being low-key around the house. Both your parents were working, only taking off the next week for Christmas, so you and Sara lounged until your dad’s conference calls became too distracting.
Heading up to your room, you opened your laptop and sat at your desk. Staring at the screenplay pulled up on the page, you sighed. One for the Money was your pet project, something you’d worked on the past few years whenever you had spare time. It had been on hold for a while due to The Drop, but you’d had more time to work on it lately.
The spec script was finished, but each time you sent it out, you received negative responses. It would’ve been helpful had the studios given you critique, but nothing so far surmounted to anything more than a corporate template.
You had re-read the script many times, hoping to spot whatever it was everyone hated. Unfortunately, you seemed to be having about as much luck with this in your bedroom as you had in LA – aka, no luck.
Maybe this had something to do with your surroundings. Each time you glanced up you spotted another reminder of Hoseok. Beneath your desk was a stain from the night you’d dared Hoseok to fit as many marshmallows in his mouth as he could. He’d gotten to fifteen before he nearly choked and spat the glob on the carpet. As it turned out, marshmallow goo was surprisingly hard to clean.
That had been the only time your mom had gotten mad at Hoseok. Normally, he walked on water at your household, but your mom had gone so far as to gently admonish him that day. Hoseok had been extremely apologetic, scrubbing on both hands and knees, but the stain refused to come out.
Glancing away, you tried to think of something else, but your gaze found your bed and you were gone once again. You recalled the night your Grandma died; you’d refused to answer Hoseok’s texts. He’d been so worried he’d climbed up the trellis beneath your window and knocked until you let him in.
Hoseok had stayed the entire night, holding you and letting you cry into his grey hoodie.
Shutting your laptop, you let out a sigh. This room was too distracting – every other room in the house would be distracting, as well. Shoving your things in your bag, you slung this over your shoulder and stood from your desk. What you needed was a fresh change of pace.
Hurrying downstairs, you paused at the landing to yell you needed the car. Your dad yelled back, “Sure, Lucy!” and you grabbed the keys from the hook. Throwing on a coat, you got in his sedan and – shivering violently – drove the several blocks over to your favorite coffee shop.
As you entered Lana’s Corner, holiday bells jingled overhead. The woman behind the counter looked up, breaking into a smile when she saw it was you.
“Y/N!” Lana gushed, rushing forward. Wrapping you in a warm hug, she squeezed and took a step back. “You’re home! I heard you went to LA and made something of yourself. Way to go!”
Shaking your head, you attempted a smile. “Well, tried to, anyways.”
“No, no – none of that,” she said, shaking her finger as she returned behind the counter. “You’ve done wonderful things and there’s more to come. I can feel it. The usual?” she asked, stopping at the register. “Hot chocolate with extra marshmallows?”
You paused, since this had been your favorite drink in high school, but you rarely drank hot chocolate these days. As much as you hated to say LA had rubbed off on you, it was a lot of sugar for mid-afternoon.
Deciding, fuck it, you shrugged. “Sure,” you said, heading to your old table by the windows. “Thanks, Lana!”
Shrugging from your coat, you draped this over your chair and sat down. Lana was odd in that she insisted people eat and drink before paying a dime. Said she didn’t want to charge people if they didn’t enjoy her food – you’d fought this for a while but had eventually given up. Lana was even more stubborn than you.
Pulling out your laptop, you opened your email and saw Jimin had sent more jobs. Releasing a sigh, you opened the first one.
Lana brought your hot chocolate within minutes, placing it beside your laptop to cool. You continued to work while you sipped the confection. There was something about your screenplay you clearly weren’t seeing, but you had no idea how to take a step back and be more objective.
Midway through editing, you felt your phone ring in your pocket. Digging around in your bag, you pulled it out to answer.
“Hello?” you said.
“Hello!” a bright voice chirped. “Y/N?”
“Yes, this is she. With whom am I speaking?”
“Oh, you’re too much!” the other person said with a laugh. “No need to be so formal, darling. This is Daisy from MTV. You applied to our screenwriter position yesterday?”
Frantically, you racked your brain for which TV show this was.
“Uh, right,” you said, scrolling through your inbox. “Thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly!”
“Of course, of course. I have to say, we were surprised to see your resume! Someone who used to write for The Drop isn’t exactly our usual suspect.”
“Oh, well… I have a varied interest across all forms of media.”
“Mm, is that so?”
There was rustling on the other end, as though Daisy were sifting through papers. Biting down on your lip, you scanned more of Jimin’s emails while she paused.
“I assume your assistant told you about Roulette?”
Immediately, you stopped looking and felt your heart sink.
Roulette was a terrible reality dating show Jimin had sent your way. Its premise was the following – someone went on three dates and was asked to choose one person at the end. The catch was one date was someone they’d passed over on a dating app, one was someone who’d passed over them on a dating app and the third was the ex of someone in their real life.
You hated the premise for multiple reasons, but mostly because you couldn’t believe someone wouldn’t recognize any of these people. Especially the supposed ex of someone they knew.
Teeth gritted, you said, “Right, of course. Jimin told me about the concept and I found it so interesting. Lots of room for conflict.”
“Bingo!” Daisy laughed. “Conflict is reality TV’s bread and butter. I like to think of it as the new recipe for storytelling. Rather than the classic rising action, climax and falling action – it’s all rise. You know Shakespeare was considered uncultured in his time, right? He wrote plays which appealed to the masses and now, our kids study him in lit class. Maybe one day people will study the Kardashians.”
Lips parted, you struggled to keep up with her dizzying rhetoric. Honestly, someone probably should study the Kardashians if they hadn’t already. Say what you wanted about their culturally appropriating asses; they knew how to make money.
“That would be… something,” you said, realizing she wanted an answer. “Anyways, what questions did you have for me?”
“Oh, nothing so formal as that.” Daisy laughed. “Why don’t you just pitch me a few ideas for the show? Where would you suggest for a first date?”
Networks sometimes did this, asking writers during the interview if they had ideas. Normally though, you at least were given a heads-up this was coming. Staring into your hot chocolate, you scrambled for concepts.
“Um, let’s see,” you said, stalling for time. “They could go to an arcade?”
“Hm.” Daisy tsk-ed. “That kind of thing has been done to death. Anything else?”
“Sure, uh… there are bars where you can go axe-throwing. It’s supposed to be oddly therapeutic.”
“Interesting, interesting… any other ideas? Something a bit more… original?”
Vaguely annoyed by her tone, you straightened in your seat.
“Okay, well,” you said. “If it’s a dating show, there’s no time for pining. I say you throw them into situations where emotions are heightened. Make them fall for each other faster. Maybe something with a shark cage, or skydiving, or cliff-jumping.”
“Adrenaline is always good!”
“Yeah,” you said, relaxing a little. “My ex-boyfriend and I repelled down a waterfall on vacation and it was terrifying, but super romantic after. You feel closer to someone after escaping a near-death experience.”
“Love that!” Daisy sounded interested for the very first time. “Was this with your ex-boyfriend, Darren Carmichael?”
Blinking, you weren’t sure how she knew that about you. It seemed the screenwriting world was smaller than you’d thought.
“I – uh, no,” you said, lying through your teeth. “Someone else.”
“Oh.” Her voice fell flat. “Well, these are all great suggestions, Y/N. I like your style. What do you say we end things here, and someone will call you in a few days with the offer?”
“I – so soon?” you said, eyebrows shooting up.
“We like to work fast around here. I hire based on gut feeling.”
Wincing a little, you stopped yourself from telling her this was a poor hiring practice. Research had shown hiring from ‘gut feeling’ led to discriminatory practices, since it almost always led to hiring people who looked and thought like you did.
“That’s… great,” you said, however weakly.
“So, we start shooting the second week of January. We’ll need you onsite the first week though, make sure everything is lined up and ready to go.”
“Oh. That’s so soon!”
“Is that a problem?”
“Ah – no, not at all,” you hastened, trying to remember when your plane flight back to LA was. “Just excited to get started.”
“That’s what I like to hear! Alright, tell your assistant to keep an eye on his email and we’ll be in touch. Any questions for me before I go?”
“No,” you said with a shake of your head. “None here. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
“Listen to you.” Daisy chuckled. “So cute. Talk to you soon, darling! Happy holidays, and all that.”
She hung up, leaving only a dial tone as you stared at the wall. Slowly lowering your phone, you let out a sigh.
You didn’t want this job. The show sounded terrible, but there was nothing you could do. You needed to work to pay rent and put food on the table. You could afford to be picky once you’d managed to save a bit more.
Rubbing your temples, you brought your now-empty cup of hot chocolate over to the counter. Setting this down in the bin, you glanced around the café. Lana sometimes disappeared to make the baked goods herself.
Craning your neck, you glanced towards the back room as the door behind you opened.
“Y/N?”
You whirled, elbow hitting the cup and nearly knocking it from the counter. Catching this just in time, you exhaled in relief and looked up to see Hoseok.
He hovered just inside the door, unwrapping his scarf. Snowflakes were scattered across both hair and coat, quickly melting in the warmth of the room.
“Careful with that.” Hoseok glanced at your cup. “You’ll take someone’s eye out.”
Against all better judgement, you grinned. “A Christmas Story?” you said, naming the movie he misquoted. “Really?”
Hoseok simply smiled. A Christmas Story was his dad’s favorite holiday movie – as a result, Hoseok knew every line and could quote it by heart, even though he hated the movie. Forced osmosis, he liked to say.
“What can I say?” he said, glancing over your shoulder. “Tis the season. Hey, Lana!”
“Hoseok!” Lana bustled out of the back room. “It’s been too long since I last saw you. I hear you’ve been up to impressive things yourself.”
Hoseok looked vaguely embarrassed.
“Nah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Just the usual, you know.”
“Your mom says you’re working on your dissertation? And that there’s talk of you working at the University once you’re done?”
Surprised, you glanced at Hoseok. You hadn’t heard that, but then again, you wouldn’t have. Of course, Hoseok wouldn’t have told you he was after his dream job.
Indeed, his cheeks were faintly pink while facing Lana. “Ah, yeah.” Hoseok gave a little laugh. “We’ll see what happens. I still have a little while before I get my doctorate.”
“Always knew you’d save the world,” Lana said. “You and Y/N, the unstoppable couple.”
Instantly, your cheeks began to heat. “Oh, we weren’t –”
“Not a couple, we –”
Both of you stopped and looked at each other.
Eyebrows raised, Lana began to back away. “I left some dishes soaking in the other room – just came out because I heard the door chime. Y/N, I’ll ring you up when I’m back!”
She disappeared, leaving you and Hoseok alone. Resting your hip on the counter, you glanced again at Hoseok. He seemed a bit flustered, but didn’t say anything more, looking instead at the specials overhead.
Releasing a sigh, you turned around to wait.
Hoseok cleared his throat behind you. “So, listen,” he said, surprising you into looking. “I wanted to talk to you last night about something.”
“What about?” you said, turning fully to face him.
Hoseok pushed a hand through his hair. Cut black strands fell about his face, making you stare. Quickly, you snapped yourself out of this.
“I can’t believe you got an undercut,” you said before you could stop yourself.
Hoseok froze. “Huh?”
“Your hair,” you said, gesturing loosely. Great – another awkward remark about Hoseok’s appearance. “You always said you wanted to do that. I guess I’m just surprised you did it.”
Hoseok paused, then gave you an odd look. “Yeah, well. There’s been a lot of things I wanted to do but didn’t. Figured an undercut shouldn’t be one of them.”
Feeling oddly thrown by this statement, you nodded and turned back around. Leaning over the counter, you searched for Lana and saw no one. With a sigh, you drew back and pondered whether to just place money on the counter and leave.
Lana calling you a couple hadn’t been a coincidence. Ever since you were little, most people in town had assumed you were dating – at first, it had been funny, but now it was something of a sore spot for you. Especially because you’d liked Hoseok back in high school and nothing had happened.
“Right,” you said tightly. “Okay.”
Hoseok hesitated. “Anyways, I wanted to apologize about last night. I know I was abrupt in the hall. I just… Yoongi hadn’t warned me you’d be there. I thought you were still in LA.”
“Ah.”
“Not that that’s an excuse,” he continued. “I was rude to you, and that’s not okay.”
“No, Hobi, I – I mean, Hoseok,” you corrected, cheeks heating when you said his nickname. “It’s understandable. It’s been… a long time since we’ve talked.”
Hoseok was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
The silence between you few and this time, you were the one who looked away first. If Lana didn’t return soon, you were going to leave a ten on the counter and call it a day.
“That’s not all I wanted to say,” Hoseok said, surprising you.
Brows raised, you turned back. “It wasn’t?”
He slowly shook his head.
Some people might have been unnerved by this version of Hoseok. Usually, Hoseok was the loudest person in the room. Always laughing, smiling, or telling someone a joke. He was the life of the party, but this side of him existed, too. The quieter, more serious version of Hoseok. The version who laid on your bed and made-up random stories about the time Orion fought your giant dick constellation.
Lips twitching, you smothered this thought. Hoseok wasn’t your friend anymore and you weren’t reminiscing together.
“Look.” He paused. “This is awkward.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Hoseok gave you a look.
“Sorry, sorry,” you said, trying hard not to smile. “Please continue.”
He rolled his eyes, and the gesture was so normal, you felt the slightest of tension drain from the air.
“Anyways,” he said. “I know we’re not friends anymore, but we’re going to be in this wedding together. You’re Sara’s maid of honor and I’m Yoongi’s best man. We’re probably going to cross paths at some point.”
“Maybe literally, if we’re forced to walk down the aisle together.”
Hoseok’s lips twitched. “This is serious, Y/N.”
“I know,” you said, smile disappearing. “You’re right, this is weird. But you’re also right – this isn’t about us. This is about Sara and Yoongi.”
“Exactly.” Hoseok nodded. “Which is why I think we should try and get along. You know, for the sake of the wedding.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” you said. “Bloodshed never looks good in wedding photos.”
“It’d clash horribly with their color scheme.”
A snort escaped you. “No one wants that.”
“Okay, cool.” Hoseok paused. “So, it’s settled? We call a truce for the wedding.”
“For the wedding,” you agreed. “And then… after?”
“What about after?”
Hoseok seemed genuinely baffled, which made you want to sink through the floor. It was just having him here, bantering with him like you used to – you couldn’t help wondering why you were fighting. It didn’t make sense for Hoseok to ignore you like this.
It wasn’t as though you were still mad at him about last year. You weren’t holding a grudge about the way Hoseok had cut you out of his life, treating you as though two decades of friendship could be easily tossed aside.
Okay, maybe you were a little mad.
“I… don’t know,” you said at last. “Never mind.”
“Alright.” Hoseok hesitated. “Well … that’s all I wanted to say.”
“Okay.”
By this time, all the snow had melted in his hair. It made the strands look a bit damp, mussed by his scarf and you fought the sudden urge to smooth them down. His appearance annoyed you. Hoseok never took proper care of himself, yet he continually butted into your life and tried to fix all your problems.
Not wanting to stay any longer, you reached into your purse and pulled out a ten. Placing this on the counter, you turned away.
“Well. See you around,” you told Hoseok.
“I heard The Drop got cancelled.”
You froze.
Slowly, you turned back to see him. “What did you say?”
Hoseok had the nerve to look sympathetic, which you found to be maddening.
“I heard the show was cancelled,” he said, sliding his hands in his pockets. “It’s a shame, really. I liked it. Second season was even stronger than the first.”
Blinking, you found yourself taken aback. Hoseok had been your friend when the first season aired – he’d had nothing but good words to say about it at the time, but you didn’t know he’d watched the second. Obviously, the two of you had never discussed it.
“You did?” you said, tentative.
Hoseok nodded. “Yeah. I… could tell which parts you wrote, you know? It was cool. You always had the best lines.”
Warmth blossomed within you, even as you did your best to stamp it out. Of course, Hoseok could say a few words and thaw all your ice. He knew exactly which compliments meant the most to you and knew how to wield them. The direction with The Drop had always bothered you – some of the twists had felt stale – but Hoseok knew which lines you’d written. He’d liked the lines you wrote.
“Thanks,” you said, a tingle spreading down your spine.
Hoseok smiled. “So, what are you doing now?”
Equally fast, the warmth within you fizzled. Glancing at the board, you scrambled for something to tell him which wasn’t Roulette. Hoseok would hate the idea of you doing a reality TV show – he knew you; he knew your ambitions and he’d know this to be a step backwards.
“Well, I…”
“It’s also cool if you don’t have something lined up,” Hoseok said, far more astute than he had any right to be. “Life doesn’t always work out that way.”
“I know.”
“Of course.” His smile disappeared. “Well, I hope you like whatever you do next, then.”
You highly doubted this but forced yourself to smile. It didn’t make sense to burden Hoseok with your problems – it wasn’t as though you were friends anymore.
“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I hope you get that teaching job.”
“Thanks.”
Hoseok didn’t expand further and you shifted your weight, sensing you had nothing more to say. You’d exchanged pleasantries, set the stage for wedding interactions and somehow managed not to tear each other's heads off. That was a start, at least.
“Well,” you said, turning around again. It seemed Lana wasn’t coming back out. “I have to get going, but I’m glad we ran into each other.”
“Same.” Hoseok nodded. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan,” you said before leaving.
Returning to your table, you began packing your things. Sliding your laptop into your bag, you buttoned your coat and grabbed your gloves. Too much had happened in the past hour for you to even consider continuing your screenplay.
Faltering in your movement, you wondered why you hadn’t mentioned that to Hoseok. He’d always used to read your scripts before you went to LA. Even when you worked for PBS, Hoseok was your first sounding board before you hired an editor. Tentatively, you wondered if he’d do that again for you.
There had been many nights in New York when he’d lounge on your couch, listening to you make up stories over copious glasses of wine. Silly stories, where Hoseok was a superhero with the ability to turn water into wine – and only that. Thinking about ways for lame, wine-drinking superhero Hoseok to save the day had been one of your favorite pastimes – one of his, too.
Shaking your head, you put on your hat. It would be weird to ask him to read. The two of you hadn’t spoken in nearly a year. Things would need to be warmer to ask him for a favor and in order for that to happen, you’d need to talk to Hoseok about what had happened.
As you left the shop, you glanced over your shoulder and saw Hoseok scrolling through his phone at the counter. He didn’t seem affected by your conversation, and you wondered if you were the only sentimental one between you.
Sighing lightly, you pulled your bag higher and walked out the door. You didn’t look back, so you didn’t see Hoseok glance up when you left, his gaze lingering.
Outside, you tugged your hat lower as you walked to your car. It had begun snowing while you were inside, forcing you to scrape newly formed ice on your windshield. As you entered the driver’s side, the car came to life and you remembered Hoseok’s comment about bloodshed not matching the wedding colors.
Stifling a snort, you backed out of your spot. It was hard not to slip into the same repertoire you once had. Just being around him made you feel more like yourself, made you remember times when you knew who you were and what you wanted from life. Lately, you’d been feeling so lost.
You could do this, though. You could navigate the holiday season intact and return to LA where you could work on pulling yourself together. You didn’t need to see Hoseok much more before leaving.
There was the neighborhood holiday party, and a few more outings related to Sara’s wedding. Heart sinking, you realized you were forgetting the most important event. Tomorrow was the holiday cookie baking championship – quite possibly the most anticipated event of the season.
Kim Namjoon and his family hosted every year, and things usually got competitive. You would obviously see Hoseok then, since he’d been one of the inaugural participants. This realization made your heart instantly sink.
The neighborhood holiday party was one thing – that party was for grown-ups, kids, and everyone in between. The holiday cookie baking championship was for you and your friend group. Attending with Hoseok would feel like old times, which could only serve to worsen the hurt.
With a sigh, you pulled out of the lot. It wouldn’t do to worry about that now. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Still, you stopped at a grocery store on the way home to pick up some goods. Like hell were you going to be shown up by Hoseok on your own turf.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Seokjin paused, frosting-covered spatula held before him like a microphone. “Friends and family, children of all ages – except that’s a lie. No children should be participating in today’s adults-only activities. They should all be in the basement watching Elf with Namjoon’s grandma. Anyways, NOW!” he said, lifting the spoon overhead. “Now, is the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”
“Is the moment the one where you stop talking?” said Taehyung, lounged by the fireplace.
Jungkook snorted. “Burn.”
“Wrong.” Seokjin leveled the spoon at them both. “Just for that, Taehyung, you only get the brown sprinkles from Halloween. Namjoon!” he cried. “Take note.”
Namjoon looked up, alarmed. “Take note of what?”
“Henceforth, Taehyung only gets the poop-colored sprinkles.”
Jungkook leaned over to Taehyung. “I’ll give you some of mine, bro.”
“Tight,” he said.
They fist-bumped.
Seokjin looked at the ceiling. “Anyways, where was I?”
“You were telling us the moment we’re waiting for,” said Hoseok, hip leaned against the counter. “We’re all waiting with bated breath.”
Namjoon snorted and you laughed, as Seokjin glowered in frustration.
“I expect this from the rest of these hooligans,” he said, shooting you a disappointed look. “But not you, Y/N.”
Weakly, you shrugged.
The annual holiday cookie competition was a longstanding tradition, hosted by the Kim house each year the weekend before Christmas. It had begun when your high school hosted a holiday bake sale and required each student to bring one kind of cookie to sell.
You’d all gathered at Namjoon’s to bake and somehow, this had turned into an annual tradition. Seokjin – who was competitive about the most mundane things – assigned ratings the second year, which led to Hoseok declaring revenge in year three. For two months, he’d practiced making madeleines, but Seokjin stubbornly declared him only second place.
Ever since then, the cookie making had become an out-and-out war. More people joined as word of the event spread. Jungkook and Taehyung became contestants during college, along with Sara. This added unforeseen stress to the proceedings, since neither one of them could bake. Taehyung set his cookies on fire his second year, leading to a famed three-year ban he constantly sought to erase.
Yoongi was the last person from your group to join, but this was just as well, since Yoongi was an actual chef. It was usually down to him and Seokjin to win the grand prize. You’d been the one absent most recently, choosing to stay in LA over the holidays the last year.
Despite this, it was nice to gather in Namjoon’s home again. His mom greeted you with the warmest of hugs, making you feel guilty you hadn’t been around sooner. For two years, you’d been so concentrated on work and your life in LA, you’d barely thought about what you were missing.
Last year when you hadn’t come home for Christmas, you’d made sure to visit at a different point in January. It meant you missed all the holiday traditions though, which were usually when you saw everyone else.
Seeing all your friends in one place sent a surge of warmth through you.
“The moment,” said Seokjin, pausing for emphasis.
“Will you just get on with it?” Yoongi groaned, seated beside Sara at the kitchen table.
“The annual holiday cookie baking championship has begun!” Seokjin cried. “Namjoon, ring the gong.”
Again, Namjoon looked baffled. “What gong?”
A tinny gong noise rang through the room, courtesy of Jungkook holding up his phone.
“Begin!” Seokjin said, brandishing his spoon like a sword.
Everyone began moving, standing from their chairs to fall into line. Namjoon and his mom had carefully pre-packaged cookie-making kits the night prior, although many contestants chose to bring their own tools.
You’d only bought decorative touches, so you joined the line, ending up at the back behind Namjoon’s sister. Pulling out your phone, you checked your email and frowned. Daisy had said she’d send over an offer, but nothing had come through. There still was time, but you’d imagined her to be one of those people who worked at lightning speed.
“Bored already?” said Hoseok, interrupting.
Startled, you glanced up. “What – no!” you said, returning your phone to your pocket. “Just checking my email. Nothing important.”
Hoseok arched a brow, clearly not believing you, but wisely choosing to remain silent as you moved up in line. Seokjin pressed play on his holiday music playlist, filling the kitchen with Mariah Carey’s holiday vocal runs.
“Got anything special planned this year?” Hoseok said, spotting your empty hands.
“Not really,” you said with a frown. “I stopped at the grocery store to get some decorations, but nothing as show-stopping as years past, I’m afraid.”
Hoseok made a tsk-ing noise with his teeth. “Hope you’re ready to lose, then.”
“Hey!” Despite yourself, you laughed. “I’ll have you know my cookies are based on substance, not flash.”
Hoseok shook his head sadly. “Flash is literally a category, though. Remember? Seokjin added it five years ago.”
“Oh, shit. He did, didn’t he?” You paused. “Damn, I guess it’s been a while.”
“I guess so.”
Hoseok fell silent as you took another step forward. Glancing around, you saw people already staking out their claims for baking. Seokjin had snagged the table by the stairs, Taehyung and Jungkook were in the kitchen and Yoongi rolled out utensils under the window. Yoongi never used the pre-made kits, choosing instead to bake from scratch every year.
Collecting your bag, you wound through the kitchen and came to a stop. There were only a few tables left, and only three chairs remaining. While you scanned the room, you saw Jungkook pull out a bag of cookie cutters shaped oddly like –
“Are those penises?” you said as Hoseok came to a stop alongside you.
Hoseok squinted at him with interest. “Huh, yeah. Guess so! Can’t imagine Mrs. Kim will rate those highly for style. Definite risk.”
Namjoon’s mom was one of the judges every year, having been roped in after Seokjin continually declared himself in the top three.
Shaking your head, you entered the living room and realized only one table was left. Hoseok followed suit, seeming to realize this at the same time. Awkwardly, he hovered while you set down your things.
“You can work here if you want,” you said, nodding at the open space.
Hoseok glanced at you in surprise. “Really?”
“Sure. I think we can be civil for an hour of baking cookies, don’t you?”
Hoseok’s lips twitched, setting down his things. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I seem to remember the year you threw a knife at Namjoon when he burnt your cookies.”
“Okay, I didn’t throw the knife. I accidentally dropped it.”
“While?”
“… While I was threatening to castrate him.”
Hoseok cracked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Even you couldn’t help but smile, arranging your supplies in the order you’d need them. In the corner of your eye, you saw Hoseok doing the same and for the first time, took in what he was wearing.
Hoseok was dressed in an emerald sweater and black jeans, along with those same Balenciaga sneakers. A few strands of dark hair hung over his forehead; brow furrowed while he worked on his layout. The sight made your stomach swoop.
Like always, you banished the feelings immediately. Hoseok was good-lucking and the sky was blue – neither one had anything to do with you. Back in high school, there’d been a period when Hoseok’s good looks would have been crippling to you. Hoseok had gone through puberty seemingly overnight. One day, he’d been your nerdy best friend and the next day, girls whispered about him whenever he walked past in the halls.
Jung Hoseok, with the infectious laugh. Jung Hoseok, with the devastatingly sharp profile. Jung Hoseok, who could effortlessly make someone feel special. Freshman year of high school, you’d had glasses, braces, and terrible acne while Hoseok had been the golden boy. It had been unthinkable for him to look at you like that, so in self-preservation, you’d learned to tune the emotion out.
Once you began dating Ren, you got over your crush on Hoseok. That was when you realized falling for someone else was only antidote in existence for your best friend. Hoseok was too charming for his own good – he caught people in his web without having to try. He could never know you’d once been in love with him. Honestly, you would never live such a thing down.
You’d tried distancing yourself from Hoseok even before Ren, but it hadn’t really worked – not even when Hoseok began dating Fiona. Fiona had been nice, or so you thought before she became jealous of your and Hoseok’s friendship and demanded he stop hanging out with you. Hoseok didn’t follow her instructions exactly, but your friendship definitely took a blow.
When you went to college and met Ren, you only drifted further until Hoseok broke up with Fiona due to long distance.
When you began to date Darren, things had felt safe but now you were single and all those same, unwanted feelings came rushing back. Hating how easily Hoseok did this to you, you fixed your gaze on the table and tried to trap the emotions.
It was hard not to notice how good Hoseok looked. He’d changed since you’d last seen him. Jaw sharper, shoulders broader, he filled out the sweater better than before. The slope of his nose remained unchanged, though – this had always been your favorite thing about him. Hoseok’s profile could bring people to their knees.
Of course, the idea of Hoseok on his knees made your face heat, so you hastily began measuring out the ingredients. Carefully reading the instructions, you dutifully followed the steps Mrs. Kim had laid out. You knew Mrs. Kim had been the one to write them, since Namjoon also couldn’t bake for shit.
“So,” you said, scooping flour into a bowl. “How’s the research going?”
Hoseok glanced your way. “I – uh, really good. I like it.”
“Always knew you’d save the world,” you said, echoing Lana’s statement.
Hoseok gave a small laugh. “Nice of you to have such faith. The world’s a pretty fucked up place.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Hoseok fell silent, measuring and mixing ingredients before him. Silence fell between you – a more comfortable kind than before and for a moment, it felt like old times again. Hoseok beside you, your friends laughing in the next room and Christmas cookies on the table.
After a few minutes, he looked up.
“Y/N,” Hoseok said. “Can I ask what really happened with –”
“Y/N,” Sara gasped, appearing at your elbow. “You have to come quick. Seokjin stole Jungkook’s penis cookie cutters and it’s about to be world war three in the kitchen!”
“Oh my god,” you groaned, but laughed, nonetheless.
Glancing apologetically at Hoseok, you brushed off your hands and hurried after Sara. Inside the kitchen, Seokjin held Jungkook’s penis-shaped cookie cutters above his head in the air. Jungkook didn’t seem pleased in the slightest, rolling up his sleeves in a menacing matter. You’d seen them play-fight enough times to know the situation would end with something probably broken.
“Whoa – hey,” you blurted, stepping between them. “What’s going on?”
“Seokjin stole my things.” Jungkook pouted, crossing his arms.
Your head swiveled to Seokjin. “Care to comment?”
Seokjin sighed. “This is a holiday cookie baking competition,” he said. “Penises aren’t holiday inspired.”
“Not true!” Jungkook cried. “I was going to decorate them in red and white stripes, like candy canes. Holiday dick is a thing.”
“He’s right,” agreed Sara. “It’s a thing.”
Despite yourself, your lips twitched. Seokjin seemed like he was seconds away from losing his shit though, so you shot Sara a look which said be quiet. Yoongi was laughing his head off somewhere in the back, utterly unhelpful.
“Since this is Namjoon’s house,” you said. “We should let him decide. Namjoon?”
Namjoon pretended to think. Shoving glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, he left a streak of flour behind.
“Hm,” he said thoughtfully. “As much as I’m inclined to agree with Jungkook – holiday dick is, indeed, a thing – my mom’s one of the judges. It’s a no-go.”
Jungkook groaned as Seokjin fist-pumped the air.
“Fine, fine.” Jungkook snatched the bag of cookie cutters from Seokjin. “I’ll make them normal – and boring. Far be it from me to ruin the holiday spirit!”
One crisis down, you relaxed and glanced at Sara’s cookies. They looked like unappetizing blobs, but Sara had a knack for making them taste good. Yoongi’s would be both, of course – beautiful in appearance and delicious to eat.
As you surveyed the kitchen, you felt that same sense of rightness within you. It had been too long since you’d last seen your friends. The aching loneliness you got in LA didn’t exist here. Dimly, you thought it’d be nice to somehow combine the two.
It was mostly your fault things were this way. Once you fought with Hoseok, your friend group had been forced to make separate group chats. People always forgot to give updates in both, so it usually ended up being a mishmash of miscommunication.
Without meaning to, you’d slowly drifted from your favorite people in the world. Out of sight, out of mind, as they said. Being home made you realize how much you’d missed them. It was easier to convince yourself you were fine when you lived in LA, surrounded by LA people, places and things.
The sound of your phone interrupted your train of thought. Pulling it from your pocket, you recognized an LA number and started.
“Excuse me,” you said, squeezing past Sara. “I have to take this.”
Heading out the side door and onto Namjoon’s patio, you exited the kitchen. It was cold outside and you shivered, but you didn’t expect to be out here for long. Breath frosting before you, you answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Y/N! Darling!”
