#just something small for those who celebrate christmas and wonder how the feels like summer peeps are doing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smoochkooks · 3 years

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—christmas cream(pie) ; (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: established relationship, smut, fluff

⟶ word count: 3.6k

⟶ summary: a day before christmas dinner with your boyfriend's parents, you discover another alternative way to use the chocolate cream you’re making. jungkook is more than willing to indulge in your little fantasy.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, food play, finger-sucking, spit kink, dirty talk, oral (f) receiving, slight choking but nothing too extreme, unprotected sex, creampie, jungkook being the sweetest boyfriend on the earth and your emotional support, tooth-rooting domestic fluff:(

a/n: hi!! this is my little christmas present for you. hope you enjoy what my brain came up with yesterday<3 ps. i also dont know what kind of fic title this is.

Christmas secure a top spot on your own self-made list of holidays. You enjoy practically every aspect of it. The food, decorating your house, songs, movies, the whole magical aura of warmth and love – you name it.

But this year though, you're fiddled with anxiety because it's the first time you're going to celebrate with your boyfriend Jungkook and his parents.

You've been dating for two lovely years, living in a shared apartment for almost six months but somehow you've never spent any major holiday together. Until now, it actually felt like a step bigger than moving in. Choosing to be with your families and celebrate separately was never an issue for both of you.

And foolishly, you thought this year would be no like the other, that you'll kiss your sweet boyfriend goodbye before Christmas Eve and reunite after the whole shenanigans would end. But to your surprise, Jungkook had different plans for you.

“Y-your parents did what?”

“They invited us for a Christmas dinner.” he repeated calmy, completely unfazed by the pure shock marring your features.

He was sprawled on the couch, hair messy and falling onto his forehead because he had been avoiding barbershops lately (it wasn’t like you minded it–if anything, it made him look even sexier). He was wearing your favorite pair of sweats that had a soy sauce stain on the left knee and a simple black t-shirt, yet for you he looked like an angel sent from the above and devil reincarnated at the same time. So deliciously domestic and soft it almost made you wanna jump him right here and there, if it wasn't for the more nagging matters that you had yet to discuss with him.

“But,” you stuttered, brain too consumed by nerves to help you formulate coherent sentences. “I was visiting your parents in Busan over summer.”

“Yeah, but it's been a while and they really want to see you again,” he said, raising from his spot. He came up to you, his tall, lean body towering over your form. The moment you saw his sparkly doe eyes boring holes into yours, you knew you were approximately twenty seconds from giving in. “Pretty please.” he tried again, palms cupping your flushed cheeks until you had no choice but to agree.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grinned in response and leaned to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Love you, baby.” He tasted like spicy noodles and soda but you ignored it, mustering a small smile.

“Love you too.” you said, always meaning those three little words because truly, you could never resist Jeon Jungkook and his charms. He had you wrapped around his finger more than you'd ever admit and you'd simply do anything to make him happy, even if that meant stressing over a Christmas dinner with his parents.

“They really like you, ___. You have nothing to worry about.” Jungkook murmured upon kissing your nose, and then forehead. “My mom is already so excited to see you. She said she would make an apple pie because you once mentioned you liked it.”

You leaned into his touch, slightly less angry you had been surprised with a revelation like that but at the same time still apprehensive and filled with nerves. “You aren't making this easier, you know?” you asked.

Jungkook sent you an apologetic smile. “You're amazing, baby. You don't need to convince my parents again that you're the right person for me,” he said, hands finding purchase on your waist and pulling you closer to him. “All you have to do is smile and compliment my mom's cooking skills. And maybe ask dad about fishing. You know he's been crazy about it lately.”

Easier said than done, you thought to yourself. Jungkook was a natural when it came to bewitching people. Your parents adored him because he knew all the right words to make them fall for his charms. He didn’t have to try hard or pretend to be someone else in order to be accepted as their daughter’s partner.

You, on the other hand, were on a different side of the spectrum. No matter how many times Jungkook reassured you of your worth, you still had a lot of insecurities to deal with. That was just who you were as a person. Maybe it was why you clicked so well together. You needed someone to be your second Sun.

“You got his.” With a final kiss onto the crown of your head, Jungkook left you standing in the middle of the living room, and all you could think about was a fricking apple pie and finding new ways to impress your boyfriend's parents.

Hence way you're currently in the kitchen, blender in your right hand as you mix the ingredients for the most extra chocolate cake you've ever made, determination written all over your features like you’re competing in the final Bake Off episode.

And why is that? Because your brain couldn't let you sleep peacefully at night if you didn't decide to bake your own cake for Jungkook's mother. It started innocently, slowly getting information out of your boyfriend about his parents' favorite food. Of course, you had to be clever about it, so he wouldn't suspect anything too early into the game. That's why after asking a round of rather specific questions you lured him into a blowjob because you know he usually loses his goddman mind after a good dick sucking.

Content with your plan, you're now a day before the Christmas dinner, Jungkook's mother's beloved cake almost ready to be put into the oven.

“Babe, I'm home!” you hear Jungkook calling from the corridor. You sent him to do some (un)necessary grocery shopping so you could have a time for yourself to prepare the cake without him looking over your shoulder and analyzing your every move. You really hate when people do that because you’re more likely to screw something when you’re being watched.

“Let me taste it then,” he says, grabby hands reaching for the bowl but you quickly swat them away.

“I'm here!” you shout back, unplugging the blender once you're satisfied with your chocolate cream.

“What is the smell?” Jungkook asks, entering the kitchen. “Oh,” he quips, placing grocery bags on the floor. “You made this?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, dipping a finger into the bowl and then putting it into your mouth. It tastes good, not too sweet but at the same time it still has a strong chocolate flavor. Perfect.

“Wash your hands first.”

“Wait,” You can almost hear the gears shifting in his brain. His grip on your waist tightens as you desperately try to stifle the laugh babbling in your throat. “This is my mom's favorite cake.”

Jungkook dramatically salutes you, even though you see him smirking under his breath. Once his hands are all clean and dry, you feel his arms encircling your body from the back. “Is this for me?” he murmurs, obviously referring to the cake.

“Nope. It's for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.”

That’s why you break into a smile, pulling him for a quick peck. “You can taste my cream now.” you say.

“Great observation.”

“And you said you were making it for the Christmas dinner,” Jungkook continues, “Which means you did this purposely.” he finishes, twirling your body so you're now facing him.

“You said she would make me an apple pie so I thought I could reciprocate the kindness and do the same,” An innocent smile tugs at your lips. “Besides, the more food the better.”

Jungkook snorts. “So here's why you were asking me all those weird questions lately.”

Your eyes widen. “You paid attention to that?”

“Babe, I might be a simple man who enjoys seeing his girlfriend sucking his dick but it doesn't mean I don't listen to you,” he says, sounding slightly offended but you know that deep down he's amused by the whole situation. “You didn't have to do that, you know?”

You let out a long sigh. “I know but... I just felt so weird. Your parents are so happy to see us, they are doing all those preparations and I couldn't stop thinking about doing something to impress them in return,” you murmur. “So they wouldn't think it preparing a whole celebratory dinner for their son and his girlfriend was actually pointless.” you add in a smaller voice, dropping your head down. 

“Baby,” Jungkook coos, fingers grasping your chin so you could look him in the eye again. “You're an amazing person. My parents know that too. You don't have to prove them your worth. Ever.”

His words make you relax visibly. You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Jungkook by your side. He’s just being himself, showing you his extremely caring side as he usually does when you feel down but somehow you’re more thankful for this now.

You dip your index finger into the cream. Then, making sure his eyes are trained on your face, you bring your finger up and envelop with your lips, purposely sucking on it obscenely. “Mmm,” you nothing but moan. “It’s really good.”

“That sounded awfully sexual.”

“No, it did not! You're just perverted.”

“But you love me anyway, don't you?”

You snort at his stupid remark. Suddenly, a not-so-innocent idea pops in your mind and you wonder who’s actually the one with more inappropriate thoughts running through their head. Jungkook might enjoy teasing you on daily basis, but a girl can have her fun too, right?

Jungkook's eyes darken seeing your little stunt you’ve decided to pull today. He bites the inside of his cheek, before saying,”’I know what game you’re playing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” you respond, feigning innocence. Before you can dive for more cream, Jungkook grabs your wrist and stops you.

Bingo.

When he takes his two fingers and plunges them into the cream, you know exactly what’s coming next, the adrenaline and excitement pumping through your veins. He brings his fingers up towards your face and you have to fight an urge to stay still, waiting for his instructions like the good girl you obviously are. “Open up, baby.”

You oblige immediately, mouth falling open and tongue out. He pushes his fingers inside, sweet, chocolate cream filling your taste buds. “Suck.” he says simply, eyes fixated on your lips. You do it without a second thought, swirling your tongue around his digits and making sure to lick every last drop of the substance.

When he decides he can't take it anymore, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and before you can even blink, he crashes his lips onto yours; fast, messy and unforgiving, thrusting his tongue inside to play with yours. His motives are clear: you aren’t leaving the kitchen without getting properly fucked.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your lips, the hand around your waist pulling you flush against him. “My cute girlfriend thought she could tease me and get away with it.”

He bites onto your lower lip as to prove his point and you whimper. “It’s not like that,” you manage to say, grinding yourself against the evident bulge in his pants. “I didn’t expect to get away with it.”

Jungkook's hands travel to the backs of your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, placing you on the counter. You’re sure there are traces of flour still on it but you couldn’t care less right now, not when a pair of hands roughly nudges your legs apart so he could stand in between them.

“So you did it purposely,” Jungkook leaves your mouth in favor of tracing kisses down your neck. Careful not to marry your skin with hickeys because you would beat the shit out of him if he did bruise your neck a day before the dinner with his parents. “Naughty girl.” He punctuates his statement with a bite to your earlobe, his next words being whispered directly into your ear. “What should I do with you, then?”

You whimper, your thighs pressing together just hearing the tone of his voice. You lace your fingers through the locks at the back of his hair and place a kiss against his lips. “Fuck me?” you ask in a saccharine-sweet tone.

He chuckles in response, fingers grasping your t-shirt and pulling it off you, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. He wastes no time and latches his mouth onto a nipple but as soon as his tongue meets your hardened bud, he retreats. Confused, you watch as he reaches for the bowl once again and dips his fingers into the cream. He then smears it all over your nipples, a proud smirk caught on his lips when he leans back to admire his art work.

“Kook,” you mewl, too pathetically for your liking and you know how much it’ll stroke his ego. “Please, touch me.” you plea, one of your hands reaching to pull him closer to you.

“Yeah?” His chuckle is almost sinister. “Look at you, all dirty and begging me so nicely. Not that smart with your mouth now, are you?”

All you manage is a nod and meek “Please,” that quickly morphs into a drawn out moan when he finally dips his head to suck your nipple into his hot mouth. You never could have guessed that the idea of food play would be so arousing to you but here you are, pussy clenching around nothing when your sweet boyfriend licks chocolate cream off your boobs.

When he’s done and satisfied with the result, he grabs your sweatpants and pulls them down along with your underwear in one go, your bare ass meeting with the cold marble of your kitchen counter. Jungkook wastes no time and spreads your legs apart, not giving you a second to shy away from his burning gaze before he dives in to lick a stripe up your slit.

You cry out in pleasure when his tongue finds your clit and gives it a sharp suck, his hands grabbing your ankles and bending your knees so he could have a full access to your glistening core. You’re absolutely drenched, dripping down your thighs and making a mess on Jungkook's face but he doesn’t mind it a bit, eating you out like a champ you know he is.

“So wet,” he rasps against your cunt. “Messy girl.”

To make matters worse (or better) he takes his sweet time and lets a glob of his spit mix with your arousal because Jungkook, much like you, enjoys giving a head more than anything in the world and makes it his priority to see you lose it on his tongue. You’re positive you will come like this if he keeps continuing abusing your clit just right. He knows your pussy like the back of his hand. Knows what makes you keen, how to make you eyes roll to the back of your head. It fuels his ego to see you like this; helpless and utterly devoted to the pleasure and you don’t even mind when he brags about it later. How could you if you benefit so much from it?

Suddenly, he grunts into your cunt and your brows furrow because it’s not the sound you’re used to hearing during sex. You look down to check what’s wrong but he’s already up and in level with your eyes, a sheepish smile adoring his features.

“Neck cramp,” he explains, his palm massaging the back of his neck. “Eating pussy is easier on the bed.” You can’t help but giggle, replacing his hand with yours and providing him a temporary relief. “I’m sorry. Were you close?” he asks.

There he is. Your sweet, caring boyfriend who never forgets to ask for consent before railing you into the mattress and always putting your pleasure before his own.

“Mhmm,” you hum, grasping his t-shirt and lifting it off his body. It should be considered a sin to look like this, you think to yourself. “But I want to come on your cock instead.”

Jungkook grins, quickly pulling down his pants and underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach, pride swelling in your chest because you know you can make him this hard without your touch. “How do you want it?” he asks, guaranteeing himself a moment of relief when he gives his cock a few pumps, spreading precum all over his length.

“Like that,” you answer, gesturing at your current position on the counter. “Wanna see you.”

“Anything for my pretty girl.”

If you weren't already red, you would have blushed at his cute words. The sentiment doesn’t last long though, your face twisting in ecstasy when he lines himself up with your entrance and starts pushing inside, the stretch deliciously burning. “Oh my god, Kook,” you whimper, hand clutching onto his biceps for support. “So big. You feel so good.” He groans, slithering himself deeper. His forehead rests onto yours, few ragged breaths before you murmur, “You can move.”

He sets a punishing pace from the beginning, fucking you hard and fast; wet, slapping noises filling the kitchen. You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherently as he splits your pussy open, thrust after thrust. “Yeah, fucking take it,” Jungkook rasps, grabbing your hips even harder, no doubt leaving there marks. “Cream my cock like a good girl.”

You mewl in response, your eyes focusing on his parted lips. “J-jungkook,” you stutter, head completely deprived of rational thoughts. “Spit in my mouth.” It’s almost a breathless plea on your tongue.

He curses, his right hand squeezing your cheeks. “Open.” You do it right away, nearly moaning when he purses his lips and spits, eyes almost bulging out of his head when he sees you swallow it greedily. “Dirty fucking girl.” he growls.

“B-but you love it, right?” you whimper, eyes glossy because he's hitting that spot inside your pussy that makes your toes curl. “L-love when I’m like this just for you.”

“Fuck, yeah I do,” Jungkook says, placing his hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply pressure and simply rests it there, urging you to look directly at him. “I love when my pretty baby becomes a dirty slut for me.” He punctuates his words with a harsh buck of his hips that makes you cry out.

You can't take it anymore. “K-kook,” you whine, grabbing his wrist and urging him to squeeze your throat. “I love you.”

Despite his hand around your neck and cock abusing your cunt, he breaks into a smile. He leans down to kiss you on your putty lips. You try to keep up with him but there’s no use for that, so you just open your mouth and let him slither his tongue inside. When he pulls away, your lips are wet with saliva. Messy, but you wouldn’t exchange it for anything less. “Love you too, baby.” he groans in a strained voice, dragging his cock fast through your walls.

As if reading your mind, his thumb reaches to rub fast circles on your clit. “’m so close,” you mumble, thighs shaking.

“C'mon, pretty. Wanna see you come around me.” Jungkook murmurs, gone is his dominant aura, it’s now only his gentle voice coaxing you into an earth-shattering orgasm.

When you come down from your high, you’re swatting his fingers away from your core. Normally you would probably indulge into it more, but oversensitivity seems to be too much to handle for you today. Jungkook thrusts his hips a few more times and follows right after you, groaning your name and spilling himself inside.

“That was nice.” he comments breathlessly and you can’t help but chuckle, widing your arms around his neck and pulling him for a well-deserved kiss.

“I’m too tired to move my legs and somebody needs to finish the cake,” you pout, not an ounce of exaggeration in your statement because that’s utterly true–you’re always too spent after a round of fucking with Jungkook to even go to the bathroom on your own. He gladly carries you there in his arms bridal-style every, single time.

“It's okay, sweetheart. I’ll do it.” he says, making you giggle under your breath triumphantly.

You might be willing to do everything for you boyfriend but if anything, you’re equal in that department.

“I’m also pretty sure there’s flour on my ass.”

Jungkook raises his brow at you. “That I’m not going to clean.”

“Fine. But next time I'm putting whipped cream on your dick.” you decide.

When he pulls out of you, his cum spills out of your hole but he's quick to catch the droplets and push them back inside you with his fingers. “You’re a little minx, you know that, right?” he says and then licks his digits clean.

“You love me anyway.” He grins, leaning to kiss you but he stops mid-way. “What is it?” you ask, raising your brows.

“Since I came inside you, we can call it a creampie, right?”

Still slightly dazed after sex, you’re not quick enough to realise what he implies before it’s too late. “I mean yes but–oh my god. No, no, no! Stop!”

“Cream-pie!”

“I hate you!”

“And I love you too.”

After all, you were worrying about the dinner too much, as always.

Everybody complimented your cake. Jungkook's mother was delighted. His father talked about fishing for almost an hour.

But your sweet boyfriend's smirking face as he ate the cake was telling you were in for a long night of sinning in your bed as soon as you went back home.

And he obviously didn’t disappoint.

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #bangtanhq

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gukyi · 3 years

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in the frosty air | a jjk drabble

summary: two weeks ago you and your roommate slept together. which would be fine, if you knew you both felt the same about each other. but you don’t. and now it’s christmas, and jungkook is still gorgeous and gentle and wonderful and here, and and you don’t really know what to do about that.

{college!au, roommates!au}

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: this is just an angst train tbh, but it has a happy ending! word count: 1.6k warnings: mentions of past alcohol consumption, this centers around everyone’s favorite capitalist holiday, being sad in the wintertime a/n: OHHHHHHHHHH *internet breaks* anyway yeah i’m back baby!!! here’s a little drabble to celebrate because i can’t help myself when it comes to jungkook. love me or we both go down coming soon!

“This Christmas is pretty fucking lame, isn’t it?”

You whip around at the sound of his voice. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I figured,” Jungkook chuckles, bending his head down as he crawls through the open window to join you on the fire escape. The temperature is freezing and the wind is stinging your skin, but it didn’t really feel right to be spending tonight inside. “Saw the window open. Thought you might be here.”

“Yeah. I was probably gonna head inside soon, though.” In the hopes that you would be curled up in your bedroom before Jungkook even got home. Seeing him lately has been hard. “How did your final go?”

“It was alright.” You don’t have to keep looking at him to feel Jungkook taking a seat next to you, crossing his legs over each other as he stares out into the city below you. It snowed a few days ago, and the sidewalks are still covered in that dirty slush that always lingers, wet and cold and black from car tires. Just being beside you makes your heart race, makes your chest tighten. “I was pretty stressed out about it, but then I just sort of remembered that I did my best and that was all I could do, you know?”

“That’s good.” You wish you had that mindset. You spend days studying for an exam and once it’s over, you spend days dwelling on all the things you might have gotten wrong. It’s a philosophy you apply to most aspects of your life. Why you did the thing you did. Why doing the thing you did was the worst thing you could have done. How you will recover from it. If you even will.

Jungkook sighs. You turn to look at him, just briefly, glance at his side figure, and notice he’s wearing nothing but a giant zip-up hoodie. Isn’t he cold? “It doesn’t really feel like Christmas.”

“Yeah.” You don’t have anything else to say to that. It doesn’t. Which is a damn shame, because you and Jungkook spent the entire beginning of this month turning your tiny, two-bedroom apartment into a winter wonderland. You got a tree to put up next to your TV and decorated with the weirdest ornaments you could find. You hung up those dangly white Christmas lights on the balcony of your fire escape, the ones meant to look like icicles dripping from the metal railing. The radio has been playing nothing but Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey. And yet.

It’s not hard to wonder why this Christmas is such shit. Your spring internship fell through a week ago. Your parents rented a lake house and assumed you wouldn’t be coming with. All of your other friends have gone home already. And Jungkook, perhaps the last person in this whole goddamn city you would have wanted to spend time with, you can’t even bear to look at.

“How did your finals go?” Jungkook asks, trying to keep the conversation going.

“They were fine.” At least that torture is over. But living with Jungkook, seeing him every day and knowing that what you have done you can never undo--it’s endless.

There’s silence. It’s like the two of you simultaneously have no idea and know exactly what to say. Like the words are lingering on the tips of your tongues but your lips are sealed shut. Opening them won’t be like a can of worms. It will be a dam, a waterfall of I’m sorrys and What nows. One week ago, in the heat of the night and in the haze of drink after drink, you and Jungkook made the worst mistake two roommates could ever make.

“Are you going home this break?” You blurt out the words before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook sighs. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay if you want to.” I get it. I’m not sure if I’d want to hang around and see me either.

He shrugs. “I just haven’t decided yet.”

He knows that you’re staying. The two of you were so looking forward to spending Christmas together. Now look at you. Jungkook was the perfect roommate. Then everything changed.

“Okay.” He’s probably just trying to figure out a way to let you down easy.

Next to you, Jungkook rustles a hand through his pocket. “By the way, uh--I just remembered. I got you something.”

You don’t even have time to object before Jungkook is placing a small fabric box into your open palm, resting on your lap. You look down at the item, at the way your hand seems to envelop it.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I wanted to.” Jungkook is firm in his response. “Besides, I got it a while ago. Figured now is as good a time as any to give it to you.”

There’s not really anything else to do except open it. Carefully, with trembling fingers, you pull off the lid. Inside sits a dainty silver locket resting amongst a pile of folded tissue paper. You gasp, your breath coming out in smoke in the cold winter air.

“Oh my God, I--”

“I overheard you talking on the phone saying you wanted one,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. “I wanted to give it to you before I forgot.”

Fingers shaking from the cold, you pull the locket from the box. It dangles from its chain, a delicate little thing, barely the size of a fingerprint. Even on this hazy winter evening, it still catches the light.

For the first time tonight, you look up at him. His eyes are a swirling brown, a deep chocolate. They are unreadable. He offers a small, guarded smile your way, lips pink in the chilly air. “Thank you,” you tell him honestly. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for you.

You can’t accept this without returning the favor. Wordlessly, you get up from the fire escape, rushing indoors for a moment as you grab your gift from your bedroom. It’s been sitting in there for at least two weeks now. You hold your hand behind your back as you make your way back to the fire escape, sitting down next to him once more.

With a small flourish, you reveal your own present. They’re drumsticks.

“For you,” you tell him, that same small grin on your face. “Since you’re always drumming on everything. Thought you could use something to do that with.”

Jungkook looks positively starstruck. He takes the sticks in his hands, feels the wood with his fingers, tracing over the logo at the bottom. You aren’t very well versed in the world of drum equipment, but your friend in the orchestra told you it was a good brand.

“Wow, Y/N,” he says, mouth agape. “This is... this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever gotten me. Thank you.”

“Always.”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? No matter what you do, no matter what you say, you will always be there to give Jungkook what he deserves. To make his life just the tiniest bit better. Doing thoughtful things for him has never required effort on your part. There is just a part of you that will do them, because he deserves it. Because he is so gentle, and loving, and kind, and wonderful.

You sit there for a little while longer, relishing in the brief respite of your gift exchange. It’s softened the ice, warmed the air, broken the tension. Even if only a little. But it’s enough to keep you out here, sitting next to him. It’s enough to keep you from drifting away.

“I don’t regret that night.”

The words feel like biting wind.

“What?” You turn to him.

“I don’t. I’d do it again. A thousand times over.” Jungkook is resolute. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed in determination.

“Jungkook, what happened that night--”

“Is something I’ll never forget,” he finishes. “Do you know how fucking long I had been waiting to do that? To hold you? Kiss you? To spend the night with you?”

Each syllable presses deeper into your chest, imprinting themselves on your heart. You stare back at him, too shocked to say anything at all.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” Jungkook adds on, quickly backtracking. “I sort of... got that message when I woke up that morning and you were gone. But I just wanted you to know that that night didn’t change anything about how I feel about you.”

Jungkook’s got it all wrong. You were the one who fucked up. You were the one whose feelings won’t change. “I thought you were the one who didn’t feel the same.”

Jungkook chuckles, this sad, forced cough. “Are you kidding? I’d do anything to relive that night. You’re my favorite person in this whole world, Y/N.”

If the weather were just a little bit warmer, if the wind wasn’t as dry, perhaps tears would fall. But instead, you blink back at him and it feels at once like your heart weighs a million pounds and nothing at all. “Me too,” you choke out. “I never want to be without you.”

Your fire escape is barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but that doesn’t stop Jungkook from reaching over and pulling you in, pressing a chilly kiss to your frozen lips, the heat of his mouth warming you up from the inside out. It’s cold tonight, yes. But Jungkook makes you feel like it’s summer all year long.

You smile against his lips. They feel like home. They taste like peppermint lip balm and coffee and ice.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks. As if he was even thinking about going home anyway.

“Yes,” you whisper back.

It feels a lot more like Christmas now.

“Then I’ll stay.”

↳ don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback! i missed you guys!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #not me writing this because i felt like some jk college angst and also wanted to celebrate my return with more than just a text post #w: in the frosty air #DOES IT REALLY DESERVE A W: TAG??? ITS A DRABBLE

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lovestruckay · 3 years

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Request: "Hi there! Loveeee your writing for Fire Force and was wondering if you could do headcanons (SFW and NSFW if that's ok!) for Akitaru and a fem s/o for celebrating birthdays or holidays?"

Pairing: Akitaru Obi x Fem!Reader

A/N: Happy birthday, Obi! I’m a little late but I made up for it by making this 2.5k words, haha. NSFW content is below the cut, it’s mixed in throughout instead of separate! I used these HC as a way to talk about some of the days I celebrate personally from the Wheel of the Year - eight holidays that celebrate the spring equinox, the summer solstice, the autumnal equinox, the winter solstice, and the four cross-quarter days between them.

Akitaru loves the holidays. He’s the kind of person who plans celebrations a month in advance, sometimes even longer depending on what the special occasion is. He’ll put out decorations, bake pastries, cook whole meals, and even throw parties where he’ll give mushy speeches.

You think he leans into celebrating even more for the sake of the rest of Company 8. Nearly all of his companions had come from troubled backgrounds or had lost their loved ones and he was always clear that the Eighth was their family too. Akitaru is the father figure of their ragtag company and he takes that role seriously. Not just in protecting them and guiding them but in doing the little things that family did - like celebrating holidays.

So, when these special occasions roll around, you better get ready because this man is not just celebrating for the fun of it but because it’s a way to bond with you and the rest of Company 8.

The Holy Sol Temple has generic, catch-all versions of all the seasonal holidays. With the Temple worshiping a Sun God, their holidays are centered around solar events like the solstices, the equinoxes, and the cross-quarter days between. December celebrations are all bundled up into the Winter Solstice, Ostara and Easter became the Spring Equinox, Samhain and Halloween became the Autumnal Cross-Quarter Day, and so on.

Even though these combined holidays are the most frequently celebrated, the pre-Cataclysm holidays still exist and are still celebrated. It is on a much smaller scale though so this makes celebrating these holidays a much more meaningful affair. If you celebrate a particular day, whether it’s because of tradition or your heritage or something else entirely, Akitaru is excited to learn and be a part of something so important to you.

Valentine’s Day is one of his favorite holidays because it’s a celebration he gets to spend with the woman he had fallen madly in love with - you. He likes that there’s a holiday dedicated to your love for each other and he tends to go overboard with making sure you know how much he cherishes you.

Akitaru is really cheesy about showing you how much he loves you. He always starts the day by waking up before you and sneaking into the kitchen so he can make you breakfast in bed. He’ll cook your pancakes in the shape of wobbly hearts and there will be a protein shake there with your orange juice. He has covered your entire bathroom with sticky notes, each note containing sweet messages he had written throughout the year about how much he loves you. You have a hand bound book on your shelf filled with pressed flowers and love notes that he had made for you one year.

He once hired a skywriter plane to write your initials in a heart in the sky. He loves you so much that it turns him into the corniest, sappiest man on the face of the planet.

He takes the Firefighter Calendar very seriously and he’s absolutely playful and confident enough to wear something sexy for you as a surprise. If you surprise him by wearing some revealing lingerie, he will spend the rest of the night absolutely worshiping you and showing you how beautiful you were.

Akitaru is such a big man but he can be so delicate that the tenderness he touches you with makes your breath catch. But sometimes he forgets his own strength, especially when you’re wrapped up like a present, and he tears the wrapping paper. You know better now than to expect whatever pretty lingerie you buy to survive the night.

He makes sure that you can’t get out of bed when he’s done with you and that works out great for him because, guess what - dinner in bed is on the way.

The Spring Equinox mornings are always spent outside basking in the nice weather and the warm sun as you plant new flowers in the cathedral garden. You spend the afternoon spring cleaning your home, sweeping behind all the furniture and packing up winter clothes. The afternoons are spent painting eggs and hiding little gifts of candy and sweets around the cathedral for the rest of the company to find.

Every year, the Autumnal Cross-Quarter Day (or Halloween as most call it outside the church) is a day-long affair. Mornings are spent carving Jack-o’-lanterns and baking cookies decorated with icing in the shapes of skulls, bats, and spiderwebs. During the afternoon, you’re putting out last minute decorations and filling bowls with king-sized candy bars for the trick-or-treating children that stop by the Fire Force cathedral.

Somehow, Akitaru is always able to convince everyone at the Eighth to dress up in costumes. He especially loves doing coordinated outfits with you, like Frakenstein and the Bride of Frankenstein or a werewolf and a vampire. One year, he was able to convince the entire company to dress up as zombies and you all spent the day making zombie noises at each other and giggling.

If you like getting a little scared for Halloween, he'll take you to a haunted house or a haunted trail where he will inevitably be clinging to you by the end of the experience. If you get chased by the workers wielding fake chainsaws at a trail, he will get so scared that he will literally scoop you up into his arms and run away.

If you’re more interested in staying home and spending time together, you’ll nestle up on the couch together with a bowl of candy and some of the pastries you had baked earlier and binge watch horror movies. He has absolutely no talent whatsoever for video games - you swear the man can’t even figure out how to hold the controller half the time - but he will happily cuddle you and cheer you on if you wanted to play some scary video games instead.

Once you two are alone, Akitaru can’t seem to get his hands off of you. He thinks you are so beautiful every single day but there is something so alluring to him about you dressed up. If you’re wearing one of those revealing costumes, his eyes are glued to you the entire day and, once he can finally get you away from everyone, he’s tearing it off to get to the sweets underneath.

He is very sensitive to the fact that winter holidays can be very personal to a person depending on their background. Most people in Tokyo celebrate the Winter Solstice but there are people who still celebrate the pre-Cataclysm holidays. Whichever holiday you want to observe, Akitaru wants to support you and celebrate with you.

You want to build an altar for Yuletide? He’s bringing home pretty rocks and little trinkets he found that he thought you might like to give as offerings.

You want to light a menorah for Hanukkah? He’s cleaned off a special spot in the kitchen window for the candelabrum.

You want to decorate a tree for Christmas? He’s driving around looking for a pine tree he can cut down for you.

You want to decorate the house for Kwanzaa? He’s singing with you as you both hang brightly colored kente and he’s memorized all seven core principles to talk to you about during the week.

You want to host a dinner for Las Posadas? He’s in the kitchen helping you make tamales and he even stuffed and hung two piñatas - one for the new recruits and the other for you both and the rest of the company.

When it comes to gifts, Akitaru is really good at picking out presents for you. He always listens when you talk and he makes sure to remember when you talk about things that you like. He’s the kind of guy who will buy small presents throughout the year and stow them away in the back of his closet until the winter holidays roll around.

He’s extremely easy to buy gifts for, he loves the traditional “dad” gifts. Get this man some brand new winter socks, a new jacket to replace the coat he got too muscular for, and some new underwear and he is happy. If you give him something a little more exciting in addition to his gifts, like taking off your robe to reveal you’re wrapped up in a bow, he will gladly unwrap you and give you a present of his own.

For New Years, he likes to host a little get together with Company 8 to celebrate. You all make a big dinner and maybe even get a little tipsy before going up to the roof to watch the fireworks. You sit in chairs you had set out earlier, Akitaru settling you into his warm lap instead, and watch in amazement as Company 1 puts on their yearly fireworks show in the sky over Tokyo.

When the show reaches its climax and the clock rolls over to midnight, he kisses you.

Whether you’re drunk on a little alcohol or just the excitement of the night, sex on New Years Eve is always fun. It’s so easy to be yourself and to feel beautiful with him - he is such a light hearted and openly loving man - but tipsy sex is always full of smiles and laughter interspersed with little gasps and moans. There’s no shame and it just feels good to be complete with the man you love.

On Lunar New Year, he is taking you out to shop for new clothes and he’s helping you give out cards and gifts. He makes sure to buy a bag of sweets to leave as an offering once you clean the altar at home later that day. In the evening, he’s once again in the kitchen, helping cook eight different dishes for the reunion dinner with a communal hot pot always being the centerpiece of the meal.

Akitaru loves the holidays but his favorite celebrations are the ones for you two specifically: your birthdays and your anniversary.

For his birthday, he just wants a small get together with the rest of the company and maybe a couple friends. He is still as ridiculously easy as ever to shop for, just buy him new exercise equipment and he’ll love it. He works out so much that he wears down and breaks his equipment and he’s always excited to try a new machine.

He especially loves it when you surprise him in the bedroom with something new. If you teach yourself how to deep throat his impressive size, he’ll be wrapped around your little finger for a week straight. If you give him the remote to your vibrating panties while you’re out getting dinner, he’ll break down halfway through your meal and pull you into the bathroom to make you see stars. You never need an excuse to experiment in bed but it’s always fun surprising him with something every year.

For your birthday, Akitaru will always ask you what you want instead of trying to surprise you. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you with a party if you don’t want it and he doesn’t want you to be craving more if he plans for a day at home.

If you want to go out, he'll take you to the amusement park for games and roller coasters (one of which he couldn’t even ride because the safety harness didn’t fit over his muscular body). If you like the outdoors, he’ll take you on a hike through one of the nature preserves and lead you to a picnic he prepared for you. If you like to dance, he’s taking you out and trying his best not to step on your toes.

If you want to stay in, Akitaru will buy you a copy of the newest video game you had your eye on and will order pizza so he can watch you try to beat it in one sitting. He’ll spend the morning baking and decorating a cake from scratch and it comes out incredible. He’ll give you a massage and his almost too strong grip feels so good it sends shivers up your spine.

On your birthday, he is in the palm of your hand. Whatever you want to do, anything you want to try, he is so eager to please. He’s an open-minded man and there really aren’t many things that are hard passes for him in bed. He isn’t particularly well versed in the kinky stuff so he’ll need a bit of an explanation sometimes but, once he understands what you want, he will gladly give it to you.

Without a doubt, your anniversary is Akitaru’s favorite holiday of the year. He loves that your anniversary is a celebration of your bond and a reaffirming of your love for each other. He’s honestly just as dramatic on this day as he is on Valentine’s Day - if not more so - and he will come up with the most cheesy, romantic ways of telling you he loves you.

Sticking to tradition, he took you out to a fancy dinner one year to a restaurant with a dress code and no prices on the menu. Even with the overly formal atmosphere, he was still his usual boisterous self throughout the dinner and his sunshine smile puts you at ease. The dinner was spectacular and, even if you normally hated stuffy environments like that, his happiness is contagious and you feel comfortable.

On your anniversary, he makes it his Sol given duty to fuck you until you scream when you cum. He makes it a point to give you the best orgasm of the year, making you finish over and over until your pleasure climbs to a high that has moans shamelessly spilling from your lips. You absolutely cannot walk the day after your anniversary so, every year, you take not only your anniversary off but the day following as well.

Akitaru pays such close attention to your moods and your likes and dislikes when it comes to the holidays throughout the year and tries his best to make you happy. At the end of the day, he just wants to be with you and for you to have a good time.

After all, he loves you so much he wants to spend the rest of his life making happy memories like these together.

#akitaru obi #obi akitaru #akitaru obi x reader #obi akitaru x reader #obi x reader #akitaru x reader #fire force x reader #fire force #enn enn no shouboutai #fanfiction

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cherryobx · 3 years

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5+1//JJ Maybank x reader

requested?: YES “Hey! I love all your fics so much and I was wondering if a could request a 5+1 JJ fic? So it would be the five times y/n thinks about kissing jj, and the one time she finally does it🤍”

A/N: a little christmas present to you guys! merry christmas to those who celebrate it!!!

summary: the five times you think about kissing JJ and the one time you finally do it

warnings: a few curse words (and by a few i mean 1), kissing, mentions of domestic violence, hurt!JJ

WC: 1829 (the longest fic i’ve ever posted!)

(not my gif! creds to the owner!!!)

It was a scorching day at the Outer Banks and you had an idea to go swimming with the pogues. Just to cool off a little bit. The fans in the chateau weren’t helping with the heat much and swimming in the cool water seemed like the only reasonable option.

Everyone grabbed their towels and headed to the back of the chateau. None of you had the strength to go anywhere further.

The boys dropped their towels and immediately ran splashing into the water. You, Kiara and Sarah, took your time.

Testing the water first, you tipped your toes in. The water was the perfect temperature, not too cold nor too warm. You went in and the closer to the boys you got, the more they started to smile.

As soon as you reached them they started splashing you with water.

“You idiots! Three against one is unfair.” You splashed some water right back at them, aiming for their eyes.

JJ grabbed your hands in an attempt to stop you from “drowning them”. Their words, not yours.

The moment JJ grabbed your hands, you swore your heart stopped beating for a second.

You had been crushing on him since the day you met him several years ago. You couldn’t explain it but there just was something about him that pulled you to him.

You looked up into his ocean blue eyes. For a second, his eyes darted to your lips, making your heart beat faster and faster by second.

He let go of your hands and stepped back a bit, giving you space again.

You released the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding.

Of course, you had thought about kissing JJ before but after that incident, you started thinking about it more and more. Wondering what his lips would feel like against yours.

“JJ, stop! I’m going to fall!” you shrieked trying to balance yourself, which seemed like the most difficult thing ever at the moment.

Everyone in the Outer Banks seemed to be really good at surfing. Not you though. And now JJ had taken it upon himself to teach you how to surf. It was his goal for this summer.

“You’re not going to fall, I’m right here.” For some reason, those words awakened the butterflies in your stomach.

You slowly sat down onto the board, facing JJ who was standing next to you in the water, trying so hard not to fall.

“I don’t understand how you do this shit every day. It’s exhausting. And difficult. Very difficult.”

“It’s not difficult once you get the hang of it, sweetheart.”

He placed his hand on your thigh. It was meant to be a comforting gesture but your breath hitched in your throat.

The butterflies were almost unbearable.

You wanted to kiss him so bad.

But you didn’t.

“You want to go surfing? I can go sit on the beach for a bit,” you offered.

“You don’t want to try anymore? C’mon! Don’t give up now.”

“I’m hopeless, JJ. And I know you’d much rather surf than teach me.”

“First of all, not true, but I mean if you really don’t want to you can go.”

You jumped off the board, standing in front of him.

“I’ll wait up for you then.”

“You sure?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

The truth was, you just wanted to see him surf. It was an incredible sight to see. Not only was he really good at it, he also looked very very hot while doing it.

You made your way to the beach and sat on your towel, the feeling of his hand on your thigh still vivid.

Most nights of the summer, you slept at John B’s house. So did JJ. Occasionally Pope and Kiara too. You thought it was pointless to go home when you’d just go there to sleep. So you stayed at the chateau a lot.

It was 2 a.m. and you were sitting on the kitchen counter. You couldn’t sleep. You wanted to but your mind was awake, racing with many different thoughts.

You almost screamed when JJ appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of you.

“Shit, JJ! You scared me!” You placed your hand on your heart and felt it beat in a fast rhythm.

“Sorry.” He chuckled.

Then he leaned closer to you, stretching his arm behind you.

Your faces were so close and for a second you though you had seen him look at your lips. Was it finally going to happen?

Then he pulled away, a glass in his hand and a smirk on his lips.

He filled the glass with water and then took a sip out of it. Placing the glass back onto the counter he sent you one last smirk before saying “I was thirsty.”

Again, it was late at night and you couldn’t sleep.

You went to the small dock behind the chateau and sat down on the edge of it.

It was a beautiful night. The stars were shining so bright, illuminating everything.

You were just sitting there, stargazing, when you heard steps behind you. Turning around, you saw JJ walking towards you.

He sat down beside you, not saying a single word.

“Is this going to be our thing?” you asked, looking at him.

He turned his head towards you. “What?”

“You creeping up on me at night.”

“Maybe. I mean if you want to.” He turned his head away again, staring up at the sky.

The light coming from the stars made his skin glow, making him almost look heavenly. He was the most gorgeous boy that you had ever seen. And that moment right there made you fall for him even deeper.

The thought of kissing him popped into your head again.

You wanted to kiss him, very much. But the fear of losing him as a friend was bigger. So you didn’t.

But you knew that one day you wouldn’t be able to hold the urge back anymore. It was bound to happen.

You and the pogues were at The Wreck since none of you (except Kiara) were good at cooking.

Her dad was quite annoyed with you all but since he was a good man, he let you do your own thing and eat there.

Kiara brought all the food to the table and then sat down next to you.

“Where’s JJ?” you asked, noticing his absence.

“Umm… he’s over there.” Kiara pointed to the direction where JJ was supposed to be.

You looked over there and saw something that made your heart physically hurt.

JJ was talking to a girl, flirting with her. They were standing really close too. JJ grabbed a strand of her blonde hair and twirled it between his fingers while telling her something and making her laugh.

Your mood was instantly ruined. But the thing that made you hurt the most was that they kissed. Right in front of you. You wanted to cry right there and then.

And the pogues noticed it too. It was no secret that you took interest in a certain blonde pogue.

“I think I’m gonna go home.” You stood up from the table, not hungry anymore.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Kiara asked, a worried look in her eyes.

“No, it’s fine. You stay here.”

While walking home, the scene of JJ and that girl kissing played over and over again in your head. And again you were wondering how it would feel like to kiss him.

You wanted to be the one JJ made laugh. You wanted to be the one he kissed. Was it too much to ask for?

It felt like you had made it very clear with all the subtle hints that you were throwing at him occasionally but after seeing what happened at The Wreck that day you were proved wrong.

It was a few days later. You had been staying at your house for all that time. Your parents were on the mainland, visiting your grandparents for the weekend so you were home alone.

You quite enjoyed it actually.

The peace and silence was all you needed right now.

All of the pogues had texted and called you but you ignored all of them.

You needed some time to be alone.

10 o’clock was rolling around and you were preparing to go to sleep when you heard a loud banging on the front door.

Putting on a big oversized hoodie to cover up, you went to see who it was.

Opening the door, you saw JJ standing there. He looked very bad. He was beat up, blood coming out of his nose and many cuts on his face. Since he was wearing a shirt you couldn’t really tell if he was hurt on his body too or not. But seeing the state of his face you assumed he was.

“What happened to you?”

“My dad is what happened.” Was all he mumbled.

You were one of the few people who knew how his dad treated him. But still you were shocked to see the damage.

You opened the door wider, gesturing for him to come in. You closed the door and locked it after him.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” You grabbed his hand and gently pulled him towards the bathroom where the emergency kit was.

JJ leaned against the sink while you took out the kit and all the stuff to clean his cuts.

To clean his face you had to be very close to him but right now you didn’t care. The most important thing to you at the moment was his well being.

He winced when you started cleaning his cuts. Out of pure instinct he placed his hands on your hips.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“I know but I feel like I should've done something.”

“You didn’t know.”

After cleaning all the cuts on his face you asked to see the bruises on his body.

He tried to take off his shirt but you saw he was struggling due to the pain, so you helped him.

“Oh god.” His whole chest and torso was covered in dark purple bruises. You wanted to cry. He must have been in so much pain.

“I didn’t do anything, Y/N. I couldn’t stop him.” There were tears in the corners of his eyes and soon enough, they rolled down his cheeks.

You placed your hands on his cheeks, wiping away the tears with your thumbs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please make the pain go away. I can’t take this anymore.”

You felt your eyes get glossy too. “I can try. I will always try.”

You leaned closer to him and connected your lips for a kiss. This isn’t what you imagined your first kiss with him to be like but you needed to be there for him. You wanted to be there for him.

taglist: @www-imbored-com @delightfullynlove @tomhardybby @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @ilovejjmaybank @allycat449-blog @teenwaywardasgardian @copper-boom @canibeoneofthepogues @ifilwtmfc @bedazzledbanks @jeyramarie @themaddies-obx @pink-meringues

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

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30 FAVE BOOKMARKS of 2020

Happy New Year’s Eve-Eve, everyone!!

And welcome to the Last Fic Rec Wednesday of 2020! No one asked for this at all, but I enjoy making unprompted lists for everyone, and I’ve been doing this list since January 2020 :P

I’ve read some FANTASTIC fics this year, and now seems like a good time as any to share with y’all some of those amazing fics I’ve added to List of Love! I had to even whittle it down today to get it to 25 – the number I like as a “top xx” thing, so I am very disheartened that a lot of my bookmarks this year didn’t make the list :( It’s been a long time since I’ve done a “last XX bookmarked fics” list, maybe I’ll do one of those soon.

First off let’s start with 5 honourable mentions of Other Fandom fics, because I spent a lot of my summer indulging in my renewed Rimmster ship so I have a few amazing RD fics y’all should read LOL

FIVE OTHER-FANDOM HONOURABLE MENTIONS

Réveillon by Big_Edies_Sun_Hat (T, 6,431 w., 3 Ch. || GOOD OMENS || Christmas Eve, Angst, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Established Relationship, International Travel, Moments in Time, Historical / Biblical Interpretation) – After a gloomy history with Christmas, Aziraphale shows Crowley how he has learned to seek out the good in it by traveling around the world on Christmas Eve. Highlights include: the Annunciation; potholes; international teleportation; peace and hope; arson; Lupe gets a doll of her very own.

Out With It by Clipped_Ionian_Vowels (T, 10,255 w., 1 Ch. || RED DWARF || Post-Ace, Reclaimed Slurs, Getting Together, Sexuality, Coming Out) – Rimmer finally comes home, hangs up the wig and decides to set the crew 'straight' about one thing; he's not. And neither, it transpires, is Lister.

Standards by Kahvi & Roadsterguy (E, 11,725 w., 2 Ch. || RED DWARF || Hard Light Rimmer, Bickering, Humour, First Time, Over-Protective Kryten, Cranky Rimmer, Exploring Derelicts, Arguing Leads to Awkward Flirting, Showering Together, Intense Orgasms) – Yet another supply raid on a derelict leads Rimmer and Lister to an argument, which in turn leads to... something that's still fairly close to an argument. You get lonely in space, but you do have standards.

speed limits (and how to break them) by darcylindbergh (E, 13,750 w., 4 Ch. || GOOD OMENS || POV Crowley, UST/URT, Mutual Pining, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Crowley’s Anxiety, Gift Giving, Humour, Touching, Awkwardness, Love Confessions, Sussex, Fantasies Become Real, Marriage Proposal, Sensuality, Bottom Crowley) – There is a trick people do with a mint candy and a bottle of cola which results in a small eruption, and something very like it, for much higher stakes than a laugh in a car park, is about to take place in Aziraphale’s back room. Or: what happens when you finally unscrew the cap on a six thousand years of repression, and drop in Valentine’s Day.

Hand in Glove by lizardkid (T, 14,223 w., 1 Ch. || RED DWARF || Post-S9, Internalized Homophobia, Repression, Hurt/Comfort, Lister Whump, Worried Rimmer, Ableist Language, Cuddling) – Lister is mortally wounded in an accident. Rimmer is forced to reassess everything.

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AND NOW: The reason y’all are here! Please know I love EVERYTHING I’ve read and bookmarked, just these ones have really stuck with me and I’ve already re-read a few of these, so yeah, please do enjoy.

Please note that these fics aren’t all necessarily NEW fics for 2020, more like they were new to ME, and ergo, I bookmarked and started reccing them this year! There are a few newer fics, though, so yeah, apologies if you were expecting only new things.

Hope you all have a good New Year’s Day, and I hope this list makes the long weekend a great one until my FIRST Fic Rec Sunday of 2021! I might do two on Sunday just to celebrate the new year, hahah. <3 Love you all!

TOP 25 JOHNLOCK BOOKMARKS OF 2020

SEE ALSO:

Top 20 Bookmarks of 2018

Top 25 Bookmarks of 2019

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John's favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#johnlock fic recs #long post #my fic recs #fic rec wednesday #fave fics #red dwarf fic recs #good omens fic recs

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yuzukult · 3 years

Text

effortlessly pt. 10 || jungkook & reader

title: effortlessly (the finale) pairing: jungkook x reader words: 4.0k genre: fluff, romance, school!au, smut some chapters notes: ;u; patience is key, epilogue coming out soon! p.s. hope you guys stay for my next jungkook series! ;u;

series: part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || epilogue

The seasons come by quickly— Autumn, Winter, Spring. Last summer had come to an end with you leaving the admissions office with a plan and an answer; a decision that was made up completely by yourself.

You’re grateful for Jungkook because he doesn’t probe you about your decision and promised to wait patiently until you’re ready.

Autumn comes around with its descending leaves from the now naked trees, filling the roads with shades of golds, reds, and browns, sparse in air, leaving every scene on your walk to school like a sepia photograph. It’s the season of football, pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin spice flavored anything, really, and Halloween. Then Winter approaches with a scare; a blanket of snow dropping over the school yard, the fields, and every corner of the entire city. Light jackets now replaced with thicker and longer ones, you can’t help but groan at the difficulty of tying your shoes with how stiff yours are.

“Ugh, why did I buy this again?”

Jungkook laughs merrily at the sight, mostly because you just look so small and cozy in your coat, struggling to reach down to your toes. He taps his thigh for you to place your foot, a grin stretching cheek to cheek. You comply as he responds, “Because it’s December, silly. You’ll be freezing standing outside wearing your little leather jacket that you think is going to make you feel warm.”

“It’s more of a fashion statement than warmth, Jeon.” He’s tying the laces of your Doc Martens, fingers nimble and cold, and thighs shivering from the remains of the snow that gets on his pants, the wetness seeping through the fabric and onto his skin. “Well, you’re going to catch a cold wearing that thing around. That’s why you need this.” When he finishes, he drops your leg down, pulling the hood of your jacket over your head snugly. “So please don’t get sick because that means that I also have to play sick to stay home and take care of you.” Jungkook is effortlessly caring.

Jungkook hates the cold. Only because it takes away a location for him to swim— outside. But this year, he doesn’t seem to hate it as much. Maybe it’s because now, you’re his, and he can replace the time he dedicated to swim outside to spend time with you instead.

Especially when he gets to see you in the Christmas Village, mouth gaping wide with a bright smiling following after, face brightened by the colorful string of lights that surround you. “Wow,” Amazed, your eyes twinkle at the view. “Now this is something to talk about.” He hates himself for not taking you here every other year, the guys convincing him that it was too romantic for two friends to go to, but he can’t help but wonder what if he took you years before and learned how much he was in love with you earlier?

You spend the holidays at his house, meeting his grandparents and extended family while your parents decide to go on a trip to Hawaii. It’s become a tradition, really, your parents ditching the whole family bonding thing, and you spending that time with Jungkook’s family instead.

His mom loves you. Although your sleepovers have slowly become stagnant because of her suspicion of you guys doing more than just movies and sleeping, she wouldn’t want anyone else to be with her son other than you.

The Jeon’s have everything set for the holidays; from the tree with presents pleasantly wrapped placed intricately underneath, to the decoration that drapes the fireplace, to the strings of tinsel and garland that cascades down the staircases, and the wreath that hangs on the front door. Ms. Jeon is obsessed with Christmas and favors nothing more, perfecting the holiday over the years for her family... well, mostly herself.

Even though Jungkook spends day and night complaining about his mom, telling her that she’s dedicating too much money and time for this ‘stupid holiday,’ he’s still the best son and tends to her every need. When she struggles in the kitchen, he’s already by her side, asking her what she needs a hand in. Or when she can’t reach a portion of the tree while decorating, there’s an annoyed expression on his face but he utilizes his towering height to help her get those spots. Jungkook is effortlessly a family man.

“So, Jungkook, I heard you got into University?” His cousin, Sooyeon, asks. She is several years older than the two of you, almost completing her undergraduate degree. “I did! I got in with an athletic scholarship.” He’s genuinely happy, the way he shares this information, like he’s finally proud of himself and how far he’s gotten in life. The obstacles he’d overcome, the effort he had invested into the sport—they all were worth it in the end. Jeon Jungkook was reaching for his dreams.

It’s New Year’s Eve and Hoseok is hosting another party.

Underaged drinking is almost a rite of passage before entering University, and although you aren’t much of a rule breaker, it feels like something you need to do. Break out of your shell, despite the discomfort of knowing the consequences because once you get into college, none of this was going to be the same anymore. You won’t get to see Hoseok standing on the table, hollering out and swaying along to the song that plays. Jimin won’t be complaining about girls who reject him constantly. Yura won’t be there to call you out on your actions. And Jungkook, whilst he promises to stay by your side forever, there’s a possibility that it won’t happen.

“You look so pretty tonight.” Jungkook compliments you in a slur, cheeks rosy from the alcohol. You look down at your current attire; a silver sequined satin cami paired with a black leather jacket and jeans. Glancing up at the boy, you laugh at the sight of his cheeks, hand reaching up to pinch them. “You think so, Jeon?”

“If I’m being honest, I think you’re always pretty.” He hums against your hand, turning his face to give it a peck. “And I’m happy I get to be here with you. I hope you never go, and I hope nothing comes between us. It’d be nice, you know, if we...” He drifts off, mind fogging with thoughts that made him giddy because he’s giggling incessantly.

“If we what, love?”

“If we got married. Then we’d be best friends then high school sweethearts that made it.” Jungkook’s words soar you to the moon. He shares the same dream, whether or not it happens.

When the clock strikes 12, in spite of his current intoxication, he doesn’t forget you. Cupping your face in his large, warm hands, lips puckering up, he smooches you all over, laughter erupting from you. Jungkook is effortlessly a happy virus.

“Has Jungkook asked you to prom yet?”

“What?” Skimming through the pages of your notebook while in homeroom, you’re only half paying attention to anything Yura is saying. You’re on a mission to find something and even Yura can’t stop you.