Daisy spoke in the same, too-bright falsetto which made you wince. “Hi – Daisy!” you said, attempting to smile. “So good to hear from you again.”
“Yes, of course – listen, Y/N, I’ll get right down to it.” Someone laughed in the background, and you wondered where Daisy was. “I wanted to tell you we’ve decided to go in a different direction.”
The air seemed to constrict and the holiday music, which had once seemed so cheerful, felt suddenly mocking. Staring straight ahead, you felt your grip tighten on your phone.
“I – what?” you breathed.
“Your interview was great, and we loved you, but we’ve decided to hire someone else.”
“I…” Trailing off, you shook your head. “You said I had the job, though?”
“Things change, darling. You know the industry.”
“But… we only spoke yesterday!”
“Yes, and things have changed since then. We had the most unbelievable interview this morning – you won’t believe their date ideas. So creative. Shocking!”
Something sallow and bitter curdled in your stomach. “Shocking, for a dating show?” you heard yourself say. “What could possibly be creative about that?”
“Ouch.” Daisy laughed. “Don’t be bitter because someone else’s ideas were better than yours. Well, I must get going. Wrap party, you know! Just wanted to call, so you knew not to wait for the email. Toodles!”
She hung up, leaving you alone on the patio.
Numbly, you lowered your arm to your side. It was still cold, and you knew you should head in but somehow couldn’t bring yourself to move. Staring at the darkness of Namjoon’s backyard, you fought back the rising tide of panic.
This had to be it – a new lowest of the low. A job you hadn’t even wanted but had decided to take because you needed money was reneging their offer.
Fingers trembling, you shoved both hands in your pockets and tried not to cry. Already, you felt the tears threatening to spill on your cheeks.
Everything had been so shitty lately. You’d barely been able to mourn your dream job before Darren had cheated. Just like that, your entire support system in LA had crumbled and you’d been left alone.
Eyes closed, you forced yourself to exhale. Maybe if you’d listened to Hoseok you wouldn’t be in this situation. He’d tried to warn you about Darren, and you’d pushed him aside. You hadn’t wanted to believe him – hadn’t wanted to bring that lie crashing down yet.
Darren had fit in with the life you’d envisioned for yourself. He’d fit with the new version of you, the version who wasn’t in love with her best friend and who hadn’t fled halfway across the country because she was escaping said feelings.
If you were being honest, your crush on Hoseok hadn’t ended in high school.
It returned after college, reemerging with a vengeance during the time you lived in New York. Hoseok and you were both single, the first time this had happened since high school. You’d fallen for him all over again – feelings he didn’t reciprocate, which partially led to your decision to move.
It wasn’t as though Darren had been the perfect boyfriend. You weren’t mourning him as the love of your life, or anything like that.
There had been times during your year and a half together when you weren’t happy at all. Darren had drunk a lot, oftentimes to excess and had often collapsed on the couch rather than make it to your bed. He was sweet when he wanted to be, but cruelly honest at other times.
In fact, when you first discovered he’d cheated, your immediate response had been shock, rather than hurt. The public manner of his split had been the worst part, not the actual cheating itself. You’d barely thought about Darren since you two had ended things, which seemed to beg the question of whether you’d loved him at all.
Shaken by the thought, you hugged yourself tighter and felt your lip start to tremble. Everyone inside seemed to have their shit together. They had friends, families and jobs they enjoyed. You’d given up the first two in order to have the last and now, you had nothing.
Without meaning to, a tear fell to your cheek.
At that moment, someone pulled open the sliding door to the patio. Frantically wiping the tear, you turned your head and saw Hoseok.
Hoseok froze, uncertain, the holiday music louder behind him.
“Hey,” you said, swallowing thickly. “I – what’s up?”
His gaze roamed your face. “Nothing,” he said at last. “I just hadn’t seen you in a while. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He was being nice, you thought, stomach plummeting. Nicer than you deserved, so you turned around and resumed looking at the forest. It was pitch black beyond the tree line, which seemed fitting for your current mentality.
“Oh,” you said dully. “That’s nice of you.”
Hoseok paused. “You’re not okay, are you?”
Weakly, you snorted. “What gave you that idea?”
Not choosing to respond to this, Hoseok stepped outside and shut the door. The glass muffled the music, making it seem as though you were in your own world. As Hoseok walked closer, the crunch of snow beneath his sneakers grew louder.
Hoseok came to a stop. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not.”
He released a low laugh. “Come on, Y/N. I’ve known you since we were five. I think I know when you’re pretending not to cry.”
“Don’t do that,” you muttered, still facing the yard.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t pretend we’re friends again, all of a sudden.”
Hoseok was quiet for a moment. “I’m not,” he said. “I just… I can’t pretend not to know you, okay? I know we fought and haven’t talked in a while, but I can’t let you cry out here alone. I’m not an asshole, Y/N, no matter how much you want me to be.”
Of course, he wasn’t. You’d never thought he was but weren’t sure Hoseok would believe you if you said that. Hoseok was the most caring, selfless person you knew. He’d be standing out here even if you were his most bitter enemy, let alone someone he cared about.
Slowly, you turned. “Things aren’t… going as well as I let on.”
“No?”
“No. You know Darren broke up with me, right?”
Hoseok’s lips thinned in the darkness. “I saw the headlines, yeah.”
Closing your eyes, you sighed. “Did you hear what I said, though? Darren broke up with me. I didn’t even notice he… well.” You paused. “You warned me about him, I guess. And I did nothing about it. Who knows how much longer I would’ve stayed if he hadn’t done what he did.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing it happened, then.”
You opened your eyes to stare at the woods. “I think I loved him, at some point. I guess it didn’t matter in the end.”
“It mattered,” Hoseok said.
“Did it, though? I loved him, and he broke up with me. I gave up so much for him,” you said, gaze narrowing. “Coming here has made me realize how much, I guess. I tried so hard to fit in with his idea of the perfect girlfriend and now, I just feel… kind of stupid.”
“You’re definitely not stupid, Y/N.”
“No?” You glanced at him blankly. “You saw through him right away. Must’ve been nice to find out you were right, after all.”
Hoseok’s face tightened. “I would never be happy to hear that,” he said quietly. “I hoped I was wrong, Y/N. Of course, I did. I never wanted you to get hurt.”
“Then why’d you hurt me?” you said, turning to face him fully.
Hoseok’s eyes widened, wind whipping his hair.
“Why’d you hurt me?” you said, still holding back tears. “Why’d you cut me out of your life? Do you have any idea how much that hurt, Hobi?”
“I…” Hoseok faltered. “I didn’t… realize you felt that way.”
“Didn’t realize?” you whispered. “Hoseok, you were my best friend.”
Something unreadable crossed his expression, gone before it could fully be formed. Hoseok turned to look at the forest.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” you exhaled, breath frosting again. “Well.”
Hoseok was silent for a moment, staring at the tree line and then he glanced sideways. “Who was the phone call?”
Surprised, you looked over. “What?”
“The phone call,” he said, glancing at your hand. “Who called and upset you? You seemed fine inside, making cookies.”
You knew he was changing the subject, but you let him. Talking about the past seemed too real to face right now.
“Oh,” you said. “Well. The job hunt isn’t going as well as I said. I wrote a screenplay, but no one is interested. I also applied to a bunch of random shows, but nothing’s panned out. Oh – except,” you said bitterly. “Yesterday, I got an offer to write for this reality dating TV show.”
“You?” Hoseok arched a brow. “The professed self-hater of reality TV?”
“I guess that came out in my interview, since they retracted the offer. That was them calling to tell me.”
“Well, they’re idiots, then.”
“Or maybe they realized I’m a sinking ship and they should probably jump before my bad luck spreads to them.”
“Y/N,” he chastised.
“I know,” you sighed, some of the fight draining from you. “I guess it’s a good thing. I didn’t want that job anyways. But it’s just… it was my last option, you know? That was it, that was the bottom of the barrel and I couldn’t even get that. How pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic,” he insisted.
“No? Because I feel pretty pathetic right now.”
Hoseok was quiet a moment. He shifted his weight and then, out of nowhere he said, “I puked on my first day of student teaching.”
Your head whipped to him in surprise. “You – what?”
“I puked.” Hoseok nodded. “I was so nervous I’d say the wrong thing, I ran to the bathroom and hurled my guts out. I’ve never gotten stage fright, but something about teaching brought that out in me. I don’t know if that’s what I want to do with my doctorate.”
“I…” You stared at him wonderingly. “Why are you telling me this?”
Hoseok half-smiled. “You can want something a long time, and not have it end up being what you thought. It’s not a bad thing to change direction, Y/N.”
“That’s… true.”
“I’m not saying to stop applying,” he warned. “I think you should because you’re ridiculously talented and those west coast assholes are lucky to have you. Just… maybe apply to something different.”
“What do you think I should do, then?”
You waited, truly wanting to know his opinion. Hoseok had always been the one person who could make sense of your spirals. Something about him made you automatically respond.
Hoseok shrugged, the light from inside playing over his features.
“You said you wrote a screenplay?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.” He paused. “You should send it to me.”
Both your eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, a hint of a smile to his lips. “I mean, I used to read your stuff before, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Then it’s settled.” Hoseok nodded. “You’ll send me your screenplay and I’ll let you know what I think. Okay?”
“Alright,” you said slowly. “Maybe I will.”
Before he could respond, the sliding door opened again.
“There you are! They’re out here, guys!” Jungkook yelled, turning over his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?” he said, returning to you. “It’s cold as balls out.”
Leaving the screen door wide open, he retreated to the kitchen. The holiday music was louder now, but slightly less mocking than before. When Hoseok met your gaze, you could tell he was fighting a smile.
“Want to head back in?” he said.
“Yeah,” you said, brushing him as you breezed past. “I heard it’s cold as balls out.”
Hoseok laughed as he followed, and you felt the smallest weight lift from your chest. You still didn’t feel like you had all the answers, but at least Hoseok didn’t seem like he hated you anymore. That was a step forward if nothing else.
As you entered the kitchen, some of your earlier despair seemed to lessen. Hoseok crossed the kitchen to Yoongi, grinning at something he said, and you felt another strange wave of sadness.
Just being with him made you feel better. Even with hard conversations, even with Hoseok telling honest truths, you never got the feeling he wanted to hurt you. It made you long for how things were before and not for the first time, you knew you’d made the wrong decision last year.
Choosing Daren over Hoseok had been the worst mistake of your life. Not because Darren had cheated or because things between you had ended, but because Hoseok meant more to you than anyone ever had in your life.
Maybe ever would.
The next morning you were awakened by a pillow thrown at your face.
“Get up loser,” Sara said from above. “We’re going shopping.”
Groaning at the bad Mean Girls reference, you rolled over. Sara laughed, throwing another pillow which lamely hit your back.
“Seriously,” she whined. “It’s ten in the morning and the cake tasting is at eleven. Unless you don’t want to come anymore…?”
Remembering today’s plans, you bolted upright in bed. Today was the one wedding planning event you really did want to attend – today, Sara was going to taste the cakes.
“No!” you blurted, throwing your covers aside. “I’m in! Just give me ten minutes!”
Sara laughed, retreating and closing the door to your room. Hurrying into your bathroom, you brushed your teeth, washed your face and made yourself presentable. As you entered the kitchen for breakfast, you found everyone seated around the table.
“Y/N!” Your dad grinned at the stove. “I’m making omelets again. Do you want one?”
Warily, you glanced at Sara, who nodded.
“Yep,” you said, heading for the coffee pot. “Sounds like a plan.”
Pouring yourself coffee, you inhaled the steam. Your dad’s omelets were always a risk because he tended to throw whatever he’d made for dinner the night before into the eggs. Sometimes this resulted in momentary brilliance – his crab cake and blue cheese omelet was a thing of legend. Sometimes though, things fell flat. The spaghetti omelet came to mind.
Once you were seated, your mom began to go over the plans for today. She wouldn’t be able to join the cake tasting but would meet you later at the invitation store.
Before long, you were being shoved out the door since Sara was suddenly concerned about Sunday morning traffic. You didn’t bother to point out Josen Falls didn’t have Sunday morning traffic. By now, you recognized signs of your sister’s stress enough to know when to be quiet.
As you entered the cake shop, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Ignoring this, you hurried inside and began to unwarp your scarf. Chimes jingled above the entrance, causing Paul to pop out of the back room.
Paul had owned the shop for what seemed like forever, ever since his dad had passed and he’d taken it over. His cakes were a thing of legend up and down the east coast.
“Sara!” He beamed. “And Y/N! What a surprise! Are you two ready for cake?”
“Hell yes,” Sara said, undoing her coat. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, Paul. Honestly, this is the main reason I’m getting married.”
Paul laughed, retreating behind the counter. “I won’t waste your time with pleasantries, then,” he said. “Let’s get right into it.”
Sara settled on a stool, patting the one beside her for you to follow suit. As you did, you remembered the buzz in your pocket and pulled out your phone. There was a notification on Instagram, which made you frown. Maybe Lord of the Rings airport guy had found you.
Opening the app, you saw the username and froze.
DarrenToLive had sent you a message. Reading his name, you felt the world tilt. It had been months since you’d last seen Darren in your inbox. You’d tentatively unblocked him on Twitter at the start of November and then, when nothing happened, unblocked him on everything else. It seemed Darren had realized this now.
As though your hand had a mind of its own, you clicked read.
DarrenToLive: hey, y/n… I saw on your story you went home for the holidays. How are things going?
Immediately, your gaze narrowed. The message blurred, a million thoughts racing through your mind. Darren had some nerve to reach out to you over Christmas – and while he had a girlfriend, no less. Because when you went to his profile and clicked on the first photo, it had been taken by Jessica Avec. Your jaw clenched.
Fingers hovering over the message, you debated whether to delete, block or cuss him out, but then Paul emerged from the back room holding a tray of cake.
“Alright!” Paul set the tray down. “We’ve got a lot to taste here.”
Slowly, you slid your phone back in your pocket. You could deal with Darren later, you decided. He was unworthy of your attention at the moment. Folding both hands on the table, you tried not to salivate at the treats before you.
“I went through your list, Sara,” he said with a nod. “And I think we’ve got some good options here. First up is almond cake, vanilla bean frosting and fresh raspberries. Second is chocolate fudge cake, chocolate crème brulee and salted caramel sauce. Next is pink berry cake, dark chocolate mousse and berry preserves. Last, a hazelnut cake with milk chocolate mousse and bittersweet ganache.”
“Oh,” said you and Sara in unison.
Paul laughed at your faces. “And of course, champagne,” he said, placing two glasses before you. “I won’t hover and make things weird, so feel free to taste and I’ll be back in a half hour. Keep in mind we have plenty of other cakes, too! This is your day!”
Sara stared at the tray, her eyes shining as Paul left.
“It’s just so beautiful,” she said, sounding a little choked up.
You laughed, placing a fork in her empty hand. “What are you waiting for? Dig in!”
Sara obeyed, pulling the plate towards her, and taking a large bite.
“Oh my god,” you moaned. “This is heaven.”
“It really is,” she happily agreed, hazelnut crumbs on her lips.
Reaching out, Sara took a sip of champagne and dug feverishly into the pink berry cake. You continued this way for a while, switching between cake and champagne until there were only crumbs left.
Leaning back, you surveyed the wreckage. “So?” you said, turning to Sara. “Which one is it?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “They’re all delicious. If I pick one, the rest will feel left out.”
“They’re cakes, Sara. They don’t have feelings.”
“Spoken like an emotionless rock.”
“Hey!” you said, swatting her forearm. “I have emotions, I’ll have you know. I was devastated I didn’t win the holiday cookie competition yesterday.”
Sara laughed. “Oh, please. You weren’t even listening by then. No one was except for Seokjin and Yoongi.”
“Well, that’s because they’re the only two real competitors every year.”
“Not true! There was that year Hoseok decided to take things seriously,” Sara said. “He almost won.”
“Wasn’t that the year Yoongi made pizzelles?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so Hobi had no chance.”
Sara laughed again. “Alright, fair. Yoongi can’t help being blessed with so many skills.”
You mimed retching.
“Honestly! He’s good-looking, smart, clean, knows his way around the kitchen. Knows his way around other things, too.”
“Sara!” you yelped, shoving her shoulder. “I don’t want to hear about my little sister’s sex life, thanks.”
Giving you a devious grin, Sara returned to the cake. Taking another bite, she chewed thoughtfully around a mouthful of frosting.
“Did I see correctly last night, though?” she said, sounding curious. “Were you actually talking to Hoseok again?”
“I… not really, no.”
Sara gave you a look. “So, your mouth was just moving, and nothing was coming out?”
“We’ve decided to be cordial.” Blithely, you took a sip of champagne. “You know, for the sake of your wedding.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“It’s true!” you said. “I’m your maid of honor and Hoseok’s Yoongi’s best man. It would be weird if we just refused to talk.”
“I guess,” Sara said slowly. She sighed. “What happened there, anyways?”
“It’s… a long story.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it is,” you said, staring at your plate. “I don’t know. It was a lot of things, I guess. We’d started growing apart when I moved to LA. And then I began dating Darren… you know none of my boyfriends have ever liked how close I am to Hobi.”
“Well, that’s because all your past boyfriends were trash, Y/N.”
“They haven’t been – alright, fine,” you admitted. “They were trash. Anyways, Hoseok came to LA when I had just moved in with Darren and I, um… I hadn’t exactly told Hobi yet.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”
“It had just happened!” you protested. “My roommates were shit, Hoseok knew that. When Darren suggested I move in with him, it just made sense.”
“So, why didn’t you tell Hobi?”
Falling silent, you stared into your glass of champagne. In all honesty, you had no answer to that. It’d always been hard to talk about your relationships with Hoseok. Maybe some messed up part of yourself still hoped he had feelings for you. Maybe the same, messed up part didn’t like the idea of Hoseok knowing you were really taken.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Every time I thought about telling him, I just couldn’t. I knew Hoseok wouldn’t like it.”
Sara nodded, picking at the crumbs on her plate. She so clearly wanted to say something, it almost made you laugh. Say what you wanted about your sister – she wasn’t subtle.
“What?” you said, arching a brow. “What is it you want to say?”
Sara hid a smile. “You know me too well. All I was thinking was…” Trailing off, she shook her head. “Maybe there’s a reason Hoseok’s never liked any of your exes.”
“Because they were assholes?”
“No – well, yeah,” Sara conceded. “But also, I don’t know. We always kind of thought you two would end up together.”
You froze.
“We?” you managed to squeak out. “Who’s we?”
“You know.” Sara waved a hand. “Me, Yoongi, Namjoon. A bunch of us actually. We always thought you were perfect together.”
“Me and… Hoseok.”
“Don’t play dumb,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You spent so much time together growing up! You were always holed up in your room, always inseparable at parties. It just seemed natural you’d start dating.”
“We were just friends, Sara.”
“Yeah. I guess I see that now.”
Returning to your plate, you pushed the cake around. Other people thinking you’d end up with Hoseok was news to you. You wondered if they saw something you didn’t. Even if they did though, they’d been proven wrong time and time again.
Hoseok had never felt that way about you, despite your on and off feelings for him over the years.
“Hoseok thought Darren was cheating on me,” you said quietly.
Sara looked up. “Oh, Y/N.”
“Yeah,” you exhaled, pushing your plate away. “That’s what led to our big fight. Things already weren’t great between us and when Hoseok visited, he suspected Darren of cheating. I took Darren’s side and Hoseok left the next day.”
“Y/N,” Sara said softly.
“I just… Hoseok was right, in the end.” Looking down, you swallowed. “Maybe he was back then, too. I should’ve listened to him, but I didn’t. And now I don’t know how to apologize. It’s been so long.”
“It has been a long time.”
“Too long,” you said, looking up. “How can I even start?”
Sara hesitated. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t apologize to him, Y/N – but isn’t there blame on his end, too? Sure, you fought, but he could’ve reached out as easily as you.”
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe,” said Sara, scooping up the last bite of cake. “Definitely. Look, you don’t need to be friends with Hoseok again. That’s not what I’m trying to say. It just… it was nice seeing you together again. That’s all.”
“Yeah,” you mumbled.
“But look at me.” Sara straightened. “Going on about Hoseok when we have much more important things to discuss. Namely, are there any other cakes to try?”
“Paul did say he had more flavors in the back.”
“I feel like it would be a disservice to this establishment and to ourselves if we didn’t take full advantage of that offer. Paul!” she called, leaning over the counter. “You said something about other cakes?”
Paul laughed, disappearing to grab the next tray. Although you appreciated the change of subject, Sara’s words continued to run through your mind.
The idea of all your friends thinking you and Hoseok would be together was more shocking than it probably should’ve been. You couldn’t help but mull over this for the rest of the day, in the car ride home and throughout dinner that night.
Later, when you sat at your computer and stared at the screen, you made a sudden decision. Opening your email, you typed Hoseok’s name and sent him your screenplay. Pressing send, you shut the laptop and slid into bed.
It took you a while to fall asleep, staring at the little dipper above you.
Wedding planning was put on hold the next day, everyone’s attention shifting towards the holidays. With only two days left until Christmas Eve, it was time for the annual neighborhood holiday party.
The neighborhood holiday party had been a tradition ever since you were little – even before the holiday cookie competition caught on. It was formal attire, hosted by a different family in the neighborhood every year. This year the Jeons were the hosts, which was a good thing because they only lived a few blocks away.
On the drive over, you stared out the window and tried to silence the butterflies in your stomach. Seated in the middle seat, you felt like a high schooler again. It certainly didn’t help that, once again, you found your thoughts entirely consumed by Hoseok. Just like in high school.
You couldn’t stop thinking about what Sara had said, how everyone in your friend group thought you’d get together. Truthfully, you’d thought the same many times prior, but nothing had ever come to fruition. Sometimes it had been because of him – and sometimes because of you.
The last time had been because of you.
Before you left New York for LA, there had been a moment between you and Hoseok you’d done your best to forget. You’d been close at the time, always at one or the other’s apartments in between classes or work. Your job back then had been terrible, even worse than the PBS one after.
When you texted Hoseok on Friday you needed to work Sunday, he’d showed up at your door holding red wine and take-out. You spent yet another evening watching dumb movies and drinking, but this one had ended differently than the rest.
As the credits rolled on the movie and you finished your last glass of wine, you’d sighed and rolled over on top of the couch. Hoseok had been seated on the floor, legs splayed and leaning against the cushions.
When he turned to face you, he was mere inches away. You remember the muted light from the TV playing over his features, making your heart skip for a second.
The movie had been tense, which had caused Hoseok to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. As a result, the strands stuck up every which way, making you smile.
Hoseok had smiled in return. “What?” he’d said, a bit lower than usual.
“Nothing,” you’d laughed, making his smile widen.
“Seriously, what?”
“Nothing!”
Reaching out, you’d tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Hoseok went still, staring at your hand resting near his cheek. You’d moved to retract this, but Hoseok had reached up and caught your hand in his.
You could still remember that feeling. That dizzy, pulse-pounding feeling of his hand in yours. You’d felt it at various points in your friendship, but never so clearly as lying on the couch, inches away from his lips with your hand in his.
Hoseok’s thumb lazily brushed your wrist, causing a warm jolt of pleasure to shoot to your core. His lips parted, as though to speak – and your phone had rung in your pocket.
Scrambling upright, the moment broke when you answered the call. Hoseok fell back, looking stunned and he made an excuse to leave after that. You hadn’t discussed it the next day and it wasn’t long after you announced your move to LA.
The two events weren’t necessarily connected – or maybe they were.
Now, even you were beginning to have doubts. After that night, you’d realized you were developing feelings for Hoseok again. Maybe a tiny part of you thought that by moving away you’d force yourself to move on.
As you approached the Jeon’s, you found those same butterflies emerging. You and Hoseok had never talked about that night. Maybe there had been something there, something he’d felt, and your act of self-preservation had simply been running away.
“Y/N,” your mom said, returning you to the present.
Startled, you looked up. “Yeah?”
She smiled in the rearview mirror. “We were just saying your Aunt called the other day to say she’d started watching The Drop. She loves it! Can’t wait for season three.”
“Oh,” you said, sinking lower. “That’s great.”
“I’ll admit,” your dad laughed. “We were kind of nervous when you said you were quitting your job to move to LA and start writing, but you’ve really made a name for yourself, Lucy. We couldn’t be prouder of you.”
“Oh… good. Thanks, dad.”
“It’s nothing short of incredible!” added your mom.
You nodded, unable to respond as you looked out the window. Saying they’d been nervous was a bit of an understatement. Your parents had tried their best to dissuade you from moving to LA. They had meant well, but to your parents, the best career path was a stable one. Dreams were nice, but they mostly belonged between the pillow and sheets.
Just once, you wished your parents would say they were proud of you without needing an accomplishment attached. Of course, it was great to be successful and make money, but it was hard when it often felt like those were the only things valued by your family.
As your parents parked, you exhaled and unbuckled your seatbelt. Narrowly avoiding stepping in a snowbank, you followed your parents up the sidewalk and into the Jeon house. Their front door was open, holiday music spilling into the night.
Steeping inside, you unbuttoned your coat and glanced around. Jungkook’s parents were well-off, which showed in his mom’s Christmas decorations. Garland twined up every bannister, and you spotted no less than three Christmas trees from your place near the front door.
Hanging your coat up in their closet, you fought back a shiver as you turned around. You may have gone a bit overboard on the dress code, but it had been a long time since you’d wanted to look nice. For the two months following your break-up, you’d mostly wallowed and slept in your sweatpants.
In November, you’d started dating again, but it had only ended in disaster. One guy, after you had successfully dodged a goodbye kiss in his car, had the audacity to text you saying you’d left something. After you’d searched your things in a panic, thinking you’d dropped something in his car, he finally texted back ‘a kiss from me.’
You stopped going on blind dates after that. All this to say tonight was your first night dressing up in a while and you were determined to make it count. And if a certain someone happened to eat their heart? That would only be a benefit.
Smoothing the red velvet of your dress down, you glanced up and spotted Hoseok.
He stood in the kitchen, back to you, but you’d know his profile anywhere. He wore a purple suit which on anyone else would look tacky, but on him looked effortless. Trust Hoseok to show up in a jewel-toned suit and completely steal the night. When he turned, you saw his hair had been styled so that only a few pieces fell over his forehead.
When he saw you, he froze. The bowl of limes in his hands went forgotten as Hoseok’s gaze slowly traveled your frame. Each place he lingered caught fire, leaving embers in his wake when he finally met your gaze.
Before you could speak, the door opened again, and a cold breeze blew in. You shivered, jumping forward and the moment was broken.
Namjoon looked up while undoing his scarf. His jaw dropped. “Y/N!” he said with a whistle. “You look ridiculously good tonight.”
“Just tonight?” you joked, squeezing Namjoon around the waist when he hugged you.
By the time you turned around to face Hoseok, he was already gone.
“And all other nights,” said Namjoon, wrestling free from his coat. “But especially this one. You look like you’re here to break hearts, which doesn’t seem like the best use of Christmas spirit.”
“No?” you said, linking arms to travel into the kitchen. “Pity.”
As you entered, you realized with some disappointment Hoseok had left for the next room. The look on his face had reminded you of senior Prom, when you’d exited the limo and Hoseok had stammered something about how you looked like an angel. You’d brushed it aside but secretly, had daydreamed about it for months.
Jungkook’s mom stood near the stove, removing a tray of appetizers. She waved with her oven mitt, which you returned with a smile. Namjoon didn’t allow you to linger though, pulling you into the family room.
“We’re here!” he called.
This seemed to be the room people your age had claimed. Your parents disappeared into the dining room, all kids went to the basement and you landed in the family room with other quasi-adults.
“Y/N!” Sara called, already perched on Yoongi’s lap.
“How did you get there so fast?” you wondered aloud – only to choke, realizing Yoongi had worn a red suit and Santa hat.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” said Seokjin, appearing alongside you. “Since only one person is allowed to sit on Santa’s lap.”
Laughing, you shook your head as you turned. “It’s something I would’ve expected from you, honestly,” you said.
“It crossed my mind,” Seokjin admitted. “But then Yoongi and I did rock, paper scissors and I lost.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
Seokjin walked with you across the room to stand before Jungkook’s makeshift bar. Jungkook wore a holiday sweater which consisted of a t-rex chasing two gingerbread men across the front.
Only one other person stood before you in line. When Seokjin saw Mrs. Haberdash, he grinned and pulled you into his side.
“Stop trying to sext me!” he said loudly, ensuring she heard. “I don’t need this right now!”
Mrs. Haberdash turned around and froze, then mumbled something about being needed in the next room before she scurried off. Rolling your eyes, you took a step forward.
“I don’t think that was necessary,” you said to Seokjin, although you were laughing. “She hasn’t said anything since the party about my being single.”
“Oh, well.” He shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Drink order?” said Jungkook, shaking a cocktail shaker in each hand. “We’ve got everything! Gingerbread mules, candy cane cosmos, rum punch... you name it, I’ll make it.”
“I didn’t know you could bartend,” you commented, spotting the bowl of limes Hoseok had carried behind the table.
“I can’t.” Jungkook shrugged. “My motto is – the drunker you are, the less you’ll care about how the drink tastes.”
You stared at him a moment. “Yeah, I’ll have wine.”
Namjoon laughed, waiting while Jungkook poured you a glass. It didn’t take long for the rest of your friend group to arrive. Taking a seat on the couch beside Seokjin, you entertained a conversation about whether The Witcher TV series was great cinematography or merely a guilty pleasure.
Around your second glass of wine, Taehyung bounded in from the kitchen to announce a holiday drinking game. Turning on the Hallmark Channel, he taped a large poster board to the wall – “When did you make that?” said Hoseok, appalled – and began to explain the rules.
“Rule number one!” Taehyung tapped the board. “If a character’s name is related to Christmas, you drink. I’m talking Noelle, I’m talking Holly, I’m talking Kris, Tinsel – yes, there was once a character named Tinsel. If any of those names appear, you drink. Rule number two! You spot mistletoe, you drink.”
Jungkook groaned, settling cross-legged on the floor. “We’re all going to be wasted.”
“Yes,” Taehyung agreed.
“Hopefully, it makes your drinks taste better,” said Seokjin from the couch.
Jungkook held up his middle finger.
“Jungkook!” scolded his mom, walking past the door.
Embarrassed, Jungkook put his finger back down. His ears turned bright red, much to the laughter of everyone else in the room.
“Right, anyways,” Taehyung said. “Here’s a new rule that I just made up on the spot – whoever isn’t paying attention to the movie and is the last person to drink has to take two sips.”
Laughter ensued, but once the movie began, you realized Taehyung had been serious. He and Jungkook dubbed themselves the Christmas Patrol and traveled around the room to ensure the rules were being followed.
This resulted in Seokjin tackling Jungkook midway through the movie, insisting he had not been the last person to drink when a magical deal was struck with an angel. They nearly knocked over your glass of wine and so, extricating yourself from the sofa, you told Namjoon you needed to use the bathroom.
Hoseok had stayed away ever since your arrival. He’d barely said anything besides a brief wave and hello. You wanted to ask him if he’d gotten your screenplay but didn’t want to pry. If Hoseok had read it, he would’ve told you already. Likely, he was busy with other holiday things.
As you entered the kitchen, you paused at the window. Thinking about your screenplay made you think of the other night, when Hoseok had checked on you at Namjoon’s and you’d completely broken down. He had just been trying to be nice and you’d completely embarrassed yourself, going on about Darren and how difficult work was.
You needed to remind yourself you weren’t friends anymore. Hoseok couldn’t be there for you the same way he used to be, and you shouldn’t expect that. Releasing a breath, you set your wine glass on the counter.
“Y/N?”
Whirling, you found Hoseok on the threshold. He’d wandered into the kitchen, a stack of dirty plates in one hand.
“Oh – hey, Hoseok,” you said.
He nodded, walking past to set the dishes down in the sink. Turning around, Hoseok wiped his hands on a tea towel. He glanced at the wine glass you’d set on the counter.
“Didn’t want to chance one of Jeon’s holiday drinks?”
You managed a smile. “Didn’t want to risk it.”
Hoseok nodded, silence falling between you, but he still didn’t leave. Glancing past him, you wondered if you’d ever get over this terrible awkwardness. There were so many things you wanted to say but didn’t think were appropriate.
You needed to be careful because it would be too easy to fall back in love with him. Once those floodgates were opened, you weren’t sure how to close them. It was easier to linger in this half-state, where you weren’t really friends, but Hoseok didn’t hate you, either.
“I read your screenplay,” Hoseok said.
Startled, your gaze moved to his. “All of it?”
“Well, you only sent me the first episode,” Hoseok said with a smile. “But yeah, all of it.”
“And? What did you think?”
Hoseok paused.
“Oh, no,” you groaned, leaning against the counter.
You’d known Hoseok long enough to know his pauses were never good. Hoseok was a careful speaker when he gave criticism – excruciatingly honest, but he took the time to say what he meant; no more and no less.
Hoseok laughed. “You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”
“No, but I know you,” you said with a shake of your head. “When you don’t love something, you pause before deciding how best to crush my spirit. Go on, then. Get on with it.”
Hoseok rolled his eyes. “I don’t purposefully crush your spirit.”
“Just an unintended side effect, then.”
“Do you want to hear what I have to say, or no?”
You mimed zipping your lips. “Yes, please. Continue.”
Hoseok paused again, and you hid your smile. For a few seconds, it had felt like you were friends again. This used to be your routine whenever Hoseok read something of yours – his hesitation before he critiqued, your endless moaning and Hoseok asking if you wanted him to stop.
“I liked it a lot.”
“Liar.”
“Let me finish!” Hoseok laughed.
“Alright, alright,” you said, holding up both hands.
“I did like it,” Hoseok said, fixing you with a glare. “It was bright, smart and full of hilarious one-liners. The friend group was relatable and fun. It’s just… the main character.”
“Jaimie? What about her?”
“She’s…” Hoseok hesitated. “She’s just unlikable.”
“What!” you blurted. “What’s unlikeable about her?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “She’s too perfect. It’s too hard to relate. She’s got everything under control, you know? Who wants to watch a show about a person so perfect they make you feel like an idiot in comparison?”
You closed your mouth, realizing it had fallen open. “That’s not… she has flaws!”
“Name one.” Hoseok arched a brow. “And overly clumsy, or having unruly hair aren’t flaws.���
Your lips twitched. “Damn.”
“I meant everything else, though,” said Hoseok. “I really do like the premise. And the friend group is hilarious but real, you know? They’re not trying too hard. I just think the lead could be more realistic. People like that, you know. They like it when a person has flaws.”
“Oh, please,” you said with a sigh. “People always say that, but they’re so quick to turn on a character the second they do something wrong.”
“I still think it’s better to show someone relatable,” Hoseok argued. “Someone who’s real. Someone who keeps trying, even when they’ve messed up.”
He’d moved closer during the course of his speech, close enough for you to smell his shampoo. It wasn’t the same one he’d used back in high school. It was odd, the things you remembered about the past. You could recall the smell of Hoseok’s high school shampoo with vivid clarity but didn’t remember the last time Darren had made you smile.
“Someone who keeps trying,” you said, tracing over his features. “Is that really what you think, Hobi?”
A shadow crossed over his face. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because.” Looking away, you set your jaw. If you didn’t ask him now, you never would. “Why… didn’t you call me back, then?”
“What?”
“I called you,” you whispered, barely audible. “So many times after you left. I kept calling you and trying to talk, but you just ignored me. Why, Hobi?”
He swallowed at the nickname. “I… Y/N…”
“That’s not an answer,” you said, finally looking at him.
All your frustration finally rose to the surface. Sara’s words came back to you with sudden clarity – yes, there was blame on your end, but there was also on his. You hadn’t told anyone this, but you’d called him so many times after he’d left for New York. You’d tried to patch things up and Hoseok hadn’t let you.
“We’ve had fights before, but nothing like this,” you accused. “A year, Hobi. It’s been a year since I’ve seen you. That’s not a fight! That’s you deciding we shouldn’t be friends and that hurt, Hoseok. It fucking hurt.”
“I decided not to be friends with you?” he demanded, eyes flashing.
Gone was the sunny, cool Hoseok of earlier and in his place stood a stranger. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Hoseok this mad. Maybe the day you’d fought in the bar.
“Yeah,” you said.
“That’s rich,” Hoseok said, stepping closer. “Considering you’d stopped confiding in me long before I visited you in LA. I didn’t even know where you lived! I didn’t know you’d moved in with your boyfriend. You refusing to listen about Darren was just… the last straw.”
“The last straw?” You laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. “You’re acting like I was a difficult child, or something. You were my friend, Hoseok. My best friend! And the second things got difficult between us, you ran.”
“It wasn’t only that night,” Hoseok snapped.
He was inches away now, the air between you so thick with tension, hurt and something unknown. He looked so good and you were so angry – it all swirled in your chest, becoming the perfect storm.
“Then, what was it?” you demanded.
His gaze darted towards your lips. “I – I had to put distance between us, Y/N. It was better that way. Healthier.”
“Healthier?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what are you saying? I was toxic to you, or something?”
“No,” Hoseok groaned, shoving a hand through his hair. “God, Y/N, no. What I’m saying is I –”
“Y/N?”
Both your gazes shot towards the door, finding Sara hovering over the threshold. She glanced between you and Hoseok, and you realized belatedly how little space there was between you. Hoseok’s chest practically touched yours, his lips inches away from your own.
Dizzily, you exhaled and willed your heartbeat to slow.
“Yeah?” you said, trying to clear your head. “What is it?”
Exhaling slowly, Hoseok took a step backwards.
Looking as though she wished she were anywhere else, Sara glanced at her phone. “Um,” she said, lifting it up. “I just wanted to tell you Darren is calling…”
Confused, you stared at her a moment until it sunk in.
Darren – your ex-boyfriend – was calling your little sister. Brow furrowed, you attempted to make heads or tails of this news. It made about as much sense as her barging in to say yellow snow had been declared a health supplement by the FDA.
“I – Darren?” you said, puzzled.
“Yeah.” Sara shrugged. “I didn’t recognize the number, so I answered and that’s what he said. He said you never responded to his last text and he got worried. Honestly, I didn’t even know he had my number.”
Slowly, you closed your eyes.
You’d decided not to respond to the Instagram message the other day, re-blocking him from all your social media. This was a gross invasion of privacy to reach out to Sara like this. Dimly, you recalled giving him Sara’s number the time you lost your phone in case of an emergency.
Before you could speak, Hoseok let out a soft laugh. “Of course,” he said quietly. “You’re texting him still?”
Your eyes flew open. “Hoseok, no, I –”
“Yeah, okay,” he said roughly, brushing past you to walk down the hall.
You stared at his back, too stunned to move. Everything Hoseok said about needing distance came back to you. He said your break-up wasn’t just about the last fight you’d had. Questions began to burn in your mind, but aside from that you felt angry.
After everything you’d told him, after everything you’d confessed about Darren, Hoseok still thought you’d gone crawling back.
Suddenly livid, you pushed yourself off the counter. As you passed Sara, you paused. “Block him,” you said. “I didn’t answer him earlier, so I definitely don’t want to answer him now.”
The corner of her lip quirked up. “You got it, sis.”
You walked past, catching Hoseok at the door as he pulled on his coat. Grabbing him by the elbow, you turned him sideways to face you.
“Hey,” you said. “What the fuck?”
Hoseok stared at you, bewildered. “What?”
“Why did you leave?” you demanded, gesturing at the kitchen. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
Hoseok glanced in the direction you pointed. “I think the conversation was over.”
“It was not over.”
“Oh, come on, Y/N.” Hoseok rubbed his temples. “We always do this. We’re best friends until you date someone and then – poof! You’re gone. That’s why I didn’t call,” he said, teeth gritted. “It was easier not to be friends with you while you were dating.”
“Okay, but I’m not with Darren anymore!”
“Who was just calling you, then?”
“That’s not – that was a coincidence!”
“Right.” Jaw tight, Hoseok looked away. “Look, Y/N. You can date whoever you want, but you deserve better than that guy. You deserve someone who looks at you and sees someone real, not just whatever they can get from your career.”
“What’s that… that’s not what I had with Darren,” you said, reeling a little.
Hoseok returned to you. “Maybe not. Maybe he really did love you, but he never deserved you, Y/N. None of them have ever deserved you.”
“What do you even care, anyways?” you said hotly.
Hoseok went still. In the background, you could hear distant laughter and holiday music but, in that moment, all you could hear was the beating of your own heart.
Eventually, he shook his head. “If you don’t know that by now,” Hoseok murmured. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Finishing buttoning his coat, Hoseok opened the door. He paused for a moment, snowflakes drifting past as he glanced back to see you.
His expression softened a little. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” he said, and then he was gone.
You were left staring at a closed door, a chill in your veins which had nothing to do with outside.
Wandering inside, you poured a glass of wine some might call ‘obscenely full.’ What you really wanted to do was leave, but your parents had been the ones who’d driven and were, unfortunately, your only way home.
Besides, it would only hurt more to go home alone and cry in your bed. Instead, you forced yourself to stay and seated yourself on the couch beside Seokjin. He shot you a concerned look, but you shrugged it aside and took a deep sip of your drink.
Ignoring your phone, you tried to focus on the drinking game you were playing. Hoseok’s words continued to occupy your thoughts though, making you wonder what he had meant.
If you don’t know that by now, then I guess it doesn’t matter.
That’s all he’d said, as maddeningly unclear as he usually was. You wanted to find him and shake him, to clarify what he meant. Of course, it mattered. It mattered what Hoseok thought because he was the only person you ever thought about.
That was twice now you’d asked why he’d cut you out, only to receive a vague answer. It had hurt you – you hadn’t been lying about that. Compared to your break-up with Darren, losing Hoseok had been far worse.
It had hurt so bad in the months after, you’d briefly lost your mind and last October, you’d flown out to New York to see him.
You had never told Hoseok that, but you did. It had been two months since he’d left in LA and you were growing desperate, trying and failing to get him to return your calls. At the last minute, you’d booked a plane flight, hopped in a cab from LaGuardia and shown up at his apartment – just in time to catch Hoseok coming home from a date.
You had stood there on the sidewalk, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while he laughed at something his date said. Vision blurring, you could still recall the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had remained long after they went inside, then hailed a cab to the airport and flew home that night.
On your way, you’d realized Hoseok had been right. Possibly, your time as friends had come to an end because you were acting insane. It was insane to fly across the country on a moment’s notice. It was insane to feel this wicked, burning jealousy each time you saw him with someone else.
Deep down, you knew something was wrong. It was wrong to have feelings for Hoseok while you were dating Darren and so, you hadn’t contacted Hoseok again after that. You’d cut him out of your life the same way he did to you – only yours hadn’t worked out, because here you were.
Eyes shut, you leaned back on the sofa. Even now, you heard Hoseok’s critique in your mind. He’d called your main character too perfect, not flawed enough. Hoseok had always been the one who said your flaws were okay. Growing up, he’d been the one who encouraged you to be messy, to make mistakes and fail if you wanted.
Opening your eyes, you felt the raw pain of missing him hit you again. It was even worse now because last time, you’d assumed Hoseok had left because of Darren. Now, you knew he’d left because of you. Hoseok didn’t want you anymore.
As the night came to an end, your emotions hovered close to a breaking point. You stood in the foyer, smiling bleakly while you thanked the Jeons. They disappeared inside, leaving you and your family to pull on your coats.
Gently, Sara leaned over to touch your arm. “Is everything okay?” she murmured.
Dimly, you realized you hadn’t touched base after Darren called her.
“Yeah,” you said, then paused. “And no.”
She gave you a sympathetic look. “I saw you talking with Hobi. What happened? It looked as though you’d been fighting.”
“A little,” you said, giving a weak smile. “Long overdue, I guess. He made some good points. I’ve been… caught up in things lately.”
“Yeah, but –”
“Y/N!” your mom interrupted, pulling on gloves. “You know who I spoke to tonight? The Donoghue’s! Their son is thinking of moving to LA, so I told them you’d reach out. I thought it might be nice, since you’ve done so well for yourself out there.”
Any other night, you would have smiled and nodded. The Donoghue son was probably nice, but right then, you found yourself at a breaking point. Everything for the past year had been piling on and suddenly, the frayed knot in you snapped.
“That’s not a good idea,” you snapped.
Your mom stopped, looking at you in surprise. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not doing well,” you blurted out. “I’m barely hanging on, and LA is terrible. My boyfriend cheated on me, I’m about to be jobless and every major studio keeps rejecting my spec script. Everything is falling apart, and I can barely keep it together anymore!”
Eyes wide, your dad stared with his fingers stilled on his zipper. Sara froze as well, one arm in her pea coat.
“Y/N?” your dad asked, sounding tentative. “What’s going on?”
“I was about to say the same thing,” said your mom, a bit stiff. “Why don’t we have this conversation in the car?”
“Oh, sure,” you said, giving a bitter laugh. “Because it’s embarrassing to talk about my problems in public, right? It would be terrible if the neighbors heard I’m struggling. Well, I’m done pretending everything is okay.”
“Now, Y/N,” your dad started, but you cut in.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come home for the holidays,” you huffed. “I didn’t want to pretend I was fine for two weeks. Didn’t want to pretend to be perfect. Because that’s the only daughter you want, right?”
Both of your parents stared as, tears brimming, you pushed open the door.
“I’ll be in the car,” you muttered and walked outside.
Sara was the first one to move, pulling on her coat and hurrying after. Your parents soon followed, keeping a wary distance between you while entering the car.
Most of the way home, you stared out the window. At some point, Sara reached out to squeeze your knee. Sara had always been the oddball of the family. The only one for whom emotions came easy, the only one well-equipped enough to have the tough conversations. Everyone else pushed things aside, shoving them down until they blew up in their face.
It seemed your problems were large enough now to blow up.
When you parked, you made to exit the car, but your mom cleared her throat. She looked over the front seat and, to your surprise, you saw tears in her eyes.
“Y/N.” She exhaled. “We never… we never wanted you to feel like you had to be perfect. Or like you couldn’t tell us things. Of course, we’ll always have our opinions, and they might not be what you want to hear – wait, let me finish,” she said, seeing your face. “We want what’s best for you and we don’t want you to struggle. Like you’re doing now. That doesn’t mean if you are struggling though, we won’t love and support you. I’m so, so sorry you thought that.”
Now, you were the one who had tears in their eyes.
“She’s right,” said your dad. “Of course, we’re proud of what you’ve done. But we’re also proud of you for taking risks, for not being afraid and going after what you want. We’re just as proud of you now as we were before. Maybe more so.”
“Oh no,” you mumbled, wiping your cheek.
“Yeah, oh no,” said Sara, also tearing up.
Snorting, you turned to laugh at her through your tears.
“You and your sister,” said your dad with a meaningful glance at Sara.
“You know I can’t handle emotional speeches!” said Sara, blowing her nose on her sleeve.
“We love you both,” said your mom with a faint smile. “I’m sorry if we don’t say that enough.”
Opening your door, you got out and hugged your mom tightly. Walking into the house, you began to relax for the first time in ages. Telling your parents was such a massive weight lifted from your chest.
You hugged your dad as well, burying your face in his coat. Your parents loved to tell the story of the first time you saw fireworks. You had been a toddler, mad at your dad for some reason when the first rocket had launched. Terrified, you’d immediately forgotten your anger and scrambled into his arms. There, you’d hidden until the fireworks had subsided.
You were no longer a child, but you couldn’t help wanting that shelter sometimes. People always said when you grew up, you’d need your parents less and maybe this was true, but it didn’t mean you stopped needing them entirely.
When you finally went upstairs, you found you couldn’t sleep. Lying on your back, you stared at the constellations and both your words and Hoseok’s continued to run through your mind.
Sitting up, you turned on the light and pulled out your laptop. Frowning at your screenplay, you opened a new document and slowly exhaled.
Leaning forward, you began to write.
For the next day and a half, you were lost in your work. Despite it being the day before Christmas Eve, there really wasn’t anywhere for you to be. Once you told your parents you were writing, they left you alone, making themselves scarce on the main floor of the house.
Locked in your bedroom, you made mug after mug of hot chocolate and slowly tore down the block in your mind. Something Hoseok had said set a fire beneath you. Your main character was unlikeable and unflawed. You could change that – you could write someone inherently flawed and still somehow likeable.
As you began the new script, a familiar world bloomed in your mind. At the top of the screenplay, you wrote Untitled: An Unlikely Superhero Story. The main character’s name was changed from Hoseok to Carlos, but you kept most of the story the same.
Carlos was a college student in his senior year. He came from a long line of famed superheroes but somehow, the genes seemed to have skipped over him. The only power Carlos had inherited was the power to turn water to wine. Very biblical, and a fun party trick, but not exactly the crème of the crop.
That is, until disaster strikes the country, and Carlos is the only available superhero to stop a new super-villain.
Head bent to your keyboard, you lost yourself in the new story. You added yourself without thinking, as Carlos’ best friend, Raya. Ray is hopelessly in love with Carlos and everyone around them knows except him.
Unlike with your prior screenplay, the words seemed to flow from somewhere deep within. While you were writing, you no longer found yourself concerned about whether people would like Carlos and Raya. Instead, you simply focused on the story you had to tell.
You were so busy writing you almost didn’t hear the soft knock at your door. Continuing to type, you wrote several more lines before someone said your name.
“Y/N?”
Glancing up, you realized Yoongi stood at your threshold. Surprised to see him without Sara, you dropped your hands from the keys and sat back.
“Yoongi!” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
Yoongi nodded and glanced about your room. It had been a while since he’d last been here. He and Hoseok became friends during college and by then, you’d mostly moved out of your parents’ house. Still, Yoongi and Hoseok had hung out with you on breaks, so the room wasn’t unfamiliar.
“Sure.” Yoongi glanced at your laptop. “You seemed pretty invested in what you were doing.”
“Writing my screenplay,” you said, and then paused. “I thought of something I wanted to change, and things kind of spiraled.”
“That’s good.” He nodded. “I hope your writing goes well.”
You waited, but he said nothing more and after a moment, you glanced at the screen. You didn’t want to be rude, but you were kind of on a roll. If Yoongi wanted to talk about wedding plans, Sara was right downstairs.
“Is that… all?” you asked. It wasn’t like Yoongi to interrupt you for nothing.
After a moment, he sighed and glanced down the hall. Downstairs, you could hear a Christmas movie playing. He was probably in the middle of watching it with Sara. Somewhat uneasily, Yoongi looked back.
“That’s not all,” he admitted.
“Is it… do you want to come in, or something?”
Yoongi considered. “I saw you talking to Hoseok in the kitchen last night.”
Uncertain, you froze. It seemed your argument with Hoseok had been less private than you’d thought.
Awkwardly, you cleared your throat. “Oh? I’m sorry if we were being loud… I didn’t mean to interrupt the movie, or anything.”
His upper lip twitched. “You didn’t. I went to the bathroom and heard you two arguing.”
“Oh. Right.”
Yoongi sighed. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking to you about any of this.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you said. “I have no idea what ‘any of this’ is, so it’s almost like we’re not talking at all.”
“What did you and Hobi fight about?”
You paused. “I… that’s kind of personal, Yoongi.”
Folding his arms, Yoongi leaned a shoulder against your door. He didn’t look away, which made you feel oddly on display.
“What’d you say to him?” he asked.
Immediately, you bristled. “Why does everyone assume I said something?”
“Because you tend to be the more clueless one.”
“I am not clueless,” you sputtered.
Yoongi gave you a look. “Well, what’d you fight about then?”
“I – I don’t know. A lot of things,” you said, falling back in your chair. “I got mad at him for cutting me out last year and he kept saying things were better this way.”
“What way?”
“I don’t know,” you said, frustrated. “A way where we’re not friends, I guess.”
“Well. Were you ever really friends to begin with?”
Startled, your eyes widened. “Of course, we were!”
“Y/N.” Yoongi stepped forward. “Think back. Really think. Why did all of your past boyfriends hate Hoseok so much?”
“I… I don’t know. Toxic masculinity? Guys always are threatened by male-female friendships.”
“It’s because Hobi was in love with you,” Yoongi said bluntly. “Always has been. He’s been in love with you for so fucking long and all your boyfriends knew it. Hell, everyone’s known it but you.”
Although you opened and closed your mouth, no noise came out.
Staring at Yoongi, the room started to spin. What he said made no sense. Hoseok couldn’t be in love with you. He couldn’t be in love with you because you would’ve known. Somehow, you would’ve known. He had been your best friend for nearly two decades. There was no way you would’ve missed something important like that.
“Hobi…” you managed to say. “Hoseok is in love with me?”
Seeing your expression, Yoongi softened. “I don’t know about love, present tense,” he corrected. “I know it destroyed him when you left New York. When you first told him about Darren, I think it finally scared Hoseok into doing something. He was coming to confess to you that weekend, you know.”
“He was what?”
“He was coming to confess,” Yoongi repeated. “He wanted to tell you he loved you, but you picked him up from the airport and said you’d moved in with Darren.”
“I – no,” you said, horrified.
Something like pity entered his gaze. “Yeah. He’d kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but you’ve both been idiots for so long. You’re not even speaking to each other, which is just stupid.”
“But…” Dizzily, you shook your head. “Why are you saying this, then? You don’t even know if Hoseok feels the same way.”
“Please.” Yoongi scoffed. “Hoseok might be your best friend, but he’s also mine. I saw the way he looked at you at my engagement party. Hell, I saw the way you looked at him.”
“How… did I look at him?”
Yoongi paused. “Like you’d come home.”
Swallowing hard, you looked away. You had no words left to say because Yoongi was right – Hoseok was home. He meant more to you than anyone ever had in your life, more than anyone ever would, and you were a fool for thinking this could be friendship.
There was a reason you’d wanted to skip an entire season rather than see Hoseok again. Why losing Hoseok had hurt worse than losing Darren; why seeing Hoseok last week had instantly crumbled your defenses, and a phone call from Darren could easily be dismissed.
You loved Hoseok. You always had.
“If you don’t love him,” Yoongi continued. “I honestly have no idea what’s going on. Haven’t you ever wondered why neither one of your relationships last?”
“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “We keep picking crappy people?”
“True.” He raised a brow. “But maybe the reason you keep picking crappy people is because you both know you’re right for each other but are too cowardly to say anything. It’s easier to say nothing and keep being friends than risk losing each other completely.”
You stared at Yoongi over your laptop. “Let’s say that’s true. Let’s say Hoseok used to love me. Why are you telling me this now?”
Yoongi hesitated. “You’re both clinging to the past so desperately, I don’t think either of you see what’s in front of your noses. Hoseok went after you last time. I think it’s about time you knew and decided what to do next.”
“And what if you’re right?” you said softly. “What if the idea of losing him is too much to bear?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Yoongi gave a sad smile. “You don’t really have him right now, do you?”
With that, he turned to leave your room. Halfway into the hall, he paused. “Hope the rewrite goes well,” Yoongi said, then disappeared.
You stared at the empty door frame for a long time after that.
Letting the influx of emotions you felt after Yoongi’s visit fuel you, you finished writing around 3:00 AM Christmas Eve. Falling asleep in the light of your laptop, you awoke groggily around 4:00 AM and moved to your bed to continue.
Your alarm went off early and for a moment, you thought you were under attack and nearly fell out of bed. Then you remembered that, in a moment of stupidity, you’d done this to yourself. Wearily rolling from bed, you padded into the bathroom and washed your face.
Around 8:00 AM, you pulled on your coat and rushed out the door, yelling to your dad you needed to borrow the car. Luckily, he was fine with this and soon you were seated in the car on your way to Kinko’s. It was the only copy place open on Christmas Eve, which you sorely needed since your dad’s printer was broken.
After printing out your screenplay, you drove all the way to Hoseok’s and parked at the curb. Here, you took several deep breaths and stared at his house.
It was as familiar to you as your own. There had been a point back in high school when you may have spent more time here than at your own house. You’d even had sleepovers because, to quote your mom, ‘it was only Hoseok.’
This thought made your cheeks heat because he had been anything but ‘only Hoseok.’ You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him that way in high school. You had often thought about Hoseok naked, and then immediately felt guilty because he was supposed to be your best friend.
If what Yoongi said was true though, you were the biggest pair of idiots because you’d liked Hoseok at the same time Hoseok had liked you. You’d both wasted so much time, love and energy on other people.
Removing the key from your ignition, you pushed open the door and promptly stepped in a snowdrift. Groaning out loud, you glanced down. Shaking your shoe free of snow, you limped awkwardly up Hoseok’s driveway. Shoe squelching, you muttered some choice words about snow and where it could shove its puffy, white ass.
“… Y/N?”
Startled, you whirled and saw Hoseok emerging from his garage, snow shovel in hand. He stared at you in confusion, having seemingly overheard everything you just said. When he realized you were limping, his gaze dropped to your foot.
“Oh.” Hoseok paused. “Sorry. I hadn’t shoved yet.”
“Hi. It’s okay,” you said, air frosting before you.
Hoseok nodded but didn’t add on and you felt suddenly nervous. This was Hoseok standing before you. It was Hoseok and yet, it wasn’t, because your Hoseok was completely untouchable. Your Hoseok was your ex-best friend, your childhood crush, and the man you were desperately, unrequitedly in love with.
This Hoseok – the one who maybe loved you back – was a stranger.
Remembering why you’d come, you tucked the papers under one arm and hurried forward. Hoseok was wearing a red puffer jacket which matched his cold cheeks. Coming to a stop, you fought the sudden nausea within you.
“Hey,” you repeated.
Hoseok stared at you, a little bewildered. He seemed like he didn’t understand why you were here, and you wilted a little, remembering how you’d left things at the holiday party.
“Why are you here?” Hoseok asked, echoing your thoughts.
“I wanted to give you this.”
Awkward, you thrust out both hands with the papers. Hoseok stared blankly at the pages, then looked at you.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s my screenplay,” you said. “Well, my new screenplay. I came up with a different idea after we talked.”
Despite himself, a glimmer of curiosity entered his gaze. Hoseok glanced once more at the pages. “And why are you giving it to me?”
“Because I want you to read it,” you said.
Hoseok’s gaze flicked to yours. “I don’t think you really want my opinion, Y/N.”
“I do, though.”
Something uncertain seemed to enter his gaze the longer he looked at you. “Y/N…” Hoseok said lowly. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be friends.”
“Hoseok… please,” you said quietly. “Please read it. Just this once?”
Hoseok looked at you another moment, then nodded and took the papers. Your hands touched for the briefest of moments and you felt your heart skip, but then he pulled back and the cold settled in.
No matter how much you wanted to blurt what Yoongi had said, you stopped yourself. This was what you’d decided sometime around midnight. It would be cheating to simply relay to Hoseok how Yoongi had said he felt. You needed to show him in your own way what he meant to you.
Hence, the screenplay and ungodly hour.
Hoseok looked at the papers, then back at you. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll try to read this sometimes this week, okay?”
Your heart sank a little, but you nodded. “Okay.”
That was all you could hope for, really. One thing was for certain – your friendship couldn’t continue the way it currently was. Something needed to change, one way or the other.
After another look, you nodded and turned towards your car. Sliding into the seat, you cranked up the heat and pulled from the curb. You tried not to look in the rearview mirror but failed as soon as you reached the stop sign. Glancing up, you saw Hoseok turn the papers over in hand.
Then you turned the corner and he disappeared.
Christmas Eve was fairly typical in your house.
Christmas Day was the main event; you usually spent this at your grandma’s house. All your aunts, uncles and cousins would gather, and you’d spend the day drinking mimosas and unwrapping gifts by the fireplace.
There was tons of cooking to do, so your mom usually went over the night before to help. Usually you, your dad and Sara watched Christmas movies at home but this year, Sara was spending Christmas Eve at Yoongi’s. Your dad had volunteered to help your mom cook, which left you alone in the house for the evening.
You’d been invited to your grandma’s place, of course, but it was a halfhearted invitation, and you knew it. Your grandma was nothing if not a perfectionist and had zero patience for your brand of burnt toast. Besides, someone needed to make sure the Christmas lights were turned on.
In this way, you found yourself alone on Christmas Eve. Weirdly, this didn’t upset you at all. Wrapping yourself in your fuzziest blanket, you made yourself a cup of hot chocolate and settled in to watch the Grinch. Everyone else in your family refused to watch with you because you could quote every line by heart – and often did.
You tried not to think about Hoseok but kept coming up short. Every few minutes, a memory would drift to the surface and you’d wonder if he’d read your screenplay yet, if he’d understood what you’d meant and if he had any thoughts.
Frown deepening, you turned up the volume and tried to drown out your thoughts. It was Christmas Eve, and you had the entire place to yourself. You’d be damned if you let Hoseok –
A knock sounded at your front door.
Pressing pause, you sat up and listened. Someone knocked again and, setting down your mug, you stood to pad down the hall. It was around 7:30 PM, but you weren’t expecting either your parents or Sara back until 11:00 PM, which meant it had to be someone else.
Maybe a neighbor. It wouldn’t be the first time a strand of lights had come loose from your roof and landed on someone’s lawn. Halfway to the door, the person knocked a third time, and you noticed a shadow on your doorstep.
“Coming!” you yelled. In your haste, you’d nearly forgotten about the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “Hang on!”
Undoing the lock, you opened the front door to find Hoseok before you. He stood on your porch, clutching your papers and looking indignant.
“What is this?” he demanded, thrusting them forward.
You stared at him in alarm. “Um. My new screenplay?”
“Right.” Hoseok paused. “Let’s start there. This person – Carlos. Is he based on me?”
“I…” Suddenly hesitant, you tugged on the blanket. “A little. Maybe.”
“Okay. And his best friend – Raya,” Hoseok said. “Who’s that?”
Awkward, you shifted your weight to your other foot.
This was what you’d intended by giving him the screenplay. You’d wanted Hoseok to understand how deeply you felt about him, how much you’d missed having him in your life. Hoseok had always been a superhero to you, even if he didn’t know it.
“She’s…” Helpless, you looked at Hoseok. “She’s Carlos’ best friend.”
Hoseok stared at you a moment. “Alright.” Looking down, he flipped through pages until he found the one he sought. A page scrawled with your handwriting. “And what about this?” Hoseok demanded, turning it around. “What’s this?”
Slightly cross-eyed, you read your own writing.
To the only person who’s ever seen the real me. Here’s how I see you.
Swallowing hard, you looked up. “It’s dedicated to you,” you said, a bit hoarse.
Slowly, Hoseok lowered the page.
Something uncertain entered his gaze, as though he didn’t dare to believe what you said. The idea of this made you want to laugh – the idea of Hoseok not understanding how you felt for him. He was so indescribably out of your league and somehow, he thought you didn’t want him.
“Alright.” Hoseok spoke quietly, taking a step forward. “I’m going to ask this again, at the risk of sounding like an absolute idiot. Who’s Raya, Y/N?”
He was inside now, across your threshold and still, you fought back a shiver. Mistaking this for cold, Hoseok turned and shut the door. In the warm glow of your hallway, he turned back, his cheeks red with cold.
“Me,” you whispered, gathering all your courage. “She’s me, Hobi.”
Hoseok seemed to stop breathing.