Winter is still lingering, mostly waiting for Spring to make its appearance and nobody else is more excited for it to come than Yura. Only because it’s prom season, of course.

“Jungkook,” She reiterates, this time louder. “Jeon Jungkook? The love of your life? Is he asking you to prom?”

“Oh, prom.” Stopping at a page, your finger browsing through the highlighted and colored writing while furrowing your brows, focusing on the task. “Uh... no?”

“No?!” Yura exclaims, startling you out of your actions. She’s got your attention now. “It’s two months away. You won’t have enough time to find a dress or test out how your makeup is going to look and the shoes! What about your shoes?”

“Well, if it has your panties in a knot, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You regret telling her that because she does. Your comment during a time of not fully investing the entirety of your attention has brought you to this: a locker filled to the brim of red roses. There’s a card in the middle of it all, so you grab it, tear it open where in the sloppiest writing it says: turn around.

There Jungkook was, in all his beauty, standing in the middle of the hall with a box of donuts in hand, opened with the writing: i donut want to go to prom with anyone else but you!

It’s not that you hate it. No, you disgustingly love it, but you wished you had Jungkook all to yourself. He’s too great, and him standing in his uniform with donuts from your favorite bakery, you can almost feel the piercing glares from other girls down the hall. But he’s yours, nonetheless, and you didn’t wish for anything more.

Yura’s exaggeration on how long it’ll take to find a dress isn’t so much of an exaggeration when you’re shuffling through dresses in the department stores with her for the next two months, the quantity of gowns dropping by the hour. You’re grateful you found something just two weeks before the date.

Although you think the prom theme being “Hollywood” is the tackiest thing you ever heard— the sight of Jungkook standing outside of your house with both a corsage and boutonnière in hand with his hair styled back, black suit and tie with a white button up underneath, your breath hitches. He makes you feel like you’re in the presence of a celebrity; he has the ability of grabbing the attention from an entire room, despite leaning against such an old car in need of a new paint job.

In spite of it all, he seems in awe as much as you are. He thinks you’re gorgeous like this— like he’s the one who is lucky, not the other way around. You lean over, hair blown out and in a black gown that hugs your curves and compliments only the parts you wished for it to, wiping the little drip of drool that falls out the corner of his mouth. “You good, bub?”

“More than good,” he says, voice raspy. “You look... stunning.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jungkook is effortlessly handsome like this, and you wish you could keep this view all to yourself. But tonight is a time to be far from selfish.

You want to flaunt Jungkook, more than he wants to flaunt you, you convince yourself. Mostly because when you step into the gymnasium that’s fully decked out in decor, everyone’s eyes are on Jungkook.

“I think they’re all looking at you,” He would say, but you’re not stupid. Your arms are linked with a God-like man with a personality that represents it. He does nothing but help you walking in your unfamiliarity in heels, introduce you to some of his classmates that you’ve never met before, yet manages to dedicate enough time for just the two of you, dancing the night away, whispering sweet nothings into your ears before pressing his lips against your forehead delicately.

Jungkook wins Prom King that night while some pretty girl in your grade named Nayeon wins Prom Queen. He doesn’t devote his dance to her though, he apologizes and takes your hand instead.

When he takes you home that night, the only expectation you had was to go home, shower and change into your sleepwear and sit by the window sill to talk the hours away with Jungkook from across the way.

But it’s prom. So you drive with him down the shore, wearing a spare hoodie he leaves in the trunk of his car for days that get cold after practices, and holds your hand while you stomp barefooted in the sand. He’s so pretty under the moonlight, you take note, the way that it shines on the bridge of his nose, brightens the shade of brown his orbs are, and brings warmth into his smile and laughs when you share stories about your high school years.

The two of you make love in the backseat of his car with the sunroof opened, under the moon. Although it feels corny to do and such a cliché concept to have sex on prom night, it doesn’t feel that way with Jungkook. You argue that his car might not be able to take the constant movements, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He just wants to shower you with kisses and love throughout the hours that pass by.

When you come back to school the following Monday, Yura sits backwards nervously in her chair, staring at a letter that sits on your desk. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you gesture the piece of paper with your chin. “What’s up with that?”

“It’s... a letter, from Le Cordon Bleu. Pretty much to the equivalent to an Ivy League for culinary schools.”

Oh. Now you understand why the air felt weird. Quickly, you shuffle into your seat and slide off your backpack onto the floor. “Okay, well. What are you waiting for? Open it!”

She whimpers. “I��m scared.”

“Well, you told me to stop being scared and just do it. So, bitch, do it.”

While protesting, she does as told. Tearing the envelope open and the unraveling of the sheet of paper was nerve wrecking, possibly even more for you.

“I... got in.” Holy shit. “You got in?”

“Guess who’s going to France, bitch!”

It’s a reality, this sight of your best friend; the brightest smile on her face, cheekbones defined from the excitement in her. A dream she had, a dream that you never even knew had been a priority in her life, was coming true.

Whether or not it was jealousy, you were proud of her regardless. Yura was able to attain her goals before even graduating high school. After further research, you learned that there were many locations for this school, and her dream was to be able to expand her knowledge throughout all those countries.

You’re tired of hearing him talk about his plans for the future where it sounded like none of the routes included you. Jungkook goes on from when the sun rises to the sun sets about what he wants to do in life, where he wants to go, and where he hopes to be at whatever age. You could listen to him talk for hours like it's a song on repeat that you never grow to hate, but today, it felt inconsistent. He had all these things he wanted to do but where were you?”

“Where do I even fit in all of this?” You finally get the courage to blurt.

Jungkook’s forehead is creased in disbelief at your outburst. “What are you talking about?”

“Well,” you start, fumbling with the fabric of your shirt, “you haven’t even mentioned me once. It’s like you’re also planning for your escape out of this relationship.”

He’s fuming. It’s been a while since he’s been this mad, especially since your last huge argument had nearly been a year ago. Otherwise, with Jungkook, there had been small disagreements that were recoverable but it feels different this time. “You don’t get to be upset with me for planning a future without you because if I’m being totally honest, you still haven’t told me what you decided that day you walked into that office, and I’m feeling rather insecure about whether or not you trust me!”

“Don’t hate me,” eyes glassy and voice wavering, your bottom lip is quivering, on the verge of tears of pure fear that Jungkook would resent you for your decision. “I told the recruiter to give that position away to someone else.”

“And why would I be mad at that?” He says, pulling you into his embrace, pressing a chaste kiss against your cheek before nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry I lashed out. I’m glad you came to that decision, I’m glad you’re telling this. Even if it’s not on the sidelines of the swimming pool with me, nagging at me what to do. Because you’ll still be there to support me.”

Your shoulders slouch, still feeling guilty wash over you like a tidal wave. “I just didn’t want you to be upset because of how much effort you went through to get me there. To even get me that offer.”

“I didn’t do anything, love.” Before a tear can escape further down your face, he swipes it away with the pad of his thumb after he pulls away. “You did that all yourself. They found you, knew who you were, and loved you. I just led them to find you. So, what did you decide on instead if you didn’t take that apprenticeship? Are you attending another University?”

“No,” You respond abruptly, rubbing your head into his chest again, muttering your next words into the fabric of his shirt. “She told me that it doesn’t take away my opportunity to still attend University there. So I enrolled there as undecided.”

There’s silence between the two of you before he finally speaks up. “Undecided?”

You don’t want to face him. Especially if the expression on his face may show disappointment, and that’s the least thing you want to do to Jungkook on your list. “Yes.” You mumble. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I thought at least going to college and trying to figure out while I’m there would be at least a start in the right direction.”

Grasping you by the shoulders, he tugs you away to clearly see your face. Finally meeting his gaze, his face showed the opposite. A gleaming smile pulling on the edges of his lips with eyes that shine and sparkle underneath this lighting, you’re stunned by his reaction. “I’m so proud of you!”

“What?” Lips swollen from the crying, you pout, almost bursting out in hyperventilating tears because you didn’t want this to end before college even starts. “You chose something. You made a decision on your own, solely based on what you felt was the best for you, not because you wanted to make someone else happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.” Jungkook is effortlessly unselfish because he wants you to be his personal coach, yet he’s telling you to do what you want to do. “I just want you to be happy. I’m happy if you are.”

“But... I should be honest with you.” He’s the one who seems uneasy now, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. “I... not only accepted the scholarship, but they want to send me to the States for a couple months in the summer for training with Taehyung.”

You’re not stupid. What that’s code for is that there’s a chance they’re going to keep Jungkook there, offer him another University scholarship elsewhere in the States, and continue his training. How could they not? With the way he swims, his drive and ability to adapt to any situation, he’s desirable to any team. He might not be yours anymore, and as much as you wished you could keep him all to yourself, he’s Jungkook. Who wouldn’t want him?

You learned that ever since you met him. Jungkook is so wonderful, he’s meant to be shared, and everyone should know him. He’s the spark in your life that you never knew you needed until you meet him.

It only sucked because it felt like once you finally got him, it’s already time to let him go.

Yet when you see him standing by your side in the crowd of people in your class, on a large patch of grass that they call a football field, cap and gown in the shades of your school colors, you can’t hate anyone for wanting a piece of him. He’s only eighteen but he’s managed to accomplish so many of his goals in such a short span of time. He’s able to catch the attention of an audience bigger than the crowd at Madison Square Garden. He was able to swoon the majority of the female population in your high school. Jungkook did what even he thought was impossible, he did more than exceed his own expectations.

So when you’re standing with your diplomas in hand after throwing your cap in the air, the grin that’s glued onto his face does everything to your heart. How lucky were you to experience a first love like Jeon Jungkook?

There wasn’t much time left. Graduation is over, degrees now in hand, and futures that are waiting for your attendance.

It’s Summer again, the excruciating heat beaming from the sun’s rays reappearing, an entire year passing by since your confession to Jungkook. Although you’d rather be spending your anniversary in the next few days leading up to it, there’s a different occasion tonight under this familiar sweltering heat.

Jungkook leaves tomorrow at noon for America yet he’s procrastinating the remaining stuff he needs to pack for his trip. Well, he says it’s a trip, but you have a feeling that his stay is going to be longer than anticipated.

If you’re being truly honest with yourself, you’re scared. Eighteen, best friend/boyfriend who had been with you your entire life is leaving for the unknown. Your other best friend is leaving to pursue her dreams elsewhere as well, alone and without anyone to support her physically.

But you can’t help but think about yourself. What did this mean for you, someone who was losing the most important people in her life that were all going to hunt their aspirations, while you were just... undecided?

Laying in the field of grass, head resting comfortably on Jungkook’s arm while his other sits on his chest, the two of you admire the sunset in the midst of your silence. The hues of red, pink, orange, and yellow fill the sky, dancing and blurring into one another, gifting you a sight that you’re grateful to view with Jungkook. It was going to be a while before you got to see him again, and you’re hopeful that it’ll feel just the same.

“Three months,” He’d repeat constantly, every time he sees the pain in your expression. You both had gone so long without truly being each other, and now that you finally fessed up your hidden emotions, it’s hard to let go. “It’s only going to be for three months. Then you’d have me again.”

“But you don’t know that.” You’d say, heart tightening in agony. “There’s so much of this world that wants you, Jungkook. University is just one of the potential first stops. Someone is going to take you away, whether you like it or not. You just have too much talent and potential.” Jungkook doesn’t agree with you, but he doesn’t voice this. Not tonight, at least, if it’s the last time he gets to be with you for a while.

Just like the sun, Jungkook eventually has to go away. He leaves for the States with Taehyung to train for the summer, projecting that he’d be back in time for the fall semester to start University with you. Even through texts and phone calls you get from him, he can’t give you a date when he’d be back, but he misses you dearly. You want to stay hopeful that he does return, attending classes with you again, study-dates, meeting up for coffee afterwards, have lunch and dinner, and continue your sleepovers, maybe even find an apartment and move in together.

Yet again, Jungkook... he’s effortlessly Jungkook. The guy loved by everyone, yet has the hardest time loving himself. The guy who has such a promising future, one that’s almost a guaranteed dream come true for him. There’s no need for exchanges of ‘I love yous,’ because you know he does, yet you don’t want to hold him back, so you let him go. Whether or not he comes back for the fall semester, you’re not sure, but one thing you do know is that Jeon Jungkook will be your first everything, and your current everything.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkookxreader #jungkook x reader #bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #gyukultfics

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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

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Kevin Frost | Kevin Moon (The Boyz)

Summary ❄ Being sick every winter sucks, until winter itself decides to bring itself to you in the form of Kevin Frost.

Genre ❄ fluff, fantasy, inspired by Jack Frost (as per my beautiful @nyuwings request)

A/N ❄ for my lovely @nyuwings with whom I’ve bonded with so quickly I keep wondering whether we’re soulmates. Thank you for your presence and for just being you. Ily. ❤

° . · ❄ · . °

Sighing for the nth time, you placed your hands up against the window, palms turning icy cold as you took in the array of snowflakes floating to the ground. It was that time of the year again, a time that signified celebration as the town of Sleva would get covered in a blanket of what your brothers liked to call fairy dust. Snow would bathe the entire streets white and would glimmer in the light of the street lamps lining the streets. You could already spot the Christmas lights in variants of red and green and yellow gold strung across the main intersections, probably where the Christmas market would be. Right about that time merchants would line the streets with their wooden carts, shouting out about all the fresh sausages and special meats they’d offer for a good price for the festive season.

You knew Christmas season like the back of your hand. It was ironic then, that you were the only person not allowed out whenever Christmas and winter came around.

“You’re sick,” your mother had scolded you once when you had mustered up the courage to ask her why you were the only one being left behind, “you’ll die if you go out in the snow.”

And it was true. Your lungs were small, pea-sized, as the doctor had mentioned at one of your checkups. It was about the same time when you started asking questions, curiosity finally picking away at your logic. Going out in the snow and allowing your body to suffer the cold would deliver a fatal blow to your nervous system.

He had not, however, told your parents to keep you locked in like a prisoner that would instantly face death the moment you caught wind of cold. But while your parents had taken dramatic measures to keep you tightly tucked in warmth until summer came around once more, you’d like to think that it was more of an exaggeration as an extension of their concern for your well-being, and not the actual truth.

So that was why you were sitting like the pathetic picture that you were, staring out at the countless other people trudging through snow and laughing as they made up snowballs and built snowmen in their driveways. You wondered briefly what your friends were up to, knowing full well from their recounted stories that at this time of year they’d flock to the bars to catch glimpses of the beautiful young men, soldiers and men from military that would come home from their basecamps on these special occasions.

“We can sneak you out!” One of your friends exclaimed the first time you had explained the real reason as to why you could barely set foot outside, “And we’ll bring you home before your parents wake up.”

You shook your head though, politely denying their requests as your heart ached, “it’s fine. You guys have fun.”

“We’ll find a nice catch for you, Y/N,” another winked at you and you plastered a smile on your face right up until they had turned the corner.

You had cried yourself to sleep that night.

So there you sat every day and night, surprised that your butt hadn’t made an indentation on the chair yet as the sound of your mother’s cooking echoed up the stairs. The attic was where you liked to spend most of your time. It was a place where you could be at peace with yourself and enjoy your own company, the silence that came with it filling your mind with nothing but serenity.

Something flashed across the window.

Probably a snowball, you thought to yourself as you rubbed your eyes. The smell of your mother’s famous dumplings wafted through the attic room and you sniffed the air, stomach growling in anticipation. There was bound to be a feast on Christmas eve. It was a tradition your family never missed out.

A group of children were busy building a snowman in the yard opposite yours and snuggling a little closer to the window, you pulled your blanket tighter around your frame as you watched them, giggling amongst themselves, while sticking the carrot to form its nose.

Another flash. So fast and blurred that you cried out in shock and almost toppled over from your seat.

Blinking, you stared long and hard at what you thought you had seen. If you weren’t mistaken, you swore that it had looked a lot like--

“Hello!”

You screamed, toppling over for good this time. You landed on your butt and must’ve caused a ruckus for your mother’s voice to float up questioningly, “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Fine!” you cried back without tearing your eyes away from the window.

A boy gazed back at you with amusement glimmering through his eyes. No, not a boy. More like a young man in his twenties, maybe about the same age as you were.

And he was floating.

You opened your mouth only for the words to choke the back of your throat. You coughed instead and didn’t realize that the said young man had propped open the window until you heard him ask, “you good there? That was quite a fall--”

Rushing to clamp a hand over his mouth, you hurriedly looked back towards the staircase. Thank god it seemed like your mother was so engrossed in her cooking and you sighed in relief, before realizing that you were a little too close to the said stranger.

Pulling away quickly and tugging your blanket over your frame, you hissed out, “who are you?” in a tone that you hoped was threatening enough for him to understand you were not here to make friendly conversation. If anything, he was a stranger and he was weird.

But either he was used to people’s rude demeanour or he just didn’t care, for he merely brushed some snow out of his raven coloured hair before settling himself on the window frame more comfortably. He had a wooden cane gripped tightly in his left hand and his feet were left bare. You wondered briefly whether he was cold.

“My apologies for barging in without introductions,” his voice was melodic, smooth, “my name is Kevin Frost. I’m...winter?”

Your eyebrows dipped into a frown, “excuse me?”

“I’m winter personified. Kind of like a guardian, weather guardian. In my case, guardian of winter,” he lifted his cane as if proving a point. Except, what was so special about it? It just looked like a tree branch he’d picked up along the way, “I’m responsible for the snow, I guess?”

“You guess?”

This guy was crazy.

It seemed like he read your mind, for he sighed and threw you a sympathetic look, “you don’t believe me.”

“You end your statements like they’re questions. How am I supposed to be convinced by that?”

Kevin lifted his hand at your words and as he twirled his fingers through air, a wisp of snowflakes suddenly danced along his knuckles as if by magic. Blinking in astonishment, your jaw fell open without warning and he chuckled, “close your mouth, sweetheart. You might catch a fly.”

You snapped your mouth shut, “there are no flies in winter,” you muttered through narrowed eyes while crossing your arms over your middle, “so say what you’re saying is real...What does that mean?”

“That I control winter, kinda. I come around every year when the season rolls around.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because the world needs winter,” he scoffed as though you had asked the most stupidest question, “without winter, the cycle would be broken.”

“Well, you can take your winter and use it elsewhere.”

He looked at you for a second too long that you couldn’t help but shift uneasily under his darkened gaze, “What?” you asked, though averting your eyes at the sudden change in his demeanour.

“You don’t like winter.”

He said it like a statement. Without question. Confident that what he told was the truth.

And he was right.

“What?!” it was his jaw that fell open this time, “so what? You’ve never touched snow before?”

“I don’t,” you answered.

"Why not?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you said, “I...my health isn’t the best during winter. I can’t go out.”

You shook your head and his eyes grew even wider if that was possible, so baffled by your statement that he almost dropped his cane, “Oh that is really shitty.”

“Oh yes,” your eyes glued themselves to the floor, “that’s me.”

The silence that followed made your heart drop. Why were divulging your darkest thoughts to a mere stranger? And one that climbed through windows and could weld snow like it was as easy as breathing?

But Kevin’s hand reached out, palm open and facing upwards as his face softened. It was almost like he understood what it felt like to be different, deprived from something that everyone else could enjoy, “I think I can help with that.”

“Uhm,” your eyes were skeptically analyzing the small wisps of cold air surrounding said hand, “I don’t think that’s the answer--”

“Just trust me.”

“You’re a stranger.”

“And I’m the only way you can enjoy winter.”

Maybe it was the truth that rang through his words despite barely knowing him, or maybe it was the idea of finally being free of the bodily chains that held you down and just out of reach of the unknown. But one look at the dark obsidian orbs that swam with nothing but an open invitation was enough to make you reach out, hand gently placing over his and shuddering slightly at the icy coldness of his fingers.

"Allow me,” he murmured as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder before tugging you with him. And before you knew it, you were tumbling out of your window and into open air as you whipped along with the wind that carried you forward, over the houses, over the cityscape bathed with snow with Kevin’s hold tightening every so slightly on your frame.

A gust of wind blew in your direction and your shoulders tensed, readying yourself to feel the air nip at your skin and skittle across your clothes with those icy fingers.

But nothing. Nothing but a soft warmth that slowly spread through your limbs, almost as though you had sat by a warm campfire with a mug of warm hot chocolate. Your eyes shot up to meet Kevin’s, who only grinned at you with playful mischief.

“Told you that you’d be safe with me, didn’t I?”

With that, he swooped you along, the edge of your dress skimming the top of houses. You didn’t realize you were yelling in delight the higher you went as your legs dangled. Tingles shot down your spine and into your feet as you looked down at the ground, butterflies roaming your stomach in a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Oh!--” the air stuck in your throat the moment you spotted the Christmas market, “Is that--Is that the Christmas market?!”

His chuckle grazed your ear, “sure is.”

“And that’s the church! Oh my gosh--It’s so pretty!” Gasping at the wondrous sights that appeared before you like a movie you’ve been dying to watch, you can’t help but tear up in blind joy. This, this is what you’ve been missing out on all this time? You couldn’t believe it; how magical it all was, how authentically beautiful and breathtaking. It was almost like looking into a snow globe. Untouchable.

“Are you--Are you crying?” the panic laced in Kevin’s voice made you burst out laughing as you felt the ghost of his hand swiping at your cheek. It felt weird hanging in mid-air being too close to a man -- or could you call him a man? -- that was currently wiping away your tears like it was the most mundane occurrence. But at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“No I’m just--It’s beautiful. I--I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on all this,” you spluttered out, chest tight with emotion, “why hasn’t anyone ever told me?”

“Well to be fair, we are above all humans,” his murmur was so close to your ear that you turned out of curiosity, only to swallow hard at the closeness of your faces.

You looked away, “and you’re not human?”

You sensed his hesitation, “...not exactly.”

“Then what are you?”

Another round of silence as he struggled to give a coherent answer. Something told you that you weren’t going to be fond of all that he had to say.

“It’s complicated.”

You didn’t fight him, knowing full well that it would provoke more questions than provide you answers. He tugged you along silently over the house chimneys, allowing you to ogle at the arrays of food merchants littering the streets and settling you atop one of the roofs to enjoy a live show of musicians in Sleva’s Square. Curiosity burned at the tip of your tongue whenever you caught yourself looking at him for a second too long. But it seemed like your earlier conversation had dulled the light in his eyes and you decided it was best to keep your mouth shut, instead focusing on clapping along to the sound of merry jingles floating through the air.

It was past midnight when Kevin deposited you at your window sill, gingerly settling your feet onto the ground as you allowed your eyes to find his own dark orbs reflecting the dim light of the attic.

You licked your lips that had run dry from the slow ebbing warmth of Kevin’s presence, “thank you, for today.”

His grin was contagious, for you felt your own lips tug into a smile, “you’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the blush from spreading up your neck at the little pet name that he had garnered, “so who’s the next lucky lady then?” you were quick to change the subject, “you can’t tell me I’m the only who gets to ride along with Kevin Frost.”

He smirked and you swore your heartstrings tugged. Reaching up with his hand, he proceeded to tuck your hair behind your ears and only grinned a little wider when your face flushed.

“You are,” he whispered, and with another cold gust of wind, he was gone before you could utter another word.

° . · ❄ · . °

Kevin Frost’s presence was starting to become a constant in your life that winter, dropping by on numerous occasions throughout the day and night as he kept you company. He entertained you with stories of his day; how he’d helped a few children ice skate by freezing the entire lake over, or how he’d made it snow a little harder for others to get enough snow to finish off their snowman.

Sometimes, he would whip up some Christmas creations in your attic itself and wrap you in his arms as he danced along to the snowflakes cascading from your ceiling. He’d hum to a few Christmas tunes as you went, stepping onto his feet and him on yours because-- you’d realized shortly after -- that he wasn’t as such of a good dancer as he claimed he was.

Most nights though, he’d make it a must to fly you to one of the rooftops to enjoy the scenery. You would huddle closer for warmth, your blanket heavy on your shoulders and his arm around you keeping you heated while you exchanged stories of your past and childhood. In exchange he would recollect where he’d come from; how his earliest memory had started from the moment he’d fallen out of an icicle in the North Pole and how, from that day onwards, he’d fly around the world to provide snow when it was necessary.

“So that means you’ll be gone once spring comes around?” you couldn’t help the words that slipped from your mouth. Coughing a little, you nestled closer out of instinct. For some reason, you had been a little weaker these past few days, reason being the numerous secret outings after dinner time. Not that you had mentioned that to your mother when she’d commented on your physical state. That was recipe for disaster.

"My duty will lie elsewhere when that time comes."

"I notice you always talk in riddles whenever you don't want to say things that will hurt people."

He glanced at you, maybe out of shock or maybe just because he already knew how you'd picked up on his habits in the few days that you had spent together.

When he spoke next, his voice was a raspy whisper, “I don’t like hurting people.”

"Don’t avoid my question, Kevin Frost.”

The words hung between you like a cold breath of winter. Kevin’s skin was warm and yet, your fingers felt numb from gripping one of the roof tiles too hard.

“Yes,” he pressed his lips together, “I’ll be gone. Until the next winter season.”

“So you’re leaving me.”

“I never said I was going to stay.”

The words stung like bees, as though someone had reached into your chest for the sole purpose of squeezing your heart until it pinched with pain.

He must’ve regretted his outburst, for in the silence that followed there was a soft mumble of his apology.

"And you said you didn’t like hurting people,” you scoffed and saw him wincing from the corner of your eye, “that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Gathering up your skirts and wrapping the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders when you felt a gentle whoosh of the winter air scald your skin, you muttered, “I’d like to go home now.”

The fly back was laden with a heavy silence that pressed down on your throat and made your eyes burn with the onset of tears, though you refused to cry for him. You knew, deep down, that he’d be gone in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t the personification of winter for nothing and it ultimately wasn’t his fault for leaving you.

He wasn’t to blame.

It was just a matter of unleashing your own frustrations because you were going to miss him. More than he could imagine.

The moment your feet touched the wooden edge of your window sill, you fought the urge not to turn around and bury yourself into his arms. He grasped your hand, the other around your waist as he helped you inside like he always did, except this time your heart skipped a beat despite the small pang of pain resonating through your chest.

“Y/N,” came his murmur the moment your feet touched your attic floor. You turned around reluctantly, heart collapsing the moment you caught sight of the glistening wetness in Kevin’s dark orbs.

“I--” he took a shaky inhale, stepped towards you until you were close enough for your feet to touch, “I never wanted you to get attached, nor did I want to get attached...to you.”

Your head angled to the floor as you bit your lip, not wanting him to see how much you were breaking inside.

"Oh come here sweetheart,” and that was when his arms laced around your middle to pull you close, a movement so surprising that it made you gasp. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away, only for him to hold on a little tighter and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart felt like it had suddenly been ignited with fireworks, heat coursing through your veins at the sudden display of affection that left you lightheaded.

“I don’t like seeing you unhappy,” his whisper echoed through your ear and as if on impulse he tightened his hold.

“You’ll...” you broke off when the tears started choking you up, arms going around his chest to press your cheek against his collarbone, “you’ll come back though. You can promise that...right?”

Feeling him nod, you pulled away to get that same affirmation from his eyes, which you did once your gazes locked. Gently, Kevin’s hand went up to hold your cheek, brushing his thumb slightly over your cheekbone and causing your breath to stutter inside your throat.

Time felt like it had stopped as you stood there, unmoving, just watching the shades of dark brown moving to soft maroon of Kevin’s eyes as the light danced against his face.

And then he leaned down. His lips feathered over your forehead before pressing a soft, chaste kiss upon it, “I promise.”

° . · ❄ · . °

As Winter slowly ebbed away with the arrival of Spring, so did Kevin Frost. It was as if you were waking up from a dream all this time, a dream that you hoped would last forever. It was only when it was warm enough to step outside that you spotted all of his silent messages displayed across the town. Ice sculptures depicting two miniature figures flying through the sky, dancing on rooftops and laughing together paved the way from the door of your backyard to the edge of your fencing and you swore that if you had been alone you would’ve broken down into tears.

But you held on to that thin strand of hope that Kevin Frost would return the next winter. You hoped. Believed that he would keep his word.

Summer was a daze where you occupied yourself helping your brothers, who had recently bought a stand to open up a bakery shop at the end of your street. As you slowly started learning the ropes of rolling dough out and making confectionaries that the locals were so fond of, you slowly developed the skill of decorating them to your liking; which was winter-themed. Soon enough, cookies in the forms of snowflakes were being displayed, there were icy popsicles in the shape of ice-skating rollers, cakes to show the frozen lake and small figurines dancing atop its surface icing.

The one creation that sold the best out of all these was the pastry depicting a scene from when you and Kevin Frost had sat upon a roof, heads nestled close and looking like there wasn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be. You had carved into the dough with the best of your ability, with the details springing from the golden crust once it had gone through the oven as bits and pieces of white chocolate made up the snowflakes falling in that idealistic landscape.

"My daughters just love your creations!” One lady once stated as she bought a cake box and about dozens of your pastry, “she finds them so adorable that she shares them with her friends at recess!”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad she likes them,” you smiled back as you exchanged the box of goodies for some gold coins. Your brother, named Hyunjae, nudged you the moment the woman was out of earshot, “so now that we’ve established that you know how to bake. Care to elaborate where you met this man?”

“What?” you tried keeping your face impassive. But you’d be a fool to think your brother would be satisfied with your obliviousness.

“Y/N, I’d like to know whatever’s going on in that little head of yours,” Hyunjae slung an arm around your shoulder with a sly smirk, “so do please enlighten your brother before he finds that man and lands him one.”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Well it seems like he’s breaking your heart, whoever that man in the pastry is.”

"I--He’s--There’s no one.”

“Y/N.”

“Hyunjae, leave her alone,” your eldest brother, who went by the name of Younghoon, just threw Hyunjae a stern stare, “she’ll tell us when she wants to.”

“You’re no fun Younghoon.”

Before you knew it, the temperature had dropped and the lush greenery of the foliage adorning the town slowly turned to warm hues of orange and red and yellows that fell to the ground, signalling that a new season was making its way through Sleva. Working in your house kitchen was a given now that it was too cold for your body to handle. You woke up before down each day to prepare the set of pastries and adorned cakes that your brothers would then transport to the market place as you watched, waving until their figures disappeared behind the wooden structures of the buildings.

And then, the first snow came.

You weren’t exactly sure when or how Kevin Frost was going to make his appearance. It had been so long that your memory fogged up whenever you tried to remember the details of his features. Did he have a mole at the corner of his eye or was that just a figment of your imagination? Nevertheless, the first time you spotted snowflakes drifting to the ground, there was a rush of adrenaline through your heart and you just knew that Kevin Frost was here.

That night, you set up the fire in your attic as per usual and gathered your blanket around you before huddling over to the edge of the window. No expectations, your mind told you, no expectations that he’d make it to you today. And that was alright.

Your hand went to press against the window pane. It was cold. It sent a shiver through your body and you coughed slightly, muffling it with your palm.

Who were you kidding? There was absolutely no reason why you sat at the edge of the window with your palms bearing the cold if not for one glimpse of Kevin Frost, one sign from him that he had returned with the winter that buried Sleva in its magical beauty.

You imagined him now, that playful asymmetrical smirk and those gorgeous feline eyes and the tender way he would look at you whenever you would spark a conversation that would keep you awake till the early hours of the morning.

You missed him.

Breath fogging up the glass as your nose went to press against it, you took this moment to close your eyes.

Get a grip Y/N. You had to live your life just like he was living his. He wasn’t even human, so why? What made him so important that you felt like your heart was constantly dancing to the rhythm of his voice?

Your eyes fluttered open as you took a breath--

Only to look straight into Kevin Frost’s eyes.

Gasping in shock, your jaw fell slack as you gazed at his face from behind the window pane, his hand pressing up where yours was as he grinned back at you.

“Kev--” your throat felt tight, “Kevin?”

Your hands scrabbled for the latch. You flung it open.

He was here. He came back as he had promised.

Your heart swelled twice the size of your chest, tears gathering along your eyes so that they made your sight all blurry as you reached out to feel his hands clasping your own and before you knew it, you were being cradled to Kevin Frost’s chest as he held you as though he was never going to let go.

“Kevin?” your murmur was muffled against his shirt and reaching out to cup your cheek, he tilted your face towards his in a manner so gentle that your lungs seemed to stop functioning altogether.

His eyes were the same dark obsidian, his nose scrunching in that same manner of his whenever he was deeply amused and whether it was due to your shock, you weren’t about to make a comment when he was here in the flesh, in your arms.

“Long time no see,” his mouth was pressed to your temple and he pecked the area, over and over again like he himself couldn’t quite believe it, “sweetheart.”

His pet name made you laugh, though the tears now pooled down your cheeks, “long time indeed.”

“Kept my promise though, didn’t I?” his hand went up to smooth over the back of your head in an affectionate manner and you swore you felt your heart melt at his touch.

“Still as cocky as ever.”

“Admit it, you missed me.”

You grumbled out a small whine of agreement while looking away and Kevin only chuckled in response. He pushed back your hair, curled it behind your ear before cupping your cheek once more as he searched your gaze.

The intensity of his dark orbs made something in your chest constrict, hands tightening ever so slightly on his shirt, “what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I wanted to try something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I saw a bunch of couples doing it so it got me thinking.”

Heat spread through your cheeks and coursed down the back of your neck at how casually he seemed to handle the matter. It must’ve been obvious from the look on your face for Kevin only chuckled and bent down so close that his nose brushed yours, eyes slowly drifting shut when he angled his head to the side.

When his lips touched yours, you swore your heart burst into a million of fireworks.

A shy, tentative kiss. A first kiss for Kevin Frost. That was for sure.

It felt unreal, cold lips against warm ones that made you shudder out of the sheer sensation. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he caught your lower lip between his own. You let out a small sound of appreciation and spurred on, he kept on kissing you that way over and over again while his other arm tugged you close so that you were pressed up to him, all of your curves molded to his hard frame.

He pulled back and for the first time in forever he was the definition of being flustered, red cheeks and shy smile, “how...how did it feel?” he asked like a little five year old boy.

The grin that almost split your face in two was priceless and you'd never know that his heart was racing hundred miles an hour the moment you did.

"Cold," you giggled at his confused frown, "...and magical."

Satisfied with your answer, the young man pressed another kiss to your cheek in a manner so delicate it made your insides blossom with butterflies.

"So," Kevin turned towards the now open window which was now coated in snowflakes, "shall we?"

Your hand slipped into his as you made your way to the ledge, noting the gentleness of his arm as it wound around your waist and caressed your side.

"Show me what you've made of this winter, Kevin Frost."

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xerxia31 · 3 years

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The First Christmas

Author/creator: xerxia31 Square filled and prompt: I3, evergreen (I mean, tangentially anyway) Title: The First Christmas Rating: K Summary: The Everdeens have never celebrated Christmas before... Author’s/Creator’s notes: Yeah, I went a little over the word count, because I’m a shameless rule breaker. This is canon-divergent in-Panem fluff.

“I’m worried about Peeta,” Prim says out of the blue. She and Katniss are perhaps ten paces behind Peeta on their early morning trudge to school, watching as Peeta sneaks what he probably thinks are furtive glances towards the square.

It’s been four months since the night Peeta’s mother threw him out of the apartment above the bakery, and he’s adapted to living with the Everdeen women better than any of them imagined. Life in the Seam is far different from a merchant life in town, but Peeta never complains, never seems to miss his previous life at all.

But over the past few days, Katniss too has noticed that on the long walks to school, and back to the Seam, he keeps glancing towards town, where he never used to do so before.

“Maybe he misses his family,” Katniss muses in a hushed tone. His two brothers come by the small shack in the Seam from time to time to see Peeta, but there hasn’t been a single word from his parents. None of them ever thought Peeta’s presence in their home would be a permanent thing; when they offered him a safe haven from his abusive mother they expected his father would smooth things over in a few days. But it hasn’t happened.

“Hmmm,” Prim hums, matching her quiet tone. “I mean, I’m sure he does. But I don’t think that’s it.”

“What then?” The snow and cold are making everyone a little grumpier lately, at school and in the Hob there are a lot of frowns, a lot of complaints. The ever-present coal dust stains the snow a sludgy grey, and it’s hard to be happy surrounded by the mess, especially someone like Peeta who has the soul of an artist. But she and Peeta sneak under the fence together on Saturdays when the weather cooperates and the fence is off, and in her woods, winter is actually quite pretty, even if the hunting is terrible.

Ahead of them, Peeta’s shoulders slump as he reaches the fork where the path turns towards the school. Where his short view of town will disappear again.

“I think,” Prim says carefully, “that maybe he’s sad about Christmas.”

Christmas. Katniss has heard the word before. It was an ancient celebration, held near the solstice. Illegal in Panem now, as all of the old celebrations are, but there are some merchants who talk about it in hushed tones.

“Why do you think that?” Katniss isn’t even sure when Christmas is, and she’s certain she’s never heard Peeta say the word before. Though they’ve only been dating since the spring, she’s known him forever, they’ve been schoolmates since they were five.

“I think it’s soon. I heard the miller’s son talking about it yesterday during history class.”

“Maybe,” Katniss hedges. “But what can we do about it anyway?”

“We could bring a little bit of Christmas to him,” Prim says, excitement lighting her bright blue eyes.

“How?” Katniss grumbles. “We know nothing about Christmas.”

“We’ll find out.” Prim quiets as Peeta realizes how far behind him they are and stops. “Christmas,” Prim murmurs again, then skips ahead, looping her arm through Peeta’s.

Both blondes hold out their free hands towards Katniss, and it makes her laugh, knocking the idea out of her head. She picks up her pace to join them. Peeta wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a warm kiss to her cold temple, just below the fuzzy edge of her frayed grey hat, and the three finish their walk to school linked together.

But she’s thinking about it again later that evening. Peeta is quiet over dinner, not brooding but not his usual cheerful self. Prim enlists his help to accompany her on a delivery of salve to an injured miner on the far side of the Seam, and Katniss washes up the supper dishes with her mother.

“What do you know about Christmas?” Katniss asks, and though she’s not looking at her mother directly, she can see Mrs. Everdeen tense, the way she always does when Katniss mentions things that are forbidden in the district.

“Not a lot,” she says softly. “My mother’s parents celebrated it, but my father disapproved, so we never did.” Katniss is surprised by the hint of melancholy in her mother’s voice. She doesn’t understand how that sadness can be about her grandparents, the people who disowned their only child, who never even met their granddaughters.

“Prim thinks maybe it’s why Peeta is so sad.” There’s no point beating around the bush, Katniss isn’t interested in discussing her mother’s long lost Merchant life.

Mrs Everdeen nods. “I know Graham celebrated Christmas when we were young. I don’t know about Marissa though,” she says referencing Peeta’s parents. “But I’ve seen Christmas cookies fairly recently that must have come from their bakery.” She pulls her hands from the dishwater that’s gone cold. “Has he mentioned something?”

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you know Peeta. He would never complain.”

“That’s true,” she replies with a gentle smile. Mrs. Everdeen is very fond of Peeta, that much has been clear ever since he started coming to call on Katniss. “You and Prim are thinking about celebrating Christmas, to cheer him up?”

Katniss shrugs, putting the last dry dish away. “Not exactly,” she hedges. “We don’t know anything about it, I think that would be strange. But maybe we could do something small that would remind him of Christmas?”

“Well,” her mother starts, guiding her over to the small, threadbare couch by the potbellied stove. “Christmas was celebrated just after the solstice, on December 25.” Katniss nods, that gives her a little over a week to figure something out. “I don’t know the origins, exactly. But before the dark days, children would hang their stockings by the stove and wait for Father Christmas to fill them.”

“Fill them with what?” Katniss interjects.

“Little presents, if they were good. Coal, if they were bad.”

“The bad kids got coal in their stockings? I think I’d want to be bad.” Coal isn’t cheap, after all, and it’s useful.

Mrs. Everdeen laughs. “The good kids got treats from the sweet shop, or maybe new crayons or a little doll. A lot more exciting for a child than a bag of coal.” Katniss resists the urge to point out that she would have been excited about a bag of coal when she was a kid, in those years when she was keeping their little family together while Mrs. Everdeen wallowed in her misery. But it’s been six years since her father’s death, and she’s trying to let go of that anger.

“So Christmas is just for children?” Katniss doesn’t think Peeta would be so sad about missing out on a new tin whistle or spinning top.

“It was a little different for adults, I think. I don’t remember a lot,” she admits. “There would be a special dinner, a feast really, and decorations. And presents too, I think, if there was enough money.” There is definitely not enough money in the Everdeen household for whatever a Merchant Christmas would look like.

But maybe…

“Will you help me?” Katniss asks, with some reluctance. She loves her mother, but even after all of these years, she finds it difficult to trust her, and almost never asks for her help in anything.

Mrs. Everdeen brightens up. “Yes,” she says. “We’ll have to be careful. But I think we can put together a few things.”

“Where do we start?”

o-o-o

“Chop down a tree?” Prim’s eyes widen incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what she said,” Katniss sighs. “Apparently it’s a big deal. You chop down an evergreen tree and haul it inside the house, then decorate it with berries and popcorn.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Prim sighs, reminding Katniss that her little sister is still so young and so full of wonder. To Katniss, it just sounds like a lot of work and a waste of food.

“Sure,” Katniss says. She doesn’t have the heart to discourage Prim’s whimsy. “But how am I going to get a tree into the house without Peeta seeing?” It’s hard enough even to find occasions to chat with Prim without Peeta around, but on Mondays and Wednesdays at lunchtime he has wrestling practice. She’s not complaining about his presence, she loves having him around, and so does Prim. Madge had warned her that having Peeta living with her would probably be the end of their relationship, since Katniss was a loner by nature. But the opposite has been true. Having Peeta around all of the time, seeing his constant kindness and compassion, no matter the situation, she’s fallen even more deeply in love with him, and found a well of patience she never knew she possessed.

“I think he’s helping Leevy’s dad tomorrow afternoon for a couple of hours,” Prim says. “If the tree is little enough, we could hide it in our bedroom, then drag it out after Peeta goes to bed.” The timing is just right, he’d wake up on Christmas morning to a decorated tree, and Katniss has plans for the fat turkey she shot yesterday to become the special feast.

o-o-o

“It looks ridiculous,” Katniss grouses. The tree, though barely a sapling, takes up almost all of the space in their tiny bedroom not already occupied by the two beds. All three Everdeen women share the room, while Peeta sleeps on a pallet in what used to be their summer kitchen. It’s drafty in there, and cold in the winter, but he never complains.

“I think it’s magical,” Prim sighs around a mouthful of popcorn. The little tree is encircled with strings of the fluffy white stuff, which feels like a colossal waste of food, as well as cranberries, which bothers Katniss less since she’s not fond of the sour red berries anyway. Prim has cut paper dolls and nestled them into the branches too, and their mother has contributed some leftover strands of colourful wool from who knows where, pine cones dangling from the ends.

Prim is so giddy during dinner that Katniss thinks surely Peeta will suspect something, but he’s quiet and distracted, tired from helping Leevy’s dad patch his roof and wrapped in the melancholy that’s dogged him for a couple of weeks now. Katniss hopes their Christmas surprise will cheer him up. She misses her always positive boyfriend. Her dandelion.

It takes all three Everdeens to drag the little tree out, tiptoeing past the door to the summer kitchen, where Peeta retired early. They set it in the corner of the living area, wedged between the wall and the mantel, and though the tree isn’t even as tall as Katniss herself, it dominates the small room.

Mrs Everdeen weaves together the small branches Katniss trimmed from the tree, fashioning a patchy garland she winds along the mantel over the stove.

Katniss smiles. As silly as this whole exercise is, she can see how it’s going to charm Peeta with his love of whimsy. And Prim’s glowing happiness is a nice side effect. Maybe this Christmas stuff isn’t so bad after all.

She’s still smiling when she and Prim crawl into bed, even though the blankets are full of scratchy bits of popcorn.

o-o-o

She’s awake before dawn, which is typical, she wakes up early even on mornings when she’s not planning to hunt in the forest. But today, Prim is awake too, which is strange, it’s not even a school day. The excitement of Christmas morning, Katniss guesses. The girls whisper beneath their blankets, talking excitedly about Peeta’s surprise, but also about the things they don’t always have private time to chat about. The boys Prim is just starting to notice, the new dress Madge wore to school the day before, the chickens that the blacksmith is raising who always escape their coop. Sister stuff. Being forced to grow up too fast by their father’s death impacted their relationship, forcing Katniss to parent her little sister instead of being a friend. But lately things have been improving. Since Peeta moved in, really. He’s been a ray of sunshine, good tempered and helpful and hopeful, making everything easier in the little Seam shack. And their mom has been more present; Katniss is sure that too is Peeta's influence.

When finally they hear the door between the summer kitchen and the house creak open on its old hinges, they throw back the blankets and sneak to the bedroom door.

Peeta is standing very still in the main room, facing the tree. Prim hangs back a bit, but Katniss walks to him, the floor cold even through her socks, and lays a tentative hand on his forearm.

He turns to face her, eyes shimmering wet. “Katniss,” he gasps. Then he’s pulling her into his arms, enveloping her in the warmth and strength of his embrace.

“Happy Christmas,” she whispers, and he laughs softly, a broken little sound of pain and pleasure. He presses his lips to her temple, she can feel him smiling. They’re seldom physically affectionate in the house, it just seems disrespectful, but he holds her so tightly on this Christmas morning, his first without his family, and she clings to him.

“You did all of this for me?” he murmurs against her hair.

Katniss nods, snuggling more deeply into him, his heart beating under her ear.

“What are those?” Prim squeaks from beside them. Katniss pulls back just slightly, unwilling to fully relinquish Peeta. It’s been so long since they’ve held each other like this, winter gives them few opportunities to cuddle without an audience. She looks around his broad shoulder, to where Prim is perched on the tips of her toes, like a bird about to take flight. Hanging from the mantel are three socks. “Why are our socks hanging over the stove?”

“Stockings.” Katniss remembers her mother calling them. “But how?”

“Father Christmas, of course.” All three young people turn at Mrs Everdeen’s voice. “You must all have been very good this year.”

Katniss and Prim both look confused, but Peeta smiles broadly. “Father Christmas brings treats for all of the good little girls and boys,” Peeta tells Prim, his smile bright. “He fills their stockings at Christmastime.”

Prim looks as pleased as Katniss has ever seen her, happier even than Peeta. Katniss glances at their mother, who is also smiling widely. Mrs. Everdeen must have snuck out after everyone was asleep and set this up. So that they could all have a special Christmas celebration.

Mrs. Everdeen insists on making tea before they look in their stockings, Katniss and Peeta sit side by side on the faded couch, his arm wrapped around her, the huge smile still resident on his face. Prim flits around, first helping her mother, then darting back to look at the stockings again, back and forth. She’s thirteen now, when Katniss was thirteen she was hunting and taking care of her family, she had no time for frivolity and no appetite for it either. But it’s so nice to see Prim acting like the young girl she is. It warms Katniss’s heart.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas,” Peeta says softly in Katniss’s ear as they watch Prim dance.

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you do.”

Peeta nods. “We weren’t allowed to talk about it. But Father Christmas always came on Christmas, even when it was a school day.” Pain flits across his features, cracking Katniss’s heart. “I miss them,” he admits. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“They’re your parents,” Katniss says simply, and Peeta nods. They’re terrible parents, by all measures. But Katniss knows that he can’t stop loving them, even if she doesn’t fully understand why.

“I can’t help wondering if there are still three stockings on their mantel,” he whispers. “If they miss me at all.”

Katniss doesn’t have an answer for that, but she shifts to hug him tightly.

With hot cups of tea and slightly hard biscuits from the day before consumed, Mrs. Everdeen hands each child a stocking. Prim laughs in delight, pulling each surprise from the sock and dancing around the small room to show everyone else. Katniss and Peeta poke through their stockings much more slowly, savouring the experience. Katniss keeps glancing at her mother, who looks happier than Katniss can remember. She hasn’t seen a smile like that since before her father died.

Katniss’s sock contains a stick of peppermint candy, a bottle of liniment for sore muscles, and a new knit hat in bright red wool. Peeta has lemon drops, a little pot of salve for winter-chapped hands and a green knit cap. Prim makes sure everyone gets an up close look at her new blue hat and hair ribbons, the cinnamon candy already consumed. Katniss knows how hard her mother would have had to have worked, to trade for the brightly coloured wool from which she made their new hats, and for the sweets and ribbons. And she’s torn between being horrified at the waste when all of that work could have been traded for things they really need, sugar or paraffin or cooking oil, and being genuinely delighted and touched.

It’s been so long since she felt like a child, instead of a life-hardened person. So long since she’s seen her mother as a mother, instead of yet another mouth to feed.

They prepare the holiday meal together, and while it’s not the first time they’re shared cooking duties in the little Seam shack, it might be the most joyful. Peeta tries to teach them a Christmas song, but he can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and the three Everdeen women simply dissolve in peals of laughter when poor Peeta warbles the nonsense phrase fa-la-la-la-la.

It does nothing to diminish his joy.

The turkey is resting on the sideboard, waiting to be carved, when there’s a tap at the door. Katniss opens it with a big smile which falls when she sees two blond heads filling the frame.

She glances over her shoulder. Peeta has frozen in his table setting, he looks confused, but not unhappy to see his brothers. Katniss ushers the men into the shack which immediately feels crowded with the extra people, and closes the door against the winter wind.

“Came to wish you Merry Christmas, brother,” Brann, the eldest says. “But it looks like you’re already having a celebration.” He glances over at the little tree, the bright garland, and smiles broadly.

“Will you stay for the meal?” Mrs. Everdeen asks softly. “We were just about to begin.”

Katniss wants to protest, what is a feast for 4 will be much less adequate for six. But the way Peeta’s eyes light up so hopefully, she bites her tongue.

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Rye says, but there’s a questioning lilt to his voice.

Prim, clearly also having read Peeta’s expression, jumps in. “Please stay,” she says brightly. “The more the merrier!” She’s tugging at their jackets before they’ve even agreed, leaving them little choice. Katniss bites back a smile. Prim’s jolly mood is infectious.

Brann extracts a small lump wrapped in a bit of bakery paper from his pocket before Prim takes his coat. He places it in Peeta’s hand. “Merry Christmas,” he says softly, before tugging his little brother into a hug. Rye joins, and Katniss glances away, giving the young men some bare semblance of privacy.

She has, in the past, resented Peeta’s brothers for not doing more to help him, for living their cushy merchant life while Peeta sleeps on a wood pallet far from the stove. But she knows that’s unfair, that Brann and Rye love their brother endlessly but are powerless to change things.

Peeta’s eyes are wet when the three Mellarks break apart, but his smile is as bright and wide as Katniss has ever seen.

It’s a tight fit to squeeze six people around the tiny kitchen table and there aren’t enough chairs, but Peeta perches on the stepladder and Rye balances on a wooden crate. There is more than enough for everyone, and the tiny shack fills with laughter and stories, Peeta and his brothers trading tales of holidays past, of delights left by father Christmas, of hiding Christmas cookies when the peacekeepers came by. It’s one of the nicest evenings Katniss can remember, and she finds herself thinking maybe there is something to this Christmas stuff, this celebration that has nothing to do with Panem and everything to do with family and community.

Peeta’s brothers can’t linger after the meal, their mother will doubtless be angry they’ve been gone as long as they have. The bakery is closed in the evenings, but there are always floors to mop and hearths to sweep and grievances to listen to.

Even cleaning up is lighthearted and fun, the festive feeling stretching into the mundane chores of packing up leftovers and washing the dishes.

When they’re done, Peeta gathers them back around the table and produces the little paper-wrapped lump his brother had given him earlier. Inside is a ball, nearly black and a little lumpy. Katniss wrinkles her nose and avoids mentioning that it smells like old man Abernathy.

“What is it?” Prim asks, her voice reverent, understanding that the unfamiliar blob is somehow important to Peeta.

“It’s called plum pudding,” he says softly, smiling. “Our traditional Christmas dessert. Will you all share it with me?”

The lump is small, and Katniss is worried just the fumes will make them drunk. But she pulls out four plates anyway while Mrs. Everdeen freshens their tea. To her surprise, when Peeta cuts into it, it’s full of fruit and nuts. Instantly, she’s transported to a cold April morning, years ago. To a kind little boy who saved her life. The start of a friendship that became so much more.

Katniss glances at Peeta, and finds him smiling warmly at her. She can think of that day now without anger, without anguish, because of Peeta. Because of the years of goodness she’s witnessed, the hundreds of acts of kindness he’s done not just for her, but for anyone he encounters. He makes her see the world differently. He makes everything good again, even in the midst of District Twelve, and even when his own situation is so cruelly unfair.

“There are no plums!” Prim says, interrupting her musing. Katniss inspects the cake-like lump. Raisins, nuts and currants, and what looks like orange peel.

Peeta laughs. “There never are,” he says.

“I could get you plums, next year I mean.” There’s an ancient plum tree, not far from her father’s lake. It never produces more than a handful of purple fruit, so Katniss seldom bothers with it. But if it’s important to Peeta, she’ll pay more attention next summer.

Peeta beams at her. “No, I mean it isn’t made with plums. Just raisins, currants and candied peel.”

“Then why do they call it plum pudding?” Prim says, nose wrinkled. “It’s not pudding, and there are no plums.”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Peeta admits. “It’s a very old recipe.”

Katniss takes a small bite. It’s… not great. The cake makes her think of illnesses, sweet like sleep syrup and burning like the white liquor their mother gives them for coughs.

“Not a fan, love?” Peeta says softly. He never calls her that pet name in front of anyone else, but something about the festive magic has made him a little less cautious. Or maybe it’s just his happiness overflowing.

She shrugs. She’s not keen on offending him, but she doesn’t think she can choke down a whole piece of the cake, however small it might be. Peeta seems to be enjoying it though, so she slides her plate in front of him with a grin.

“Katniss doesn’t like sweets,” Prim interjects, and she’s not wrong. Given the choice, Katniss would always choose the more savoury treats, though she did like the taste of chocolate Peeta snuck out of the bakery for her once, years ago.

“That’s because she’s sweet enough already,” Peeta teases, and all four of them laugh. Only Peeta would ever describe Katniss as sweet. ‘Prickly’ is a far more common adjective.

Mrs. Everdeen leaves the children to finish their cake and bundles up in her heaviest coat. “I have to check on Molly Birch’s new baby,” she explains. “I won’t be long.” It’s only a two minute walk to where the Birch family lives in a little Seam shack identical to the Everdeen home, so she waves off Peeta’s offer of accompaniment.