“I didn’t know how else to explain,” you said in a rush. “I just… Hobi, do you know why I didn’t want to come home for Christmas?”
Mutely, he shook his head.
“I didn’t want to see you,” you confessed. “I could barely hold things together in LA, where I had my own life which didn’t involve you. Coming home and seeing you, knowing you weren’t mine and not being able to do anything about it? I couldn’t stand the idea,” you admitted. “I just couldn’t.”
Hoseok paused, and then said, “You were with Darren, though. You loved him.”
“Maybe,” you said softly. “Or maybe he was someone I could keep at arms-length. Someone who couldn’t really hurt me. Do you know how I felt after he cheated?”
“I – I don’t.”
Roughly, you exhaled. “I was hurt. But more than that, I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed I’d stayed with him for as long as I had. What does that say about how fucked up that relationship was? When you love someone, you care about what they do. You care if they love you back, or not. You… you want to cross entire countries just to say how you feel,” you said, all in one breath.
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “I – how did you…? Yoongi,” he breathed as he realized.
For a second Hoseok looked so livid, you nearly smiled.
“Don’t hurt him,” you said, stepping closer. “He’s the only reason I’m telling you any of this. I had no idea… I mean, you were certainly no help.”
“I was no help?” Hoseok’s gaze narrowed. “Do you have any idea how many times I tried to tell you?”
“I’m guessing zero,” you scoffed. “Seeing as I never realized what you were trying to say.”
Hoseok looked at you a moment, still wearing that giant, red puffer jacket. It reminded you of one he had in high school, one he saved up all winter to buy. He lost it that spring at a party – the same one you had your first kiss at. That night was also known as the first time Hoseok got drunk.
“The first time I tried to tell you I loved you, I was eleven,” Hoseok said softly. “It was the first time you slept over at my house and you fell asleep playing mario kart. You looked so pretty, even though you drooled on my pillow. I whispered I love you.”
“You… you told me you loved me when I was asleep?” you said, stunned.
Hoseok’s upper lip twitched. “The next time, we were fourteen. You got food poisoning at Wild Fun Land and I spent that night holding your hair over the toilet. After a really gross bout, you looked up and mumbled, ‘Hey, Hobi. Can you call Sara and tell her I won’t be home for dinner? Tell her… something came up.’ Then you looked at the toilet, wiggled your brows and I lost it. I told you I loved you, but I don’t think you understood.”
You realized then your mouth was hanging open, but somehow couldn’t find the strength to close it. You also remembered that day, but Hoseok was right, you’d thought he meant it in a friend way, not in a real I love you way.
“You… you tried to confess after I made a vomit pun?” you squeaked.
“The third time,” Hoseok continued, as though you’d said nothing. “We were both sixteen. It was that time Jungkook convinced everyone to go camping. We were the last ones outside, star-gazing in that field and you told me you loved the little dipper. You said you loved the idea of something guiding you home. I said–”
“You said I was that to you,” you whispered, remembering.
A strange, fluttery feeling began to take flight in your stomach. You remembered that night, too. You’d been deeply in love with Hoseok at the time but lacked the courage to tell him. His words that night had sustained you for weeks, but when you’d returned and nothing happened, you’d slowly lost hope.
“Then there was prom,” Hoseok said, stepping closer. “That was the last time I tried to tell you – for a while, at least. Do you remember? Your asshole date made out with someone else on the floor, and I found you crying in the family restroom. Do you remember what I said to you?”
“You said you hoped his eyebrows fell off.”
“After that.”
“You said,” you whispered, suddenly parched. “You said it didn’t matter what my date thought, since I’d always have someone who thought I was the most beautiful girl in the room.”
“Me,” Hoseok said quietly.
Staring at him, you wondered how you could have ever been so stupid. When he said it like that, it all fell into place, but you remembered being so confused at the time.
“That was the last time?”
Hoseok hesitated. “When you began dating Ren, I tried to keep my distance. I tried to move on, but then we were together in New York… I don’t know. I realized I’d never stopped loving you. I didn’t know how to stop loving you.”
“So, you came to LA,” you murmured.
He nodded. “The night we almost kissed haunted me for months. I wanted to say something so badly, but then you said you were moving… I figured it was a sign. But then you left, and my feelings wouldn’t go away. I needed to tell you, or I’d never move on.”
“But I’d moved in with Darren.”
Hoseok’s jaw tightened. “I… I couldn’t handle being friends with you like that,” he said quietly. “I was in love with you and it was killing me. I needed to try and get over you. The only way I could think to do that was to cut you out of my life.”
“It makes sense,” you whispered, even as your heart lodged in your throat. “Did you know I came to see you?”
Hoseok’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“Last October. I missed you so badly, I flew to New York. I don’t even know what I meant to say, but then I got to your place and saw you coming back from a date. I – I realized you were right. We couldn’t be friends.”
He looked at you quizzically and you buried your face in your hands.
Slowly, you shook your head side to side. “It sounds so stupid now that I’m saying it out loud. God, how did I not realize? I loved you, Hobi. I loved you so much and it was all right there! I hated all your girlfriends. Not because they were stupid – although they were – but because I couldn’t stand the idea of you being anyone else.”
“Hey, hey,” Hoseok said, gently taking your hands in his.
He lowered them to your sides, waiting until you looked up. When you met his gaze, you tentatively traced over his face in a way you hadn’t before.
He was so beautiful.
You’d always thought this but hadn’t let yourself linger because it hurt too much to see him. It was dizzying to look at him now, to have him so near and know you were allowed. Hoseok wanted this as much as you did.
“So.” Hoseok still hadn’t let go of your hands. “If I’m Carlos and you’re Raya, does that mean…”
“I love you, Hoseok,” you said without skipping a beat.
Happiness bloomed in his gaze. You’d said it during your rambles, but this time felt different. This time felt real – a moment in the present and not a regret from the past. Hands slipping to your cheeks, Hoseok thumbed your skin before he lowered his head to yours.
His lips were cold at first, warming as they moved against you. His hands slid into your hair, repositioning your mouth to deepen the kiss. Slowly, he walked the two of you backwards, letting your hips hit the wall as the blanket fell from your shoulders. Your head started spinning when you pulled him closer, clutching his waist and opening your mouth.
Grinning into his lips, you reached for his jacket to try and unzip him. The puffiness was getting in the way and you wanted to feel him against you. Hoseok obeyed, refusing to stop kissing as his right hand found yours, tugging down the zipper.
When his coat hit the floor, you realized he was dressed in a dark suit and button-down. His head bent, determined to pick up where you’d left off, but you pushed him back.
“Hang on,” you said, sweeping him with your gaze. “Holy shit.”
Hoseok paused, breathing hard. “What?”
“You’re wearing a suit.”
“Yeah.” He looked at you, bewildered. “I came straight from mass.”
“Hm.” You cocked your head. “I should probably talk to my therapist about why I find that hot.”
Hoseok chuckled and leaned in. Rather than kiss you, he pressed your hips to the wall and rested his hand by your head. Slowly, his gaze trailed your frame.
“I… Hoseok,” you said, heart beating faster. “I’m wearing pajamas.”
You were. They were matching flannel – short sleeves and short-shorts, but still hopelessly Christmas-y and endlessly dorky. Your sister had insisted you wear them on Christmas Eve, so you could wake up in them tomorrow morning.
Hoseok’s gaze glinted. “Mhm. What’s your point?”
“Stop… stop looking at me like that,” you said, a bit breathless.
His gaze flicked to yours. “Like what?”
“Like…” You swallowed. “Like you’re undressing me in your mind, or something.”
Hoseok grinned.
“Stop,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.
He didn’t move. Instead, Hoseok lowered a finger to your clavicle and slowly dragged down. Equally gently, he undid a button. The top of your pajama shirt parted and Hoseok exhaled.
“Fuck,” he muttered, hand curling on the wall. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined seeing you naked.”
His voice made you shiver, pressing closer when his arm slid around your waist. Hoseok swallowed and lowered to kiss you again. His lips were softer, more tentative and you found yourself melting. Arms finding his neck, you pulled him even closer to feel him flush against you.
“So.” Hoseok pulled back, kissing the corner of your lips. “I hate to say something which might break the mood, but…”
“Yeah?”
“Your parents aren’t home, are they?”
Snorting, you buried your face in his neck. Hoseok smelled good, like citrus and linen. After breathing him in for a second, you looked up to see him.
“No,” you told him. “No one will be back for hours.”
“Good.”
Without further preamble, Hoseok resumed kissing you. You lost yourself in the feel of his hands, the touch of his lips and the delicious way Hoseok tasted. Sucking on his lower lip, you nibbled a little before you pulled back. Hoseok groaned, thumb stroking your neck as you opened your mouth.
Your hands slid under his suit jacket, trying to pull him even closer. Hoseok undid another button on your top to leave it half-open.
“Fuck,” he muttered, looking down.
“Hobi.” You pushed your hips to his. “Take it all the way off.”
Sharply, he looked up and his jaw clenched. “Are you trying to kill me?” he said, sliding a finger down your chest. Hovering over your breastbone, he awaited further instruction.
Watching him, you reached up and undid the final two buttons. Inhaling, Hoseok pushed off your top until it fell to the floor. You were left standing in only your shorts, which had ridden up in a somewhat obscene manner.
Hoseok wet his lips.
“Hobi,” you groaned. He looked up. “Touch me.”
“God.” He slid both hands up your ribcage. “You are, aren’t you? You’re trying to kill me.”
Palms cupping your breasts, Hoseok flicked over each nipple. He stared appreciatively as they hardened, aroused by his touch.
“You had this bikini,” he said suddenly, looking up. “A white string bikini you wore to the pool senior year. Every guy in our grade loved that bikini,” he confessed, dipping his head. “We all used to pray the AC would be on, because then your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”
“Hey!” you blurted, losing all train of thought when Hoseok’s lips closed around a nipple. “Oh,” you said breathlessly, head hitting the wall.
Hoseok continued, merciless as his tongue swept upward. He teasingly brought one to a peak, then the other, flicking the first with his thumb.
God, you were wet – so fucking wet, you were surprised Hoseok couldn’t tell as you ground on his leg. Hoseok had wedged his thigh between yours, giving you the perfect seat while he played with your breasts.
“H-hobi,” you whimpered.
Lifting his head, Hoseok smirked. There was something about seeing him fully clothed while you ground on his leg which set off a needy, primal part of you.
“We should go upstairs,” you said, glancing past him.
Hoseok went still. “Yeah?” he asked, his gaze searching yours.
“Yes,” you said with a nod. “I need you. Now.”
Without another word, Hoseok grabbed your wrist and made for the stairs. You laughed when he pulled you along, remembering to scoop your top from the ground as you went. Slapping his ass, you followed his lead and Hoseok paused on the landing to press you to the wall.
Beneath your terrible middle school photos, he kissed you, unable to keep from smiling.
“No more,” you whined, pulling back. “I want to see you naked.”
Hoseok snorted but followed you down the hall and into your bedroom. You walked inside but he paused, choosing to linger on the threshold instead.
“Fuck.” Hoseok glanced around. “I can’t believe you’re inviting me up to your room. Sixteen-year-old me is reaching through the time continuum to give me a high five.”
Taking a seat on your bed, you threw the shirt to the ground. Leaning back on your elbows, you arched a brow.
“What are you talking about?” you said, baffled. “You’ve been in my room plenty of times.”
His eyes gleamed as he walked closer. “It’s not the same,” Hoseok said, beginning to undo his belt. His jacket, then his pants found their way to the floor. “Do you know how many times I jacked off to the idea of you touching yourself in this room?”
“Oh,” you whispered, a bit breathless.
Without breaking his gaze, you slid the shorts from your waist and pushed them to the ground. Now, you were entirely naked. Spreading yourself on the sheets, you let Hoseok see you. Normally, you weren’t this aggressive in bed. Normally, you went along with whatever your partner wanted, but this was Hoseok. You needed him to know how badly you wanted him.
Eyes widening, Hoseok undid his shirt. As soon as this was gone, you sucked in a breath. Hoseok was gorgeous. You’d known this of course, but his body was all lithe muscles and golden skin. His hips had an indent you loved – you saw this only briefly before he unzipped his pants.
Still looking at you, he lowered them to the floor, and you forgot how to breathe for a minute. You forgot everything but the sight of Hoseok standing naked before you.
Walking towards the bed, he lowered a knee to the mattress and slowly pushed you back. Your lips met as you inhaled, pulling him closer, grabbing a hold of whatever you could. There was so much to see, so much to touch – hands trembling, they slid down the broad panes of his back. Hoseok’s legs nestled between yours, your arousal getting all over his thighs.
Mouth opening, his tongue swept forward as you whimpered his name. Lowering you to your back, Hoseok kissed slowly down your front to close over a breast. Sucking into his mouth, his hips rolled against yours.
Gasping, your pelvis rocked forward, feeling his cock at your thigh. You needed him inside you so badly. Needed his length, his fingers, his mouth – it didn’t matter.
“Please, Hoseok,” you said, pulling up on his shoulders until he kissed you again.
“This isn’t fair,” he protested.
“What isn’t?”
“You.” He pulled back to sit on his heels. With one hand, Hoseok fisted his cock and stared at your dripping cunt. “We’ve been making out for ten minutes and already, my balls feel so tight, I’m going to come the second I get inside you.” His eyes widened. “I mean. If that’s… I don’t want to assume…”
Melting a little, you reached up and pulled him down to your chest. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you nudged his cock with your center. This had to be the wettest you’d ever been in your life.
“You feel that?” you whispered, biting his ear.
Hoseok shuddered, fighting to keep still.
“That’s me saying I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”
Inhaling sharply, Hoseok reached down and slid a finger into your cunt. You groaned, clenching as you fell back on the bed. Hoseok pulled his finger back out, closing his mouth around the digit to suck it clean. Eyes closed, he exhaled.
“Mm.” He opened his eyes, dark with arousal. “God, I can’t wait to make your legs shake. Lick your whole pussy clean while you ride my face.”
Unwittingly, your eyes widened. “Hobi!”
Grin wicked, he leaned to cage you with his arms. “Yeah?”
“You…” Your face felt like it was on fire. “I’ve just… never heard you talk like that before.”
“Did you like it?” he murmured, brushing your neck with his lips.
“Yeah,” you said, arching upwards. “Tell me what else you want to do to me.”
Reaching down, Hoseok slid his finger back inside you. Sinking in deeper, he made wet, squelching sounds as he slowly fucked you. His thumb began rubbing your clit.
“Well first,” he murmured. “I want to fuck you like this – looking at you. Watching you come.”
You shuddered when he added a second finger, working you open. Hoseok curled his fingers in a forward gesture, brushing a spot deep inside you which made you moan.
“I wish we were somewhere else,” he said, adding a third finger. “I wish we had all the time in the world so I could do everything I have in mind. Eat your pussy like the meal it is. Lie back and let you ride my face. Have you hanging off the bed while I fuck your throat.”
“Shit,” you breathed, eyes slightly glazed.
Glancing down, Hoseok saw your arousal dripping around his hand. He smirked. “You like that, huh?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Want me to fuck your throat, baby?”
“Yes,” you groaned, head thrown back on the bed.
He made a noise partway to a growl, then abruptly pulled out his fingers. You gasped, clenching hard around nothing while you looked at him in dismay.
“I was so close,” you groaned. “Hobi!”
“I know,” he said, returning to rubbing your clit. “I know, but fuck – I can’t wait any longer to be inside you. I need to know what your pussy feels like around me.”
“Oh,” you exhaled. “Okay.”
Hoseok’s lips found yours, moving slowly as he thrust between your legs to get his cock wet. Each time he slid past your pussy, you whimpered and Hoseok grinned, pulling back.
“Hoseok,” you said through gritted teeth. “I swear to god, if you don’t –”
He laughed. “Okay, okay,” he agreed and pushed his tip inside you.
Immediately, he froze.
“What?” you said, searching his face.
“Shit,” Hoseok cursed.
“What?” you whimpered, genuinely distressed at feeling him so close but not inside you. If he didn’t move – and soon – you might cry or come.
“Condom,” he blurted. “I didn’t grab one before coming here. Do you have one?”
Stomach sinking, you shook your head.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Hoseok hung his head. “I’m sorry, baby. We don’t have to–”
“I’m clean,” you said, and he froze. “I got tested after the breakup and I haven’t been with anyone since. I’m on the pill, too. So…”
Slowly, Hoseok looked up. “You want me to fuck you… raw?”
“If you want…”
You said this, uncertain because Hoseok had the oddest look on his face, as though your words physically pained him.
“Fuck, yes I want,” he whispered. “I’m clean, too. I promise. Got tested last month.”
“Okay,” you said, slipping your arms around him. “I trust you, Hobi.”
Gaze melting, Hoseok nodded and bent to kiss you again. With each roll of his hips, he worked his cock deeper. Lips parted, you groaned and enjoyed the feeling of him filling you. Hoseok moved slow, rubbing your clit with his thumb the entire way.
Somewhat dazed, you imagined what it would’ve been like to lose your virginity to Hoseok. It probably would’ve been much more pleasurable than the way it actually happened.
Finally, Hoseok exhaled as he bottomed out. Lowering himself to his elbows, he gave an experimental roll of his hips.
“Oh,” you whispered, clutching him closer.
Hoseok’s eyes shone in the darkness above you. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking… how nice it would’ve been to lose my virginity to you.”
His jaw clenched. “You can’t just… fucking say things like that, Y/N.”
“Why not? You said way dirtier things to me earlier.”
“This is different, though,” he argued. “I actually could’ve been that person. I’ll never forgive the asshole who made you bleed.”
Heat rose to your face. “I should never have told you that.”
Hoseok shifted on top of you, causing his cock to go deeper. “No,” he exhaled, gaze roaming your face. “I’m glad you told me. I’ll just try and erase that experience from memory.”
Before you could ask what that meant, Hoseok thrust his hips forward. Your lips parted as he filled you, gasping a little as your hands found his back. Slower, he pulled out and pushed back inside. Spread out underneath him, Hoseok kept you at his mercy with each roll of his hips.
His cock was – oh my god, you’d never felt anything like this. Each toe-curling thrust of his hips had you biting back moans. You’d had sex, but you didn’t think you’d ever been fucked like this. Like Hoseok knew what he was doing and wanted to make you come – needed to make you come. Already, you felt yourself tightening, unable to withstand the steady thrust of his cock.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Hoseok said, trying to see you. “Slower?”
“No. I – I’m gonna come soon.”
“Oh?” He paused. “Already?”
“Stop it,” you groaned. “Who knew you were a fucking god amongst mortals?”
When you looked up, he smirked and slid his palms to your thighs. “Hold these open for me,” he said, thrusting in slow, shallow strokes.
You obliged, holding your thighs open so he could see you fully.
“Fuck.” Hoseok’s breath hitched a little. “About to come and I haven’t even done this.” Dragging his knuckles to either side of your clit, he squeezed and made you gasp. “Or this,” he added, moving to cup your breasts.
Tugging your nipples between fingers, he deftly pulled down and made you moan. Hoseok did this again before letting go, lowering himself to his forearms with a wicked smile.
“But baby already wants to come,” he said, kissing you softly. “This gorgeous pussy just wants to come on my cock. Is that right?”
“I can’t decide if I want to slap you,” you groaned, chest heaving. “Or tell you – fuck yes, it does.”
Hoseok’s gaze narrowed. “Shit. Both sound good to me.”
You moaned again, and this time Hoseok had pity on you. Hand sliding between you, he began to fuck faster and roll your clit with his thumb.
“That’s it,” he grunted, hips slamming against you. “Such a good girl, about to come so hard on my cock. Relax, baby. Let me take care of it,” he said, moving faster.
He began to fuck harder, deeper and everything within you tightened to a breaking point. Everything was too much, so sensitive – whimpering his name, you shuddered apart. A fresh wave of arousal soaked the sheets and Hoseok went still, hips faltering against yours.
Dazed, you managed to open your eyes. You wanted to tell him to keep going. You wanted to tell him to come inside you, but before you could utter a word, you saw Hoseok’s face.
“Oh,” you said, wincing as you looked down. “Sorry. I squirt sometimes – is that weird?”
Hoseok stared at you like he’d won the fucking lottery. “Is it – weird?” he breathed. “Weird? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Y/N.” Gaze glinting, he pushed your thighs upwards and onto your chest. “Wanna see if I can do it again.”
You nodded, trembling – and then gasped when Hoseok let go for real.
Back arching, you moaned as he began to fuck you. Hoseok moved hard and fast, his cock pounding relentlessly into your needy pussy. You could barely catch your breath but somehow, this just made you want it more. Jaw slack, you could only lie there and take it as you tightened around him.
He seemed determined to make good on his promise, giving in to the mind-numbing feeling of fucking you hard. You began to see stars, so whipped for the feeling of his cock pounding into you. Crying out his name, you arched your hips up to his.
He slammed into your g-spot, making you tremble beneath the force of his onslaught. Unyielding, he drove you towards your second orgasm of the night. Everything was overwhelming, making you clutch at him harder. The sensation was nothing but pure lust and pleasure – and then you broke, seeing black as you came for the second time.
You felt yourself clench, arousal gushing from your pussy to soak the sheets again. Hoseok groaned, saying your name when he finally came. Rope after rope of cum filled your cunt and when he was finally done, he pressed a kiss to your cheek.
Eyes fluttering, you let out a shaky laugh. Hoseok exhaled, chest pressed to yours as his expression softened.
You grinned up at him, still breathless. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He smiled dreamily back. “Wow.”
When he tried to roll but keep himself inside you, you laughed.
“Hobi –”
“Shh. Let this happen.”
“Hobi!” you snorted, smacking his chest.
“What?”
“I need to clean up.”
Although his lips turned downwards, he sighed. “Alright, fine.”
Once he’d pulled out, you rolled from bed and hurried into the bathroom. After cleaning yourself up, you wandered into your bedroom and froze.
Hoseok had pulled all your sheets from the bed and stood helplessly in front of your closet.
“Uh.” You leaned your shoulder to the door. “What’re you doing?”
“I was trying to change your sheets, but your mom must keep them someplace different now.”
Unwittingly, you started to grin. It was just so strange having Hoseok in your room, trying to clean up after giving you the best double orgasm of your life. A good weird, though. The best kind of weird.
Heading into your bathroom, you returned with fresh sheets. “Here,” you said, handing them to Hoseok. Scooping the others from the floor, you stood. “I’ll throw these in the wash and be back.”
“Right back!”
You rolled your eyes at the demand but hurried to the laundry room and back. When you returned, you found Hoseok waiting for you in bed, sheets freshly changed. Slipping under the covers, you snuggled against his side.
Hoseok kissed the top of your head, leisurely stroking your arm with one hand. You stayed there for a while, happy to just be together again.
Then, Hoseok cleared his throat.
“What?” you said, looking up.
“I don’t remember if I said.” He sleepily smiled. “I loved the new script.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“The lead isn’t too perfect?”
Hoseok laughed, a bit sheepish. “I may have been projecting a little.”
“You were right, though. She was terrible.”
His gaze softened, looking at you. “No,” he said quietly. “But also, you can have the best screenplay in the world, Y/N and it’s still a game of chance. You’re talented and one day, everyone will see that. If not this screenplay, then the next one.”
His words were warm, settling over you like a blanket. Hoseok always believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself. You had more confidence in yourself now but sometimes, it was nice to have someone who supported you unconditionally. Someone without an agenda or anything in it for themselves. Someone who loved you and whom you loved back.
“Hobi?” you said, laying your head to his chest.
“Yeah?”
“Are we dating?
His chest shook as he laughed. “If you want to be.”
“I want to be.”
“Good. Me too.”
You nodded, waiting a little longer and then said, “Hoseok?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fall asleep,” you warned. “If my parents come home and find you naked in my bed, you won’t live long enough to see the honeymoon phase.”
Hoseok snorted and you laughed, rolling over to kiss him again. Eventually you got out of bed, put on your clothes, and went downstairs to watch the Christmas movie, but nothing seemed to change the ear-splitting grin on your face.
With Hoseok beside you and hot chocolate in hand, you begrudgingly admitted it may have been a good idea to come home for the holidays, after all.
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 HAPPY HOBI-DAYS, ALL!
© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.
#bangtanarmynet#btsbookclub#hoseok smut#bts smut#hoseok fanfic#bts fanfic#hoseok writing#bts writing#hoseok au#bts au
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Inertia
Author: @yagami-raito-kun
For: @jeevas-exe
Pairings/Characters: Matt/Mello
Rating/Warnings: T for language
Prompt: “a small town au, where matt meets a stranger (mello) who he doesn’t recognize”
Author’s notes: This is very different from what I normally write, but I had a lot of fun with it. My dad grew up in small-town Iowa, and a lot of the details here are drawn from my memories of visiting his hometown.
———-
Winchester Falls is a tired old town, home to crumbling buildings and crumbling lives. The motel you run is the former, and you’re the latter. You don’t know why you stay here, really, except that you’ve never been anywhere else. As a child, you were taught to stay put if you ever got lost, to wait for your parents to retrace their steps to find you. You know exactly where your parents are—you leave fresh flowers once a week—and you know where you are, too. But you feel lost, so you stay put anyway. Filling the vacancies. Waiting to be found.
Inertia is a property of matter, and the only property that matters to you is here.
You get long term boarders, mostly, and the occasional Kid Who Made Good. The ones who went off to college, who got out, bringing their girlfriends home to meet the folks. You knew them growing up, but talking to them is difficult, like forcing a man’s hand into a child’s glove. You have stayed small, and they have outgrown you. They say things like “quaint” and “suburbia” and “escape,” while you are unmarried, uncolleged, unchanged. You were “the Jeevas boy” when you were younger, and as you enter your twenties, you’re “the Jeevas boy” still. You wonder if you will ever be “Mr. Jeevas.” You know in your soul you never will.
But then the stranger comes.
He struts into your office like he owns it, a silver cross dangling from his neck, and he pays for his stay in cash. He’s your age, you think, all slender limbs and boyish swagger, and the cobalt in his eyes pulls at you when he talks. You’ve never seen anyone wear that much leather at once. You’ve never seen anyone care that little when people stare.
He’s trouble, Mr. Ruvie grumbles to anyone who will listen. That boy’s running from something. Mark my words.
Most people nod agreement or cluck their tongues, but not you. You just observe. He doesn’t appear to be running, you think, but you’re not an expert. You’ve never had anything to run from. You’ve never had anything to run to.
Inertia is a property of matter, but you don’t matter. You never have.
Which is why it surprises you, honestly, when the stranger knocks on your office door one day and asks if you have dinner plans.
I never have plans, you say.
Great, he answers. Let’s make some.
You take him out to eat. Not the smoky diner on main street, with its faded, generic Coca-Cola sign and pebbled plastic glasses. No. For him, you go to the buffalo farm. You eat buffalo burgers in the gift shop while the eccentric old proprietor hovers over you, telling you at length about the personalities of her bison herd. The calf who gets stuck in the same section of fence twice a week. The cow who can unlock gates. The bull who broke out last summer and mounted her horrified neighbor’s cattle.
Beefalo, he deadpans after she leaves, and you smile. What do people here do for fun?
There’s a Walmart twelve miles up the road.
He laughs until he realizes that you’re serious. This place is hell.
We could go shooting.
He perks up at that, so you pay your bills and drive to the bluff outside of town. He’s got a Beretta, it turns out, and somehow that doesn’t surprise you at all. You pin the paper targets from your rifle case onto the haybales with sticks, and stand back to see what he can do.
Not bad, city kid.
Fuck off, farmboy.
You get out your daddy’s Ruger and show off for a bit, then let him give it a try. There’s a charge when you adjust his posture for him, a static zap in your fingertips, and you wonder if he feels it, too.
Back in his room, as you share a cigarette, you’re positive he does.
Where the hell are you going? he asks.
Getting you clean sheets.
Why?
We messed them up. Besides, it’s my job.
Your job sucks. The sheets are fine.
His smile has lodestones in it, and to your surprise, you stay. You still have nothing to run from, you think, but perhaps you have something to run to. The idea of it terrifies you, but your thoughts are already in motion. They will remain in motion until he leaves—or you do.
Inertia is a property of matter, but magnetism is a force. You can feel it. You move.
Fuck this place, he whispers. Come with me.
And you whisper back:
Okay.
#fanfiction#death note#submission#mello#matt#MelloxMatt#mellodramattic#yagami-raito-kun#jeevas-exe#Near's Bday Finale 2k21#ratings: teen
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domestic tranquility
m. de lafayette x reader
summary: a collection of intimate scenes from the L/n Administration, or the ‘what if’ ending to foreign affairs.
word count: 4.3k
author’s note: i hope this makes up for the ending of foreign affairs :) also a special thank you to @astralaffairs because she is my inspiration and she took the time to help edit this and i just love her in general
masterlist | foreign affairs
“Lafayette, will you marry me?”
The other line was silent, and you almost thought he had hung up on you.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry, I must’ve heard you wrong. I could have sworn you just asked me to marry you.”
“I did.”
You could hear him suck in a deep breath. “Chèrie, I don’t understand.”
“Lafayette, I know this is a lot to ask. I’m going to run for president. I’m the perfect candidate, I really am. I’m what America needs right now.”
“Of course you are. Where do I come into this?”
“My staff has run some numbers. I do a lot better in the polls if I’m in a committed relationship. But the problem is, I’m not in a committed relationship.”
“You want to lie to the press and tell them we’re married?”
“I don’t want to lie to them. I’m asking you to marry me. It wouldn’t be a lie.”
“Huh.”
“You can say no. I know this is a lot to ask. It’s crazy, reall—”
“Okay.”
“What?”
“Let’s get married.”
Your jaw hung open. “Just like that, you’re on board?”
“You should be president, chèrie. I want to help you any way I can.”
“Are you sure about this? This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”
“Believe me, I’m taking this very seriously. I’m going to get on the next plane to New York. We’ll talk about this in person.”
You opened your mouth to say something else, but you found yourself at a loss for words. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” he repeated. “Let’s get married.”
You were in Iowa.
For some reason you had to come to godforsaken Iowa to become president. You didn’t think about how stupid corn was. You couldn’t think about it, just in case it somehow slipped out and you then alienated all the voters in Iowa. But you really didn’t care.
What you did care about was the sight of your French husband (it still felt strange to call him that) contentedly eating away at a cob of corn. A strange contrast to the sight of him smoking cigarettes and drinking a diabolo menthe at a Parisian café, but he looked just at home at the Iowa State Fair as he did in France.
His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he gestured for you to join him. Pasting on a smile, you made your way over to him and a series of photographers followed after you.
“Chèrie, have you tried this? It is amazing. This is the best corn I have ever had,” he said, waving around the corn on the cob animatedly while he spoke. The photographers were eating it up, and the corn on the cob vendor was smiling proudly.
You were absolutely bewildered by just how magnetizing he was. People loved him just for eating corn. You couldn’t even blame them, because you knew just how infectious his smile was when he was genuinely happy.
This marked your first official outing as a couple on the campaign trail since you had married Lafayette. If you were honest, you had been nervous about the whole ordeal, but the second Lafayette sent you that easygoing look, you relaxed.
When you were close enough, his hand found yours and he was quick to intertwine your fingers together. This was where the real and unreal collided. His genuine smile and unharnessed affection met your faltering remembrance that this wasn’t the loving marriage it looked like. It was serving its purpose at this exact moment.
You counted each time the camera flashed to take a picture of you and Lafayette walking hand in hand. You could see the headlines on tomorrow’s papers, and you could see Lafayette’s grinning face. A political marriage certainly wasn’t traditional or morally acceptable, but there were real issues that needed to be tackled. You had plans to reform the health care system and the economy. If Lafayette helped you achieve a platform where you could really make a difference, who cared if you bent a few social constructs?