Prim, in an act of kindness so very fitting her sweet temperament, announces that she’s got homework and takes a candle into the bedroom. Katniss knows Prim doesn’t have any pressing work, expects she’ll probably lie under the blankets and read from the plant book. She’s just giving Katniss and Peeta a few precious minutes of privacy.

Normally it would embarrass Katniss, the implication that she and Peeta might need alone time, but today she’s just grateful. He opens his arms and she walks right into them.

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips brushing against her neck. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“So far,” Katniss whispers. She’s not one for fantasizing about the future, especially when there is still one more reaping to get through. But that it will include Peeta is a given. She used to be afraid of love, afraid of losing herself, like her mother did. But not anymore. Not with Peeta by her side.

Peeta sighs, a soft, satisfied little noise, then pulls back just slightly. Katniss scowls, but he merely grins. “There is one tradition you forgot,” he says, but his mischievous expression takes away any sting to his words. There is always fun in an expression like that.

“Oh?” Katniss says, returning his smile.

He pulls from his pocket a small ball of greenery with tiny white berries. Katniss knows what it is, some of the bolder merchant boys hang them around the school, hoping to catch merchant girls unaware. Mistletoe.

She laughs, but softly, so as not to disturb Prim. The walls in the shack are paper thin. Peeta nods, eyes twinkling, then lifts the little weed above her head, and bends to kiss her soundly.

#everlark #Christmas #tales of panem #everlarkbingo2020 #xerxia writes

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tomtenadia · 3 years

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Island Dreams - Chapter 23

Finally I made and chapter 23 has landed. We are not too far off from the final staged of the fic. This one is a mammoth and I hop that 8k words will keep you busy for a bit. I have an horrendous uni assignment due next week and work as well which means chapter 24 won't arrive until probably the beginning of next week.

The only thing I want to add about the chapter is the initial part where they talk about Christmas. Rowan's reaction might seem a little extreme but i based it on my own personal experience. I am pagan. I do not celebrate Christmas in any shape or form but I do celebrate the solstice. And what Rowan says to Aelin is what usually happens to me.

That's the only comment I'll make on the chapter.

Enjoy <3

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“You are not putting that Christmas tree in our house.” Was Rowan’s outburst when he saw the image on her phone. It was the beginning of December and Aelin was showing Rowan the tree she wanted for the house and all the decorations she wanted to buy. “It’s December Rowan. Christmas will be here soon and everyone is decorating apart from us. Stop being such a spoilsport.” He stood and began pacing around the living room. “It’s a stupid holiday.” And he realised he had gone too far when her expression morphed into one full of hurt. Rowan’s hand brushed his hair in frustration.

“So it’s just my traditions that are stupid? Did I ever made fun of you with all of yours?” Aelin was now in front of him and she was fuming. “No.” Was the only thing he could manage. “I came with you at the summer solstice. I listened to your beliefs and never made fun of you and now I ask something and I can’t get it? I thought this was a relationship of equals.” She was getting irritated. “It is.” He added, turning his back at her and staring outside. “It doesn’t seem like.” He heard her walk away and sighed heavily. His head leaned against the cold window. When he turned around, she had left the room. A bit later he heard the main door open and close and he guessed she had left the house. He sat back on the sofa, leaned his head back into the sofa and closed his eyes. His communication skills had, as always, been lacking.

It was an hour later when she came back. She had gone out, probably to let out some steam. He stood to go to her but she ignored him and it hurt. They had small fights but this was one was more serious than the others and he had to fix it. “Aelin…” he moved to her. Aelin went to their room and slammed the door in his face. He groaned and started pacing around the living room nervously, then went back to the door of their room and banged at it “Will you come out so that we can talk?” The door flew open and his hand was still in the air. “What? Talk about what? That you are behaving like a selfish asshole?” Aelin knew she had gone too far. Rowan so far had been everything but an asshole and from his reactions he knew she had hurt him just now. “Selfish?” He roared and moved away from her “You know what? Decorate the house. Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care.” He moved all the way back to the window and Aelin knew he was mad. He had cursed and that was not something he did. She heard him use the F word only once and it was during a much happier moment. “Ro, I am sorry. I didn’t mean…” He sighed and Aelin moved another step to him. That distance between them was too much and she did not like fighting with him. For the first time she was in an healthy relationship and she had no intention of ruining everything. He turned abruptly and looked at her “I have never celebrated Christmas. I am 38 and I never did.” He started, finally looking at her “My parents followed the old ways and growing up I did the same. I grew up with kids making fun of me because I did not believe in Santa and because my family did not celebrate Christmas. When I was with Lyria I was forced to endless Christmas parties and people made fun of me when I told them I was going to Callanish for the winter solstice.” He ran his hands through his hair. Aelin moved to him and hugged him “I am sorry…” she felt tears well in her eyes. Rowan sighed and his hands went on her back and kissed her head “Don’t. I am not mad at you.” She squeezed closer “tell me what you do. Tell me how you celebrate.” She looked up at him and his eyes looked sad. He turned her in his arms and pulled her closer against his chest. His mouth close to her ear “I add holly around the house. It’s a symbol of hope, it’s meant to ward off spirits.” He explained kissing her neck He felt her relax. He had not liked their fight “I usually have a tree. A real one, that is kept healthy and then replanted at the end of the holidays. Not those plastic monstrosities.” He gave her a squeeze around her waist “It’s the Tree of Life and it’s a very important symbol, that’s why you don’t put baubles and garlands on it. I usually decorate it with pinecones, berries and other stuff, but always natural elements.” She leaned deeper against him. What he was describing it wasn’t too bad at all. “And finally the yule log.” He kissed the top of her ear “it’s the only time I lit my fireplace. The log has to be from oak. According to the ancient lore it keeps the spirits from entering the house.” He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm “I hang a wreath on my door with some bells and I have plenty of fabric elves that I use to decorate the rest of the house.” “What do the elves do?” “Well, the ancients believed that the spirits that created the Sun inhabited the realm of elves. So by adding elves you are assuring their assistance and also the return of the sun after all the dark days.” He explained trying not to sound like a lunatic. She was the first person he had truly explained his beliefs to. Lyria had never accepted it fully and he had to pretend he liked Christmas with her. “I have mistletoe too. It’s a symbol of life in the dark winter months.” She turned to face him “are we allowed to kiss under it?” He looked down at her “Of course.” She hugged him. “And I make some incredible gingerbread biscuits.” He felt her grin against his chest and knew that somehow their fight was over and finally started to relax again. “It does sound a lot like Christmas to me.” He kissed her head “It’s because when christianity took over, they incorporated some of the traditions into theirs. But the roots of the holiday are basically pagan.” “I like it.” “I didn’t mean to—“ but she stopped him with a kiss. “I always had a horrible relationship with Christmas.” He confessed “I hate the way it’s forced on everyone. It’s everywhere. And you can’t even celebrate Samhain in peace that this holiday is shoved down your throat. And don’t get me started on the consumeristic aspect. It has become a holiday for the shops to make more money. And if I even try to voice my opinion I get called a grinch and a grumpy old man. And people tend to ridicule my beliefs.” “You are my grumpy old man.” And she gave him a kiss, gentle and brief. “I have never made fun of other people for what they celebrate, but the world seems to have a problem with me because I do not follow the masses.” He sighed heavily. “I like what you described. A lot.” “We don’t have…” She shushed him again with another kiss “But I want to. We can make it our own holiday. With our own traditions. And screw the rest of the world.” “I’d love that very much.” He said, finally smiling again “we can add holiday sex in front of the fire.” “That is a tradition I would subscribe to immediately.” “We can have some of your lights outside on the door.” He offered “It’s our house so it’s only fair that we follow your traditions too. I need to stop being stubborn.” “And snowflakes decals on the windows?” He kissed her head “of course.” “Can I have hot chocolate too?” “As if I could stop you. You always cheat on me with chocolate.” And he pouted, but Aelin removed his pout with a kiss. “We can exchange gifts.” He added and her smile became brighter. “On one conditions.” She added, pushing him to the sofa where she made him sit down and straddled him “Only one each. I agree with your rant about consumerism. Lysandra and I had the same rule. We started when we were skint interns and never stopped. Just one gift each and not too expensive. It has to be meaningful.” Rowan kissed her “I really love your plan.” Her hands twined in his silver hair “And we are not celebrating on the 25th. You and I are celebrating on the winter solstice.” She decreed and he smiled back at her. “Are you sure?” He asked, closing his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands in his hair. Aelin nodded “Which bring me to my next question: can I please invite Lysandra and Aedion? Lysandra and I have all our traditions and this year will be the first Christmas we are not together. Can we celebrate the 25th with them? And don’t worry, Aedion is a massive grinch and hates the holiday. It’s more the idea of being together with the people I love.” “Of course, mo chridhe, they can come and stay here with us and use your old room. We will celebrate your way too.” “You are not working on the 25th?” “I am doing the night shift on the 24th and finishing on the 25th around noon. Malcolm is doing the rest of the day. He is not bothered. And I am off early on the 21st because again I come off the night shift so we can celebrate together.” And Rowan grinned wildly at that admission of hers “Good, because I have plans to take my wonderful woman to the best winter solstice ever.” “What plans?” She asked grinding gently against him. “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you And I’d rather not do that.” And he kissed her deeply and a moan left her mouth. “I have an elf pyjama for the holidays.” She admitted as her hand started to move in a sensual way around his body. “You definitely are my elf who brought back sun in my life.” Aelin groaned “Too cheesy. Now I need to punish you.” And her mouth crashed against his. Her hand landed on his crotch and she found him ready for her “someone is needy.” “Very…” he kissed her neck “very…” another one “very needy.” She stood and he groaned and the loss of contact with her body. She started to undress in front of him “I guess you can start unwrap your first present.” Then she stopped and started laughing “It sounded so much better in my head. It made me cringe.” Rowan stood and walked to her, his hand went behind her head and dragged her closer for a kiss that made her legs go jelly “Tell me another one of your fantasies…” he whispered in her ear. She whispered back “Blindfold me and tie my hands to the head of the bed and do your worst.” He looked at her wickedly “As you wish, mo chridhe.” He lifted her in his arms and quickly walked to their room, ready to start their own celebrations.

It was the winter solstice and Aelin and Rowan were at Callanish to celebrate the shortest day of the year. It was a very crispy night and Rowan had told her that according to his app there were chances to see the Northern Lights again. She was excited, she had seen then during their break and was looking forward to see them again. And in a place like Callanish the idea was beyond amazing. She was glad she had listened to him and covered herself in layers. It was quite cold. As they walked to the site Aelin lifted her head and saw the sky ablaze with stars. She was in awe. His hands touched her lower back and she looked at him. Rowan had a strange glow in his eyes. He had been like that all day and she could have guessed that he was giddy and excited about something. If it wasn’t that her boyfriend was famous for his composure. Damn, the man was grinning. In silence they walked to the stone circle and the stopped in the centre near the chamber. He turned her to him and kissed her “Happy solstice.” With the passing of the months she had slowly learned all about his being pagan. She had been fascinated by all of it and enjoyed his way of celebrating the holidays. After their fight about Christmas she had taken her time to listen to him and discover what being pagan meant for him. Rowan was basically a tree hugger, who loved nature, followed ancient festivals deeply rooted in the ancient traditions of people who followed Earth’s cycles and celebrated the passing of the seasons. He had explained to her that the winter solstice had a powerful meaning of regeneration and renewal. Slowly light was taking over the night. He had also added that that year was more important than usual because they had been each other’s solstice. They both were in a deep dark night before they met. And slowly they brought the sun back in their lives, together. And she loved the symbolism. She was busy with her thoughts when she felt his arms wound around her, his chin on her head, and she had come to love that position. She fitted perfectly under him. “When I was younger, I used to come out here with my telescope and look at the stars and the planets.” He confessed and Aelin smiled at the idea of a younger Rowan looking up at the sky in admiration. He grabbed her hand and pointed to a specific pattern in the sky “See that? That’s Orion the hunter.” “How can you tell?” He guided her hand across the air “This… is his bow.” Then moved the hand lower and horizontally “this is his belt.” And then down vertically “and this is his sword.” Then up again “and his body.” Aelin was amazed at him and all of a sudden she wanted to know more. Then he moved her hand again to another point “That W shaped pattern? That’s Cassiopeia. And if we move a bit…” and his body turned her and he pointed again “That’s the plough or the Little Bear and if you follow his tail all the way up you find what?” “Polaris.” Answered Aelin with a smug face for actually remembering something from High school. He kissed her neck as a reward and she closed her eyes to enjoy the moment. Then a second later she felt him move away from her. She turned to ask him what was his deal when he noticed him on one knee. She gasped and brought a hand to her mouth in surprise “Holy shit.” Definitely not the most romantic comment. “Aelin, my Queen, I have little to give you if not my love, my loyalty and myself. But I swear it will be my mission, for the rest of my existence, to make you happy. To cherish you and walk at your side through every peril and difficulty life throws at us. Aelin Galathynius, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” Aelin sobbed. He had used the line from one of their favourite books where the lowly warrior falls for the Queen and they end up together. She looked at him on his knees with a box in his hands and a wedding band in it. Her heart raced and she felt her hands shake. She finally unfroze and moved a step toward him and ran a hand through his hair “Rowan Whitethorn, my King, I will happily accept to share my life with you. To whatever end.” He stood and kissed and she felt him shake as well. “For a moment I feared you were going to say no.” Aelin let out a wet laugh “I was too busy trying to breath.” He laughed and he finally put the ring on her finger “It’s not your usual engagement ring. It’s a Celtic ring, I had it made from a local woman who does jewellery and it has some Celtic symbols connected with love engraved on. And it’s white gold. I find normal gold too tacky.” And he kissed her again and when he pulled away Aelin lifted her left hand and looked at the ring. It was simple but gorgeous. And she could totally tell it was handmade. It was unique and her heart had swelled with love for him “It’s beautiful.” “I wanted something special, but simple as well. It’s my gift and we agreed to be meaningful and well…” She kissed him “It’s perfect and now it makes my gift look pathetic.” “Whatever you gave me, it will be perfect.” Aelin hugged him and took a notice of their surroundings “Does it have some sort of meaning that we are in the middle of the circle of stones?” “Not for a proposal, but during a Celtic wedding, the couple tie their hands in what is called the hand-fasting ritual and the guests form a ring around the couple. I loved the symbolism.” She kissed him deeply “I love it so much.” He sat down with his back against one of the stones and pulled her down to him and she took her spot between his legs while his hands wrapped themselves around her waist. “I want a Celtic style wedding. You know pagan… I had the whole white gown traditional super expensive hoopla. I don’t care for it.” He kissed her behind her ear “A pagan hand-fasting it originally has two ceremonies. The first one that is meant to last one year and one day and then the second one for the rest of the couple’s life. But some people do just the one and go for all their life option.” He explained and she lifted their twined hands to her mouth “I want the traditional. I love the idea of renewing our vows after a year and a day.” She admitted. “Will you be wearing a kilt?” She asked curiously. The idea of seeing him in traditional Scottish attire gave her fuzzy feelings. “Yes, I have one with my clan colours.” “Can I have something similar? I don’t want another boring white gown. Am I allowed to wear your colours?” He nodded “You can have a lovely tartan wedding gown matching my kilt.” “Ro?” “Yes, Fireheart.” “Can we please get married here at Callanish?” “We can do it at Beltaine if you accept to wait for a bit. It’s a fire festival. It marks mid way to the Summer Solstice. It has the meaning of rebirth as the short dark nights give way to the long summer days. In ancient days it was a great time for celebrating and gathering and people would lit bonfires. It is also connected with fertility. Earth is becoming alive again and its fertile energy is celebrated as well.” “Will it mean a lot to you if we chose Beltaine?” He shook his head “We choose whatever you prefer. You don’t have to feel the need to follow my beliefs.” Aelin turned, kneeling in front of him “But I want to Ro, all you said so far seems to have a beautiful meaning connected to love and life. All you said so far just feels beautiful and I want all of it.” She kissed him deeply “It would make me very happy.” She kissed him again and his arms pulled her closer and desire bled through her. “It’s a shame it’s cold. The idea of having sex on such a powerful site is very exciting.” Rowan laughed and pulled her down on top of him until she straddled him and went back kissing him. Rowan opened his eyes for a moment and stopped kissing her. “What?” She said pulling away from him. Rowan turned her and pointed at the sky. A beautiful green and blue with a light tinge of red was dancing in the night. “Yes!”shouted Aelin in celebration when she looked at the sky. The first time she saw the Northern Lights it was during their holiday, when they took their last step in their relationship. And now they appeared again on the night he proposed. She loved the connection. Aelin sat back and Rowan held her “They are so beautiful I want to cry.” Then she grabbed her bag and pulled out his gift, feeling almost embarrassed. “This is for you and please don’t laugh. I am not a big fan of buying presents and I had no idea what to give you.” He held her close and grabbed the present and slowly unwrapped it. Soft fabric appeared in front of him and in the middle he felt the hardness of a book. “That’s two presents.” He smiled at her and grabbed the fabric noticing it was a gorgeous scarf as green as his eyes and it was soft “Aelin, this is gorgeous.” “I saw it in a shop and I just thought it was perfect. It’s a lousy gift but it’s useful.” Rowan wrapped the scarf around his neck “I adore it. And I really needed a new one, I swear. I just couldn’t be bothered to go and get it.” He leaned forward and kissed her, then he started unwrapping the book and his grin grew bigger. It was one of the books he had eyes since it arrived in the shop. “I saw you put it aside a while ago and I kept an eye on it. You never bought it so I did it for you.” “Thanks. I had already overshoot my monthly budget for books so I was just waiting for the new month.” “I knew that.” She kissed his nose “I think it’s cute that you have a book budget.” “Well, if I didn’t I would not be able run the shop, pay bills and eat.” She straddled him “That’s what a girlfriend on big bucks is for.” And kissed him again. He pulled her down and she lay down snuggling against him and went back staring at the Northern Lights in the sky.

The following day Rowan was at the airport to pick up Lysandra and Aedion. Aelin could not get off her shift so he offered to pick up the couple. “Hi guys,” he greeted them when they came out of the restricted area. “Rowan.” Said Lysandra hugging him “Thank you for picking us up.” “Aelin could not get out of her shift, but we are going to the hospital so we can have lunch together.” He explained, grabbing the suitcase from the woman. Aelin had made Rowan promise that he would not reveal their news to Lysandra. Aelin wanted to do that. So he kept his grin at ease and walked the couple to the car. They reached the hospital not long after and they walked to the A&E. “This looks so different,” commented Lysandra at seeing the smaller place compared to what she was used to. Rowan tried to phone Aelin but she did not respond then he spotted Malcolm. “Hi man,” said the man greeting Rowan with a big smile. “Hi Malcolm, is Aelin about?” “She is dealing with a patient. I’ll let her know that you are here.”

Twenty minutes later Rowan heard a squeal and saw Aelin running to Lysandra. The two women embraced and jumped and gave the entire A&E a big show. Malcolm came back a moment later “A bit higher and you’d reach ultrasound level.” “Mal, these are my friends Lysandra. She is a kick ass doctor in London.” Then she turned to Aedion, “this is her boyfriend Aedion.” “Guys,” Aelin then turned to her friends “This is Malcolm and he is my second and he awesome.” And she put an arm around his waist. The first time she did she was afraid Rowan might not appreciate the gesture, but when she explained him that Malcolm was just a super great friend and definitely not interested in her he was okay. Mal shook their hands “Nice meeting you all.” Then his pager went off. He winked at Aedion and left waving at the group. “I gotta go, some of us actually have to work.” And gave Aelin a big grin. “Did he just wink at me?” Asked Aedion. “Oh yeah, Mal likes guys. He has a major crush on Rowan and I got a feeling you might be his type too.” Explained Aelin. “He is hot.” Admitted Lysandra, watching Mal walk away.“I wish I had such a sexy second. I am so jealous right now…” Aedion coughed. Lysandra turned her head “I still love you.” “Just checking.” Then Aelin grabbed Lysandra’s hand “let’s go to the cafeteria, I am starving.” Once at the cafeteria they ordered food and sat down at the table. Lysandra was about to tackle her lunch when she noticed the ring on Aelin’s left hand. “No way.” She grabbed the hand “When did it happen?” She admired the ring on her fourth finger. “I proposed last night.” Replied Rowan, allowing Aelin to eat. “Tell me everything.” Lysandra dropped the hand and was now in full gossip mode. Aelin was eating and since Rowan knew she had limited time he told Lysandra the story “I asked her last night at Callanish. It was the winter solstice. I have been planning it for a while. The night was special and the site too.” Rowan extended his arm to brush her head “And when she saw me on my knees, her first comment was ‘Holy Shit’” Aelin laughed “I was not expecting that. One moment you were telling me all about constellations, the next you were on one knee.” She blew him a kiss “It was awesome, though” Said Aelin “and it was so romantic. He used the quote of our favourite book.” She took another bite of her food. She was about to add something else when her pager went off. She groaned and finished off her food very quickly. “I gotta go.” She stood and kissed Rowan “Love you.” Then hugged Lysandra and Aedion. “I will see you all tonight at home.” And after that she ran away. “She seems happy.” Commented Lysandra eating her lunch. “She is. She is enjoying her job. The first month has been a bit rough, but she loves her team.” Explained Rowan and Lysandra noticed the pride beaming from the man. “I don’t think I have ever seen this happy. Whatever magic you are using, it’s working. And I am grateful.” Lysandra took Rowan’s hand “before she came here she was in a very dark place. So thank you.” Rowan nodded “To be honest, she helped me too.” He saw the woman smile. “We haven’t told Aelin yet, I will tell her tonight, but Aedion and I are thinking about moving here. I can work at the hospital if an opening comes up and he is a pilot and an aircraft engineer, he will find something.” Rowan was stunned “Really?” “Yes,” it was Aedion this time “we have been talking about it since the first trip we made. We both fell in love with the islands and we decided that when we will have a family, this is the kind of environment we want our kids to grow up.” Aedion took Lysandra’s hand “we know it’s a very big change, but it feels right.” “Aelin will be delighted. She misses you a lot.” Rowan looked at both of them “Are you sure? Island life has its challenges. I was afraid that Aelin was going to struggle. Going from living in a place like London where you have everything at your fingertip to live here, it is a massive jump.” Lysandra nodded “we discussed it extensively and we both want it.” Rowan nodded and smiled. They finished their lunch and he took them home so they could get settled and relax a bit while they waiter for Aelin to come back home.

It was much later that night when Aelin got back home. She had to stay behind a bit longer to organise a few things with Malcolm about the interns. She was now ready to collapse on the sofa and catch up with Lys. Once inside she noticed the three of them in the living room, chatting happily. She was very glad that Rowan got along well with them, especially with Aedion. “Old habits die hard?” Lysandra’s voice met her as soon as she entered the living room. “Mal and I had a few things to deal with. We were not planning to finish this late.” She went to Rowan and kissed his head “I’ll take a shower and I’ll be back.” “I got dinner aside for you as well.” He stood “I’ll go and warm it up.” When he passed beside her, Aelin gently pinched his butt “I am such a lucky woman,” and disappeared away to their bedroom.

After her shower she joined the rest to the living room and Rowan had her meal ready on the coffee table for her. It looked so appetising and she was starving. “Did you dry your hair properly?” He brushed her hair to check. “Yes, my lord and master.” Rowan laughed “Good.” Aelin tackled her food when Lysandra spoke up. “Ae, Aedion and I have something to tell you.” Aelin looked up and felt worry. Lysandra’s tone seemed serious. Aedion took his girlfriend’s hand “Lysandra and I are thinking about moving up here.” The fork stopped halfway between plate and mouth. She was staring at the couple with a weird expression. “Say something, please.” Asked Lysandra with worry in her voice. “Are you sure?” Aedion nodded “we have been discussing the issue for a while. You were not the only one who was not happy in London.” He confessed “Lys and I need a fresh start as well and well, we kinda fell in love with this place the first time we came to visit and we have been talking about it ever since.” “Aedion and I have been looking for jobs already. He has a couple of possible options at the airport as an engineer.” Aelin stood and ran to hug Lysandra, so fiercely they almost fell off the chair “I would love that very much. I missed you like crazy. Gossiping with Rowan is no fun.” Rowan coughed in response to the jab. Aelin sat on Lysandra’s lap, her arms still around the woman, and turned to him “Yes you, you never know any gossip in town. I always need to go to your aunt.” Aelin went back to her seat and continued her dinner before it became cold again. “It might take a while but we’ll do it.” “I can listen at the hospital if I hear any opening that might be good for you.” Lysandra smiled “That would be so amazing.” Then she took a sip of her beer “Have you and Rowan discussed about what to do for the wedding? I know you got engaged last night…” Aelin and Rowan exchanged a glance “We actually did.” He answered for her “We are going to have a pagan hand-fastening at Callanish on Beltaine.” Both Lysandra and Aedion looked puzzled. “It’s still a wedding but your hands get tied together with a ribbon as a symbol of the union.” “Sounds cool. And original.” Commented Lysandra. “And Rowan is going to wear a kilt.” Aelin looked at Lysandra and the two women exchanged an understanding glance “And I will have a nice tartan gown with his clan colours.” “What are his colours?” Aelin grabbed her phone and showed Lysandra a picture she had downloaded. “Oh, that’s going to be a gorgeous pattern.” “We haven’t decided the fine details just yet, but of course you two are coming.” Lysandra squealed in delight “Let me know if you want to have another bachelorette party. We can surely top the one you had for officer asshole.” Aelin flinched “I am not sure there is a point.” She drank a bit of water “Speaking of the asshole, I don’t think I told you that he came here.” “No fucking way.” “Yeah, he came here to take me back to London. He told me he wanted to try again and have a while together and then get married again because he missed me.” Aedion growled “Apologies for the language ladies, but what the fuck was he thinking? He was an asshole. He screwed the bitch for over a year and lied to you. He treated you like shit and he has the guts to come and beg to go back to him?” Aelin laughed, Aedion had always been very protective of her and Lysandra and he had been very vocal about his hatred for Chaol. “Don’t worry, Rowan punched him.” And she took Rowan’s hand and smiled at him. “Of that, I am very grateful. I just wished I had been the one to do it. I should have done it last year when he forgot your birthday and came home drunk and ruined the party at your place and kicked us all out.” Aelin had removed that horrible night from memory. He had been horrible to every one. Once they left he had tried to force himself on her but she had pushed him away. She had given him the divorce papers only the previous day and he was still furious with her. She had slept in the guest room that night. The following day she had told Aedion and Lysandra what happened and they helped her pack and move out of the house. She had been glad that Chaol was not at home because Aedion would have reduced him to a pulp. She had never seen him that mad. “Can we just change topic, please?” Aelin felt sick just thinking about it. Rowan noticed her distress, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him “I have a day off in two days. We can do something together. Until then you two are on your won unfortunately.” “Don’t worry about that. Aedion and I have ideas of what to do. We will be fine. We hired a car while we are here so we can be independent.” Then she turned to Aedion “But he is driving.” “I told Rowan that you and I celebrate on the 25th with our own traditions and we can have the whole day the two of us. Rowan doesn’t do Christmas and Aedion, well we know where he stands.” “Oh yeah, Rowan told me. I asked him why the Christmas tree without decorations and he explained me his version of the holiday.” “I promised Aelin she could have the 25th whatever way she wanted. We already exchanged gifts on the solstice and celebrated. So go ahead and have fun.” “Am I allowed to put Aelin’s present under the tree?” Rowan smiled “of course you can.” “I won’t be able to sleep with you though. I have a night shift on the 24th and I am not off until noon on the 25th so our morning traditions will have to wait.” Rowan had a curious expression on his face “what do you mean sleep with?” “Oh, Lys and Aelin always shared the bed on the 24th and woke up on the 25th together. They have breakfast in bed and then exchange their gifts.” Explained Aedion “Then they wear their silly ugly jumpers, drink hot chocolate all day, camp on the sofa with blankets, junk food and more hot chocolate and watch cheesy Christmas movies until they collapse exhausted on the sofa.” “You two could join us.” Commented Lysandra staring at the two men. “There is no way I am going to wear those obscene jumpers.” Complained Aedion. “You don’t have to. We can just be all the four of us together. Cozy under the blankets, eat drink and watch movies. We can even let you chose one.” Aedion looked at Rowan and the two men nodded at each other. “Fine. We’ll join the festivities,” Rowan conceded “But I will cook. We are going to have a nice meal. You won’t be able to get junk food on the 25th. This is not London remember?” She snuggled against him “I have the best fiancée in the universe.” Rowan chuckled “and I agree with Aedion. Us boys, we are not wearing any jumpers.” “Spoilsport.”

Christmas Day had finally arrived and Aelin was looking forward to go back home and start celebrating. She was exhausted. The nights shift had been crazier than she expected. Apparently some people had celebrated a bit too much. They also had an emergency in the middle of the night when a serious patient had been airlifted to the hospital from Benbecula. The guy had been in bad conditions when he came in, but was now stable. She was finishing off with her last patient for the day when she noticed Malcolm enter the pit. “Your saviour is here.” He walked to the changing room and Aelin followed him and stood on the door while he changed. “How was the night?” “It started off nice and quiet. Then we had a few people who have celebrated a bit too much and got themselves into trouble. A guy who almost got himself into a coma for how much he was drunk. I got vomited on five times, by a family who was brought in with food poisoning. And finally we had a man airlifted from Benbecula after a car accident. He was in really bad shape but he is stable but still in the ICU for now.” “Sounds like you had a fun night.” She sat down on the bench “I am so tired, I just want to sleep for a week.” “Are you sure you are okay?” He put on the top of his scrubs and grabbed his stuff from the locker and they left. “Which interns do I have with me today?” Aelin smiled wickedly “I gave you Lauren and James.” Malcolm swore. James had been the weakest of the interns. They had decided to try and give him a second chance for a little while longer, but Malcolm had very little patience with him. Although he had been out of the military for a while, he still followed some of his strict military regime he had when he was a medical officer. He had structure and she loved him for that. He also loved things done in a certain way and James had been struggling to adapt to Malcolm’s way of doing things. They were both working on it but where it was almost impossible to make Mal nervous, James was the opposite and became a mess around the man. “Be nice to him, please.” “I am always nice.” He said with a warm smile. “I know you are, but when you have your Captain mask on, you are a bit terrifying.” She laughed. She actually liked his Captain mask. It was no shit Malcolm. He would get things done with efficiency. She always wondered why he never took her job. The A&E would run like a super perfect clockwork in his hands.” “Mal?” She was curious “Can I ask you something?” They were almost back at the emergency room. He had stopped for coffee before starting his shift. “Go ahead.” “Why they didn’t offer you directly my position? You’d be amazing.” Malcolm stopped and sighed “Because I did not apply.” Aelin stopped as well and looked at him. “PTSD. I will tell you the story one day. After I retired from the Navy I took time off.” He sat on one of the chairs in a corridor “Once I was better I decided to try again to be a doctor. But I decided that I was going to remain in the position I was offered. I could not handle again the whole being in charge at all. Too much stress and it was not what I needed in order to heal. So when the position came up I just kept wishing we would get a very competent person in charge and it seems my wishes got answered.” Aelin had no idea what to say “For what it’s worth, I believe you’d have been amazing.” “Thanks, but taking orders for once it’s not too bad.” And he smiled at her “now go home, relax and celebrate with Lysandra. It’s my turn to get vomited on.” She hugged him tenderly “I will see you tomorrow night.” She stood “Nurse Jackie has baked a few cakes for all of us.”

When she finally parked the car in front of the house she relaxed. She had texted Rowan letting him know she was on her way back. He had replied saying he was finishing to prepare lunch and that the house was ready for celebrations. A part of her was excited, but another side just wanted to take a shower and sleep until it was time to go back to work again. Rowan was in front of her when she stepped in the house. He turned her around and covered her eyes with his hands. “What are you doing?” “Shhh.” He gently nudged her and she started walking. Then they stopped and he freed her eyes and Aelin gasped in surprise. The whole living room had been decorated with fairy lights. The coffee table had been moved and the floor had been covered in heavy blankets and pillows and then she laughed when she noticed Rowan and Aedion. They were wearing what looked like matching flannel pyjamas with elves on. She laughed. “The pyjamas were my idea,” confessed Lysandra “I bought them in London. And this morning I convinced them to wear them. As soon as I mentioned to Rowan that it would mean a lot to you, well, he was sold and convinced Aedion as well.” Aelin hugged Lysandra and then went to Rowan and hugged him as well and almost ended up crying. What was wrong with her? “I love it and you both look so very dashing.” She said with a flat voice and Rowan noticed that. “Are you okay?” He brushed his hand on her back while holding her. “Tired, so damn tired.” “Aelin we don’t have to—“ Aelin stopped Lysandra “Yes we do. I will be better after a shower.” “How was the puke count?” “Five.” “Not bad.” Replied the other woman “Nothing can beat the 20 of four years ago.” “Hell no.” Rowan looked between the two women as if missing the meaning of what they were talking about. “I’ll tell you after lunch.” She kissed him and went to the bathroom. Rowan was about to excuse himself but Lysandra preceded him “Go to her. She looks like hell. She needs you just now.” Rowan nodded and silently thanked the woman. He reached Aelin in the bathroom and noticed she was already in the shower. He quickly removed his clothes and joined her. “What are you doing?” He did not reply. He pulled her to his chest and hugged her tight. In that moment Aelin started crying. “Hey…” “I am sorry…” her arms went around his waist “I just feel like crying.” “Shhh let it go. I am here. Let it all out.” And she did. She cried until she felt spent in his arms. He washed her hair and tenderly washed her body as well. There was nothing sexual in his touches. He was just taking care of her and she almost cried again. While he was on his knees washing her legs she fisted her hands in his hair “I love you.” She kissed his silver hair “You don’t celebrate Christmas but still accepted to decorate the house and wear a silly pyjama.”she was sobbing again “You are amazing and I think I must have done something right in my life to have you chose me and allow me to be at your side.” She blubbered “That was cheesy. I am sorry.” He stood and pulled her back into an embrace “I didn’t allow anything. You stormed into my life and made camp in it. And I am glad you did. I meant it last night when I said I will do everything to make you happy. Even wear a silly pyjama or decorate the house with fairy lights.” His hands cupped her face “we are going to have a fun day, relax and enjoy time together with the people who matter to us.” She kissed him deeply and he pinned her against the wall. “What are you doing? We have guests.” She said against his mouth. “Lysandra told me to come and get you and that you needed me right now. I am just fulfilling my role as dutiful fiancée.” “Do your worst, Whitethorn.”

It was twenty minutes later when they left the shower and walked back into the living room. Lysandra and Aedion were snuggled on the floor with a blanket around them and were talking quietly. “Sorry guys,” apologised Aelin joining them “Rowan went to get the food.” “Are you oaky?” Aelin sighed “I think so.” “That bad last night?” Aelin shook her head “No. Not really. I had so much worse. No, I just feel exhausted.” “Come here,” Lysandra hugged her and pulled her close “Aedion and I were looking at houses out of curiosity. We thought that if we move here we could just buy a house.” Aelin turned her head “That means that you two are really serious about each other.” Lysandra nodded “It took us a while, but yeah.” And Aedion nodded. Rowan arrived five minutes later with plates full of food. Aedion helped him to move back the coffee table and he sat the food down. “I got some booze as well.” “I’ll take a beer if you have it,” said Aedion. “Do you have wine?” “Of course, m’lady.” Rowan replied with a bow and Lysandra giggled. “I’ll just have water. I don’t feel like drinking.” When Rowan got back they finally settled down. The pillows were against the sofa and they had a blanket for each couple. Aelin snuggled against Rowan and brought the plate toward her. They had set her laptop on the table and they were ready for the movie marathon “What do we start with?” “Love Actually, of course. It’s the tradition.” Aedion sighed “Babe, you girls have seen that movie a million times. Something new?” “Shh…” she placed a finger on his lips “It’s what the tradition dictates.” When the movie finished a couple of hours later, Lysandra was snuggled against Aedion but Aelin had fallen asleep in Rowan’s arms. “She is completely out.” He said. The three of them kept watching movies but Aelin never woke up or even moved. Once it was late, they decided to call it a night and everyone went back to their room. Rowan lifted Aelin in his arms and took her to bed. He deposited her gently and she woke up. “Shhh go back to sleep. I just put you in bed.” “What time is it?” She asked sleepily. “It’s almost eleven. Everyone went to bed.” “Did I sleep the whole day?” Rowan nodded. “I am horrible.” He joined her in bed, pulled her in his arms and lay down with her covering them with their duvet “No, you were not. You were tired. You worked all night. They both know. No one was mad.” “Did you watch many movies?” “A few. Aedion and I introduced Lysandra to Star Wars.” “Finally, I tried for years.” “Now go back to sleep. You are woking again tomorrow.” Aelin nodded and snuggled tightly against him. “Good night, Buzzard.” “Good night, Fireheart.”

#rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #fanfic #throne of glass series #fluff #aedion x lysandra

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sirenswhispers · 3 years

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The knight and the princess

N/A: Hello. I hope you like what I wrote, I’m sorry is it’s misspelled or something, I apologize deeply, but english is not my first language and I’m trying. Anyway, Fred and George always enlight my day, and today I’m feeling a little sad, so this came to me.

Enjoy it

George Weasley x Fem!Ravenclaw Reader

Warnings: Is bad writing a waning? George Weasley being oblivious

At the age of ten, running through the wide fields of your town, the sun shining high and wearing a paper crown on your head, that’s how you met the Weasley twins.

It was the first time you have ever seen people with red hair, and you thought it was wonderful, if not magical. Such a beautiful and vibrant color that belonged to them. You had to talk to them, ask them what it was like to be a redhead.

“Well, it’s an everyday thing for us.” Said the twin on the right, while the one on the left could only sport a shy smile for you. “So, it feels pretty normal”.

You laughed.

That’s how your friendship began. That day, they played with you for the first time.

Seeing the crown on your head, Fred yelled he wanted to be the king while George settled for being the knight that rescued the princess from the evil ruler. In the game, Fred was and arrogant king who kept you captive, stolen from your own reign, and George was the one who had to rescue you and take you back to your castle.

He never told you how much he enjoyed being able to hold your hand when he saved you from Fred.

However, he did promise you something that day.

Pretending to be the most honorable knight of the reign, such a gentleman, he gave a kiss to your hand, and watching you through his light eyelashes he said-: “Someday, I’ll marry you princess.”

Neither of you were familiar with the ticklish feeling that grew on you from those words.

Being a year older than you, soon the twins left for Hogwarts, and you didn’t have neither an evil king to run from nor a gentle knight to save you. Instead, your most loyal company was your owl, which flew day by day to give your letters to the twins and theirs to you.

They told you how amazing Hogwarts was. They wrote about pranks, and classes, and magic. Mostly, they loved telling you about their pranks on Filch. One day, they told you the story of how they had found a map in his office, and they couldn’t wait to show all the secrets pathways it had.

When summer holidays came that year, you ran all the way to the crooked house in which the twins lived, excited to see your best friends again.

And while Fred engulfed your frame in a tight hug, screaming in your ear about everything related to Hogwarts, George knelt in front of you, a playful grin plastered on his face.

“Hello my princess.”

That ticklish feeling you felt when playing with George came back to you, this time making you feel warm and giddy.

You had never thought much about which house you’d like to be placed in, but since becoming friends with the Weasley twins you knew you wanted to be with them in Gryffindor, maybe as much as they wanted you to be with them.

But when the hat screamed the name of Ravenclaw, and the blue crowd exploded in cheers, you send a sad look in their direction, silently apologizing for something you didn’t have control over. Fred send you a reassuring smile, while George made his best effort to pretend that he wasn’t annoyed with you not being with him.

Even though you wanted to be a Gryffindor, soon you fell in love with the house of the eagle. Blue became your safe color and you became good friends with your roommates, although they weren’t nearly half funny as the twins.

You wished you had more time to spend with them, but the difference of lessons and schedules made it hard to even say a word to them. There were days you didn’t get to see a hair of that vibrant red you liked so much. It made you sad, but you learned to live with it.

It wasn’t until the middle of the school year that you could enjoy a short time with your best friends.

The three of you had come with the plan of spending the day near the lake to see if one of you could spot the giant squid. Throwing all kind of stuff into the lake, trying to get the creature to show even a small piece of him.

He never did, but it was the most fun you have had in your whole year. You were happy to spend time with Fred and George, that was enough.

Years passed, and through differences and struggles, you found a way to maintain your friendship with the twins, to find a way to keep George close to you as you understood that that ticklish feeling he gave you was the love you held for him.

It wasn’t hard to accept your crush on George. It was too normal, too familiar to feel uncomfortable with it. But you didn’t have the guts to tell him about it.

You spent your years watching him grow, seeing you as nothing more than a friend, no matter how many times he’d look for a subtle way to touch you, to call you his princess or just be with you. You were oblivious to his feelings just as much.

Fred had to watch you both dance around your feelings, smiling softly at the tender moments you two shared when you though he wasn’t looking.

When your sixth year came and neither George nor you talked about the elephant in the room, Fred decided that that was enough. He was tired of listening to you two ramble about the other to him.

He had a plan, which had to be cancelled when his father was attacked in the middle of the night and his siblings and him had to go away, leaving you behind.

It felt like an endless night, seated at Gimmauld place without knowing about their dad. The Weasley siblings didn’t have space for another thing in their minds than their family. But you were family to them too.

The next day, when they came back from St. Mungos, George practically ran to you when he saw you waiting for them in the house.

You held him tightly, thanking silently that he was okay, that everything had turned out well at the end. But George was only one of your best friends. Without letting him go, you opened your eyes, looking directly at Fred as you opened one arm for him too. He ran to you and let some tears fall on your shoulder.

You spent Christmas with the Weasleys, making your best efforts to make them smile and ease the sadness. You were no hero; you just wanted the people you loved to have a nice Christmas.

And fairly they did. Mr. Weasley was back by the time you celebrated the holiday, and it felt like home.

You tried not to think much about it when George intertwined your fingers with his while eating, instead, you gave a caress to the back of his hand, accepting his touch.

“Thank you for staying” He told you later that night “Not only for Fred and I, but for everyone”

Your hands were still holding each other’s, and you smiled softly at them. “It was my pleasure my knight” You answered, watching as smile grew on George at the nickname. “Besides, if we were to get married, this is as well my family. I must take care of them too.” You remembered him the words he had said to you many years ago.

“Then, I shall marry you as soon as possible my princess.”

If he could, he would have married you right there in the spot, but this was only an inside joke, born from the innocent promise of a kid. It didn’t mean anything, no matter how much you both wanted it too.

You shuffled closer to him, finding a nest to rest your head in the crook of his neck, while he embraced you tightly.

The both of you were so focused on your feelings that no one noticed Fred’s mischievous smile, nor the light enchantment he was casting over your heads. A beautiful mistletoe growing from his wand, falling delicately on you both.

When the enchantment was finished, Fred laughed to himself. He turned around and walked upstairs, leaving you two behind with only one way to leave the room.

As cozy as you were with George, you knew you had to go back to your room with Ginny. Being as quiet as not to disturb him much, you moved away, or you tried to. Something invisible was stopping you.

You looked around in vain, no one close enough to blame or to ask what was going on, until you looked up and noticed the beautiful plant.

Your throat went dry immediately.

“George” You called him. “George, wake up!” Shaking his body as to waking him up from his sleep.

He smiled fondly when you were the first thing he saw, but your confused expression made him frown. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked, straightening himself from the couch, not going much far. “What’s this?”

You didn’t say anything, only pointing your finger to where the mistletoe was placed. Right above you both.

He understood right away and blushed wildly at the meaning.

“W-we don’t have to… I mean, we kind of have to if we want out but… If you don’t want to…” He stuttered his words.

“I want to!” You said immediately, not flinching nor thinking much about it.

Realization fell upon you when you heard yourself. That was not smooth, and if you could, you would’ve have ran as far away as possible.

George saw you blushing deeply, your eyes watering from embarrassment and how uncomfortable you looked. You said you wanted to, but maybe because you didn’t know how to turn him down.

Was it possible that you despised the idea of kissing him? He had to swallow the knot in his throat and ignore the shattering in his heart.

“I understand you don’t want to kiss someone like me, but can you at least pretend I’m someone else and go through it? I’d like to get out of here.” George explained, his eyes avoiding you.

Did he think you didn’t want to kiss him? Someone like him?

“What do you mean by “someone like me”?” You asked, anger growing in you. “How is someone like you? God, you can be so daft sometimes George Weasley.” The tears of anger falling from you. “Someone like you?! You know what? I’d love to kiss someone like you. I’ve been dreaming about kissing someone like you, I’ve been thinking of how wonderful it would feel to kiss you George.”

His name slipped easily between your lips. So normal, so comfortable that you didn't even noticed it. But he did.

It was your turn to know how deep he adored you.

The gentle knight you had fallen for was gone. The man in front of you was wearing a fierce determination while holding your face in his hands and stamping your lips together.

A pick on the lips would’ve been enough to break the spell, but he kept the kiss going. He was the one leading you, making you open your mouth with a caress from his tongue, his lips moving heavenly against yours.

As much as you had imagined a kiss with him, nothing was as good as a real one. He kissed your whole body in one, giving you the chills, making your legs tremble from the intensity and the passion.

You had to separate when your lungs were burning for air.

“Someone like me, someone who loves you dearly, my princess.”

#Harry Potter #george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader #fred weasley #weasley twins

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

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Let’s Review || Chapter 22

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-consensual&dark sexual situations, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat additional warnings: open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the additional "spoiler-y" tags for trigger warnings

hey guys! i made a ko-fi! if you enjoy this and have some cash you could spare to help me out with my bills, id really appreciate it! if you follow the link and check out the ‘posts’, there’s a snippet for ch. 4 of posies!

Their parents had died a few months after her thirteenth birthday and Penny essentially blacked out for the next 8 months. She didn’t remember anything from that school year, although she’d evidently scraped by in all of her classes—actually, Penny was still convinced that little Peter, who was already showing signs of being a tiny genius, had done at least half of her homework. She didn’t remember Hanukkah that year, or the first Christmas she’d ever celebrated with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. She had zero friends coming out of that year, having accidentally pushed everyone away in fits of rage or sadness that she couldn’t even remember. The pain cut just as deep every time she remembered showing up to school the first day of her freshman year only to receive the cold shoulder from half her grade.

That was actually one of the first memories she’d retained after coming out of 7 months and 3 weeks of complete emptiness, how none of her best friends wanted anything to do with her. Everything had been confusing, somehow devastating all over again but… it was less. Her parents were gone and it hurt so much but it was nothing compared to the agony that had beset her form seconds after being informed her mom and dad were dead. When Penny racked her brain she could almost remember Aunt May crouched in front of her while she sat on the couch at home, holding her hands.

Somewhere in her brain, Penny had known that plane crashes were possible. Like, as a concept she understood the idea. The plane that was flying through the air stops doing that, and all the people inside the plane die. But it couldn’t possibly happen to her parents—they were her parents, they were infallible. Plane crashes happened, yeah, but her parents couldn’t be gone. Aunt May had told her several years later that she and Ben had been petrified she would try to kill herself, especially when the state tried to take the young girl away from the Parker’s.

They’d never had the money for therapy and Penny figured she’d never regain the memories from those months but honestly, she didn’t want them. The gaps were reprieves, the missing conversations, the absence of any and all detail. Wasn’t she sad to not remember her eighth-grade graduation? Fuck no, it was a blessing to forget how she’d felt like everyone in existence had their eyes on her—except for the ones she wanted.

There were times she absently wondered how disappointed her parents would be that she didn’t finish college, let alone get an actual high school degree. Her dad had been so smart, a genius in his own right. And her mom… Penny tried not to think of her mom often, not when it hurt so deeply. Mary Parker had been a gentle soul with an IQ of 150 who made Penny feel safe and loved and understood every day of her life. Her mother would’ve been understanding, she would’ve seen the necessity in her dropping out but it would’ve hurt that gentle soul to know the opportunities her baby had missed.

It hurt Penny in a special way that neither of Mary and Richard Parker’s children would be graduating from high school. Neither would attend university. They wouldn’t go on to press the limits of their parent’s knowledge or make an impact on the world. Somehow despite everything she’d sacrificed, Peter would never get the opportunity that he deserved. Her genius baby brother, his potential capped before he had a chance to try. God, it was an agonizing burn in her chest, a searing pain that made her nauseous and light-headed.

Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if her ribs would crack. The cabin was lovely. Dark wood and an A-frame, a nice deck in the back and lots of windows. It was surrounded by trees, with dark needles or thin pale trunks, the purple mountains of the Rockies a lovely backdrop. It was colder than she’d expect for summer, especially considering the overcast sky and the breeze. The clouds moved so fast at such a high altitude and Penny watched trembling as a shadow passed over the house, chasing the light away before the sun followed its path ravenously once more.

Steve and Bucky were unloading suitcases from the back of the SUV, passing each other calculating looks as Penny stood practically frozen in place. Her shoulders were hunched almost to her ears, arms wrapped gently but tightly around the white kitten in her arms. It was purring quietly, the same way it had been for hours now. The little thing had cried the first few hours after they’d left the tower and subsequently the chubby cheeked orange kitten behind, only settling when Penny laid down across the middle seat in the SUV and let it burrow into the crook of her neck.

If Penny turned around she would’ve recognized the mournful looks on their faces, the pain in the lines of their eyes. The soldiers knew the hurt she felt, to be separated from their most important person—they understood that Peter was the most important person in Penny’s world. This separation was on their heads, but what could they do? They’d worked themselves into a rut, the three of them, wearing such deep treads into their negative behaviors that they couldn’t climb out. A complete shakeup was the only solution.

Both winced when she abruptly folded at the waist, clutching the kitten to her chest, and vomited over the pine needle strewn dirt of the driveway. Her hair fell in heavy, curly curtains around her face as she heaved again, hiding her tear-streaked face from the soldiers’ view. The sound of them setting the bags they held down registered in Penny’s ears but she couldn’t find the strength to collect herself before they converged on her.

“Come ‘ere doll, lemme take you up to the bathroom,” Bucky stated quietly, sweeping her and the cat up into his arms as gently as he could, “you can take a bath while me and Steve get everything unloaded. I think you’ll really like the cabin baby, we… well, we designed it just for you. If there’s anything you want to change, you just tell us. We want it to be perfect for you.”

She mostly caught flashes of green and white and brown, tucking her chin to look at the kitten snuggled into her cleavage. It felt cruel, to have taken the white one and left the orange, but the little chubby-cheeked kitten had taken to her brother so well—better than it had taken to her, even. Peter had named it Malcah and while it still didn’t like being picked up or held, it twined his ankles and meowed at him for love.

“Sit here baby,” the soldier set her carefully on the lid of the toilet, after having climbed a set of stairs and turned multiple blurry corners, “let me run your bath.”

It was all white tile, the toilet built into the wall. The tub was a freestanding clawfoot, with a spray nozzle and high sides. It was surprisingly small, considering how large the tub in the tower had been. Penny idly speculated that only perhaps one of the soldiers would be able to fit at time and it would certainly be a tight squeeze if she was forced in with them. There was a standing shower on the other side, where the roof wasn’t so sharply sloped by the A-framed roof. The nice thing, that Penny would never admit was very nice, was all of the plants. The entire room was predominantly white but there was a long-vined philodendron hanging gracefully over the tub, snake plants sitting on the shelf before the toilet. She could see a rubber plant and another type of vine by the sinks, framing the mirror.

They’d obviously gone to great lengths to make sure it would be something she liked, clearly evidenced by the bathroom alone. There were even candles waiting to be used on the antique, hunter green shelves and bath bombs with lovely scents. If she’d been able to design a personal bathroom, Penny figured it would probably have looked something like this and that made her hate it all the more.

The bastards were so in their heads they could barely see the sunlight. Penny was convinced that they were so distracted orchestrating her nightmare they’d lost the plot. They kept throwing stuff at her; beautiful plants, nice clothing, cute cats, lovely homes—but it didn’t mean a single thing. All of the possessions in the world didn’t make up for the gaping, rotting hole in her chest.

“Alright doll, let’s get you undressed,” Bucky shifted towards her once the water was at the right temperature and filling the tub, a small smile on his stubbled face.

“Do you think I’m debilitated?” She rasped after a moment, rolling her eyes up to stare him in the face before spitting a vomit speckled wad of phlegm onto the rug by her feet and setting the kitten on the shelf next to the snake plants. “Last time I checked I didn’t need to be treated like a baby. Are you gonna keep standing over me like a pervert? Get out.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, surprised by the calmness behind her cutting tongue. Usually, when Penny got an attitude, it came with fury and fists and resulted in broken bones or bleeding wounds. This was overwhelmingly controlled; a bitchy rebuttal. Her voice was the gravelly tone she usually got after screaming or crying, dark brown eyes nearly black. When he didn’t move, Penny rolled her eyes and stood, whipping her t-shirt over her head and dropping it to the ground.

“You’re bein’ a little moody, babe,” Bucky watched calmly as she undressed, her clothes piling up on the floor. “Wanna think about reigning it in?”

Penny’s hair was big and curly around her face, framing the clenched jaw and sneering nose. “What are you gonna do, kill me? Whatever.”

“Penny, what—”

“Peter is a thousand miles away,” Penny’s voice started out sharp but very quickly faded into a tired drawl, “you can’t hurt him from here. And what do I care if you hurt me? So could you either get the fuck out and let me take a bath or fucking drown me in it? Whatever it takes for this interaction to be over.”

“Are you looking for a punishment right now?” Bucky’s lips pulled down at the corners, eyebrows furrowing, “‘Cause you’re working your way towards one really quick.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill someone in front of me?” She groaned, reaching up to dig her fingers into the roots of her hair, tugging sharply before dragging it into a tangled, thoughtless bun on the top of her head “Or spank me until I can’t sit? Rape me? Could you just get it over with? I want to be alone, please!”

Bucky was silent for several long seconds before sighing through his nose, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “Take your bath, think about your fuckin’ attitude. Steve and I are gonna bring the bags in.”

He left the door open and Penny was further irritated to learn he had too much dignity to stomp down the stairs the way she’d hoped he would. His break in composure had been so good for her it was unbelievable—but there was likely a punishment on the horizon and Steve wasn’t likely to let her off easy once the brunet told him what she’d said. The bastard was stone cold when it came to that shit.