Besides, it gave you the opportunity to reconnect with an old… friend.
“You really like corn?” You asked him quietly.
Lafayette sent a disarming smile to the photographers, and leaned in very closer to whisper in your ear, “I can’t stand corn. Get me out of Iowa.”
You didn’t hide your laugh, and the photographers quickly shot a few more photos of the two of you being a cute couple. Lafayette really didn’t like the corn? You had been so convinced his smile was real. You were beginning to think you couldn’t tell the difference between what was fake and what was real.
There was some kind of external force that wanted you and Lafayette to end up together.
You were sure of this, because you had expelled him from your life multiple times by now. The memory of him leaving you on the sidewalk in D.C. felt like it was just yesterday, but now you were back in his arms. And it felt so natural.
So yes, there was something pulling the two of you together. You didn’t want to call it fate. You didn’t really believe in that. It had to be something stronger. There was something tugging at your heart telling you it was choice, but you didn’t want to believe that, either. Your fingers gripped his suit a little tighter in an attempt to ground yourself.
This was good. This was nice, you thought as you swayed back and forth. There were thousands of eyes trained on you, and millions watching you from home on their TVs. The thought that so many people were watching you right now was daunting, but it was nothing that you weren’t used to at this point. You were the Leader of the Free World. The President of the United States.
You could hear a few cameras click, and you flashed a disarming smile in their direction. A well-known singer was crooning out the words to a slow, melodic version of Stand by Me. Your husband squeezed your hip lightly, causing you to look up at him while he absently swayed with you.
He grinned when you met his gaze and softly whispered, “relax a little. This is your moment. Enjoy it. You’ve earned it.”
Your stiff smile melted into a genuine one and you gave him a small nod. He was right, you did deserve this. The road to the White House had been one paved with blood, sweat, and tears, and you still hadn’t stepped foot in the building yet. A few more balls, and then you could finally move into your new home for the next four to eight years. But you had earned it.
The last year and a half had been the craziest 18 months of your life, and you knew it wasn’t about to get easier anytime soon. But this was good. This was nice. You didn’t have to worry about any political opponents or Supreme Court appointments right now. All you had to do was dance leisurely with your attractive husband.
“What are your thoughts on my seeking out a second term?” you asked quietly on the ride back to the White House.
There were a few more balls that you and Lafayette had attended, staying only long enough to share a dance or two with the press before heading to the next event. It had been a non-stop day; the inaugural address in the morning and the inaugural balls in the evening, and everything in between had successfully worn you thin. Lafayette had been at your side all day, and you could tell that he was exhausted as well.
“Ma chèrie, you were just sworn in. How can you already be thinking about re-election?” Lafayette yawned, slumping back against the seat with his bowtie undone and hanging lazily around his neck.
You laughed softly and shook your head from side to side. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”
“Hm?”
You shifted in your seat to look him in the eye. “You agreed to marry me so I could win the Presidency. I told you that we would only have to stay married while I was in the White House. So what are your thoughts on eight years instead of four?”
“Are you kidding me, Y/n?” Lafayette asked incredulously.
You pursed your lips and raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“You’re running for a second term. And I’m going to be by your side through it all. That is, if you still want to be President after dealing with Congress for four years.”
This solicited a laugh from you. He paused before he continued. The pause was the space between you and him, between the Earth and the Sun and everything in between. A hesitancy for the desperation of being wanted and the interval for not knowing if that was what he wanted.
“And of course, if you still want me by your side in four years.”
You tilted your head to the side and smiled at him. “Of course I’ll still want you by my side. We made a promise. For better or for worse.”
Lafayette took your hand in his and raised it to his lips. “For better or for worse.”
Somehow you found the time to sit down and watch a movie in the White House movie theater.
Lafayette chooses some sort of action movie, you can’t even remember the title of the film and you decide that it’s not important.
You’ve invited some close friends to join you for the night. The Hamiltons (of course), your chief of staff, Nathan Hale, and his partner, and a few other White House senior staffers. All people you would trust with your life and your secrets.
You know Alex’s suspected for a while that you and Lafayette got married for political reasons. He’s a real politician, so he’s one of the few who have actually considered that marriage could be an ambitious political move. A heartless speculation, yes, but he isn’t exactly wrong. You consider that he’s mentioned the idea to Eliza, but you’ve given them no confirmation on the subject.
Nathan knows you better than you know yourself after working for you for all these years. And he knows about your history with Lafayette. He may have been the one to plant the idea in your head of calling Lafayette up before you ran for office, but you’ve never officially explained to him the truth about your relationship. You don’t need to.
The point is, most people in this room know both you and Lafayette completely. And you trust everyone in this room completely. Even if they did find out the truth, it wouldn’t matter. You know your secret would be safe. Knowing all this, you begin to wonder who you’re trying to convince that your marriage is real.
It has to be someone. You’re not throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close for your own benefit. Lafayette isn’t getting you a bag of popcorn and placing a kiss to your cheek for any other reason than because he really wants to sell this marriage.
You have to be putting on this performance for someone, because if not, that would mean you’re shooting Lafayette loving looks for no other reason except for the fact that you want to. And that can’t be right. Quid est veritas?
You’re given relief from the thoughts turning around and around and around in your head when the lights turn down low. You take your seat beside Lafayette (something in you tells you that your place has always been beside him). The movie starts playing and you relax for the first time since before you were sworn in as president (was that nearly a year ago?).
You don’t know if it’s because there’s something therapeutic about watching a fictional President having to deal with fictional problems, or if it’s relaxing because Lafayette has pulled you to his side and his hand absently runs through your hair. You decide it’s both.
“Are you tired?” Lafayette whispers in your ear quietly about halfway through the movie.
You are tired, but you insist on whispering back a no. He doesn’t believe you. Lafayette turns his head and presses his forehead against yours. The movie is forgotten in the background, you have his complete attention.
“Close your eyes,” he says softly. “Get some rest. I’ve got you.”
You want to kiss him. You’re so close to him now, all you would have to do is tilt your head just slightly to the right. If you kiss him now, you can say you were just trying to sell the relationship. To the maybe five people in the (dark) room who weren’t even paying attention to you, and even if they were none of them were about to report to the press that they thought your marriage was a sham. It’s not a good excuse, but you’re still considering it.
You don’t consider it any further; you don’t get to. A bit of light comes flooding into the movie theater, and you hear some hushed voices at the entrance.
“Madam President?”
Regretfully, you untangle your limbs from Lafayette’s and sit up. A White House staffer gives you an apologetic look and explains that there’s been a situation. You don’t look back at Lafayette because you know you’d be met with a look of disappointment. Instead, you make a light joke to the audience about never getting a break and they all laugh politely and urge you to go take care of the matter at hand.
You recall the 25th amendment while you’re leaving the theater, and you try to recall what the succession of the presidency really means. What is the Vice President doing tonight? You’re too busy thinking about what it would feel like to have your husband’s arms wrapped around you once more to think about whatever situation had arisen, did that make you unfit for office? Could someone else just take over for one night so you could spend the evening with Lafayette?
“You stayed up?”
You didn’t know what time it was – didn’t need to – but it was late. You had spent the entire day flying back from meetings in Germany, and then more meetings on the plane. You were exhausted, your staff was exhausted, so by the time you got back to the residency you were certain that you were the only one on the planet who was still awake.
“Didn’t want you to be alone.” Lafayette is still awake.
He looks tired, and you know he’s beyond tired. No doubt his schedule has been filled all day, and the both of you have to be up – four hours? That’s hardly enough sleep to function properly. And yet Lafayette has sacrificed his sleep because he didn’t want you to be alone.
Not that you would have been alone. You had planned on entering the residency quietly and sliding into bed beside him after you changed into sweats. You would let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep, and you’d hardly feel alone. But you’d be lying if you said his consciousness wasn’t a comforting presence to you.
“How was Germany?” He yawns.
You’re in a hurry to change out of your suit because the soft comforter of the bed is calling your name. You hardly process his words, murmuring some practiced, diplomatic response. He says he wishes he could’ve come with you, and you tell him you understand why he couldn’t this time. Next time, you say.
“You shouldn’t have stayed up for me,” you tell him once you’re comfortably situated in your favorite pair of sweats.
“For you? I was waiting up for the Vice President. Jay and I had a little rendez-vous planned for tonight, you just got back early.” His grin is tired, but there’s still a playful twinkle in his eye.
You sit beside him on the bed, giving him a little shove and rolling your eyes. “If you had said Secretary Hamilton, I might’ve believed you.”
He leans on you slightly, his head resting on top of yours. “Secretary Hamilton?”
“Mmhmm,” you say quietly. “The two of you have far too much chemistry.”
“Ma chèrie.” He lifts his head off yours just enough to turn to face you, and two of his fingers move your head so you’re facing each other. There’s only one bedside lamp turned on right now, and he’s taking this moment to memorize the lines of your face and the exact shade of your eyes. “You know you’re the only one for me.”
You realize you don’t love him in the way you used to. Not in a bad way, you haven’t stopped loving him. It’s just different this time. It’s honest and real, which is a bit ironic, because the foundations of your marriage were anything but truthful.
You’re polite, so your smile often is fake. He’s real. Right in front of you, right beside you. Every night. There’s something about his mercy and selflessness that you are in love with. He’s teaching you what it really means to be human. Even if you didn’t love him for that, you are so covered in him you wouldn’t know what else to be.
Whatever bravery you had stored up for debating political adversaries or promoting your most radical ideas suddenly possessed you, and you felt yourself leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. In the privacy of your shared residency. With no one around to see.
It’s almost like something breaks in him, if just for a moment. Maybe it’s the sleeplessness that’s slowing eroding away at his brain. Maybe he’s like you, and he’s also been wanting this for longer than he’s willing to admit, but he doesn’t hesitate, he just melts into you.
Your head feels foggy, you can’t really think, all you know is that this feels good. It’s the kind of intoxicating feeling that reminds you of the first time you kissed him, but you remind yourself that nothing is like the first time. You don’t love him in the way you used to. It’s different. Better.
“Don’t run for re-election.”
He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, usually he would, but right now he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are memorizing the stitches on your coat, refusing to look at your eyes or your lips or your hands. You recognized the emotions swirling from his heart up to his lips. Shame.
Lafayette had never been anything but supportive when it came to your political career, so hearing him ask you not to run for re-election was a shocker. He loves supporting you. You know it’s out of a place of deep regret and desperation that Lafayette would ever even broach the subject. But he’s desperate now. You can tell.
You take his face in your hands – reaching out for anything good. You’d like to take the moment to just be here with him, but you’ve never been given enough time for that. It hurts him to look at you, but eventually he does.
“What?” You ask him softly. You know you heard him correctly, but you feel the need to prompt him into an explanation.
“I know it’s not my decision. And if you decide that you are going to run for re-election, we’ll put the matter to rest. We can pretend this conversation never happened,” he says sincerely. Lafayette takes a deep breath as if the next part will be difficult for him to articulate. You know that is. “Don’t run for re-election.”
He’s firmer in his request this time. Yes, the shame is still there, but it’s an underlying tone beneath his pure tenderness.
Lafayette’s never asked much from you. When you asked him to marry you, he hardly asked any questions. You know he would do whatever it is you asked of him at any time, so when he asks you not to run for re-election, you already know your answer without him having to explain himself. If this is what he wants, you’ll do it for him.
But you are still the president of the United States. You have a responsibility to your party, the government, and Americans as a whole. After accomplishing all you have in the last four years, it won’t be easy to walk away from the presidency without a reason. No, you don’t deserve a reason from Lafayette – you don’t even need one, if you are being honest – but you can at least pretend to be hesitant when it comes to leaving the Nation’s highest office.
“Why don’t you want me running for re-election?” you ask.
“Because I love you.” He says it like it’s the most simple and straightforward answer he can think of.
You can’t help but smile. “And I love you. But what does that have to do with me not running for re-election?”
“I know you love me. But there’s some part of me that will always think – as long as we’re in the public eye – that you only love me for appearances. That this is only love for the cameras—”
“Laf, it’s not. I promise I love you.”
“I know you do. But I’m always going to wonder. If it’s fake. If it just feels like love because of the atmosphere. For the past four years I’ve had to live with the gnawing fear that you wouldn’t love me outside of the White House. It would kill me if I had to live like this for another four years.”
Your voice is softer when you speak again. “You once told me you’d stay with me if I wanted to run for re-election. You said for better or for worse.”
“I know. That was years ago. That was when I thought you would only stay married to me while we were in the White House. That was when I thought a fake marriage would be enough for me.”
“Laf—”
“Ma chèrie, I want a life with you. One that isn’t just for show. I want to love you because I love you, not because it will help with your polling numbers.” There’s a deliberate determination between his words. He’s nervous. “I love you so much, and I can’t stand the idea of anyone having reason to think it’s anything less than love.”
The Oval Office is golden.
Well, technically, it’s more of a beige with a vibrant blue carpet in the middle of the room displaying the presidential seal. But in the low light of the December afternoon, the room is filled with a golden glow.
You’ve always known you were going to make history, but to actually be history is something altogether new for you. In another month, the drapes in the Oval Office and the furniture would all be replaced with whatever furniture the next president saw fit. It would be too easy for the white house staff to clean out the White House of any trace of you, but maybe if you were lucky you’d be mentioned in a footnote in a textbook somewhere.
It’s not like you are one to make rash choices. The decision of stepping down from office came after long and meticulous thought on the subject. You are more certain that you made the right decision more and more each day, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have your doubts every now and then.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Lafayette knows you better than you know yourself. He can tell by the blank look on your face while you read through a thick file that no, he’s not interrupting anything.
“It’s strange that I can say no,” you sigh softly. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t busy. But apparently people don’t care about a lame duck when there’s a shiny new President-Elect.”
He crosses the room and leans against the desk. Lafayette gently tugs your hand up to his lips and presses a delicate kiss against your knuckles. It’s gentle and timid, as if everything about this relationship depends on this small act of affection. You’ve noticed that Lafayette has been more reserved lately, almost like he feels guilty for asking such a heavy favor of you.
“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite president?” It’s hardly a question and mostly an answer.
You smile, and he can’t help but think about how beautiful you are. He thinks you get more beautiful every day, although he can’t figure out how that’s possible.
“Your favorite? You like me better than President Washington?”
Lafayette hums softly and pulls you out of your seat, lifting you up onto the desk. He stands between your legs, hands resting gently on your hips. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and finally says, “you’re easier on the eyes.”
You laugh – Lafayette swears it’s lyrical – and press a kiss to his cheek. “That’s good to hear. How has the house hunting been going?”
His eyes visibly brighten. “I think I’ve found the place.”
“Is that right?”
“Mmhmm. It’s this piece of property in upstate New York. The drive to the city isn’t so far, and the estate. I just know you’re going to love it.”
You could sense the excitement emanating off of him. “Am I?”
Lafayette nods. “Chèrie, you have to see this place. It has a beautiful kitchen for me to cook in. A balcony – I know you love balconies. A few acres so one day our kids—”
“Our kids?”
His eyes widen as he quickly realizes his mistake. “I—well… yeah? I know we haven’t talked about this. I always pictured us with kids, but if that’s not what you want, I can respect that. We don’t need to have kids, I promise that you are already more than enough for me.”
You bring a hand to cup his face, your thumb softly moving across his cheek as you just hold him. “Lafayette, I want a family with you. I want a future with you. I want forever with you. I love you.”
He brings your lips to his, and for the first time, you’re not worried about it being the last time.
I’m just going to add foreign affairs taglist here :)
@fanfic-addict-98 @wordvomit-foryourmind @farihafangirls @actuallyanita @cubedtriangle @katierpblogg @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera @lexylovesfandoms @dovesgrangers @a-hopeless-fan @biafbunny @hermionie-is-my-queen @zeelmol @oi-itsemily @itsjube @someinsanefangirl @awkward-walking-potato @lu123sworld @exorcisms-with-elmo @ohsoverykeri-blog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @poetnstuff @nyxie75 @roxanne2020 @luckyfriesss
#marquis de Lafayette#lafayette#lafayette fic#lafayette imagine#lafayette x reader#hamilton imagine#hamilton fanfic#foreign affairs sequel#foreign affairs#domestic tranquility#hamilton fanfiction#president au#modern au#Daveed Diggs#daveed diggs fanfic#daveed diggs x reader#lafayette fanfic#lafayette fanfiction
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5x21: Two Minutes to Midnight
Then:
The End is Nigh
Now:
Davenport, Iowa
We begin this episode with Pestilence paying an ailing woman a visit. He’s riddled her with more diseases than she can handle. What an experiment!
One Day Earlier
At Bobby’s, Sam’s getting an earful from Dean about his plan to say yes to Lucifer. Dean gets a call from Cas. Dean wants to know where he is --they all thought he was dead. He’s in a hospital. He’s not one for conversation at the moment, but does tell Dean that he just woke up in the hospital. Dean tells him their next step: get Pestilence.
For Hospital Bed Science:
Cas groans in pain and tells Dean he can’t fly anywhere. He’s thirsty, and his head aches, and he has a bug bite, and he’s all so very... Dean finishes his thought with, “human”. Cas needs money for pain meds and travel expenses.
Also, he stops Dean from hanging up and says that he owes him an apology. “You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be,” he confesses. Dean’s awkward about such a solemn apology. I’m soft about how soft this moment is.
The brothers head out to scope out the convalescent home where Pestilence chills. They knock out the security guard to watch video footage of the place.
Eventually Sam notices the camera flickering with one person. They head out to find him.
As Pestilence is taking care of Cold Open Celeste, a demon comes in to warn him about the Winchesters. He’s upset over what they did to his brothers, and wants revenge. The demon reminds him he’s not supposed to hurt “the vessels”. He doesn’t care and starts hurting everyone in the building.
Sam and Dean start coughing, and struggle to keep walking. They both collapse outside Pestilence’s door. They’re now riddled with disease, just like Celeste. While the boys struggle on the ground, Pestilence gets to monologue a bit about the frailty of humans.
Enter one VERY human-like angel. Yeah, poor Cas is just as affected as the Winchesters. Pestilence laughs, “There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?” Cas then lunges at him, and cuts his ring finger right off. “Maybe just a speck.” Oh Cas, you badass. Never change.
The demon attacks, and he knifes her. Pestilence disappears, but not before ominously stating, “It’s too late.”
And now they have three rings.
At Bobby’s, Dean asks for some good news. Bobby tells them that Chicago is about to get hit with the storm of the millennium. Three million people are going to die.
GOOD NEWS, Bobby! Or as Cas deadpans, “I don’t understand your definition of ‘good news’.”
Bobby points out that Death will be there. They still need his ring.
Sam wonders how Bobby knows all this. Enter Crowley.
Bobby admits to selling his soul to Crowley. Dean demands that Crowley give it back. Sam wonders if Bobby had to kiss him. Bobby denies it --but Crowley’s got proof. Of course.
Crowley won’t give back Bobby’s soul as insurance that the Winchesters won’t kill him. I mean, I kind of have to side with Crowley here. He’s being REALLY generous even considering giving back Bobby’s soul. Bobby sold it fair and square. He’s getting information from Crowley in return.
Later, by the Impala, Dean and Sam talk. Sam admits that he has his doubts about his plan as much as the rest of them. “You, Bobby, Cas...I'm the least of any of you.” Like, OUCH, Samuel. We deep dive into Dean’s self-worth issues on the regular, but let’s just pause and reflect on the younger sibling right now.
Sam’s all they got though, so they have to try.
Crowley interrupts the broment with news about the world. It seems that Pestilence was spreading Swine Flu, and Sam’s old buddy Brady’s company was cranking out the vaccine --only it was full of Croatoan virus not a cure. If this vaccine is distributed nationwide, it’ll all be over.
Cas and Bobby pack up the van. Cas is...moody. He mourns the loss of his angelic might. The only thing he has available to him now...is a shotgun. (Starts humming) Bobby tells him to quit whining and load the truck.
The teams finish packing for their respective hunts. Sam waxes nostalgically about the simpler days of hunting monsters. Dean doesn’t think it was ever simple. Crowley interrupts and presents Dean with Death’s own scythe (in travel-sized form).
Crowley urges Bobby to stand up and get ready to fight. He reveals that he inserted a little healing clause into Bobby’s soul deal that healed Bobby’s paralysis. Bobby stands up triumphantly.
Later, Sam, Bobby, and Cas drive towards the Croatoan virus operation. Cas reflects on Sam’s idea to toss himself into the pit along with Lucifer. He thinks it’s a solid plan.
Cas passes along some new intel about the archangel prize fight: Michael has taken Adam as a vessel. He warns Sam that failing to control Lucifer means that the apocalypse will happen, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Oh, and “there’s also the demon blood…” Sam will have to drink gallons of blood in order to be strong enough to contain Lucifer. BLEGH.
The next morning, they lurk at the distribution facility. A truck tries to leave and Cas takes out the driver and jams the gate controls. Sam and Bobby head into the warehouse, only to find that the demons have already infected some of the workers with Croatoan. Sam races off into the warehouse to save (uninfected) civilians.
Dean and Crowley enjoy their first date, tracking Death to a little warehouse.
There’s a lovely clip where Crowley mentions that the area is swarming with reapers, and we get a reveal…
Crowley zaps into the warehouse, discovers that Death isn’t there, then meets Dean outside again. He suggests hightailing it out of Chicago and waiting for the next doomed city in order to find Death. That’s not good enough, though. Dean wants to find a way to save people, even if they can’t track down the Horseman. While Dean despairs, Crowley peers into a little pizza place and then heads back to Dean. He found Death! With his work done and not even a high five to show for it, Crowley zaps out of there.
Back at the warehouse, Sam’s finishes evacuating the uninfected civilians. Just as they think they’re home free, Sam gets attacked and Bobby’s gun jams. Enter Castiel, who shoots Sam’s attacker and says, “Actually these things can be useful.”
For Angel with a Shotgun Science:
Dean creeps through the pizza parlor, which is full of dead patrons and waitstaff. Death’s scythe heats up in his hand and, agonized by the red hot handle, Dean drops it. The next thing he knows, his Death super-weapon is safely by Death’s side.
Death sits at a table savoring a piece of pizza, and invites Dean to join him.
Dean wants to know if he’s about to die, but Death informs him that he has other plans for him. Death quietly reminds Dean that he’s as old and vast as the universe. No biggie though. Dean’s a bacterium, practically, but it’s fine. Death serves Dean a slice of pizza and I desperately long for some good Chicago deep dish.
Death says that he’s as old as God, and maybe older. “At the end, I’ll reap him too.” (And while I appreciate that they didn’t kill Chuck in the traditional stabby manner, I’ll always mourn that we didn’t get to see this line fulfilled in one of the finale’s endless montage sequences, and that Billie didn’t survive to do the job.) (Boris, huddled in the corner: Death didn’t reap Chuck because he won, and the story isn’t over yet...)
Anyway, Dean’s appropriately awed by Death’s power. “This is way above my pay grade,” Dean mutters. Death reveals that he’s been waiting for Dean to catch up to him - Lucifer’s spell has prevented him from directly seeking out the Winchesters. “I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum,” Death spits. Preach! Death proposes depowering Lucifer’s Death weapon. He’ll hand Dean his ring willingly.
“What about Chicago?” Dean asks, ever the hunter.
Oh, Chicago can survive. Death likes the pizza. He hands Dean his ring and tells him that he has to do whatever it takes to trap Lucifer. “You’re going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit. Now, do I have your word?” Dean takes the ring as Death issues one final warning. “You know you can’t cheat Death.”
Back at Bobby’s, Dean looks at the rings. They’ve got all four of them and together, they form into a magic little bundle of rings. Bobby finds Dean for a little heart to heart.
Dean reveals that he lied to Death - he’s not okay with Sam tossing himself into the pit. However, Bobby thinks that Death may be right about Sam’s plan being their best option. Bobby watched Sam save all the civilians in the factory before they blew it up, and he thinks that Sam can handle it. “Sam will beat the Devil, or die trying. That’s the best we could ask for. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?”
O, Quotes:
I don't understand your definition of good news
We'll catch Death in the next doomed city
Think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you
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#spn recap#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#cas#bobby singer#death#crowley#spn 5x21#Two Minutes To Midnight#supernatural season 5#and that's it for season 5
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Sunshine Girl
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words
Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.
Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.
A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.
Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will
“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”
“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.
“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.
You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.
“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”
“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”
You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.
“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”
“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.
“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”
Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.
God, you are so going to break up with him.
Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.
“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”
“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.
“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”
He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”
You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.
“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.
“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”
“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”
He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.
“You know what, no more popcorn either.”
“Deal.”
-
A year and something ago
Arizona
“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.
You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.
“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.
He raises his eyebrows skeptically.
All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.
“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.
“Of course you are.”
For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.
-
It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.
As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.
“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.
He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”
You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”
“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”
Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”
“Even more than the cactuses?”
“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”
He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.
“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”
“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”
“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”
“I’m always happy too.”
“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.
“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.
You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.
“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?
“Wait, what? Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.
“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”
“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”
He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”
You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out, peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”
-
Oregon
“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”
“But are we norse gods?”
“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”
“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”
“Asshole.”
You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.
Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.
You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.
He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.
“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”
You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.
“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”
It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.
He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.
He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.
“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”
He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”
“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.
This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.
He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.
God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.
He really is a sap.
-
Wyoming
Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.
It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.
Bucky couldn’t be happier.
He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.
He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.
He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.
Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.
Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.
Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.
Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.
He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.
“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”
It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.
“I love you too sweetheart.”
He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.
-
New York
6 months later
The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.
You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.
“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”
“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.
“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.
“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.
You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.
“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.
“Sure, where are we going?”
“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”
You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.
----
You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.
You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.
He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.
But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.
“Marry me, please.”
----
Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, don’t be shy, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#james barnes x reader#james barnes x you#james barnes x y/n
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On Love
So as you know I made this uquiz with an open-ended question at the end, tell me something about love, and I’ve gotten the most wonderful responses! They range from descriptions of wonderful partners:
Lauren: oh, how long I went without being myself until I met him and he showed me who I truly was and that my worth was higher than I ever thought was possible
Levi: I love who we are with each other. I love who I am with you. In your company I am me. In your company I am the best of me. The best with the best, I've told you. I wouldn't give you up for anything
Daniel: i fell in love for the first time when i was 17... at the time, i didn’t realize it was the first time, i thought i’d been in love before, a couple times actually, but falling in love at 17 was such a fulfilling experience, it felt so forceful yet so right. it’s when i first truly understood what love was. never before had i felt so understood and so cared for as i did when i was in love with her, and she was in love with me. it’s been nearly 4 years since then, and nearly 3 years since we broke up and stopped talking, and still, i think about her almost every day. i’ve never known anyone like her; to me, she was love itself.
El: oh i’m in love with everyone that i know op!!! especially my girlfriend, of course ,but also my friends and my family and random people on the street and uh
Grace: i’ve met my soulmate and we plan on getting an apartment and marrying after college
A: I’m going to ask the woman I love to marry me and I just wanted to tell someone because I am so excited
Jeremy: you ever have that feeling where basically after years of denying that someone couldnt understand you in a way or love you and then the next thing you know you happen to find that person and its just great from then on out? idk how to explain it anyways I love my boyfriend so much he means the world to me
Lucy: i am so happy i have found the one i love
to descriptions of best friends and favorite people:
Nightbyrd: Love is a hug from an alzheimer's patient who hasn't the foggiest idea who you are, but they know you're worth hugging.
H: I have been doing so much yoga with my roommate recently!! It's a great way to center my mind for an hour
Riv: [platonic] i’ve literally never met anyone who understands me in the way that my best friends do. they’re literally the best people in the whole world and i genuinely don’t know what i’d do without them. i love them with my whole heart
Cillian: when i talk about how much i love my best friend i get so teary eyed because i cant believe that such a genuinely wonderful person wants to speak to me every day - i care for her more than anyone else on this planet
O: my two besties are my sources of happiness and they’re so pretty i would die for them :D
to beautiful quotes:
Kai: "you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." DARCYYYY PLS MY HEART CANT HANDLW THIS PAIN
Dorian: When the plane went down in San Francisco, I thought of my friend M. He’s obsessed with plane crashes. He memorizes the wrecked metal details, ____the clear cool skies cut by black scars of smoke. Once, while driving, he told me about all the crashes: The one in blue Kentucky, in yellow Iowa. How people go on, and how people don’t. It was almost a year before I learned that his brother was a pilot. I can’t help it, I love the way men love. (accident report in the tall, tall weeds- ada limon, bright dead things)
Adam: every day I think about lemony snicket I will love you if I never see you again I will love you if I see you every Tuesday or however it goes. and it KILLS ME. love only fits in small things
Hero: “Your heart beats in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s… The divine magnet is in you, and my magnet responds.” - Herman Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne
Mary: "Love is watching someone die."
Alex: "meet me at blue diner, i'll take coffee and talk about nothing baby"
Sparrow: "How dare you love me like you've never known fear?" and "For you, the world," and "Darling, I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades," and "Will you start where I end?"
V: " You want to die for love. You always have. " and "someone will remember us, I say, even in another time" are living rent free in my mind 24/7 and I'm shaking. When will I finally be not the only one falling ?
Sahar K: To love another person is to see the face of god!!!
Miriam: all the love in the world is useless when there is total lack of understanding- kafka
Juls: Don’t you think they are maybe the same? Love and attention
to practices of love:
Leo; i love feeling happy bc somebody that i love is happy and comfortable....like its not about me i just love seeing you smile. we are safe together...idk i just feel it bro
A: I like to think love is leaning on each other during the light or dark days. Its a personal mission of mine to find out who I am and what I want. Yet I never seem to find my place in this world and as I look and look , I realise the only place I can be myself even with or without the efforts to find myself was done on that day or not, I am always tired so shall I lean on you? And you can lean on me as well. I shall be your fig tree and you shall be my favourite willow tree.
L: It's too late at night to be soul searching, but it's a journey we all seem to find ourselves on these days.
Anthi: feeling safe and at home, I guess (also I love frogs)
Julia: ive found that loving someone is like becoming your own thesaurus. you have to find or come up with infinite ways to say, you’re beautiful, or, i love you. it’s a gift
Galexies: ive been writing letters to the person i'd love one day since i was 14. i write them in a little journal usually, but i've been digitizing them into emails and sending them to one account that i'll give to them someday. i'd like to put pictures, but i haven't been outside much recently so theres that. i wonder if they'd like the sunsets i have on file, or if they'd find my cat cute in a bowtie.
Caeles: Love is sharing fruit slices and making someone tea at random
Dundy: Love is sending your friends cursed shit and watching them react in horror
to crushes and potential loves:
Jess: I have a crush on my roommate. It sucks, but it's also wonderful. I get to be around him all the time when we're at school. we share a life together; it's rather domestic. I think a lot about marrying him and being domestic with him forever. It won't happen, and I'll move on eventually, but I'll be happy with him for as long as I can. I hope you feel loved tonight, because you are. Sleep well.
Aki: I so desperately want to believe that love is fake because I’ve seen what happens when loved ones leave but whenever I start to convince myself that I’ll never love anyone my best friend messages me telling me she loves me. She’s the only person I’ve ever pictured having a future with but love scares me and I don’t really know what to do but I think as long as she’s with me in some way, I’ll be fine
Hi: her her i keep thinking abt her.... gonna see her in 8 days or so i really miss her. its ok if shes never gonna love me like i want her to really being her friend spending time with her makes me the happiest girl on earth.... outsold antidepressants
Kit: this guy i have a crush on has hypnotically dark brown eyes and he's wonderful and shows me kindness like no one else
Juno: my crush has all the stars in his eyes
Mads: When I have the courage to meet my eyes with hers, the world stands still
Be Nice To Me: Look bro I never do these but I am yearning to hold them SO badly right now and someone needs to know it besides me
to the trials of love:
Pppppp: I just wanna love like from the movies and what I read about.. but everyone tells me that that’s fictional and rare to find in the real world and it sucks bc it seems like all the guys I’ve met are terrible and the norms of society are all about not respecting women and uthdjdjdk
Manny: I have been in love before and I will be again but I’m not now and I miss it
Ok: I don't think I've ever been in love, though I love many people. I am waiting for the day I look at someone and can say, YES. IT'S YOU.
Chloe: idk rn i'm like okay with my love and i'm happy so we'll see i'm just a little cautious rn bc my last partner told me i didn't know how to love
L: love is so fucking complicated I don't even know where to start
Corrin: He’s not real and it worried me that I will never allow myself to live or be loved because I will always be waiting for him
Sean: Good luck it dont exist
Serena: i want 2 b in love :(( </3
13: I don’t know anymore
M: I just really don’t like dealing with it lol
to beloved characters:
Janaya: I’m madly in love with my comfort and kin character and I hope maybe in the afterlife I can relive a life with him in some sort of dimension
Jhgjdf: when i was a kid i had a crush on ash ketchum from pokemon and id always daydream about being a female pkmn trainer and meeting him and we fall in love
to advice and prose:
Mikolai: Love is earth, gentle and soft at first flight but upon being broken, drowns you in the dry choking wastes of its consequences...
Thex: Your hands will not go cold without someone to hold them. I am here. I will be here.
Kat: it is the nearest proof to god that i find myself surrounded by people who love in a way that complements so wonderfully the way i love
H: believe in love out of spite believe in love to prove everyone wrong believe in love because you were told not to and we will not do what we’re told anymore believe in love because it’s the strongest act of teenage rebellion we have left believe in love because it’s easier not to and when is easy worth doing? believe in love because everything says otherwise but you are untouchable, you are your own, you are not made by their design believe in love because, perhaps, you are love
Ali: I used to want a kind of love that feels like coming home and now I want nothing more than to be away from home on many different adventures
Em: you dont need to love yourself to accept it from others
to the small, the simple, and the sweet:
Ireal: Poems
O: Flowers
Fay: ah im sorry that i’m feeling unmotivated but you are very kind.
Ad: we love LOVE
A: <3
Isak: small things
H: intense
Hey: Listening to a clock ticking away
S: her
E: <3
Hania: Amorous, I adore that word ^^
Catboy: wholesome
J: i love love so much it hurts
Emmy: hi i love the song darkest of discos!! try and give it a listen!! <3
Nora: Love is painful, but most of the time love is great
Ariel: i like the comfort it can bring
M: i love love
to food!
Cool Whip: Matzoh ball soup!!
Woop: I love sausages.... I hope that's ok with you?
and animals too <3
Nee: hmm i have pet geckos and i love them very much!
96: raccoons ????
DJ Big Penis: cats
:3: I Love frogs,,, love is stored in the frog,,,
I hope that this serves as a sweet compilation of what love means! Love to all of you, it warms my heart so much to hear about your people and your geckos and your characters and soup and all the songs and quotes you love. <3 Strength to all of you who are figuring out to do about your feelings for your crush, and congratulations to you who are proposing or moving in with your person! Your words are a source of light to me, truly.
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Fanfic recommendations part three: Season 7 fix-its
Some of these stories are post season 7 finale, some of them take place during season 7 and diverge from canon. Season 8 who? We don’t know her.
I’ve read and enjoyed all of these stories, they are all worth the read.
(By the way this is a big category, so this post is huge)
All Our Yesterdays by ChronicallyChill
After the events of "Street Fighting Man", Jackie and Hyde wish more than anything that things had happened differently. The next morning, they wake up in the past, on the morning of Vanstock where Jackie promptly makes one dream come true. They are not together—but, soon enough, one change snowballs into another... Time Travel AU.
I didn’t knew if I should’ve placed this story on the season 7 fix-it category or in the AU category, in the end I chose this one, if you think it’s incorrect, please let me know so I can change it.
Okay so this story deserves a special comment because OH MY GOD, it’s incredible. It’s amazing how the author writes the characters so well, and I simply love the addition of Buddy Morgan to the gang.
This story is a WIP, it hasn’t been updated in a while but I still have faith.
121k words, 7 chapters.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna, Buddy/Fez
Also available on AO3
As You Wish by c00kiefic
A dark comedic look at love, loss and death. Hyde’s there for Jackie when she needs him the most.
This story is complete.
7k words, 2 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Daddy’s Home by bellamarie
Jackie and Hyde’s relationship has been smooth sailing for the most part since their last break-up in ‘79. As Hyde begins to seriously commit to Jackie, her dad is released from prison and he returns home to supposedly rekindle his relationship with her. Hyde, suspecting that Jack’s intentions aren’t pure, enlists the help of his friends to try and expose Jack for the still crook man that he is. While Hyde may be a paranoid burnout, he knows that the wily politician is up to no good. There is one thing, however, both men have a common interest in: Jackie Burkhart.
Okay so this story basically ignores the existence of season 8, that’s why it’s in this category.
Oh, and I’m pretty sure this is an abandoned story. Unfortunaly. It only has two chapters and damn, I’m dreaming about the day the author will update this, I’m already hooked.
4k words, 2 chapters.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Finding the Right Future by springsteenicious
After Chicago, Hyde starts driving to Las Vegas, planning to get over Jackie. His car nearly breaks down in Iowa, forcing him to stop. While he's there, he meets Fortune, a woman who will change the course of his life forever.
This story is complete.
13k words, 8 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Halloween is Over by MistyMountainHop
Eric wants to be scared for Halloween, really scared. Donna proposes a contest, and all their friends are in. But Hyde and Jackie's renewed relationship might not withstand the stress. Donna and Kelso must fight their impulses, and Fez and Eric's chances of survival are slim.
This story is complete.
25k words, 8 chapters.
Rated M
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna
Also Available on AO3
Hyde’s Long Way Home by MistyMountainHop
This story is perfect. It literally has no defects. I love ALL of MIstyMountainHop’s stories, literally, all of them, but this one has a very special place in my heart. It’s complete and it’s definitely worth the read.
Hyde goes on a self-destructive bender after finding Jackie with a towel-wrapped Kelso. The day after that, he wakes up ... and it's the same day as before. He's doomed to live the same day over and over — unless he can figure out a way to live it right.
151k words, 26 chapters.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna
Also available on AO3
I’d Have You Anytime by anonymous author
What if Jackie after panicking in her show, gave up? And what if she made an unnatural friendship? Basically a fix it of season 7. If you like a story with good Jackie/Eric friendship moments, I totally recommend this one!
Trigger warning for past eating disorder.
This story is a WIP and it’s being updated frequently.
15k words, 9 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna
I Found a Reason by JoyfulHeartEO
Can Donna help Hyde see the light before he loses the one thing that's most important to him? Or will Jackie decide to leave at all?
Rated T.
9k words, 3 chapters.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, background Eric/Donna
Jackie and Hyde: The Untold Story by Lotusflower655
I was going to place this in the “Hidden Moments” category (spoiler alert, the next category), when I realised this has a different season 7 finale, so... here it is.
Rated M.
12k words, 6 chapters.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Let’s Grow Up Together by yabookreader96
One day Jackie receives a certain letter in the mail, and she finds her life quickly beginning to change. Suddenly she is a grown up navigating life on her own, drifting away from the sleepy little town of Point Place...and from her friends who can't seem to find the courage to discover life outside the Forman basement. Will her friends catch up, or will Jackie be all on her own?
This story is complete.
67k words, 12 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna
Magic by poetdameron
Hyde has never been good at words and Jackie has never been good at waiting, they need to find a balance to stay together. Hopefully, they'll do it before is too late.
16k words, 2 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Also Available on AO3
Please Don’t Say You Love Me (’Cause I Might Not Say It Back) by orphan_account
An alternate take on the end of season 7. Instead of running off to Vegas Hyde downs a couple of beers in the good ol' El Camino before deciding that some things are more important than his pride - i.e. his relationship with Jackie.
This story is complete.
3k words, 2 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Reflections Through the Glass by MistyMountainHop
Okay, this story is quite a trip, and it’s amazing. It’s based on a minisseries called The 10th Kingdom.
Six months after Chicago, Hyde no longer believes in love — or in Jackie. Donna's not speaking to Eric. Kelso's confused about his whole life, and Fez has gone missing. The only way back may be to leave it all behind.
This story is complete, and there’s a sequel, called Beneath a Shattered Sky. Honestly, I love the first story, but the sequel... The sequel is probably one of the best stories I’ve ever read. Those are both very long stories, but they are worth it.
138k words, 46 chapters.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna
Season 8 redo by tanith75
This is the most famous story of the fandom for a reason.
The story starts after the s7ep21 episode, so there’s no Chicago problems or people going to Africa over here :) It’s amazingly written, it’s funny as hell, and it honestly feels like I’m watching an episode of the show when I’m reading it. It’s amazing, it’s what should’ve happened in the show.
This story is not complete, but please, don’t let this stop you from reading it.
293k words, 42 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, Eric/Donna, Red/Kitty, Fez/Laurie, Kelso/Brooke
Shade by MistyMountainHop
This story ignores season 8 completely and season 7 is canon, that’s why it’s in this category.
Hyde finds himself homeless on a night where Jackie is without parents. The gift he gave her last Christmas draws him to her, but his attachment lingers past that rainy first night, grows through countless experiences, and leads him across state lines. Their relationship is a high-stakes gamble, but Jackie may fold before Hyde can show all his cards.
This story is complete and it melts my heart every single time I read it.
43k words, 10 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Also Available on AO3
The Seeker by QuarterflashWoman
With Donna and Eric's own relationship kaput, after Eric left Donna at the altar, what does this mean for our favorite opposites-attract couple Steven and Jackie? Wedding bells, baptisms, betrayals, and ultimatums. It's just another year in the lives of those of Point Place.
This is mainly a season 7 hidden moments story until it diverges from canon, and it’s lovely. I wish it was complete, but it’s still worth the read.
121k words, 23 chapters.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde, some background Eric/Donna angst.
We’re All Alright by glittermila
In which Hyde and Jackie actually talk things out after he caught Kelso at the motel.
This is a lovely story, and I really enjoyed it, seeing Jackie and Hyde having a mature relationship is everything.
This story is complete.
48k words, 21 chapters.
Rated M.
Pairings: Mainly Jackie/Hyde
Zenmasters: Seasons 3-5 by zdbztumble
I was having a lot of trouble categorizing this story, in the end, I decided that it was a season 7 fix-it of sorts, since season 8 doesn’t exist and season 7 ends in a satisfying way.
This story is a rewrite of some episodes, the author foreshadowed J/H relationship during seasons 3 and 4, and she added some pretty nice J/H moments in some chapters. The author also changed some things in some episodes (like the way J/H get back together after the nurse, and some other things). It’s a pretty good story, I like it a lot.
After "Jackie Bags Hyde," a certain subplot went into hibernation for a season and a half. What if it hadn't? And, if it hadn't, what other surprises would pop up along the way? "Tune in" to find out!
This story is complete.
170k words, 43 chapters.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
One-shots:
A change in fate by KaraSkinner
After leaving Jackie in Chicago, Hyde gets into a car crash and meets an angel that shows him just how bleak life would be if he doesn't change his fate now.
4k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
don’t I love you so by orphan_account
Hyde’d spent so long trying to keep her out, and what had happened? He’d finally opened up the gates, only to realise she’d been there the whole time and had had enough. Love — it was a goddamn Trojan horse.
or; a 7x25 fix it where hyde and jackie talk like adults for once in their damn lives.
4k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Hyde Asks Jackie to Stay by springsteenicious
When Hyde finds Jackie in the basement when she's supposed to be in Chicago, his first instinct is to push her away. Instead, he asks her to stay.
2k words
Rated G.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
I’m not a heartbreaker, so be gentle with mine by FalaZure
It's just a proposal, Hyde's been through worse and really how hard can it be?
or: 5 times Hyde tries to propose to Jackie, and one time he succeeds.
This story ignores season 8 completely, and it’s mainly just fluff, I LOVE it.
12k words.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Jackie Doesn’t Leave Before Getting an Answer by springsteenicious
Jackie stays in Point Place and waits for an answer to her ultimatum. At long last, Hyde gives her one.
2k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Let’s Do It by poetdameron
According to the tags, season 8 does not exist on this story, so off to the season 7 fix-its category you go.
There are things a man should not say after great orgasms on Christmas' Eve, Steven Hyde should have known better.
2k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Moth Drawn to Light by blackorchids
After Hyde sees how good Jackie is with baby Betsy, it makes him start to think.
Ignores the existence of season 8 completely. Just a fluff little one-shot on Hyde’s thoughts about fatherhood.
1k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Our Last Night on Earth by c00kiefic
When Hyde wakes up in the beer warehouse, he decides to actually fight for his girl.
3k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Remember to Breathe by PrefectMoony
She’s all bubblegum laughter, and butter scotch kisses. Hyde thinks he loves her, thinks he’s always loved her. Hates that it’s taken him so long to tell her as much.
Hates it even more that the first time he’s ever told her so is when the break between them is too raw— too jagged— to be able to mend with pretty platitudes.
Beautifully written.
4k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
sighs in my sleep by finkpishnets
“Congratulations,” the nurse says, smile pulled too tight as she glances at Jackie’s unadorned hand.
Jackie wants to shrug it off — “My husband’s getting the ring engraved as an anniversary gift. Isn’t that just so romantic?” — but she can’t find the breath to let the lie trip off her tongue, even in the face of pity.
2k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Street Fighting Man by springsteenicious
Hyde finds Jackie crying at the Packers Game. He tries to fix it.
1k words
Rated G
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
Tea For One by KayRight
The second Mrs. Forman walked in with a letter for him he knew what had happened. Marrying her scared him, but losing her terrified him to his very core. Takes place in Season 7 after Jackie tells Hyde she got a job in Chicago.
2k words.
Rated M.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
The One Where They’re Happy by amidtheflowers
When Jackie and Hyde start dating, it takes the gang a while to see how that relationship even works. Something that creepy and unnatural can't possibly work, right? Meanwhile, Donna wonders why she puts up with any of them.
Adorable, I love this story so much, please read this.
3k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
we’ll be alright by marvelfoodlover
What if Jackie didn't easily forgive the gang after they missed her graduation party?
Season 7 fix-it because it diverges from canon.
2k words.
Rated T.
Pairings: Jackie/Hyde
I think that covers it.
I’ll repeat this at the end of every single post: speaking as someone who writes, it would be really cool if you guys decide to leave a review (or a comment, if the story is on AO3) in the stories you read, especially the unfinished ones. It really motivates the authors, and receiving a compliment is always a mood lifter. I’ve seen some authors updating stories after years because of nice reviews, so… yeah, this is just an idea.
If you think I left out a good story, feel free to reply to this post!
Next category: Hidden Moments
#jackie x hyde#jackie and hyde#jackie burkhart#steven hyde#zenmasters#that 70s show#that '70s show#fanfic#fanfic rec#fanfic recommendations
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Loving You Is A Losing Game - chapter nine
heyyy! it’s been a little while, but i did warn that updates on this book a going to get slower. lots of stuffs been going on with my family lately, so its been really hard to find time to sit down and write... but nevertheless, i hope you enjoy this chapter that i only like the second half of...
~*~
"how many pennies in the slot"
~*~
"when can i see you again?"
____
they had set a date. that night outside of joe's bar, they agreed that in just less than two weeks they would see each other again. paul would be out of town on a golfing trip like he did every last friday of the month, and alex would say that he had a family emergency. it wouldn't be hard to get a day off, just the words 'schizophrenic mother' would be enough to let him have a little while off.
so, on that early friday morning, alex stood in the trailer, packing up his suitcase with clothes while izzie continued to sleep peacefully, not needing to wake up for another twenty minutes or so. she had started back at work two days ago and he could tell it was taking a toll on her. she was more irritable and had been sleeping more, exhausted from being on her feet all day, a large comparison to being practically tied to a bed for twenty four hours straight.
he left a note, izzie knew that he was most likely going to be gone before she woke up that morning, but he wrote one anyway. 'gone to the airport. take your pills. love you'. it was short and sweet. he zipped up his suitcase slowly and quietly, careful not to wake his sleeping wife. before he heads out the door he takes one more glance at her and the guilt settles in deeper. he wasn't going to iowa, no, he was going to boston, to see another woman. a woman who wasn't his wife.
he considers not going for a second, calling off the whole trip and staying loyal to izzie, his wife. that's what he should do. the right thing.
but he has this desire in him, this burn. he needs this release, a sense of normalcy, and jo's the only one who can give it to him.
life was really screwed up sometimes.
he knew that someday, somehow, this would come back and blow up in his face, that was a given. but right now... right now he needs this. he needs to ramble on about stupid crap to jo while she does the same, stuff that he wouldn't talk about with izzie because he knew she wouldn't really care. stuff he wouldn't talk about with meredith or cristina because they would somehow circle the problem right back to them.
he needed this, and he could tell that she did too.
so with that he exits the trailer and slings his small suitcase into the back seat of the cab he ordered, watching as the tin can he called home slowly grew smaller and smaller as he got further away from it. he pulls out his wallet when he reaches the ferry boat not long later, giving the driver a generous tip before stepping onto the dock, the early morning sun just barely peeking above the horizon, setting an orange and yellow tint to the blue water of the sound. it was calming, settling. for the first time he could see why shepherd loved them so much.
when he arrives on the mainland he takes another taxi to the airport, going through security and baggage check quickly, grabbing a straight black coffee from the starbucks by one of the many gift shops, settling himself into an uncomfortable black chair next to an old lady knitting some kind of scarf. it was an ugly thing, green and a weird puke yellow, but the woman seems to like it, so he doesn't judge. he pulls his phone out from his pocket and looks through it, checking to see if he had any notifications or texts. he responds to a few work emails, which was mainly lexie asking for some details on patients since she was covering his service for the next three days.
he doesn't need to wait long before he hears a woman's voice come over the intercom. "flight 270 to boston, group two now boarding." he picks up his suitcase and shows the attendant his ticket before making his way to his seat, which was thankfully an aisle. he places his suitcase in the overheard compartment, letting in his seat mates before him.
he pops a piece of spearmint gum into his mouth so his ears wouldn't get clogged on the way up, leaning back in his seat and drifting off to a much needed sleep. maybe sleep would help to settle his nerves. maybe sleep would bring him some peace.
____
to say jo was nervous was an understatement, she was terrified. for what, she wasn't quite sure. maybe she was worried paul would come home early and see that she wasn't there. maybe she was worried that her and alex wouldn't connect, like last time.
she really hoped that wouldn't be the case though. she needed this, she craved it. she needed the release, she needed the conversations over beer, she needed the ease of being together, even though what they were doing was far from it. easy, that is.
alex would be meeting her at the hotel not too far from her house, a ten minute drive or so. she had a small duffle bag filled with clothes, school textbooks (she still had to study, she was a med-student above anything else after all) and necessities like her toothbrush and comb. she checks the time on the clock on the wall. it was now 2:32. alex's flight landed at around two, and he was going to text her when he arrived at his hotel.
she lets out a long breath, biting her lower lip as she flops back onto her bed, turning on her phone for the hundredth time in the last five minutes, seeing if alex had texted her yet. her feelings were a combination of nerves and impatience. she needed him, right there, right now. she needed to feel something real.
ever since paul hit her two weeks ago she seemed like she was living in a dream world. her thoughts were more hazy and the life she was living just didn't seem all that real. (she didn't have brain damage, but she chalked it up to a sign of shock).
everything had shifted in those two weeks. paul was worse —angry all the time. instead of being greeted by the door with a kiss, it was now an order, either to make him coffee, snack, or some other kind of demand. she didn't know this paul. but, he would get better. she knew he would. people always say that after the honeymoon stage of marriage ends it gets harder. so she thought that that's where they were right now. the harder part.
luckily the bruise on her eye had faded, nearly completely gone by now. a little bit of concealer on the corner of her lid was just enough to cover the yellow spot so it was unrecognizable. she was thankful for that. she didn't want to have to explain why her eye was bruised to alex.
she closes her eyes and places a hand on her forehead, not needing to wait long before her phone buzzes in her hand.
alexandra: just got in a taxi. the driver says i'll be at the hotel in twenty.
joseph: okay, room 363 right?
alexandra: yep ;)
jo chuckles at his response (leave it up to alex to flirt through every text), zipping her duffle bag closed, and walking over to the mirror hanging above her dresser. she ruffles her hair before picking up a spare comb and brushing through it once more. she hated her hair sometimes. it didn't matter how many times she combed through it, it was tangled and knotted as hell five minutes later. she sets the brush down, exhaling a long sigh as she looks into her reflection, her seas of hazel staring right back at her.
she wanted to say that she regretted those three nights. she wanted to say she was going to regret the next three. but honestly? she couldn't. she knew the shame would be flowing through her body once they left the room. she knew that she would not be able to look at herself for a few days in the mirror, only being able to see a woman who cheats on her husband. she knew. but for some reason it didn't matter. she wanted to meet alex in that room for three days straight and let them confine in one another.
she wanted it. she needed it.
so with that thought, she slings the bag over her shoulder and exits the bedroom, closing the door behind her. she gets into a taxi she ordered and drives to the hyatt where alex was staying, nervously tapping her fingers on her knees the whole way, grateful that she had ordered a taxi and not chosen to drive her own car. (no way in hell was she going to pay for hotel parking.) besides, it's not like her and alex were going to be leaving the room much.
she grabs her phone out of her pocket and pulls up alex's contact. she couldn't check in, since the room was in alex's name.
joseph: you here yet?
alexandra: yeah, just set my stuff down.
joseph: okay, i'll be up in a few
jo flashes the woman at the receptionist's desk a polite smile before she can talk, entering the elevators and pressing the third floor button. when the doors close, soft tunes begin to play through the small space, a long groan escaping jo's lips. she hated elevator music. she hated it's stupid rhythm and the way it made you want to claw your eyes out. abso-freaking-lutely nothing was enjoyable about elevator music. when the steel doors open she couldn't get out of them fast enough, cursing under her breath about their 'stupid freaking songs'.
she finds the room quickly, taking in a deep breath before she raises her hand to knock. if she wanted to leave, now was the time. she could make a run for it, text him that she couldn't do it and ghost him after. but the truth is, she didn't want to. she wanted to knock on the damn door, open it and see alex once again. in person this time, not just over her phone.
three knocks. an "it's open," is all it takes for her to swing the wooden door wide and be met with the face of alex karev, who had a small smirk on his features, looking her up and down, drinking in the sight of what's been on his mind non stop for the past month.
jo stands nervously in the doorway, leaning against the frame. she somewhat expected him not to show up. her whole life she'd been abandoned. who was she to expect a guy would fly across the country and cheat on his wife with her? and to show up would be a whole new thing.
but he did. it wasn't something to be proud of, but she didn't think he'd ever know how much it meant to her that he was there.
alex's smirk quirks up higher at one end, "personally... i think you're wearing too much clothes," he teases. that's all it takes for jo to drop her bag on the floor without a thought and jog over to him, pulling him down into a searing kiss.
the kiss was needy, frustrated. weeks of pent up emotions poured into it, burning their mouths with their desire for one another. her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, bodies pressed so tightly together there was no room in between them.
nothing mattered in that moment. it was just them, nobody else, nothing else. all they were was two bodies longing for the touch of one another, to caress their skin, to realize that everything was going to be just fine if they could kiss each other like that for just a little while.
it was just them.
____
jo and alex laid in the afterglow, the sun peeking through the curtains and setting a warm hue on their entangled bodies, limbs seeming to no longer belong to just one person. a calm silence surrounded them, a silence they desperately craved. it brought peace and promise, something they could both agree was a necessity right now in the chaotic mess that they had gotten themselves into.
she traces circles on his chest, eyes closed as he runs his fingers through her hair. her foot moved up and down his calf, nearly in sync with the way his hand twirled her brown locks. they were tired, exhausted after what they had just finished with each other, but they didn't want to fall asleep. the way their skin felt on each other, the fireworks going off in them was just too much to allow them to drift off. just being near each other seemed to heighten their adrenaline.
while she was focused on his chest and (now) making stars with her finger, he was staring at her lips. it was odd, how hers seemed to mold so perfectly into his. at the moment, her lips were swollen, a bright red tint glossing over them from their previous activities. a sight he enjoyed much more than he would ever admit.
they lay like that for a while, until jo shifts a bit, beginning to place tiny kisses on the side of his chest. "how's work been?" she asks, momentarily stopping the movement of her lips on his skin to look up at him, her eyes shining with genuine questioning.
alex moves his hand from her hair to her side, rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin that she possessed there. he pulls her closer to him, stifling his groan in her hair, making her let out a laugh —a sound he had grown more than fond of. "we’ve merged with one of the lower ranking hospitals, mercy west. which sucks."
he can feel jo pout against him. "i'm sorry." she says sincerely.
he blows out a breath, "yeah. i can't stand any of these new people —none of us can, actually."
jo sits up, eyes locking with his, a teasing undertone shining through her words. "oh c'mon, how bad can they really be?"
alex smirks, taking her mock as a challenge. "well for starters, they're all a bunch of total kiss asses." he grins, making her chuckle against his palm. "i'm serious," he laughs, adjusting his position so he could now sit fully upright. "kepner has this little book, where she writes everything down in, and i mean everything," jo leans against the headboards, taking her hand in his larger one and begins to trace his fingers.
"she never stops talking. she's like a freaking chihuahua. and she also got this huge thing for shepherd," he chuckles, thinking about how the girl practically melted every time the neurosurgeon entered the room. "she has her lips permanently superglued to his ass."
jo hits his chest, trying to keep her laughs to a minimum. "i'm sure she's not that bad," she reasons. his curt glare is the only thing that told her that this kepner was in fact 'that bad'.
“she’s terrible. never shuts up about jesus either. jesus wouldn’t approve of all the images she’d probably conjuring in her mind about shepherd though.” he snorts, amused at his own joke. jo rolls her eyes, biting back a smirk.
“oh doctor shepherd, i’ve picked up your lab results. oh doctor shepherd, i’ll assist you on a surgery nobody else wants to even observe. oh doctor shepherd, i’ll do anything you want me to if that means i get to stare at you a little bit longer.”
“please tell me you’re exaggerating.”
alex scoffs, “i wish. worst part is, she does it while mer is in the room. i’m not sure if she doesn’t know he’s married or has just never had the hots for someone before. Because if she hasn’t, she’s making it painfully obvious.”
jo gives up on holding back her laughter, letting a little giggle escape her throat. “that’s… something,” she settles on. over the past few weeks she’d begun to learn nearly everything about alex and all of his friends’ crazy, soap-opera lives inside the walls of the hospital. what she retained is one; that they were all somehow related, either biologically or through sex, and two; people who worked at seattle grace were incredibly horny, to put it lightly. but that was a discussion for another time.
“mhm, then adamson is just a-a bitch. yeah, she’s a huge bitch. don’t know how else to describe her other than that.” he leans over the side of the bed and ruffles through his carry-on bag, emerging with a bag of gummy bears. ripping the bag open he offers the candy to jo, who eagerly accepts and shoves at least four of the bears into her mouth at once.
“percy’s just this… absolute giant. guy’s like, seventy feet tall. he’s also got this thing for adamson, who only sees him as her brother. it’s sad really, she calls him charlie and everything.” he fakes a pout, posing mock sympathy for the man he honestly wouldn’t even give the time of day to if he wasn’t currently invading his work place.
jo clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “that’s a tough one.”
“yep.” he pops a few more gummy bears into his mouth, waiting until he finished them before talking again. (he one time tried to complete his story with food still in his mouth and jo had physically shut his jaw and forced him to chew until all of the pizza was gone. no way he was making that mistake again —jo was strong.)
“don’t even get me started on avery. god, every time i see him i just wanna punch him.” that piqued jo’s interest, a teasing grin split across her lips.
“are you jealous?”
alex scoffs, “god no. definitely not. i just can’t stand the guy. the dude looks like he should be on the cover of a fashion magazine, not inside of an OR. and, he gets standing ovations in the middle of the emergency room. oh yeah, plus he’s loaded, being harper avery’s grandson and all. i thought we were past the age of nepotism”
jo’s eyes widen comically, snatching the bag of gummies out of his hand and tossing it across the room, cutting off alex’s loud display of protests at the fact that the candy was now scattered carelessly across the carpet. “harper avery’s grandson?!” she all but screeches.
alex visibly winces, “yes jo.” he replied, nodding his head and trying to figure out how the woman he thought he had gotten to know so well could emit that kind of sound. like one of those teenage girls who were obsessed with those movies about vampires and werewolves.
“as in the harper avery award harper avery?”
“no jo,” alex deadpans, dramatically rolling his eyes. “the harper avery who owns the car dealership down the street —yes the harper avery award harper avery. who else would it be?” he gets up from the bed and starts collecting the gummy bears, dumping all the dirty ones into the trash while silently cheering when a good amount of them were still left in the bag.
when he returns to his spot, jo slaps him across the chest. “asshole. there may be a lot of people out there who are named harper avery.” in her defense, there were seven point six billion people on the earth. it was highly likely a few people shared the same name as the former doctor. (at least one.)
“mhm. yeah, well, the guy’s an ass.” he argues, giving her the bag of candy in hopes that she won’t throw it across the room again.
jo’s eyebrows scrunch up as she tilts her head to the side, seemingly deep in thought. “you know you gotta become friends with him right?”
he lets out a bemused laugh, “tell me you’re joking.” he says.
she shakes her head, jutting out her bottom lip. “nope. i mean...there’s gotta be some benefits to befriending an avery, right?” surely, there would be some kind of advantage. extra… good points with the foundation? mentions about oneself to the famous catherine avery? (the more she ran it over in her head the worse it sounded, but there was no way she was gonna give up, because there had to be at least one advantage to being best bros with an avery.)
“sure, i’ll keep that in mind.” he smirks, seeing how the wheels had stopped turning in that mind of her’s and were put to a rest once she realized the lack of good things that could come from being nice to mr. green eyes.
“whatever jerk. help me with some of my homework, i don’t wanna do it and you’re the hotshot surgeon who already finished med-school and works at a big, fancy hospital. sound good doctor karev?” she teases, grabbing her books from her bag and dropping them down onto the bed, the heavy pages creating a loud thump that immediately sends alex back to his days in college. books scattered on his bedspread, day-old mcdonald’s cups on his side table, and packets of unhealthy snack foods thrown across the floor. he lets out a dramatic sigh, pretending to think it over before pulling a book and jo towards him.
“so, biochemistry…”
#jolex#jolex fic#jolex fanifc#jolex fanfiction#grey's anatomy#greys#greysabc#affair#infedility#loving you is a losing game#jo wilson#alex karev#jo karev#jo wilson karev#brooke stadler#greys anatomy fanfiction#grey's anatomy fic#grey's anatomy fanfic#jo x alex#alex x jo#camilla luddington#justin chambers#payton writes#my fanfiction
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Space to Run, Space to Hide
fandom: marvel
pairing: winterhawk
~ 1.1k
i.
Clint
He’s not
running
away.
He’s not.
He just
needs
some…
space.
Yeah.
Space.
The city gets too
close
sometimes, so many
people all shoved
together,
an overfilled
bookshelf–
no room to move,
barely any room to
breathe.
Even the Tower,
with its huge open floor plans
and giant windows,
just reminds him that he’s
a rat in a cage. So sometimes
he just has to grab Lucky and run–
well, okay, fly–
away for a while.