She stared idly at the steaming bath, naked with her clothes piled around her feet—the question was whether she wanted a bath or if she’d been resigned to it? The water was scented, because of course it was. It was even one of her favorite citrusy scents, she noted disdainfully, another thing they had paid so much attention to while keeping her locked up in a tower like fucking Rapunzel. Now in a cabin, she figured she was a Jewish Goldilocks surrounded by hungry bears.

But it smelled nice and her body ached from the long car ride, it had already been run so why not hop in? Besides, it would keep her busy while the soldier’s fucked around and she wouldn’t have to see them for a bit. They were shuffling around and she could hear the sounds of bags being placed around the cabin. The door banged off the walls several times, always accompanied by a groan or a curse, one of which she recognized as a Yiddish swear—which she refused to find endearing. The kitten meowed at her from its position on the shelf, looking put out to be so far away but Penny shushed it quietly.

“You won’t like the water, just stay there,” she murmured quietly at the distraught little creature, picking up a washcloth and dunking it into the perfumed water. “If I come get you I’ll make a huge mess.”

She ignored the kitten as it continued to communicate with her, chittering in annoyance and pawing the edge of the ledge for several minutes before evidently surrendering and lying down with its little paws draped over the edge. Penny smiled to herself, the cat’s tail was roughly the size of its body and when it curled the fluffy mass of fur around itself it became unrecognizable as a cat. The orange one would’ve continued to complain until Penny let it down, would’ve just barely given her ankles a rub before running off to hide somewhere.

That’s why she decided to leave Malcah with Peter; the orange cat didn’t run from or scratch him. She twined his ankles, sat next to his thigh on the couch, kneaded her little paws against him. Peter had decided both kittens were female, based on the very reasonable basis that he wanted them to be. Penny wasn’t sure, didn’t quite care. The only thing she ever referred to the cats as was Chatul—which literally meant cat in Hebrew. She’d shortened it to Tuly for the white kitten, for the sake of ease, but refused to say it in front of the soldiers. The cat was hers, she didn’t have to share it with them.

The sounds of the soldiers were becoming more consistent throughout the cabin and Penny figured they must’ve brought in all of the bags and were focused on unpacking. She could hear someone down in the kitchen, unloading the masses of groceries they’d brought up the mountain while the other was in the bedroom. Penny rubbed the washcloth over her skin lightly, the oils from the fragrance making her skin soft and slippery.

She didn’t hear him come in, she felt Steve come in. The blond’s presence was just as overwhelming as Tony Stark’s, an aura bigger than his body that filled the room. She could feel the disappointed stare, even as she continued to wipe herself down with the washcloth. Her teeth ground together as he watched in silence, just waiting.

“Bucky said you’ve caught an attitude, baby doll.”

“Caught an attitude?” She rolled her eyes. “Wow, if only I hadn’t become desensitized to living in constant terror—you never would’ve realized I’ve had an attitude the whole time!”

“We’re supposed to be turning a new page, Pen.”

“Turning a—” Penny scoffed, face appalled as she abruptly stood from the bath and ignored the water going everywhere, “we’re not turning a new page—You burnt the fucking book!”

The blond’s eyes widened; Penny had gotten angry in the past, furious even. She’d broken things, broken skin, broken bones and it was always accompanied by outraged screaming. But Penny didn’t make unnervingly straight eye contact while she did it. She was barely coherent at the best of times, mostly she screamed to the room at large before flying into a violent frenzy—it was different. It was startling, the light in her eyes and the way her voice cracked.

“There is no page turning, there’s no fucking—fucking reconciliation here, Steve,” she snatched a towel from the rack behind the tub, wrapping the light green fabric around her chest tightly, “I can’t believe after, fuck, how long has it been? A month and a half? Two months? What fucking day is it?”

“…It’s July 2nd,” he found himself choking out, still feeling shell shocked as she stepped out of the tub.

“A month and a half,” Penny’s face twitched, just barely concealing the distraught look he could see she wanted to make and she started shifting past him, “Jesus Christ after a month and a half you guys still don’t get it—you know what, never mind. After a month and a half, I should’ve been smart enough to realize what dumbasses you both are.”

“Penny—”

“God, fuck!” She shouted up at the ceiling, stopping in place halfway out the door. “I have listened to you two talk at length for what’s apparently been a month and a half! I have tried to listen to your stupid fucking rules, I put in the fucking effort and you still decided to take away the one thing I care about! I’m sick and tired of you saying my name in that fucking tone, I’m tired of constantly internalizing and I’m tired of being fucking walked on! So I’ll tell you what I told Bucky—either kill me or leave me alone, but for fucks’ sake just give me space!”

A low mew followed her statement and Penny made an abrupt about face, stomping past him to snatch up the kitten from where it had been sitting on the ledge and storming past him again. It was like getting brushed by a wildfire and Steve fought the urge to take a step back when her wet hair whipped against him.

She dug through one of the bags that held her belongings angrily, kitten on her shoulder, knowing that the blond continued to watch her from the bathroom doorway. Shorts, underwear, a sports bra, a t-shirt, and a hoodie over that. She would’ve put on socks but she knew it bothered Steve when she went barefoot.

“Come downstairs, precious,” he sighed after watching her dress, gesturing towards the stairs, “we’ve got to talk.”

“We’ve always got to talk,” Penny snorted derisively but started down the stairs anyway, Tuly back in her arms, “but it’s usually just you two telling me what I can and can’t do. Stop bossing me around.”

Steve followed after her, aghast and confused—Penny had always been brave in the situations she was forced into, whether it was taking custody of her fourteen year old brother or dealing with being kidnapped from her apartment by a billionaire criminal, but she hadn’t ever antagonized before. She’d talked back, got irritated, snapped, but she hadn’t ever just been flat out bitchy.

On the main floor, Bucky had already put away all of the groceries and was folding up the cloth shopping bags to tuck away for next time. The brunet’s eyes locked on Penny for several long calculating seconds and her hackles raised; whatever was coming was going to be annoying. She refused to be afraid though, not when there wasn’t anything to lose. Not anymore.

“Sit on the couch, let’s talk,” Steve directed, watching as she seemed to contemplate following the direction before doing so, “things are obviously going to be different here, precious.”

“The cabin is equipped with the same AI as the tower but its restricted to monitoring and safety protocols,” Bucky explained, gesturing to the open layout of the main floor, “you’ll be able to go outside so long as you ask first, there’s plenty to do out there. When Steve bought it there was an overgrown vegetable garden out there, we had it cleaned up for you and the shed fixed up and stocked. A lot of good hiking around here too.”

“I can’t talk to JARVIS?” She asked, eyes tracking the way the soldier’s exchanged glances. “Of course not. Then I would have some sort of interaction beyond the pair of you. Damaging to your plan, huh?”

“Penny, the rules didn’t end just because we’re out of the tower,” Steve had one hand braced on his hip while the other rubbed over his forehead, “be—”

“If you say Be Sweet I’ll find a way to kill myself,” Penny intoned, a dry look on her face. “Jews don’t have an afterlife you know, I’m not afraid of going to Hell.”

“Penny, we’re trying—”

“Penny we’re trying,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, dead eye stare once again boring into Bucky’s, “I’m not. I’m done trying. You’ll either kill me or drive me insane, I’ll never see Peter again—I…I failed. I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t even keep him safe until he was an adult, isn’t that insane? Grand total of three years and some change and I fucked it up.”

Penny stood up from the couch, shaking her head as she went. The kitten was quick to jump off the couch and follow after her, meowing while that massive fluffy squirrel tail curled over its back. The open floor plan of the cabin came in handy for the soldiers though, because she couldn’t really escape even as she walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

It was hard to pretend she didn’t actually love the cabin. The kitchen was small, located beneath the loft that held the bedroom and bathroom. The railing to the loft was covered in live vines that hung down to create a tiny illusion of separation between the living room and kitchen, the kitchen itself was sage green with white and dark brown accents. There were more plants, open cabinets mounted to the walls, the sink was small but there was a dishwasher. She loved the spiral staircase that led up to the loft, framing the kitchen to the left with small shiny baubles hanging from it.

There was a hamsa and a cross, both stained glass and hanging from the tallest step. Pretty cat toys hung from the lower railings, just within the kitten’s reach. It made Penny’s skin itch, just how lovely and perfect the whole cabin was. More evidence that they were paying a freaky amount of attention to her and every move she made.

“You didn’t fail, doll,” Bucky’s tone was quiet and he hesitated for a moment before following after her several paces, ending up on the edge of the kitchen, “You didn’t fuck it up, Peter—”

“Peter is trapped in a prison in New York with a creep more than twice his age who wants to violate and brainwash him,” Penny was on her knees in front of the fridge, digging through the crisper drawer in the bottom. “Literally all I had to do to prevent that from happening was pay more attention to his daily life. Fuck, kid was practically raising himself with how often I was gone—never stood a chance, you know?”

“Don’t think like that Penny,” Steve sighed, leaning down to pick up the kitten that had circled back to his ankles and setting it on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done. You know who Tony Stark is, you know what he’s capable of. You can’t heap that guilt on your shoulders.”

“Oh, can’t I?” She hummed, absently throwing a package of bacon onto the floor, followed by a flat of raw chicken and beef. “There can be dairy in here or there can be meat, not both.”

“We might need a second fridge,” Bucky observed quietly, watching Penny drop a couple of deli bags with sandwich meat onto the ground before she started shuffling everything into different places within the cooler. “We could keep it in the shed?”

“No room,” Steve shook his head absently, “garage?”

Penny had collected a stack of items from the fridge and piled them onto the counter, not even bothering to look back on the soldiers as she began puttering around. The open-faced cabinets on the walls held mostly dishes and containers filled with ingredients and she ducked down, opening the lower cabinets and digging out several pans.

“Do you… do you want a hand, doll?” Bucky asked hesitantly after several moments, watching her collect ingredients and tools and turn on the stove.

“No.”

“Penny—”

“Can I make lunch please?” She whipped around, an irritated look on her face and a spatula in hand, looking like she was about to use it to beat them both, “I’m hungry and I want to die, I figure you’ll only allow me to fulfill one of those wants so can you let me cook?”

The next thing she knew, Penny had been swept up into Bucky’s arms. The solider looked confused, lips curled in frustration but his brow furrowed with dismay. She stiffened at the action when he stomped back to the couch and sat down roughly, dropping her over his knees and landing a smarting blow to her ass through her shorts without warning.

“Thirty for this fucking attitude,” he barked, yanking the shorts down until the waistband settled under the curve of her ass against the tops of her thighs, “count.”

A sharp inhale followed the first skin to skin hit and Penny snarled in response, “one.”

“Apologize,” Steve’s fingers tangled into her hair, extracting the hair tie and letting the curls fall in chaotic waves over her shoulders and face.

“Two,” she counted dutifully and angrily, narrowed eyes landing on Steve’s face, “I’m sorry you’re a fucking monster!”

“That just added ten more, Penny,” Bucky sighed through gritted teeth, “you better reign it in.”

“You better just kill me,” she rasped, nails digging into his leg where she was holding on for balance through the hits, “because I won’t reign it in. I’m sick to death of you motherfuckers—Oh, fuck, three!”

“No cursing during punishments, start from one,” Steve ordered darkly, the hand in her hair pulling taught as he glanced into Bucky’s eyes—the baffling combination of anger and dismay and loss in the brunet’s eyes let him know he wasn’t the only one scrambling.

“Fuck you!” Penny shook her head roughly as if to dislodge his hand, canting her head to the side the best she could manage to look him in the eye, “beat me black and blue, I don’t fucking care. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter anymore! Nothing fucking matters.”

content warnings: spanking *edit, addition content warning: disrespectful terminology for Jewish people

#steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #dark!fic

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moonb-eam · 4 years

Note

We're all still reeling from saying goodbye, so let's try to focus on something more positive. What are your ten (or more if you want) headcanons for Elu's future?

oh this is sweet 🧡🧡🧡🧡

(I’m so sorry this took so long to answer!! It wound up being longer than I thought it was going to be 😳)

These are a few things I think happen over the coming years:

i. They learn how to communicate. It takes time, and some days their communication dissolves into arguments and some days it endlessly circles, but then, there are days when one of them comes home late and the other says, alright, I’ll make you some tea. There are days where one of them walks in to see the other crying and they say, will you tell me what’s wrong? There are days where they sit together on the sofa, legs entangled, and they talk for hours, about everything from their dreams the night before, to the deepest corners of their hearts. There are days where only a glance is needed for them to understand each other. But it’s work. It’s work, and it’s as messy as it is wonderful, and they keep trying.

ii. They get a pet together. Maybe a cat, or maybe a dog, or maybe even a bunny - but they go to a shelter together, and they leave with a little furry friend. The buy a specific bed for it, but of course it never sleeps there. At any given moment, when Lucas or Eliott are wandering through the apartment, checking underneath the sofa or behind the curtains, their little friend is actually curled between their pillows on the bed, warm and content in the space that smells like its two favourite humans.

iii. They establish small traditions together: Friday night is movie night; Sunday afternoon is when they clean; they cook for each other on their birthdays; they sleep on the balcony together on the first long summer night of the year; they take turns hiding mistletoe around the apartment in the weeks leading up to Christmas. They also establish some things that aren’t traditions, really, but just routines. Patterns. Whoever wakes up first has to make coffee and water the plants (usually it’s Lucas); whoever goes to sleep last has to turn off all of the lights and empty the dish rack (usually it’s Eliott); whenever they wash their sheets they wind up making a fort in the living room; whenever Eliott is out late at an urbex party or at work, Lucas will leave some dinner in the fridge for him, and a small note - the note may say something like, don’t make any noise, I have an exam, or something like, wake me up when you get home, I’ve missed you, and one time, memorably, you’re so hot xoxo. And you’ve probably guessed it. Eliott keeps every single note.

iv. The entrance to their apartment becomes known as a veritable revolving door of chaos. At any given movement, there is someone bursting in, either in celebration or distress, sometimes alone, sometimes with the rest of the circus right on their heels. People are also known to stay the night: sleeping on the couch, in the armchair, even on the floor on top of a pile of blankets. Lucas often complains, says that the whole point of him and Eliott moving in together was to have privacy, but Eliott doesn’t buy it. He sees the quirk of Lucas’ mouth whenever a knock comes to their door, sees how he paces around the kitchen until eventually he gives in and starts making a pot of coffee, and produces a semi-stale bag of croissants from seemingly out of nowhere, heating them in the oven and passing them out along the table. When Lucas catches Eliott staring, he just blushes, smiles, and shrugs.

v. They wear each others’ clothes all the time. There’s a drawer in their bedroom that is filled with nondescript t-shirts that have become so mixed up they can’t discern which belonged to who in the first place.

vi. When Eliott shows Lux and Obscurus to his film class, everyone is surprised. They had no idea what to expect from this coursemate who they only know as someone who is a little quiet, a little awkward, and they’re impressed by it - by the film, by the fact that Eliott was able to produce it with an amateur crew, and soon everyone is asking Eliott what his next project will be, and students from the other courses are asking him if he needs a production designer, a camera operator, a sound technician. Eliott comes home from class one day with a troupe of people following him who Lucas has never seen before, and when Eliott introduces him as, my boyfriend Lucas, there’s a collective gasp. The muse, one of them says, and the look of pure confusion that Lucas sends Eliott makes him burst into laughter.

vii. On Lucas’ first day of university, Eliott wakes up early and packs him a lunch, presenting it proudly to Lucas when he stumbles into the kitchen, bleary-eyed. It’s unbelievably sweet, and Lucas tells Eliott this, kissing him on the cheek in thanks, but he regrets those words later that day, when, sitting on a bench on campus, he opens up the lunch to find a sandwich with ham, Brie cheese, mustard, and strawberry jam. (What he doesn’t admit is that somehow, it actually tastes really good.)

viii. The first time Lucas’ mom comes over for dinner, Eliott gets so nervous that he manages to burn ready-made pasta sauce, and Lucas gleefully recounts the story to his mom when she arrives. Eliott is laughing along with them, bashful, a little embarrassed, but Lucas’ mom smiles, pats him on the shoulder and says, there’s no need to worry, darling. With the way he talks about you, I feel as though you’re already my son-in-law. Eliott grins, pleased, and it’s Lucas then who blushes, sending his mom a pointed look that she returns with a satisfied smile.

ix. Eliott refuses to drop it, is the thing. Remember when your mom called me her son-in-law? So of course, Lucas turns it around on him, a joke that he pulls out whenever Eliott turns down an offer to join him on a night out, or on another trip to Basile’s grandfather’s. Oh that’s too bad, Eliott, he says. I was going to propose to you. Eliott tries to one-up him, naturally, and it turns into this - them keeping score for a game nobody else understands, with Eliott pretending to stumble onto one knee and asking Lucas if he will do him the honour of helping him up, and Lucas presenting a small, velvet box to Eliott at his graduation dinner, and Eliott opening it to find a condom. No one understand it, but they accept it. Just another quirk that makes them Lucas and Eliott. Well, everyone except Basile, who, when he learns that they’re not actually engaged while at Eliott’s birthday party, drunkenly bursts into tears.

x. When it does actually happen, though, it happens like this: with a date at a familiar spot, a bottle of champagne opened and emptied, with Lucas procuring another small box, and solemnly promising that it’s not a condom this time, and Eliott is laughing because his boyfriend, his fiancé, is a bit of an idiot, but he’s Eliott’s idiot, and Eliott loves him so much he can’t breathe, can’t speak when Lucas slides a ring onto his finger. They kiss, and they’re both crying, salty tears down rounded cheeks that mix with something else, something cold, and they realize at the same time that it’s starting to rain, big fat drops that land in their eyes and soak their hair and they both laugh in delighted wonder, tilting their heads back to watch they sky together.

#asks #anon #i only saw you #could be filed under #fic tag #elu #skam france #i was working on this while also starting my misn epilogue #so clearly i have elu marriage on the brain #this is why i shouldn't be allowed to watch wedding reality shows on netflix

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 13

As Scully copes with her diagnosis, Mulder joins her for the Scully family Christmas dinner. Plus, Melissa's girlfriend meets the family.

TW for disordered eating, cigarette smoking, references to abduction/medical rape.

-------------

Self destruction is a natural impulse for Dana Scully, though she’ll try to deny it. Take one unexplained abduction, add a dash of premature menopause, and sift out time spent proving Mulder wrong, and you’ll get a struggling Scully.

She can tell she’s entering a bad mental state when food becomes a suggestion rather than a necessity. Every bite is either earned according to whatever trivial rules she’s set for herself in that particular moment, or is not deserved and therefore not eaten. It’s a game where she’s the coach, player, and referee, yet she still loses every time. Nourishment is both prize and punishment, feeding her hunger but vacating her control.

This habit started when she was a teenager and wracked with feelings her petite frame couldn’t contain. It felt much safer than the route her siblings had taken of sneaking out in the middle of the night or using fake IDs to buy alcohol or skipping church on the regular. As far as fifteen-year-old her was concerned, she wasn’t bothering anyone by foregoing some meals. Her mother disagreed and called her out every time, humiliating her into her second coping mechanism, smoking.

There were the times when Scully was really young and enticed by her sister’s cigarettes, but that was simple preteen rebellion. What developed when Dana was seventeen was something different entirely. A survival mechanism with poison inside, snuffing herself out while keeping her alive and sane. She would walk to the gas station and buy packs of Marlboros with coins from her piggy bank. The laws were lax in the 80s, the prices too. She would blow rings of smoke while walking home, then hide the pack in her bra and swish some mouthwash. She’d repeat the process to and from school, steadily acquiring a nasty nicotine habit. It continued until the summer before college, when she made herself go cold turkey so as not to take the habit with her. As far as she knows, neither her parents nor any of her siblings ever knew about it.

It resurfaces in times of stress, though normally for no more than a single pack. Lately she’s accustomed to keeping a pack and a lighter with her at all times. Her building is smoke free so she steps outside, but her car is off limits because she doesn’t want the smell to cling to her. It is a hassle, but then again, so are most things.

Missy knows about the poor eating habits--those are hard to hide from someone who shares the same space as you. Nevermind the fact that the scale shows six less pounds than before, and that adds up when the number’s not that large to begin with. Scully’s edges protrude now...that can’t be hidden.

Missy never says a word. She remembers Dana complaining about their mother’s condescending comments about her weight, and she knows the damage that does to a young psyche. Instead, she offers. Healthy meals, guilty pleasure meals, all her sister’s favorites. She cooks more than she ever has before, well aware that her sister will struggle to refuse her.

“I recognize what you’re doing,” Missy told her sister when she tried to turn away a caesar salad, of all things. “I’ve been known to do that too,” Missy admitted. “Eat. You’re hungry, you just think not eating will give you some form of control over your body, or your life...but wasting yourself away is letting the bastards win.”

And so she did, that time at least. Scully has enough shame regarding her habit to push it aside whenever confronted---that’s how she insists to herself that it’s not an eating disorder. She can stop on command. That makes it okay, right?

Getting back into the office helped her a lot---you can’t starve yourself and function as an FBI agent. Besides, she would dissolve into thin air if Mulder figured out what she was doing. He was the one who batted around the idea of Scully helping prep each case and supervising any tests he might need the crime lab to do while he’s in the field. He understood that in lieu of therapy, she needed something to take her out of her own mind.

It was as much for him as it was her; at this point, it’s almost incomprehensible to him that the X-Files had existed before her. Of course he was the laughingstock of the FBI! He had huddled in the basement by himself with UFOs and blurry Bigfoot sightings pinned on the wall like a shrine to his own delusion.

Her fall from grace was his absolution. He’ll make an angel of her, somehow. Even if it means he has to meet the devil.

Scully has no interest in becoming an angel, though she’d sure like to avoid hell, and that hasn’t worked out too well. Locker room jokes are one thing. Underestimation another. But assault? Rape? Trauma and torture because she is who she is doing what she does? She is not a quitter, and that is killing her.

Her barrenness haunts her because it was bestowed upon her as punishment, an implication that she only has worth as a walking womb. She wants to be seen as a person, not a pawn.

The arrival of the holiday season is another weight on her shoulders. It used to be Scully’s favorite time of year; now the sight of carolers makes her want to poke her eyes out. It’s the first Christmas without her father, and that is simply unimaginable. Her and Missy spent a quiet Thanksgiving with their mother---small portions and whispered thanks--in preparation for an elaborate family Christmas. Bill Jr. and Tara are flying in from California for the annual Christmas dinner and midnight mass. They will all try to move forward, pretend it’s just like any other year, but it’s not and it never will be again. Happy Christmases are over for the Scully family.

And yet, they will try to enjoy the moment. Missy told her mom that she’s bringing a friend, which is completely true. Trinity is her closest friend that she doesn’t share blood with. That said, she plans to use the occasion to introduce Trinity as her girlfriend, come what may.

Then there was the suggestion that their mother made, which caught her youngest daughter completely off guard. “Why don’t you bring Fox?” Margaret Scully proposed demurely during their weekly phone call. “I’m making a zoo’s worth of food, I could use another mouth to feed. I hate to see any of it go to waste.”

“Mulder’s spending Christmas with his family, I’m sure,” Scully had replied. “But I’ll pass along the offer.”

That was how Scully learned that Mulder’s family isn’t much for celebration, that he usually spends the holiday flipping between It’s A Wonderful Life and the 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story, and that he has a particular fascination with the idea of midnight mass.

“I just don’t get it,” Mulder mused. “You believe that a jolly old man with flying reindeer leaves presents in your house, but you think he waits until after you’ve gotten home from celebrating Baby Jesus’ birthday? Didn’t you ever look for his sleigh in the sky on the drive home?”

“No, Mulder,” Scully sighed. “I just believed that he knew when we were tucked in bed. Santa’s all-seeing, you know,” she teased.

Mulder chuckled. “Kind of presumptuous to assume he functions on your schedule, huh?”

Ultimately, Mulder said yes. He figured attending the Catholic equivalent of Jesus’ birthday party would be another check off his supernatural bucket list, though he did not say this part out loud for fear of Dana Scully’s wrath. Besides, what else was he gonna do on Christmas Eve? Shake the shoebox of junk he stuck under his mini-basketball hoop so he felt like he was getting a gift?

And so the fateful day arrives. Mulder flips his Garfield page-a-day calendar to December 24th, chuckles at the comic strip of the orange cat eating all his owner’s Christmas cookies, and makes his way to his partner’s increasingly familiar doorstep. The sun has already slipped behind the trees by the time he arrives. It gives up easily in the winter.

He rings the bell and hears Scully’s dainty footsteps on the other side. She’s snuck up on him enough times for him to have developed a keen sense of her light footing--no more jump scares for him.

“Hey Scully,” he stammers as she opens the door. She had told him to look “festive,” so he donned his nicest green sweater (a gift from his mom from J. Crew...he had never worn it) and slacks. Scully rounds out their show of holiday spirit with a velvet red blouse and black trousers.

“You look lovely,” Mulder says reflexively, unsure when he started using such a word. Scully pulls at her shirt, obscuring the bit of cleavage that has revealed itself. “Thanks Mulder,” she mutters, ushering him inside.

He holds up the shiny silver gift bag he hastily stuffed with tissue paper. “Some candy canes I picked up at the gas station. I figured the whole family could enjoy them.”

Scully nods, amused by his feeble attempt at gifting. “I’m sure they won’t go to waste.”

A fire crackles in the fireplace. It’s so hot in the apartment that Mulder is surprised it hasn’t melted the snow outside on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Melissa?” he asks, hoping they will hit the road sooner than later.

“She’s picking up her girlfriend from the airport. She couldn’t get an earlier flight.”

“Dulles?” He sure hopes not. It’s all the way across town.

“No, Reagan.”

Whew. Much closer.

“She should be back any minute now,” Scully continues. “Trinity’s flight got in at 3:30.”

Mulder rolls his sleeves up. “So your family doesn’t know about Trinity?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Do they know that Melissa’s…” He gestures, unsure which word to fill the space with.

“Bi? No.”

“So she shows up with Trinity, and then what?”

Scully shrugs. “She introduces her as her girlfriend. Mom already knows Missy is bringing a guest so she’ll have a plate for her.”

“You’re not worried about how the family’s gonna react?”

“Well, I’m sure Bill is gonna be a dick about it, but that’s normal. We only see him once a year, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Bill’s your brother?”

“Uh-huh. And Tara is his wife. They got married about a year and a half ago.”

Even as he pushes into his thirties, it still surprises Mulder that anyone close to his age could be married. He doesn’t even sleep in a bed.

“You think your mom’s gonna be cool with Trinity?” he asks.

“I think she loves her daughter enough to be.”

“Mmm.” Mulder sticks his hands in his pockets. If only he had dilemmas like this. He imagines him and Samantha speculating about their mother’s reaction to Sam’s nose piercing or dyed hair or...anything really. He would give so much to have someone to laugh about his uncle’s sideburns with.

His emotional deep-dive is promptly cut off by the entrance of Melissa and a brunette woman whose bangs graze her eyebrows, her hair falling just below her shoulder. “Hi!” she chirps, taking in the magnificence of Dana Scully. “Dana, I presume?”

Scully nods.

“May I hug you?” Trinity asks, hazel eyes shining.

“Sure,” Scully says, feeling the brisk air against Trinity’s coat as she’s pulled in.