It has absolutely
nothing
to do with
anything
that may
or may not
have happened
between him
and a certain metal-armed
supersoldier
four days ago.
Nothing at all.
ii.
Clint
It feels good to work.
Clint spends two days
splitting wood, and it’s too
exhausting
to think
of anything at all.
He doesn’t even dream.
Then he repairs
a barn door,
a storm window,
a porch step.
He replaces two
fence posts
and cuts down
a large, recently damaged
tree.
His muscles burn
with the different kind of use
and he falls
into bed
every night.
iii.
Lucky
Lucky runs and sprawls in sunlight.
Sometimes his human throws ball or stick,
sometimes they eat pizza,
but mostly his human is busy
doing human things.
He does noisy things,
or things with big sticks–
sticks too heavy to throw–
and that is boring,
so Lucky chases rabbits.
Or rolls in grass.
He even chases a butterfly,
but doesn’t really try to catch it.
He just likes the way it moves.
After a whole day with big sticks
Lucky brings his human a small stick.
A chasing stick.
He wags his tail
and licks his human’s face.
I’m sorry boy.
I’ve been
ignoring
you today,
haven’t I.
Lucky’s human
does magic ear scratches.
Almost as good as pizza.
When he stops Lucky
licks his face again.
Lucky likes the sounds
his human makes
when he gets licked.
Am I
hiding
out
here,
boy?
Lucky tilts his head.
Does his human
want something?
I didn’t mean to
kiss
him!
It just…
happened.
He keeps making me
coffee
and he’s just so hot
with his murder glare
and his eyes peeking out
from behind that fall of hair
and he’s quiet
but when he smiles
I just–
Lucky tilts his head again.
His human is looking at him,
waiting,
so Lucky gives a soft
woof.
His human
buries his face in Lucky’s fur.
You’re right.
Of course you’re
right.
I’ll call
Tasha
in the morning.
She always
knows
what to do.
Tasha?
Lucky knows that human.
She brings good treats.
Lucky wags his tail,
gives another small woof.
Okay.
Fine.
I’ll call now.
Come on boy,
phone’s in the house.
iv.
Natasha
Took you long enough.
Silence.
A
long
silence.
But Natasha can wait
forever,
and Clint
knows it.
He’ll break
first.
I did something
stupid.
She holds in the
laugh.
I know that,
little bird.
Tash, I…
I kissed
Bucky.
Kissing Bucky
wasn’t
the stupid thing,
glupiy.
running away
after
was the stupid
thing. he’s–
But she stops,
because maybe
this part
isn’t hers
to tell.
You
already
know?
She doesn’t
answer
stupid
questions.
Look. You need to
come home.
Hiding on the farm
isn’t going to solve
anything.
She hears his
sigh,
hears Lucky scratch
and jingle his tags.
Not yet.
Soon,
maybe.
He hangs up
without saying
goodbye;
she’s left staring out the window
but all she sees is
Clint
and Bucky
and a quinjet
and an Iowa sunset–
and she wonders
if these four things
are compatible.
v.
Bucky
Natalia didn’t explain,
just gave Bucky
that look
and told him to be ready
to leave in twenty.
Pack a bag,
she’d said.
So now he’s on a quinjet
heading into the setting sun,
feeling more nervous
with each passing mile.
Because Natalia only gets this
agitated
for
Clint Barton.
Barton’s been off the grid
for over a week.
Since that day
in the kitchen–
Bucky closes his eyes,
remembering.
After Barton swallowed
his mandatory
giant mugs of coffee–
two, seemingly without a breath–
they’d decided to make
breakfast
for the team.
So they’d been at the stove
together,
bumping elbows and
cracking jokes and eggs
all at once.
They’d been laughing
when they’d come
face to face…
He’s glad Natalia
is concentrating on landing…
wherever it is they are.
He can school his features,
can wear his “soldat” mask,
but he can’t stop
the blush
rising up his neck
to his cheeks
when he remembers
that
kiss.
He’d been surprised,
sure,
but only
for a fraction
of a breath.
Then he’d
kissed
back–
and with
enthusiasm.
They’re on the ground;
Natalia’s flipping switches,
settling the quinjet to its rest.
I know where you sleep,
she says casually.
Just keep that in mind.
He doesn’t react at all–
no twitch, no flinch–
but she smiles,
says, Good.
We
understand
each
other.
The smile
is all knives
and poison.
He does understand.
But he doesn’t need this
warning
from Natalia.
He doesn’t want to
hurt
Barton.
He just wants to
find out
what it feels like
to hold onto him.
To kiss him
again.
Maybe even…
But that
is for
later.
vi.
Clint
The sun is setting
when the quinjet
lands in his yard.
He’s been expecting it;
Tasha likes to
“fix” things for him.
She’s the most annoying
big (little) sister
he could ever ask for.
She’s lucky
he loves her
so much.
Here to knock me out
and carry me home?
She gives her most
innocent
smile.
He shivers.
I just came for a visit,
little bird.
Don’t be so
paranoid.
We both know
that’s a lie.
He hugs her
anyway, even kisses
the top of her head,
because she’s his
Natasha.
And then
Bucky
walks off
the plane.
vii.
Lucky
Lucky hears Tasha’s voice
after the big noise stops,
so he runs to the yard
to see what is happening.
His human stands
very still,
looking at
another human.
Lucky sniffs the air,
sneezes.
The other human
smells sharp.
Tangy.
Like shiny things
that hurt
to chew.
Bucky?
You didn’t
say
anything.
You just
ran
away.
I–
It’s okay.
I just–
I thought
maybe
we could…
try it
again?
Lucky’s human
sits down on the grass
Hard.
Did he fall?
He falls sometimes.
Lucky checks
to see if his human
is okay.
He smells okay,
no sick or hurt
smells.
Maybe it is time for
pets.
He lays on his human’s lap
and yes, he gets pets.
And the magic
ear scratches.
Lucky wags his tail.
Lucky wiggles himself around
to lick his human’s face–
but the human is in his way.
Not Tasha,
the other one.
He’s on the grass too,
with his face
squished
right up against
Lucky’s human’s face.
Lucky flops down,
huffs out his breath.
He’s going to have to
wait until later
for more ear scratches.
***
NaPoWriMo Day 23 || clint barton and space
for @wolfarrowepz
#lirael writes#napowrimo 2021#winterhawk#free verse#poetry#marvel poetry#clint barton pov#bucky barnes pov#natasha romanov pov#lucky the pizza dog pov#mutual pining#fluff#clint's farm#natasha is a good bro#story in verse
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A Holly, Jolly Crisis (Teaser)
Posting Date: December 18th, 6:00 PM CT (UTC/GMT-05:00)
Creative Contributor: @underthejoon for this wonderful banner!
Genre: Rom-Com / Ex-Childhood Best Friends to Lovers
Pairing: Hoseok / Reader
Synopsis: At this time last year, you thought you had it all. A kick-ass screenwriting job for the hottest TV show in LA, an actor boyfriend whose career was taking off and an affordable apartment with not one, but two bathrooms. Fast-forward to now and you’re single, soon-to-be jobless and searching for a way to scrape together January rent. Everything seems to be falling apart, which was why you told your family you weren’t coming home for the holidays. Enter your little sister, Sara, who recently became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi and needs you home to celebrate. The biggest problem? Returning home means you’ll be forced to face everything and everyone you left behind, including Yoongi’s best man – and your ex-best friend, Hoseok.
[ PART OF THE ONCE UPON A HOLIDAY COLLABORATION ]
Estimated WC: 37K
Rating: 18+
Preview: 2,455
Dear Y/N Y/L/N,
Thank you for taking the time to send our team your screenplay for One for the Money. It was a pleasure learning about your characters and ideas.
Unfortunately, we did not select your spec script at this time for further consideration.
Not wanting to read the rest of the rejection email, you clicked back to your inbox and moved the message to trash. Releasing a sigh, you slumped in the hard, plastic airport chair beneath you. This had to be your fifteenth rejection email this month, which didn’t bode well for your screenplay’s future.
The screenplay in question was your self-written TV series – One for the Money. You’d been working on it for years and had just begun sending it out to studios. If a screenplay was written outside a studio and shopped around after, it was often called a spec script. This stood for speculative screenplay and you supposed that right now, this was the best descriptor.
A screenplay without a studio was practically nothing. Speculative, indeed.
Glancing up from your phone, you saw the flight’s status on the board had moved from green to red – delayed. Stifling another sigh, you switched apps on your phone to check the weather. Winter storms were sweeping through the Midwest, resulting in a delay of holiday travel. This was precisely the reason you hadn’t wanted to go home this year.
Well, it wasn’t the only reason you were dreading your return to Josen Falls. You hadn’t seen your family in over a year but had still planned on staying in LA for Christmas and New Years. A wrench had been thrown in these plans when your sister, Sara, became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi.
Yoongi had only had one request when it came to wedding planning – that they be married in the same church his parents had been, a beautiful venue up north of the city. Of course, the only available date at said church within three years was June 30th. Seven months was practically nothing to plan a wedding, but Sara was determined to make it happen. Hence the need to have you at home.
Don’t get you wrong – of course, you were excited about Sara and Yoongi. You’d been the one who introduced them, after all, through your former best friend. They were perfect together and you were nothing but ecstatic to see your little sister so happy. The only unfortunate part about her life coming together was it happened to come at the same time as yours falling apart.
One year prior, you would’ve said you were on the right path. Things had been going well in nearly every part of your life. Your TV show was about to release its second season, you’d been dating Darren for nearly nine months and had found a reasonably priced one-bedroom apartment in a coveted neighborhood. Everything had been looking up, considering your previous year in LA, where paychecks had been scarce, and you’d been dangerously close to asking your parents for money.
Now, you found yourself back in the same situation. Uncertain where your next paycheck was coming from, recently single and unsure how you were going to make rent next month.
Your coveted Hollywood job had been as a screenwriter for The Drop, a critically acclaimed show which ended abruptly this year after a dispute with the main actor. The third – and final – season was set to air in the new year on Netflix, but after that you’d be out of a job.
Hence the desperate pitch of your spec script to every mainstream television producer with an open inbox. Suffice to say, things were not going well.
This was evidenced by the uncomfortable chair you’d squeezed yourself into at the airport, having been forced to give up your pass to Admirals Club. The cost just couldn’t be justified right now. Forlornly, you stared at the ticket you held in your hand.
It had been nearly a year since you’d last visited home. At first, this hadn’t been a purposeful decision. You’d been swamped at work, preparing for the Golden Globes and seasons one and two of The Drop. Your ex-boyfriend, Darren, had been nominated for an Oscar last year, resulting in a lot of holiday parties to attend.
Last year had simply been too busy to come, but all that had changed in just a few months. It all started in March, when contract negotiations stalled with your leading actor, Tory River. Tory fancied himself a method actor, so when you refused to pay him the GDP of a small country, he decided to walk. Without him, the studio had to scrap the show. Better to leave things at three solid seasons than add a lukewarm fourth without the star.
You were told in May the third season would be the last and were highly encouraged to apply to other shows. Nothing had panned out from there and then, at the end of the summer, you were dealt another blow.
You should’ve known things were bad when Darren, your ex-boyfriend, called you himself instead of Molly, his assistant.
When you first met Darren Carmichael in LA, he was a struggling actor from Des Moines, Iowa. The Darren of September 2020 was no longer the Darren of early 2019, though – he’d long ditched the Midwest accent in favor of designer shades and loafers. High off an Oscar nomination and with job offers rolling in, you should’ve suspected something was wrong from the genuine contriteness to his tone.
The first thing he said to you was, “Did you pass a newsstand today?”
At first, you’d been baffled since no one walked past newsstands anymore. Logging into Twitter, you immediately saw why your boyfriend had been worried.
DARREN CARMICHAEL AND CO-STAR, JESSICA AVEC, CAUGHT CANOODLING ON SET OF RECENT MOVIE!
Frozen in place, you’d barely listened while he pleaded his case. Instead, you scanned the article and felt your emotions deaden with each word you read. Darren and Jessica had been caught making out when no cameras were rolling. You were only mentioned as a footnote, and not even by name.
Darren was previously dating a screenwriter in LA, although this seems to have ended several weeks prior.
You had wanted to scream at that point, wanted to call up the author and berate them for proper sources, but you didn’t do any of that. Instead, you sat eerily still while Darren yammered on and on about why he’d done what he’d done.
That had been the worst part. He hadn’t apologized – not really. Instead, he’d gone on about how hard it had been for him to be away, surrounded and worshiped by more available people. You had your career, he’d argued. You had other things, you didn’t need him and what he felt for Jessica seemed like the real thing.
Darren thought you should break up so he could begin dating her.
Numbly, you’d hung up the phone and blocked his number. That had been nearly three months ago at this point, but the sting of the breakup remained.
It wasn’t as though Darren had changed overnight. When you’d first met, he had been the super-cute barista at your favorite coffee shop. You two had bonded over being unable to find appropriately caffeinated beverages in LA and the rest, as they say, was history.
Then Darren landed a role as a recurring character on a popular Netflix show. What seemed like overnight, he became America’s heartthrob. Still, Darren had remained mostly the same at first. He went to work every morning, came home in the evenings and you continued to attend the same parties, run in the same circles.
Soon though, Darren was invited to more exclusive gatherings and slowly, his invitations transitioned from “Darren plus date” to “Darren.” You hadn’t protested at the time, not overly interested in canapés and pretentious conversation. The time you did spend together dwindled, going from Facetiming each night on his movie set to a harried phone call every other day.
Maybe you should’ve been more suspicious. Looking back on it now, the warning signs were all there, but you’d been too busy with work and worried about your show’s future. Darren had been distant and withdrawn, but you’d been okay because you’d been distant, too.
After you blocked his number, you’d kicked him out of your apartment. Packing everything he owned in boxes, you’d set these on the lawn and firmly shut the door. It was unfortunate that it rained before he could pick them up, but that couldn’t be helped. You refused to see him again – you even went so far as to have your assistant, Jimin, pick up Darren’s keys.
Jimin had done so gleefully, perhaps too gleefully, but that couldn’t be helped. Darren had tried to contact you a couple more times, but eventually he got the hint and the last you’d looked, he seemed blissfully happy with his vapid co-star.
Gritting your teeth, you exhaled. That wasn’t fair – you had no idea what Darren had told Jessica about you. For all you knew, she could’ve thought you’d been broken up.
Regardless, things had gone steadily downhill for you the past year. Single, nearly unemployed and running low on your savings, you could easily call this a low point in your life. Worst of all was your family didn’t know the true extent of it.
They knew you’d broken up with Darren, of course – that had been front page news for the nation. They also knew your TV series had ended, but they had no idea you were struggling as much as you were. Each time they called, you meant to tell them, but something managed to choke you every time.
Maybe it was that your mom was so excited about Sara’s wedding. Or maybe it was how diligently your dad had watched The Drop. Admitting you didn’t have a next step felt like defeat, so you’d purposefully kept things brief until you had something to tell.
The problem was none of your next steps seemed to be panning out. Again, your mind wandered to the rejection email in your trash.
“Excuse me? Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”
Blinking, you looked up and felt your heart sink.
The guy standing before you looked around college-age, dressed in a MORDOR FUN RUN t-shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. Clutching his laptop, he looked at you hopefully and you felt your heart sink even further. He had to be a film nerd.
“Um, yeah,” you said, trying to smile. “That’s me.”
This had happened to you a few times before. Even if you weren’t an actress, your name appeared at the end of every episode of The Drop. It hadn’t taken long for starry-eyed screenwriting ingénues to find you on Instagram.
Usually, you were patient in your responses, giving them as much advice as you could without being discouraging, but Lord of the Rings here had caught you on a bad night.
“No way!” he gushed, grinning widely. “I’m such a big fan of your writing. I swear, I’ve memorized the entire first season of The Drop.”
“Not the second, though?”
His face fell. “No, well – I, it’s a long series and…”
“I’m kidding,” you said with a smile. “That’s really nice.”
“I want to be a screenwriter myself, someday,” he said, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m in a program at UCLA and am searching for a summer internship. Any advice for someone who’s just starting out?”
Hesitant, you looked him up and down and wondered how honest to be. He seemed nice, looked hopeful and you were one hundred percent sure the industry would crush him.
“You want some advice?” you said as you stood from your seat. The light on the departures board had changed from red to green.
Eagerly, the guy nodded.
“Alright, here it is.” Slinging your bag over your chest, you said, “Don’t be a writer.”
The guy’s expression faltered. “What?”
“Don’t be a writer,” you said. “Screenwriting is one of the most fickle, unforgiving jobs in existence. Job security? None. Creativity? Only as much as shareholders allow. The industry will eat you up, spit you out and no one will give a damn. The glamorous profession you’ve dreamt of doesn’t exist. The best advice I can give you is run the other way.”
The guy stared at you, wide-eyed and for a moment, you felt a modicum of pity. Brushing this aside, you steeled your spine – better for him to find out now, while he could still change his major to something stable, like accounting.
“I, uh…” He paused, and then swallowed. “Thanks, I guess?”
“No problem,” you said, brushing past him as group numbers began to be called. At the last second, you turned around. “Best of luck in whatever you decide, though. Happy holidays, and all that.”
“Happy holidays,” he mumbled, in a daze.
As you entered the line, you bit down on your lip and began to regret your outburst. Some of your bitterness was based on your own experience; maybe his would be different. The guy had seemed excited and you’d just crushed his dreams.
Narrowing your gaze, you straightened. It would’ve happened to him sooner or later; of that you were certain. Better to warn him now than for him to learn it the hard way. You only wished someone had been kind enough to tell you this years ago.
Actually – a sliver of discomfort entered your thoughts, since someone had told you this last year. Someone had warned you about Darren, about your job and LA, but you’d chosen not to listen. Instead, you’d let your friendship crumble and hadn’t spoken to them since.
Just another reason going home for the holidays was going to suck. Going home meant you’d be forced to see Yoongi’s friends, which meant you’d be forced to see Hoseok. Yoongi and Hoseok were close, after all – they’d become friends in college, which was when Yoongi had been introduced to Sara.
It had been nearly a year now since you and Hoseok last spoke, despite having once considered him to be your best friend.
So, there it was. Reason six hundred and sixty-six why the holidays would suck. You were single, jobless and facing the imminent prospect of two weeks with people who either had their shit together or were a constant reminder of why you did not.
As you boarded the plane and settled into your seat, you pulled out your headphones and cranked up the volume. If you weren’t feeling particularly Christmas-y, you could at least try to numb the pain with alcohol and music.
Starting now, you decided, as you closed your eyes. Happy holidays, indeed.
[ TO BE CONTINUED ]
© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.
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After the Hunt
Pairing: Dean x Reader. Other Characters: Sam, Charlie, Bobby & Rufus (mentioned)
Word Count: 6500+ (This one kinda got away from me, sorry)
Warnings: Show-level mentions of violence, a bit angsty, but fluffy in the end
Summary: A werewolf hunt doesn’t go as planned, so our Reader feels that changes need to be made.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The ride back to the bunker from the back seat of the Impala was tense, to say the least. There was very little, if any, conversation and no music. From time to time, Dean's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to look back at you. Then his eyes would return to the view in front of him as he shook his head.
"Dean, I'm--" you started to say on one of the times you caught his eye.
"Save it. I don't want to talk about it right now," he growled.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You, Sam and Dean were on the hunt for a pack of werewolves in Parkersburg, Iowa. They were working the 'car broke down' angle to draw in their victims. People would stop to see if they could help, then the werewolves attacked and carved out their victims' hearts.
Your research told you that this was a small pack of around 3-4 wolves, taking refuge between attacks in an abandoned shack. No match for you and the mighty Winchesters. As you entered the house through the back, you carefully swung the door open, wincing as you heard it creak. You waited a few breaths, but didn't hear any movement, so you continued on your path into the house.
Sam and Dean were on the main floor, checking out the other rooms when you thought you heard a noise in the basement. You made your way to the door leading to the basement and slowly descended the staircase. The door blew shut behind you, but you continued on your way down the stairs.
As soon as your foot left the bottom step, you heard a low growl behind you. Reaching for your thigh holster, you pulled out your silver dagger and spun on your heel to face your assailant. You immediately plunged the blade into the werewolf's heart, killing it instantly. As it fell, the claws on its outstretched hand grazed the skin on your left side, causing you to double over in pain.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam and Dean had caught up to you and were each fighting with a werewolf. Dean was holding his ground, but Sam was in a bit of trouble. You had a clear shot at the one attacking Sam, so you raised your weapon to aim for its heart.
You were about to shoot a silver bullet into its heart when time seemed to completely stop. You could see the werewolf's sharp fangs preparing to sink into Sam's neck. You could hear Dean shouting at you to shoot but you couldn't move.
Dean managed to fend off his attacker long enough to plunge his silver knife into Sam's werewolf, saving him from being bitten. You shook your head to clear it, and just before the last one could come for Dean, you fired a silver bullet, killing it. Dean turned and glared at you, the anger rolling off of him in waves.
You could feel the blood trickling from your wounds, but didn't want Sam and Dean to notice. So, you zipped up your jacket and the three of you went out to the Impala to go home. You gingerly slid into the back seat so as not to aggravate your wound.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dean pulled the Impala into her usual parking space in the bunker's garage. As you made a move to get out, Dean stopped you. "Sammy, you go on inside. I'll meet you in there in a few minutes," Dean advised.
You sat back in your seat, your hands folded in your lap and your eyes cast downward at them. "Dean, before you say anything, I have to tell you that I'm sorry," you started.
He turned from the front seat to face you, anger flashing in his eyes. "And you think that covers it? 'Sorry' doesn't mean jack squat if my little brother gets bitten and turned into a werewolf because you hesitated. What happened today was because you were careless.
"First, you took off on your own and ran into the pack. Next, you almost got Sam bitten because when it came time for the kill, you choked on the one-yard line. No, 'sorry' doesn't cover it this time," Dean spat out. He grabbed his bag then stormed out of the car and into the bunker.
You sat there in your seat, digesting Dean's words. He was right, you had hesitated at the last minute when the werewolf was about to bite Sam. If it had, it would've turned Sam and as far as you knew, there was no cure. It was a mistake that you would've had to live with for the rest of your life.
Wiping away the tears that had streaked down your face, you picked up your own bag and carefully exited the Impala. Once you were in your room, you'd be able to get a better look at your injury and patch yourself up. You were damn sure not going to give Sam and Dean another reason to doubt your skills as a hunter. Patching up your own injuries was nothing new for you, since you'd done it when you hunted by yourself.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When you walked by Dean's room on the way to your own, you heard voices sharply raised in anger. You paused by the door to hear what was being said, even though you weren't sure you wanted to know.
"Sam, she froze up on the kill shot, and you almost got bitten, how is that not serious?" Dean snapped.
"Dean, all I'm saying is that there has to be a reason for it, because she's a good hunter. I think we should talk to her and try to figure out what happened," Sam interjected. You smiled briefly at Sam speaking up in your defense.
"I don't know, Sam. Everybody said she's a good hunter, but after what happened today I'm just not sure anymore. You could've been turned, Sam! And you know that Mick's cure isn't a guarantee," Dean replied.
"Dean, come on, you're not being fair," Sam pleaded. "After all this time, you know that a hunt, especially one we're on, doesn't always go according to plan. Besides, she snapped out of it long enough to take out the last one before it could go after you again," he reminded Dean.
"Yeah, well, I'm still starting to think that the three of us hunting together isn't the best idea anymore. All I know is that for right now, I need to be somewhere that she isn't," Dean remarked.
And there it was. The seeds of doubt had been sown in his mind, and it was only a matter of time before you would be shown the door. Asked to leave the only family and home you'd had after so many years of being on your own. You covered your mouth to hold in the sobs threatening to escape as the tears flowed freely now. Once inside your room, you locked the door, then headed to your private bathroom for the medical supplies.
As you stitched up your wounds, you heard the bunker door close. You knew that meant Dean had left, probably to drown his anger in alcohol at the bar. After tying the thread on the last stitch, you threw away the bloody gauze patches and packaging. Then you grabbed a clean shirt from your dresser and put it on.
You pulled out your phone and pressed one of your contacts. "Hey," you said when the call connected. "I need a huge favor right now. I'll explain when I get there, okay? Thank you," you replied then disconnected the call. Before locking your phone, you remembered to turn off the GPS function so that Sam and Dean couldn't track you.
Under your bed was your biggest bag, so you retrieved it and started emptying your drawers of clean clothes into it. You transferred the toiletry bag from your hunting duffel into the larger bag. You looked around the room to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything.
All over your room, there were framed pictures of you, Sam and Dean, mostly of the three of you together. Some were of just you and Sam, but a few were of only you and Dean. You slowly ran your fingers over the glass in front of your favorite picture of you and Dean. He looked so happy, more so than he ever let anyone see. His happiness is what you wished for him more than anything.
Deep down, beyond his cocky and confident exterior was a man that couldn't or wouldn't acknowledge his own self-worth. But you knew. You saw the strong, caring and selfless man that he was, which made you love him all the more. Recalling his earlier statements, though, you had confirmation that your feelings weren't reciprocated. Without trust there was no love, and at least right now, he didn't trust you.
You decided to leave the pictures behind, as it would hurt too much to be reminded of your time here with the Winchesters. You unlocked your door and poked your head out into the hallway to see if Sam was anywhere around. The sound of rushing water down the hall told you that Sam was in the shower, and you knew it was now or never.
Being careful not to pull out any stitches, you dragged your bag up the spiral staircase. When you got to the top, you turned to look down into the well. "Bye, boys," you whispered. In the garage, you placed your bag in the trunk of your '68 Chevy Nova. With a rumble in the engine, you pointed your car down the highway to the east in hopes of a new start.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dean sat at the bar, sipping his shot of whiskey and staring off into space. What happened earlier on the hunt kept running through his mind. He shuddered to think of the outcome if he hadn't been able to throw off his own attacker long enough to help Sam.
And then your hesitation on the kill shot. The more he thought about that, the angrier he got, which made him order another whiskey. Maybe she just doesn't have what it takes to keep hunting with us, he muttered to himself.
Then Dean recalled something you had said when you first came to live in the bunker. The reason you were a hunter was because a pack of werewolves killed your family. You were 17 and a senior in high school, living with your parents and 14-year old sister.
When the werewolves came in to your sister's room, you were hiding in the closet. Then you saw the werewolf approach your sister's hiding place. You had told the boys that you wanted to do something, but you didn't know what to do. All you could do was watch as it attacked and killed your baby sister.
Bobby and Rufus came in and took out the werewolves then rescued you. It was on that day that you decided that no other family should have to go through what you did. Bobby took you in, then he and sometimes Rufus trained you to become one of the best female hunters out there.
Suddenly everything made sense to Dean. When you saw Sam being attacked, it made you relive that night your family was taken from you. Dammit, he swore to himself. Sam was right, he should've talked to you about what happened, try and get to the bottom of it. You were a good hunter with great instincts and even better fighting techniques.
Then he was reminded about the other side, the non-hunter side of you, how you basically run the bunker, do research AND go on hunts. You ensured that everyone was well-fed, had clean clothes and got their wounds patched up. You made time to bake the occasional pie for him or cookies for Sam, but he couldn't recall ever seeing you do anything for yourself.
As Dean dove even deeper into his thoughts about you, he wondered what it might be like to run his fingers through your hair. To gaze into those gorgeous eyes of yours that seem to sparkle whenever you talk about something you love. How your smile lights up your face and that to him, your laugh is like hearing his favorite song. He realized how wrong he was to have gotten so angry with you and wanted to apologize.
Dean raced back to the bunker, in hopes that you would agree to talk with him. When he got there, he saw that Sam was on the phone with someone. Sam held up his hand to indicate that he would speak to Dean after he was done.
"Well, if you see her or she calls you, tell her we love her and want her to come home. Yeah, thanks Donna," Sam said before disconnecting the call.
"What's going on?" Dean asked.
Sam took a deep breath before responding. "She's gone, Dean. When I got out of the shower, I went to her room to talk to her. She wasn't in there, but I found this on her bed," he said as he tossed a blood-stained towel onto the table. "She must've gotten hurt and didn't think she could tell us, so she just stitched herself up," he surmised.
"Can you track her phone?" Dean suggested.
"Not since she was smart enough to turn off the GPS function," Sam answered. "What did you say to her in the car after I left?" he asked.
Dean hung his head, recalling the conversation. "Nothing I'm proud of at the moment. I called her careless for taking off on her own and for almost getting you bitten. Then told her that 'sorry' didn't cut it this time. Before you say it, yeah, I know I'm a jackass for saying all that," he retorted.
Silence filled the bunker as the brothers tried to think of how to find you. Dean cleared his throat. "I think I know why she hesitated during that hunt," he remarked. He told Sam what he remembered you saying about how you got into hunting because of what happened to your family.
"So you think that when she saw me being attacked, it was like seeing her younger sister all over again," Sam replied. Dean nodded. "Makes sense," Sam shrugged. "I just wish she would've talked about it with us before she felt like her only option was to leave," he said softly.
Dean nodded, his heart aching because he didn't know where you were and if you were safe. "Yeah," he whispered. "Guess we'd better start making some phone calls. Who's next?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You finally arrived at your destination, an ordinary-looking apartment building on the outskirts of Chicago. You were tired, a little hungry and definitely in need of a shower. You opened your trunk and took out your bag, then trudged up the stairs to apartment nine. Once you got buzzed in, you knocked on the door, which was soon opened by your bubbly, red-haired friend. "Hey, Charlie," you whispered.
Charlie took your bag and swung the door open farther to let you into her apartment. She closed the door and tapped your shoulder. You turned around to see her standing with her arms wide open. You choked out a sob and flew into her arms, unable to hold back any longer. "Good to see you, mah bish," she greeted you softly.
Through your tears, you chuckled at her greeting. "Thank you, Charlie, for letting me crash here. I wasn't sure how much longer I was going to be welcome to stay in the bunker after what happened. I figured it was best that I leave on my own terms instead of being kicked out," you stated.
"You know it's just a matter of time before Sam or Dean calls here to find out if I've seen you, right? What did happen anyway?" she asked.
You told her about the werewolf hunt, how Sam almost got bitten because you froze. How angry Dean was with you and how he questioned your hunting abilities. That you couldn't bear to see the disappointment in Sam's face over what happened on the hunt. "Dean took off to the bar while I was stitching myself up. I finished, packed my stuff, then waited until Sam was in the shower before I left," you explained.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you got hurt? And you didn't say anything to Sam or Dean before you left?" Charlie exclaimed. "Oh, trust me, they're not going to be too happy about that. Those guys care about you, sweetie. They'd be upset to find out that you got hurt and they'd want to help patch you up," she finished.
"Charlie, I learned how to patch myself up long before Sam and Dean Winchester came along. Besides, it would probably be seen as further evidence that maybe I'm just not good enough to hunt with them," you muttered.
"Well, we all know that's crap, including you. So let's get off this train to Self-Pitytown, shall we? You know that you are one of the most bad-ass huntresses out there with mad fighting skills, and you kick ass on a daily basis. You were trained by Bobby and Rufus, and if they could see you now, they'd be prouder than anything. So knock it off, huh?" she finished, hands on her hips.
A grin slowly crept across your face. "The 'train to Self-Pitytown'? Really, Char?" you said as burst into laughter. "Thank you. You know just what to say to help me feel better. You're my best friend, and I love you, mah bish," you giggled.
"Love you too," she replied. "Hey, why don't I order us a pizza while you get showered," Charlie suggested.
"That sounds awesome, Char," you reached for your bag, but Charlie was quicker. She slung it over her shoulder and dropped it off in her guest room for you. She left you alone in the room to get ready for your shower.
Twenty minutes later, you had showered, towel-dried your hair and changed your bandages before rejoining Charlie in the living room. She was on the phone but looked like she'd just received some bad news. When she saw you, she held up one finger to signal that she would talk to you when she was off the phone.
"Okay, call me if anything else happens. Thanks," Charlie said grimly as she hung up the phone.
You raised one eyebrow in question to what happened on her phone call. "Charlie? What's going on, honey?" you asked, placing your hand on her arm.
"Um, you remember that LARPing thing I do some weekends?" she asked.
You nodded. "Yeah, where you're the Queen of Moondor?" you inquired.
"Right," she confirmed. "Well, this weekend is our annual Fantasy Festival at the Wisconsin State Fairgrounds outside of Milwaukee. All of the factions get together and compete in a series of games. You know, Elves, Shadow Orcs, Fairies and my people, we all compete to see who gets to wear the crown," she explained.
"Okay, with you so far," you replied. "What happened?"
"Two of my guys have been reported missing," Charlie remarked.
"You want me to go into the local PD all 'FBI' and see what I can find out?" you asked. "I've got my 'Fed threads' in the bag," you mentioned.
Charlie thought about it for a few minutes while you answered the door for the pizza delivery guy. He looked you up and down and got a creepy grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face.
"Maybe not have you go 'FBI', but come to the festival with me and be my lady-in-waiting. That way, you could keep an eye on things AND we get to hang out like it's a mini-vacation. Please?" she pleaded. Charlie tried her best to give you the puppy dog eyes like Sam, but she couldn't quite pull it off.
"Okay, on the one hand stop with the puppy dog eyes. You should have Sam teach you a thing or two before you try that again on me or anyone else," you teased. "On the other hand, it sounds like just what I need to get my mind off of Dean Winchester." You muttered the last part, hoping she didn't hear you.
But she did. "Why would you need to get your mind off of Dean Winchester?" she asked. When your face heated up and you didn't say anything, Charlie drew a sharp intake of breath. "You like him, don't you?" she exclaimed, her eyes as big as saucers.
"No, I don't," you protested lamely. But it was true, and your best friend knew it.
"You do so have a crush on Dean Winchester. I knew it. Was just a matter of time," she said casually.
"Char, it doesn't even matter. I'm here, he's back at the bunker where he belongs. Charming the panties off of witnesses, waitresses, barmaids and whoever else. Anyone but me," you finished quietly.
You got up from your place on the couch, placed your empty plate in the sink. When you returned to the living room, Charlie had also stood up, arms outstretched. You walked into her embrace and whispered, "Goodnight, Charlie. See you in the morning."
"Goodnight, my friend. Sweet dreams. Of Dean Winchester," she teased. You rolled your eyes and playfully swatted her arm as you stepped out of her embrace.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam sat at the table in the library, scouring the internet looking for you. During his search, he found the article on the Fantasy Festival and the Battle for the Kingdom of Moondor. "Hey, I think I found something," he said.
Dean came over to read over Sam's shoulder. "What is it, have you found her?" he asked hopefully.
"No, it's a case, but one involving Moondor and our favorite queen, Charlie. Maybe we can take care of two things at once. Solve the case and see if Charlie has heard from her," Sam suggested.
"Yeah, we could do that," Dean said flatly.
Sam turned and looked at his older brother. He could tell that Dean was mentally kicking himself for how he handled the post-hunt conversation. He also knew that there was a strong possibility that Dean felt something more than friendship for you. "We're going to find her, Dean," Sam affirmed, his hand on Dean's shoulder.
"I sure hope so, Sammy. I'd hate for something to happen to her and my last words to her were how 'sorry' didn't cover it. If--when--we do find her, I fully expect for her to fling those words right back in my face," Dean muttered. "That, and I never got to tell her...." he trailed off.
"Tell her what, Dean? How you feel about her?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. She's an amazing woman, Sammy. She's this bad-ass huntress who sure knows how to handle a blade. And I don't know if you've noticed, but she runs the show around here. She cooks, she takes care of us, researches and still goes out into the field with us.
"But who am I kidding? After what I said to her, there's no way she's ever going to want to come back here. I won't get to look in her beautiful, soulful eyes anymore, or see her smile," Dean sniffled. "Or-or hear her singing in the kitchen while she's making dinner," he choked out, as a tear escaped down his cheek.
Sam walked over to stand in front of his brother and placed his other hand on Dean's shoulder. "Look, Dean, we're going to find her. We'll go solve this case, and with Charlie's skills, we're sure to track her down in no time," Sam tried to assure his brother.
Dean nodded his head and rubbed his eyes free of tears. "You're right, Sam. Let's get on this. The sooner we get going, the sooner we can solve this case and get her back." He pushed away from the table and went to his room to pack. As he watched his brother leave, Sam sent up a prayer for Cas to keep an eye on you, wherever you happened to be.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You checked the clock on your cell phone, which read 7:37 am. You could hear movement in the kitchen, indicating that Charlie was already awake and probably making coffee. You stumbled through your morning routine of brushing your teeth and finger-combing your hair.
Charlie smiled when she saw you in the doorway, yawning and still in your pajamas. "Hey there, girlfriend, how'd you sleep?" she asked.
You shrugged. "Eh. I guess I got so used to some of the sounds in the bunker that I miss them. The noises I mean," you hastily added.
"Yeah, I know what, or should I say, who you miss," Charlie teased. "I'm sorry, it's just that I happen to think you two are perfect for each other," she remarked.
You pinched the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. "Char, it is WAY too early for a discussion like this. Could we, I don't know, NOT do this right now?" you begged.
"I guess so. Come get some breakfast, then we should get going to Milwaukee," she replied, checking her watch.
About an hour later, you and Charlie were in your car, headed for the Wisconsin State Fairgrounds for the Fantasy Festival. Since Charlie was the reigning queen of Moondor, and rightfully so, she had the biggest tent, one with two rooms. That worked out for you, because you were posing as her lady-in-waiting and you could bunk together.
Your bag was already in your room when you got there, courtesy of one of the Knights of Moondor. You ran your hand over the blanket that covered your bed and were amazed at how soft it was.
After you unzipped your bag, you dug out the elastic wrap bandage and asked Charlie to help wind it around you. This was to help protect the area you had to stitch up, courtesy of a dying werewolf. It also seemed to help take some of the pressure off of your stitches, of which you were in great favor.
"All right, as my Lady-in-Waiting, you'll have to look the part. Step behind this screen and you'll find leggings, tunics and all sorts of weapons holsters. I assume you won't want to wear one of those heavy, formal dresses," she remarked.
"Eww, no. There's no way I'd be able to fight wearing something like that," you replied.
"And you brought your knee-high boots, which will work just fine. Let me know when you're dressed," Charlie said as she exited the tent.
Charlie was on her way to speak to the captain of her guards, when she spotted Sam and Dean wearing their Fed suits. They were in full-on "investigator" mode, asking questions. "Oh, blurg," she choked out. Her only instinct was to turn around and run back to her tent before they saw her, which is what she did.
"Sam. Sam, look over there. Isn't that--" Dean tapped Sam's arm to get his attention. "That's Charlie. Set course to intercept," Dean grinned. "Charlie! Charlie, wait! We need to talk to you," called Dean.
Charlie dodged in and around people, trying to escape Sam and Dean. At one point, she looked around but couldn't see them, so she figured she'd lost them. When she got to the entrance of her tent, the boys were waiting for her.
There was an intense staring contest between Charlie, Sam and Dean. Each one was trying to assess what knowledge the other may have about you. Dean was the first to break the stalemate. "Where is she, Charlie," he asked in a low voice.
Charlie's eyes darted back and forth from Dean to the entrance for her tent. "Hey, Char, can you help me with some of this gear, I--" you stopped mid-question when you saw them. "Dean," you whispered. Half a heartbeat later, you took off down the path, far away from the man with the mesmerizing green eyes.
"No, wait! Please, I need to talk to you!" Dean shouted as he ran to catch up to you.
You stopped and whirled around to face him. "Just forget it, Dean. I don't need to hear how 'sorry' isn't good enough. How much you doubt my skills as a hunter so much that you don't want to hunt with me anymore," you retorted.
"What are you--" Dean started but you cut him off.
"When I walked in from the garage, I heard you and Sam arguing in your room," you explained. "From what I heard, you don't trust me. You know that it's dangerous to hunt with someone you don't trust," you continued. "Anyway, I figured it would only be a matter of time before I was kicked out, so I left. It's fine, Dean. You and Sam will be better off without me anyway," you said softly.
Dean took a step towards you, his hands held out, pleading for a chance to explain. "Sweetheart, that's where you're wrong. I mean, yes, Sam and I were arguing and I was upset. But I think I know what happened on that hunt and why, if you'll let me explain," he pleaded.
"I know what happened, you said it yourself, Dean. I can't have it on my conscience if something were to happen to you or Sam on a hunt because I 'choked'. That's why I'm going back to hunting on my own after this," you stated. You left Dean standing alone on the path, wondering what he should do next.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So did you get a chance to explain about what we think happened on the hunt? Where is she?" Sam asked.
"I don't know where she is, Sam. I tried to explain, but then my words came back at me from that perfect mouth of hers. Next thing I knew, she was walking away with tears in her eyes," Dean replied.
Just as Sam was about to ask Dean what his next move was going to be, a woman's scream split the air. The three friends rushed out of the tent to locate the source of the scream.
Behind the tents for the Queen's Guards, you were standing face to face with a raven-haired woman. She was dressed in a long, flowing black and red dress, with a gold tiara on her head.
She glared at you from across the path. "Well, well, seems we have a huntress in our midst. You don't care how many of us so-called monsters you kill, do you? Well, I think it's time for the hunter to become the hunted," she drawled. "Oculorum Caligo!" she shouted.
All of a sudden, your vision started to blur. You could still see faint outlines, but even those were quickly disappearing. "Sure makes it hard to hunt when you can't see anything, doesn't it?"
Charlie tried to carefully make her way over to help you. While on the other hand, Sam and Dean were looking around for hex bags.
"Well, little huntress, I don't think you've suffered quite enough yet. Brevitas Spiritus!" she chanted.
Now your breathing had changed, in that it was becoming more difficult to take normal breaths. You were gasping for air like a fish out of water. You drew in as much air as you could and shouted, "Dean!" His head whipped around and could see the panic in your eyes. He knew he didn't have much time to find and burn the hex bag to break the spell's hold on you.
You felt a lump in your pocket and pulled out the hex bag. You tossed it to Dean as you collapsed on the ground. He set the hex bag on fire and rushed to your side.
He picked you up and cradled you in his arms. "No, no, no sweetheart, come on. Don't leave me, please. Open your eyes for me. You're gonna be okay, baby, just please open your eyes," he pleaded. Dean brushed your hair away from your forehead and rocked you back and forth.
You drew a sharp intake of breath and your eyes snapped open. You looked up and were met by the watery but relieved emerald eyes of Dean Winchester. He pulled you flush against his chest and tightened his embrace. "Oh, sweetheart, I thought I'd lost you," he whispered.
Charlie and Sam came over to help you and Dean to a standing position. You were still a little wobbly, but your vision and breathing had returned to normal by this time. "Where'd she go?" you asked. "The witch, where'd she go?"
"I didn't see which way she went, but I don't really care. You're going to be okay, and that's all that matters," Dean remarked.
"Yeah, I suppose," you murmured as you started walking back to Charlie's tent.
Dean caught your elbow and tugged you closer to him. "Can I please talk to you in private?" he asked. You nodded and guided him towards a nearby bench to sit and talk.
"Listen, about what happened on the hunt," he started. "I think I know what happened with you, like in your mind." Dean went on to explain his and Sam's theory, which you agreed seemed to make a certain amount of sense.
"So, where do we go from here?" you asked.
"You go home with us, with me and Sam," he answered, like it was a no-brainer. When he saw the hesitant look in your eyes, he asked, "Is that not where you want to be?"
"Right now, I'm not sure if the bunker is where I'm meant to be. I need some time to think about this, Dean. You should think about it too, whether you think the three of us hunting together is still a good idea," you replied.
Dean took both of your hands in his and rested his forehead against yours. "I want you to come home. Please. I said so many things wrong, and I should've just talked to you first," he admitted.
"Sweetheart, the whole time you were gone, I was out of my mind, worried about you. I didn't know if you were hurt, or if you were somewhere safe or not. And I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty, I'm angry with myself for pushing you that far away. I miss you. Nothing was the same while you were gone, and it'll all be empty if you don't come home," he finished.
You took a deep breath before responding. "I'll make you a deal. Give me the address for the motel you and Sam are staying at. If I'm there by 10:00 am, it means I decided to come home with you. If I'm not, then it means I decided to hunt on my own. Deal?" you asked, sticking out your hand.
Dean took your hand and kissed the back of it in response. "Deal."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The boys had already loaded their bags into the trunk of the Impala. They leaned up against the car, having already checked out of their room. Dean checked his watch, 9:55am. The anticipation was nearly eating him alive, not knowing if you would decide to come home or hunt alone.
As the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly apparent to Sam and Dean that you had made the heartbreaking decision to hunt alone. "Come on, Dean. Time to head out," he declared.
Dean looked at his watch again. 10:35am. With a heavy heart, he closed the door to his beloved Impala and started her engine. "All right. Let's head home, Sammy," he mumbled.
"Who knows, Dean, we may run into her sometime in the future, working the same case. Could happen," Sam offered.
"Yeah. Maybe," Dean whispered, mostly to himself, but he didn't quite believe it.
Ten hours later, Dean eased the Impala into her regular parking space. As the boys descended the stairs, the faint aroma of apples and cinnamon hit their noses. Dean turned to Sam. "You don't think--" was all Dean could say before rushing down the stairs two at a time.
Dean threw his bag onto the map table and raced to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway long enough to see you swaying your hips in time with the music.
Fortunately for Dean, your back was turned towards him, so he tiptoed until he was behind you. He grabbed your hand and spun you around so that you were facing him. Dean pulled you closer so that you were flush against his body.
His left hand reached up to cradle your face, then he slammed his lips into yours, devouring them like a man starved. He kissed you with an urgency, a need desperate to be filled, and with a passion as you'd never felt before.
"I couldn't stay away, Dean. You said that nothing was the same here when I was gone, and that it would be empty without me. Things weren't the same for me either. I'd see something funny and you were the first person I thought of to tell. Or, a particular song would come on the radio and I'd want to sing with you, but you weren't with me. I didn't like how things had changed," you replied.
Your tongue traced a line along his bottom lip, begging to gain access, which he greedily granted. He swallowed the soft moan of pleasure that escaped, smiling against your lips. "Oh sweetheart, I am so freaking happy to see you right now," Dean remarked softly. "What made you change your mind?" he asked.
"I missed your smile, greeting me each morning. I missed your laughter at my lame attempts at telling jokes. I missed seeing your hips swaying to the music, like they were when I burst in here. I love you so much, baby. You are an amazing woman, so sweet and beautiful with a generous heart. Is there maybe enough room in there to let me in?" he pleaded.
You considered his words, especially the three that you thought you'd never hear from his lips, at least not directed towards you. Your left hand found its way to cradle his face, your thumb caressing his cheek. "Of course there's room for you in my heart, Dean. Always has been. And always will be. I love you too," you finished.
When his lips returned to yours, the urgency was gone, but in its place a softness that was no less passionate than before. From the doorway, you heard the sound of hands clapping, and the two of you turned to see Sam standing there. "All I can say is, it's about damn time you two got together," he grinned. "Good to see you home," he told you as he gave you a peck on the cheek.
Dean's eyes zeroed in on the fresh apple pie that was cooling on the counter. "Is that for me, sweetheart?" he asked.
You nodded. "Thought you'd like to have that for your dessert, after a dinner of hearty beef stew," you answered.
"I think that pie's gonna be better as a snack, because I'm thinking of something else for dessert," he growled softly in your ear before nipping at your earlobe.
Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion. "Mmm, best idea ever, my love," you purred.
Tags: @janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @waywardmikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93
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Hi for the ship thing and headcanons, please do jolex 🥰
Who is a night owl:
dont get me wrong, they both most definitely will stay up late together or both pass out before 9pm on a Friday night, but some days when the depression hits, its jsut different and Jo is definitely more of the night owl. Alex is more of a morning person and Jo would rather sleep like the dead.
Who is a morning person:
as we’ve discovered, more so Alex esp when they have kiddos. Alex is the one to get up with them early and let Jo sleep, he makes breakfast with the kids’ help and keeps their room quiet for jo to get some extra sleep but will unleash their evil spawns when he deems she’s slept in long enough.
Are they cuddlers:
some days, yes, mostly. jo definitely loves the affection from someone who genuinely loves and wants her back. but there are days where she literally is like “do not come near me with your (temperature) hot body Alexander Michael Karev, you are a heater and I am already too warm”
Who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon:
Alex is def the big spoon. Jo likes cuddling into him because sh feels safe, he feels like home. but she def has big spooned him too it’s a 50/50 relationship we have equal roles people
What is their favourite sleeping position:
no lie, both spread out like starfish in their bed.
Who steals all the blankets:
Jo. Alex is a space heater and doesnt need blankets she freezes and likes being snuggled up and warm
What they wear to bed:
I mean some nights, nothing, but like jo def loves Alex’s old Iowa state shirts or his wrestling shirts from HS that smell like him. an old worn in t-shirt, anything with a pair of booty shorts or his boxers even. and Alex will just wear a t-shirt and boxers or flannels in the winter.
Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt:
Alex wholeheartedly loves when jo wears his shirts unless its his favorite flannel and she steals it “come on, jo. you know that’s my favorite one. I wear it all the time.” its exactly why she takes it.
Who falls asleep mid-conversation:
jo, unintentionally. sometimes the insomnia hits and she won’t have slept for a couple days so when life catches back up to her she will fall asleep randomly. even more so while pregnant and right after their daughter is born. she just “night night Josephine”
Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares:
they both have their fair share of horrid nightmares. Alex’s deal a lot with his trauma of growing up. his mom pulling various knives on his siblings and dad attacking them. even nightmares of jo leaving him like Izzie did and he wakes up without her.
jo’s are terrifying as well. she dreams that Paul’s death was just an illusion and that hes still out there and he’ll still come and get her. she wakes up drenched in a cold sweat and Alex holds her and they pull up his death certificate on the gsm database to prove it. she also has nightmares about being abandoned again. dreams of herself as a baby, dreams of her mother leaving her at that firestation. horrid nightmares. and Alex just holds her. she also has many nightmares about Alex abandoning her too just like her mother abandoned her but he’s never done that he’s always there when she wakes up and everything is okay again
Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep:
jo is an absolute horrible bed partner. she does NOT sleep still. she will move around so much during sleep its dangerous. yes, Alex did wake up with a bruise across his cheek one night from an elbow to the face...
Who can’t keep their hands to themself:
both of them. theyre notorious horndogs no autocorrect they are not corndogs please stop correcting me when you’re wrong
and just because, im throwing in the parenting meme one too bc my heart melts
packs the lunches
Alex. he gets up with the kids in the mornings and also we do not trust jo to make their children food. she’d feed them boxed Mac n cheese and take out the entirety of their lives. and while they love that and Alex wouldn’t care if it was jsut them, their kids need real food. he packs them lunchables and uncrustables but at least its a little more of a variety.
blows raspberries while cuddling
jo, more so. they both do, but jo LOVES a good chunky baby belly she can blow raspberries onto. and yes she leaves maroon lipstick marks on chubby cheeks and bellies.
is the tickle monster
Alex. and she runs to mommy to save her from daddy! “oh, now you want mommy, huh? as soon as daddy is the tickle monster all you want is mommy? not when I wanted cuddles, or we picked you up from daycare or I dont know, I gave birth to you and wanted snuggles you cry and want daddy but now hes the tickle monster you want me?” and jo scoops her up and tries saving her but ultimately they lose and get attacked in their very large bed by the tickle monster.
gives life lesson speeches
they both do just depending on the situations.
when the girls start dating, jo sits them all down separately, and explains to them a bit of her past. letting them know that no man should ever lay hands on them. she teaches them how to defend themselves and Alex ofc shows them in example how women should be treated. Alex makes it clear that if a guy or girl ever should treat his daughters or his son in any other way than he treats jo, that he needs to know and gOD forbiD one of them lay a finger on one of his children there WILL be hell to pay. jo obviously consoles him in front of her children but tells him “u already have a record. if anyone lays hands on our children I will be putting them in the ground not you”
kisses the boo-boos
Alex he is a pushover and 100% makes sure all boo-boos are kissed and even when the kids are way too old for having their boo-boos kissed, he makes sure the bandaids that are no longer avengers or dinosaur or unicorn or princess themed, have been properly kissed. even through protests of “dad, im not five anymore I dont need my bandaids kissed” “how do you expect them to heal, then, CJ? you’re my most clumsy kid, and I have had to kiss all your boo-boos and never once have I not. thats why you’re still in once piece”
breaks the bad news
jo makes Alex do it most times. she claims she’s the fun parent and tries to stay the fun parent by making Alex break bad news like “we cannot get another dog” she blames it on Alex but then brings home a puppy the following week.
joins the PTA
listen. LISTEN. when Greyson started big kid school, in kindergarten, they placed her in private school to give her everything they didnt have growing up. jo was determined to make sure she gave her daughter everything made sure she felt loved and was spoiled it was terrible. so jo, of course, sent her to Seattle Elementary academy and was not paying attention when she signed some forms signing up to be in the PTA. she loathed it so much and “Alex im sorry I cant do this. I know we wanted to give Gracie everything we didnt have growing up but I cant take it I cant take the private school. the volunteer hours the strict dress code violations? she is FIVE. I also have to volunteer FORTY HOURS this year alone. no! I am a surgeon, a mother of two and im pregnant! I do not have time for this! all these PTA moms are stay at home moms who have nothing better to do than gossip about their neighbors and drink wine. and I swear to god if I have to hear about Jessica’s fucking essential oils pyramid scheme one more time I will shove those oils so far up her a––” “Jo! Look, Ali, mommy’s here!” Alex interrupts her just in time. he doesnt blame her. those private school moms are quiet the handful. every time, one of them has the nerve to hit on him. “and I swear, if one more of those moms hits on you in front of me, im going to backhand her with my engagement ring on. no hate to most of them, but theyre too much” they end up ending Gracie, and Ali and the rest of the kids to public school just like they had grown up in and did just fine.
crashes sleepovers with embarrassing stories
oh one hundred and ten percent Alexander Michael Karev. he will find any moment to break out embarrassing stories and photos. hell, even when Zola, Bailey, ellis, Sofia, Harriet, scout, any of the bunch come over he’ll embarrass them too!
gives the crazy nicknames
not really either of them (that ive figured out in the moment) (the kkc kids do not have crazy nicknames yet) (we jsut have Gracie for Greyson, Ali for Alice, and CJ for Cristina Jo. Alexis goes by Sissy because of Alexis and Alexa and Eli usually goes by bubba seeing as how that’s what the twins have called each other growing up with Izzie and that stuck)
thank you so much for these! I loved loved loved doing them! even threw in some KKC universe things so if yall have questions about that feel free to ask I will share! tho there is yet to have a fic out about them yet… its been a bit difficult with writers block /:
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'tis the season ... for prompts:) May I ask for Marvey with 13? I think we are all in need of a bit of cheering:} And thank you for doing this, and all of the fics you've written so far, your words always manage to brighten my days! <3
Absolutely you may, and thank you for the prompt! And for saying such kind things about my fics, I really appreciate that a lot. Indeed we could all do with a bit of cheering, it’s been one hell of a year... Well! I hope this helps a little!
Things you said at the kitchen table
[Read on AO3]
They don’t always have time for breakfast. Well, that’s not strictly true; they run the firm, they can show up whenever they feel like it and no one would say a damn thing. Breakfast could take three hours, if they wanted it to, they could waltz in the doors at half past eleven without anything that even sounded like an apology. Not that they would; not that Harvey would be so irresponsible, not that Mike would leave their employees hanging like that, but if they wanted to, theoretically. The option is there.
Sundays, though. Sundays are for them.
What that usually means is that Sundays are for sleeping in, but every once in a while, every now and then, the day hits a little different, the sun shines a little brighter, and the rich aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee tempts Mike out of bed toward the sizzle of frying bacon or a slab of french toast or whatever Harvey’s in the mood to whip up that day. Those mornings are the his favorites. Not that Sundays aren’t always great, but those Sundays are the best.
Usually.
This Sunday morning in particular, Mike is lured into the kitchen by the percolating coffeemaker to find Harvey at the stove, flipping blueberry pancakes and tending to a small saucepan of maple syrup warming over a low flame with a very private smile on his face that vanishes the instant he notices Mike settling in at the island. And Mike appreciates the indulgence of it all, and the effort Harvey is putting in and everything, but that smile thing, that’s a little…odd. Is Harvey going to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear? Ask him to do something he doesn’t want to do? There’s not much in the world Mike would deny him, he should know that much, so what…
Wait. Wait, shit, wait, this is about the Andretti case. This is about Yorker and Harrison suddenly threatening to pull out of the merger agreement Harvey’s favorite associate has been working on for the past six months if Andretti doesn’t double his capital investments by like…Friday, or something. Harvey is going to ask him to storm the barricades and pull a solution out of thin air to save the day. This isn’t breakfast, this is a bribe.
God dammit, Harvey. He’s not falling for that one, not again.
He can’t come right out and refuse it point blank, though. For one thing, Harvey might suddenly stop cooking like the petulant little shit he is, and Mike really doesn’t want to waste all that food when he could eat it instead. For another, it’s not as though Harvey would give up trying to get him to sign on to the project after one measly rejection, and Mike doesn’t particularly want to spend the entirety of the next week on pins and needles, sunk into a paranoid haze where every nice thing his boyfriend says to him is a just another stepping stone toward begging him to pull out his white cape and play Avenging Attorney.
Fine. He can play the long game, too. Putting a big old smile on his face, Mike leans across the counter and takes a pointed sniff of the oncoming feast that makes Harvey turn around with an answering grin, the spatula nearly slipping from his hand before he tightens his grip.
“Morning,” he says, turning back to the stove.
“Morning,” Mike echoes, settling back into his chair. “Blueberry?”
“Sorry, we were out of chocolate chips.”
“We definitely aren’t, but I might be able to forgive you if the orange juice is fresh squeezed.”
Harvey snorts an undignified little laugh; he must know Mike is going to turn him down. “Have you always been this needy?” he asks lightly.
“The word you’re looking for is ‘driven.’”
“The word I’m looking for is ‘demanding.’”
Mike shrugs. “At least I know what I want.”
Or don’t want. Go on, just try passing this one off. See how far you get.
Harvey plates a couple of pancakes and shakes his head. “The crap I put up with from you…”
Kind of a weird segue into asking such a big favor, but Mike won’t be fooled into dropping his guard just yet. He’s no rookie.
“I’d say we’re on pretty equal ground there.”
“Yeah.” Harvey turns off the burners and reaches into the cabinet for a carafe for the syrup. “You might be right.”
Mike frowns. Harvey isn’t even going to make a token argument against that? No fight at all? Huh. It’s not the worst tactic he could’ve chosen; too bad for him, Mike came prepared.
“I know I am.”
Harvey just smiles as he sets a plate down in front of Mike, and this is starting to get a little creepy. Might as well start the ball rolling, then; better to get it over with.
“So,” Mike says, pulling the carafe toward himself, “anything special you wanted to do today?”
Harvey shakes his head and picks up his fork.
“I didn’t have anything in mind.”
Mike nods slowly. “Right,” he says. “So… Okay then.”
They eat in silence until Mike’s stack of pancakes is reduced by half, and Harvey seems to have finished about…one.
Mike drops his fork down on the counter. “Alright what—”
“Actually there—”
They both cut themselves off, and Mike narrows his eyes as Harvey widens his.
“What?”
“No,” Mike says. “No, what were you going to say?”
There are only so many hours in the day, and the sooner this is over and done with, the sooner he can relax and enjoy them. He grits his teeth as Harvey takes a breath and drops his hands down to his lap.
“Actually,” Harvey repeats, “there was something I wanted to do today.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike smiles tightly. “What’s that?”
Harvey casts his eyes down for a minute, not completely closed but definitely turned away. Wait, so, wait, actually, maybe this isn’t about the Andretti case. Maybe this isn’t about work at all. Or— Is it? Anything with as much buildup as this has to be big. Maybe—maybe Harvey is sick of the firm. Maybe he’s finally gotten sick of the grind, sick of the hours and hours of his life he’s given over to the law, everything he’s lost, all the sacrifices he’s made. Maybe he needs a change, maybe he wants to start over in some little town in Iowa where nobody knows his name, to throw away the life he’s built for himself, the life they’ve built for themselves, maybe— Maybe he wants Mike to throw his life away too, to go somewhere else and find something new, to start from scratch and build themselves from the ground back up.
And maybe he’s afraid to ask Mike to make that kind of sacrifice, maybe he’s afraid he’ll say no, because he would, wouldn’t he? Would he? Would it be so bad, really, to start over together? To make a life together, something just for them where they could be whoever, whatever they wanted? Could they do it? Would they make it? Would Mike be willing to try? Would Harvey go without him if he wasn’t? Would Mike let himself be trapped into a relationship so lopsided, so dismissive of his wants and needs, so shaped around Harvey’s sudden wanderlust? Would Harvey be able to stand it, doing that to him? Knowing he was doing it to himself? Is that what this is all about, is that what all of this is hurtling toward? Is it?
Rationally, probably not. In all likelihood.
But what if it is?
Mike blinks a couple of times, coming out of his own head to find Harvey looking at him with the most intensely calm expression Mike has ever seen on anybody, anywhere, ever.
“Mike,” Harvey says. “You— Do you like your life? Our life together?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. All these goddamn questions and no fucking answers, how dare Harvey spring this on him without any warning? That bastard, what’s he trying to pull?
“Yes,” Mike says slowly. “Are we breaking up?”
Harvey’s lips twist into a smirk, his shoulders twitching back. “Not on my account. Do you want to?”
Mike frowns. “No?”
“Well that’s good.” Harvey’s arm moves like he’s put his hand on his hip, or into his pocket, and he leans forward as Mike’s eyes dart toward the motion and then back up to Harvey’s face. “Because I was thinking about making my mistake official.”
Making— What? He isn’t— This isn’t— This couldn’t—
What?
Harvey grins in that way he has where his eyes sparkle and crinkle up at the corners, his mouth wide like he’s trying not to show his teeth because it’s the only way to keep himself from laughing, and he pushes a little black velvet box forward that can’t possibly mean anything other than exactly what it means, that can’t possibly hold anything other than what Mike knows it must, and this is— He can’t— This doesn’t—
What?
“Mike.”
With enormous effort, Mike wrenches his eyes away from the box and fixes them on Harvey’s.
“So will you marry me or what?”
“I.”
A second ticks by, and then another, and two more. Maybe three. Harvey reaches out to open the box, the heavy platinum band glinting as he nudges it closer.
“What do you say?”
What—
“I say— I say yes.” Mike stares down at the ring. “I mean. Obviously. Yes.”
Being that Mike seems to have more or less frozen in his seat, Harvey slips the ring from its velvet pillow and motions for him to lift his hand.
“You seem surprised,” Harvey teases, sliding the ring onto Mike’s finger. A perfect fit, naturally; Mike doesn’t even know his own ring size, how the hell did Harvey figure it out?
“A little bit, yeah,” Mike says, tilting his hand to catch the light. “I thought you were going to ask me to take over the Andretti case.”
Harvey tilts his head. “Well, now that you mention it…”
“No.”
“Yeah, fine, so are you gonna kiss me or what?”
“God, Harvey, have you always been this needy?”
(But Mike kisses him anyway.)
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