Scully lets go first, and Trinity takes that as a cue to pull away. “You look just like Mel, wow,” she remarks, fighting the urge to run her fingers through Scully’s hair.

Scully smiles softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Trinity assures, exchanging a gooey gaze with Missy. Next, her attention falls upon Mulder, who does an awkward half-wave. “Hello!” She points between Mulder and Scully. “Boyfriend?”

Mulder chokes. Scully picks up his slack--”Oh, no. This is Fox Mulder, my partner at the FBI.”

“Ahh,” Trinity smiles knowingly. “Yes, I’ve heard about you. I didn’t know you would be joining us for Christmas.”

“Christmas is not exactly my family’s cup of tea, so I figured I’d get an authentic experience with the Scullys.”

“Same! I’m looking forward to Mama Scully’s ginger snaps. I’ve heard fantastic things about them.”

Mulder elbows his partner playfully. “Damn, Scully! How could you leave me in the dark about ginger snaps?”

Scully rolls her eyes but smiles. “I apologize, Mulder. Though for the record, the fruitcake is better.”

“Says no one, ever,” Mulder teases.

She grins. Now this is Christmas.

---------------------

Taking a seat at Margaret Scully’s dinner table feels like existing inside a Christmas movie, in Mulder’s mind. Fancy china, green and red serving platters, paper mache snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and a porcelain nativity scene; the dining room has it all. Not to mention the heaping piles of food there for the taking...if this is Christmas, Mulder wants in every year.

Scully does not share his cinematic fantasy. She knows better, having actually attended one of her family’s dinners before. Bill will get too drunk and start saying whatever comes to mind, their mother will laugh along like he’s still a five year old babbling about nothing (as opposed to the thirty-something spewing bullshit that he actually is), Missy will attempt to debate him to get him to shut up (which never works), and she will sit there and wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. And all without their father to hold the reins and keep a fight from breaking out.

The night has gone smoothly enough, Scully supposes. Missy introduced Trinity as her girlfriend in a very non-ceremonial way, forcing Bill and their mother to nod and accept it, in the moment at least. Mulder received a hug from Margaret and a pat on the shoulder from Bill, so pretty much the highest token of approval. Mulder’s candy canes earned a place in the center of the dessert table, which gave him way more satisfaction than it should have, and he couldn’t help but feel that if they were to vote on favorite man at the party, he would win. A room with Bill Jr. in it is probably the only place he would ever earn this honor, and he’ll take that.

Yet everything unwinds as Scully suspected. Bill waits until everyone has packed plates and full mouths to unleash his particular hyperfixation for the night.

“Trinity?” he questions, raising his fork diagonal across the table toward her. “Is that your name?”

Trinity smiles and nods, oblivious to what she’s in for.

“And you know Melissa how…?”

She pats a napkin to her mouth. “We worked at the same restaurant in Oregon.”

He chuckles gruffly. “What was it, one of those gay bar things?”

“No, an Italian bistro,” Trinity continues calmly.

Missy, however, is not so calm. “Gay people can go places other than gay bars,” she retorts. “We’re not segregated. Though I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bill sets a fist on the table, clanging his silverware. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why the hell do you insist on being so politically correct all the time? I’d shoot myself.”

“Gee, maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Now Melissa…” Margaret Scully’s voice rises above the clamor.

“I have the right to defend my girlfriend and I against Bill’s thinly disguised homophobia,” Missy responds.

“You act like I give a damn what you and your friend do,” Bill sneers. “That’s not my business.”

“Then stop pretending like it is.”

“Oh boo-hoo, little Missy thinks the world revolves around her.”

“Bill, honey, I think that’s enough,” Tara says, laying a protective hand on his arm.

“You’re right.” He raises his can of beer toward Mulder. “Whaddya doin here, hot shot? Trying to seduce my sister?”

Scully frowns, but doesn’t say anything, pushing food around on her plate.

Mulder seems rather unbothered by Bill’s advances. He chuckles. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

Bill snorts. “That’s a likely story.”

“You don’t think I’m worth your sister’s time?”

“I don’t think Dana thinks you're worth her time. You’re not her type.”

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Scully says, staring daggers at her brother.

“Then tell us Dana! Is hot shot here your type?”

Her eyes brush Mulder’s face. His cheeks flush, reddening like a stormy sunset. She wishes she could read his mind. The safe answer and the true answer are not often the same. “I think Mulder is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to know him,” she answers stiffly, her annoyance aimed at Bill.

“Oh, the old run-around!” Bill scraps his fork against his plate. ”Typical.”

Scully grabs her now empty canned cocktail and sulks into the kitchen, leaving her chair pushed away from the table. Everyone watches her go, but Bill gives off the only visible reaction. He laughs. “Scared her away. Thought it would take more.”

Mulder and Melissa exchange a glance. She nods, granting him permission to play knight-in-shining-armor. Quietly, Mulder slips out of his chair and pushes it back into place. He catches the kitchen door as it swings closed behind his partner.

Her anger concealed from the rest of the family, Scully drops her can in the recycling bin with a bang. She ignores Mulder, instead opening the refrigerator and pulling out another cocktail, saying nothing.

“What is this, your fifth drink?” Mulder brushes his hand over her shoulder, and she recoils. “Leave me alone, Mulder.” She slams the fridge and tries to turn around, but he’s cornered her.

“C’mon Scully, Bill’s harmless. He doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s not fucking about Bill,” she fumes, alcohol fizzing through her bloodstream. She inhales, trying to keep it together in front of the man who has done nothing wrong to her. “Please get out of my way.”

“What’s wrong?” He frames her shoulders with his hands, creating their own little bubble.

“Don’t touch me!” she growls. Mulder knows as soon as hears it: he will never forget the pure anguish in her voice. As she retreats to the corner, he looks down at his palms, the stovetop that burned her...he would cut them off if he could.

Unfortunately, the commotion attracts the Scully’s like a dog whistle. Bill leads the charge into the kitchen, getting a full view of his sister hunched over by the back door while her partner stands by the fridge like an idiot. “Ooo, a lover’s spat!” he exclaims, only nominally concerned about Dana’s well-being.

“Shut up, Bill,” Missy hisses. To everyone’s relief, he does.

Mrs. Scully comes forward, maneuvering around Mulder to get to her daughter. “Are you alright, Dana?”

Scully keeps her back to the crowd. “I just need a minute.” She taps her pocket, confirms that she slipped her pack of cigarettes in. “I’ll be outside. Everyone can go back to dinner, please.”

She twists the doorknob and steps onto the back deck without waiting for any response. Mulder feels the tug of tears in his throat, like a dormant animal waking up in him. He is used to being hurt (though not by Scully, never her), but inflicting the hurt is a whole other beast. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but he doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, put there by what he thought was a harmless touch, made his heart tremble. He is frozen in place, grateful when Melissa appears at his side as the rest of the party returns to the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to upset her, I was trying to make her feel better about Bill…” he laments.

“I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s not you specifically, she’s going through a lot right now--you know.”

Mulder rubs his neck. “I don’t know if I do.”

“She hasn’t shared her diagnosis?”

His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Diagnosis?! Is she okay?”

Missy sighs. “I think you two need to talk. If she gets pissed, tell her I sent you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Tell me if she’s okay.”

“She’s okay. It’s not fatal or anything.”

“She would tell me, if it was...wouldn’t she?”

Missy bites her lip. “I don’t know, Fox---Mulder. I would hope so, but I was under the impression you already knew about this, and you see how that’s gone.”

Mulder turns toward the back door, desperation living in his voice. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta check on her.”

Missy nods. “Don’t let her weasel her way out of this one. I’m expecting a heart-to-heart, mushiness and all.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He turns the back doorknob and slips through the door, trying to imitate his partner’s ninja skills. The old wood on the door frame shakes as he shuts it. He winces--so much for the sneak attack.

Mulder follows the arc of the deck, winter’s bite colliding with him. He didn’t have a chance to grab his jacket, and now that he’s thinking about it, Scully didn’t either. He can grin and bear it but she is all skin and bones, now more than ever. It scares him to see her like that, but it’s none of his business, he feels, to comment on her body. He can break her fall, but he must not provide an extra push.

The wind has no friends to protect nor foes to defeat, so it will give away anyone. It carries the unmistakable tarnish of smoke to Mulder’s nose, an ashy haze that has come to remind him of Skinner’s office and the shadow lingering in the corner. He almost expects to find him there with his Morleys and his sadistic laugh. Instead, he finds a redhead and her Marlboros shrinking against the December cold snap.

“Bum a cig, ma’am?” He scoots up to her, ready to retrieve his own smoke from her long, slender fingers.

“Mulder!” She pulls the cigarette away from her, holding her last puff captive in her lungs.

He wiggles his fingers like an impatient child. “We’re all gonna die someday, right?”

Her jig up, she rolls her shoulders back and releases the smoke with a great rise and fall of her chest. It mingles in the air with the chill of her breath, becoming one and the same as they leave the contours of her body. Head tilted back and lips parted, she is alive with nicotine’s ease and intoxication’s freedom.

It is better than porn, according to one Fox William Mulder. He’ll keep this observation to himself for now.

“Did your parents never teach you that sharing is caring?” he rambles. “C’mon, give me a light!”

“It’s a nasty habit, Mulder.”

“I’m a connoisseur of those,” he replies loosely. “Now, you’re not gonna make me put you in a headlock are ya?”

Scully rolls her eyes. She’s never felt less threatened in her life. “You’re exhausting, do you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two.”

She pulls a cigarette from her carton and slips it into his fingers. They are warm; hers are ice-cold. “I wanted to be alone.” She hands him the lighter, watches as he generates heat from thin air.

He lights his cig and sticks the lighter in his pocket rather than handing it back to her. “According to my calculations, you should be very drunk right now. Other than your Oscar bait performance back there, you’ve got things pretty under control I’d say.”

Scully gestures at her cigarette smoking, teeth chattering self. “Yeah, I’m the picture of health.”

“Do you have some exceptional alcohol tolerance I should know about, because that’d make you very valuable in undercover work.”

Scully gazes out into the distance. She’d smile if she were to look at him right now, and that doesn’t feel right for the situation. “Those drinks have low alcohol content, Mulder. You can buy them at Dollar General.”

“You ever looked at their hand sanitizer? It’s like 95% alcohol.”

“Well, now I know where you go to get your fix.”

He chuckles. “You got me.”

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and he wishes, god he wishes, that he had grabbed his jacket. He’d take off his sweater if she wanted him to--stand there with his bare chest to the cold--but he has a feeling that would only exacerbate the situation.

He tries a more gentlemanly route. “Do you want me to grab your jacket? I won’t give away your trade secrets.”

She folds herself together. “No, it’s okay. It’ll make me get a move on at some point.”

They stand united in their rebellion, blowing smoke and freezing their asses off. Who needs Christmas cheer when you’ve got Christmas resentment?

Mulder sways a bit to keep his blood circulating. He is careful not to bump her. “You wanna tell me why you’re out-Scrooging Scrooge this year?” he prompts as gently as he can.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been the best year of my life.”

“I gathered that, yeah.”

“And it’s the first Christmas without my father…” her voice warbles.

“Shit, right. I’m sorry,” Mulder murmurs.

“...So it just doesn’t feel very celebratory.” She takes a long drag. Mulder can tell that this secret smoking habit is not new to her, and he wonders when she picked it up, how long she has kept it from him.

He takes a deep breath, watches as it is written in the air. “Melissa told me you received a diagnosis, and I think we’ve already established that sharing is caring…”

Scully looks him in the eyes for the first time since he joined her. It has the sudden intensity of a black-and-white film, Scully the 1940s scarlet and he the leading man who pales in comparison to her. There is no one he’d rather be overshadowed by.

“It’s humiliating,” she croaks. “Missy and my mom are the only ones who know.”

“I’ve got the monopoly on humiliation in this partnership, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, flicking some ashes to the ground.

“This is a particular form of humiliation you can’t experience, I’m afraid. Or at least, it wouldn’t impact you the same way.”

“Let’s hear it.”

She sighs. “My abductors removed all of my eggs, causing my menstrual cycle to shut down and me to enter perimenopause.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Jesus christ.”

“Uh-huh.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out, though it could have burned longer. “That’s fucking horrifying, Scully. You’ve got to inform the Bureau. We’ve got to catch these--whatever they are. We’ve got to make them pay.”

“No, Mulder. It’s too much. I don’t want to keep reliving it, I want to be able to move on with my life.”

“How can you move on when they’re still out there, probably doing it to more women?”

She shakes her head, feeling the snag of tears and holding them back for fear they might freeze on her face. “I don’t know, but I can’t think about it like that. It sort of...shatters everything, the idea that this could be a phenomenon happening to other women in secret. I wouldn’t believe it if it didn’t happen to me. I still don’t believe it.”

Mulder shudders. He can’t discern whether it’s from the cold or their conversation. “Do you think it was men who took you? Or do you believe Duane Barry?”

“It seems like a level of monstrosity that only man could achieve. It requires a certain understanding of society, gender roles...dehumanization that only humans could perpetuate.”

Mulder nods. Her reasoning tracks, but the thought of him failing to outsmart humans who stole away his partner is something he cannot fully process. It makes sense that he couldn’t find her if she was in space, but if she was on the face of the Earth, he had no damn excuse.

“You were just gone, Scully...you were just gone.” His aching is so palpable, his voice a cliff’s edge they could both tumble down.

“I know I was.” She takes one last puff, then lets her cigarette fall to the ground. She crushes it with her heel, her force premeditated and brutal. That pain is for the ones who took her, the ones who have obviously never loved a thing at all.

Head bowed, she moves toward the door, but not without grasping for Mulder’s elbow, assuring that he is following behind. He is and he will be, for as long as she lets him.

Inside, the home’s manufactured warmth hits them, unreal in comparison to the cold they have known. The kitchen is as quiet as it was before their ordeal, the dining room empty aside from Mrs. Scully clearing serving platters.

“Where did everyone go?” Scully asks, momentarily alarmed that she may have ruined the entire gathering.

“We’re going to drive around and look at lights before mass. Everyone’s getting ready.”

“Oh.” She looks to Mulder, as if to check that he hasn’t left her stranded. “I think I’ll stay here,” she tells her mother. “Make a cup of hot chocolate and relax for a bit.”

“Well, you’ll be missed. Fox, would you like to join us?”

He takes a leap, hopes he’s got the right idea. “I’ll stay here, but thank you.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Scully says with a slight smile. Mulder had never noticed her resemblance to her daughter until that moment. It was like looking at a sketch of a famous painting; the lines are there but the colors missing.

Soon enough the crowd leaves and Scully and Mulder settle on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa. Margaret Scully’s tree forms the centerpiece of the living room, and it’s hard not to admire its gold and red decorations and the shiny angel on top.

“That’s gorgeous. Does she do it every year?” Mulder asks, ignoring the steam rising out of his mug and going right in for the kill.

Scully nods. “Every year since we were kids. There used to be a lot more homemade ornaments, but I guess she swapped those for a more elegant look now that we’re grown.”

“Well, it’s beautiful.” He looks at her, curled up with the glow of the fireplace falling upon her, and he feels warmth and safety like never before. It would be so easy to slip in “and so are you,” it is practically begging to be said. But she wouldn’t believe him if he said it now; she would think it was a pity compliment. Instead, he mouths the words, and she is not looking, and that is okay.

She snuggles deeper into the cushions, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. She is the most at ease she has been in months--here in the house she lived in during high school with the fireplace crackling and her partner by her side--and that’s not what she expected from Christmas Eve. Heaven strokes her skin, and she blinks her eyes open to find Mulder tucking her in with her mother’s microfiber blanket. She smiles her soft Scully smile. “Thank you,” she coos, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket’s embrace.

“You’re welcome,” Mulder whispers into her ear. His fingers tangle in her hair as he pulls her toward him, his lips meeting her temple. She catalogues the feeling for her memory bank: chapped but carrying the hot chocolate’s warmth. She will spend the next while convinced that it was a dream, a fleeting image in the moments before sleep, but she will carry the feeling until she feels it again.

#in true x files fashion it's an angsty christmas with some fluff at the end #just pretend that christmas hasnt passed haha #guest starring: bill jr being a dick #and missy's gf <3 #if you continue to follow this I'm literally in love with you thank you #the x-files #only the light fic #txf #txf fic #missy and scully fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

—it’s december (and i still want you) | m.

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon/reader

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff (the holy trinity)

⇢ word count: 16.7k

⇢ warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (be safe kids!), dirty talk, just good, ol’ emotional sex

⇢ summary: as the final farewell to your soon-to-be-ex husband namjoon, you spend with him one last christmas in your parents’ cottage far away from the city, reflecting on your life together before you will part your ways for good.

a/n: omg guys!! i’m so excited to post this, you have no idea:( i’ve been working on writing this for a whole month but i had this particular fic in mind since last year so i can’t believe i actually managed to finish this before christmas like i had planned. i hope you will like this. i’m sending you lots of love for the new year! xx, julia.

For how long you could remember, you’ve always adored Christmas.

There’s something discreetly magical in this time of the year, no matter if it’s an unique aura or the fact you’re the family type of person, Christmas used to hold a special place in your heart, spread a distinctive kind of warmth in your body that made you feel calm and loved.

This year though, it's different. Not because the weather doesn’t suit the occasion and instead of snowing, the sky is cloudy. The very reason is on your kitchen table, next to the big cardboard box you’ve scribbled ‘xmas decorations' on in black ink. There lay neatly folded in manila folder documents, untouched for about a week since postman delivered them. Your future is inside, just above your signature. You know those papers are not going to be read through anytime soon, that the blank space next to your name will be crystal white until the very New Year.

You know he won’t say a word about it unless it’s necessary. He won’t plead, beg, ask for delay. He’s accepted it. Deep down you wish he put up some fight, resisted, fell to his knees in front of you and counted all his mistakes promising it won’t happen again. But it’s your decision. And he has never denied your choice.

You’ve always loved Christmas. Family gatherings by the table, the smell of cinnamon in your mum's famous rolls, the colourful lights on the Christmas tree your dad never stops complaining about when he’s assigned to put them on.

This year however, Christmas is nothing but an unceremonious reminder that it’s going to be your last celebration spend with your soon-to-be-ex husband, Namjoon.

Statistically, the younger you get married, there’s a higher possibility of having a divorce with your significant other. The shorter the period between engagement and wedding is, you’re most likely going to survive approximately three years as a married person. You feel like you’ve never fitted into any statistics and algorithms better than now.

You were twenty one when you first met Kim Namjoon. The only thing you knew about him before seeing in person was the size of his family's wealth. Your mother told you he’s a good man, same age as you, majoring in business and economy tall, blonde fella. You, on the other hand, were just a girl in red pristine dress and uncomfortable high heels, with dreams to trivial for her parents liking.

The place you first met him was beautiful. A big ballroom in downtown with gleaming chandeliers, filled to the brim with people you wholeheartedly despised sipping on their Dom Perignons, a clique whose money combined together could easily build a few hospitals in Africa. You remember your mum patting you on the back, hissing to your ear to straighten, but you knew it was more an encouraging act of hers than a real reprimand. You remember your dad, laughing at something with mister Kim and from the volume and tone of his voice you knew it wasn’t genuine.

You also remember Namjoon, good-looking and smart and so sophisticated in his manners and words he could put into shame any college jocks or obnoxious fratboys you’d met so far during your studies. Namjoon with his exquisite demeanor and handsome face that drew attention from every young lady in the ballroom. You felt small standing next to him and it wasn’t just because he towered over you with his height. For the first time in your life you were in front of someone who was absolutely out of your league.

When your parents decided to leave you two alone for a while, Namjoon let out a long sigh, like some weight was lifted off his shoulders and he finally could breathe properly. He smiled at you, two cute dimples adoring his cheeks and said, ‘’Fuck, I thought they would never leave.” gulping the rest of his champagne smoothly.

You remember how your eyes widened after hearing him speak informally like that, to the point it probably must have looked comical because he chuckled as soon as he saw your puzzled expression.

“Want to get away from here for a while? I know some place upstairs where we can talk without being watched by all those tight wads.” Namjoon asked you then.

This time, no matter how shocked you were, you manage to keep your true emotions at bay. You smiled at him, nodding. “Lead the way.”

Namjoon seemed to know this place by heart, easily navigating through long corridors until he found what he was looking for: a large balcony with a view to the whole city. He motioned for you to come closer where he stood, leaning to the rail and fishing out of his jacket's pocket a pack of cigarettes. With one between his plush lips, he extended the rest towards you.

“I don’t smoke.” you said curtly, probably too abrupt but he didn’t notice, or simply didn’t care.

“Well, I do,” he murmured, lighting up his cigarette and taking the first drag languidly. “Dad's a heavy smoker. He’s been telling me my whole teenage years not to be like him but here I am,” He smirked almost cynically, fuming the poison. “Like father, like son.”

You didn’t exactly know how to react to that, choosing to stare at the city covered in darkness from a distance instead. The summer was in full bloom, night almost stuffy it made you feel hot. Your feet hurt from the uncomfortable shoes you wore and you wondered for a moment how would Namjoon react if you decided to take them off.

It was still annoyingly mute, you started thinking that maybe he was waiting for you to continue conversation somehow. Why did he even want to bother spending time with you here? Why did he want you to keep him company when you couldn’t hold a proper conversation? God, you were awful at smalltalks.

Luckily for you, Namjoon always knew what to say.

“So, Y/N,” he began, your head turning to the side to have a look at him. He was beautiful like this, you had to admit to yourself, dressed in black suit with a cigarette caught between his slender fingers and suddenly a vision of marrying him wasn’t that surreal anymore like you thought at the beginning. “I know what your family business is, I know you’re the same age as me and you don’t smoke,” he listed, gesturing with his occupied hand for emphasis, “but I still don’t know what you’re studying.”

Apparently you weren’t only bad at communicating. You were also terrible at holding eye contact but Namjoon from the very start of your acquaintance didn’t want to let you go that easily, keeping his gaze fixated on you the whole time. It made your cheeks blush and you prayed he didn’t see that in dim lighting.

“I am majoring in fashion design and marketing. I want to start my own brand in the future.” you replied. Namjoon hummed, flicking his cigarette with his thumb and ring finger. “My parents don’t really like this idea. They probably wish I worked as an accountant in their firm or something,” You laughed and to your surprise, there was a smile dancing on Namjoon's lips as well, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I am destined to work for my father from the moment my mother found out she was pregnant with a boy,” he said, voice laced with strange kind of melancholy you hadn’t heard from him since you two met. “I will take over his business after his death and work there until I die.”

“What about your other siblings then?” you asked.”

“I’m the only child.”

“Oh.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah. ‘Oh' it’s a good word to describe it.” He took one last drag off his cigarette and discarded it carelessly somewhere on the floor. For a moment you thought he was reaching to his pocket for another one, but he faltered.

It was quiet for a few long bits of time, until Namjoon broke the silence again.

“It looks like they want us to get married, Y/N,” he said suddenly and you nearly jumped in place hearing his deep ramble. “What do you think about that?” You turned to look at him, only to find his eyes already trained on you, expression smug.

You shrugged. “I don’t have much say in this.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed like he was genuinely surprised with your answer. “Why is that? Aren’t you the daughter who disobeys her parents by pursuing the career they don’t want for her?” he asked almost mockingly, taking a step towards you. “You can say no. You can dump me and find some guy who would be much better husband than me, or maybe you have someone like that already, don’t you?”

“I don’t.” You didn’t even know why you needed to clarify this so fast, you could have played along and fool him, yet here you were.

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” he concluded.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

You sighed. Was this out of relief or because he was now much closer than you considered appropriate for your personal space? Still staring at you with observant eyes, gaze vibrating, plush lips opening to say, “It’s kind of weird for me that you don’t date anyone.”

You scoffed. “I could say the same about you.”

“Not exactly, darling,” he disagreed, leaning his body to the railing so he's back was facing the city, head turned to the side to have a look at you. Your cheeks heated at the term of endearment he used, yet you rolled your eyes anyway. “I don’t do relationships. I was never in one, in fact. But you,” he trailed off, licking his lips, “you look like someone who has dozen of guys lined up to be your boyfriend.”

You were laughing. An authentic, breathy laugh that made Namjoon smile like fool and he didn’t have anything in his diffence because you were just really pretty in your red dress, standing on the balcony and giggling. He wanted to tell you this the whole night, no matter how lame he probably sounded.

“God, that was so cheesy,” you groaned. “Thank you for your subtle compliment. You aren’t so bad yourself.”

Maybe Namjoon was actually content too in this moment, that you didn’t have anyone to come home to as well. Back then he thought it was good because it didn’t complicate things more than that already were. Truth to be told, it was just a disguised excuse.

He didn’t expect you to ask next question, yet your lips somehow formed words on their own. “If you don’t do relationships, why are you okay with marrying me?”

He was so close you could count his eyelashes, you could see that little mole on his chin. You could reach and touch the sharpness of his jaw, smooth the crease between his brows that had formed after hearing what you had said.

“I just have a feeling it might work.” he answered simply. “Will you try making this work with me?”

You smiled. The thought about being wedded to someone like him at the ripe age of twenty one wasn’t that scary anymore. There was a long way before you two but you were in for a ride. Because it could have been anyone, and it was just Namjoon. Just him and above all him.

“Only if you promise me you will quit smoking.” you said.

Namjoon reached to his suit jacket's pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and dropped it to the floor. “Your wish is my command.”

He didn’t laugh it out, didn’t make some snarky comment about you already wife-ing him up.

Because Kim Namjoon has never disrespected your decision.

Few months later, you got engaged. Officially, on family gathering with your closest relatives, as a symbolic agreement made between two wealths. But in reality, you and Namjoon were never the so called ‘traditional’ type of couple. He proposed to you a week earlier, after taking you out on a bike ride by the river. There was no caviar, fine wine and crème brûlée when you both sat together on a bench, inhaling autumn air. There was no hushed whispers and clears of throats from the family, no glass clicking to get attention because he had something important to say. No practiced speech with Shakespeare’s quotes (love is a smoke made with a fume of sighs, actually a very accurate one).

It was you, no make up and grey sweatpants and him, favourite khaki jacket and stuttered words when he took out of his pocket a pink, plastic ring, like those ones they add to candies. Just you and Namjoon, the whole world, reasons, what ifs and doubts disappeared.

He wanted to tell you how much he had fallen for you these past months. That he didn’t believe in love from the first sight and God, yet Lord only knows how he had been a goner from the moment he laid his eyes on you in that stupid ballroom full of materialists. He wished to say he would do anything in his power to make it right, to have you call him your husband proudly while standing hand in hand in front of his future business partners, friends and family.

He did none of that. You didn’t let him to.

Your lips were on his and the words will you marry– died on his tongue when yours touched his bottom lip. You were kissing him, deep and intoxicating and he wanted this brief moment of sweet halcyon to never end. Because he was young, foolish and so in love that he could for once be egoistic enough to say the world was at his feet while you were in his arms smiling into the kiss and mumbling those stupid three-letters-long word.

And you said it again and again. Repeated it when you were home, pinned by his body to the wall of his old apartment while his cold fingers danced on your sides underneath a sweater. You chanted it when he stripped you bare and fuck you silly, no making it even to the bedroom because you were young, impatient and in love.

The wedding was in Spring. You got married when cherries started to blossom in whites and pinks. On the wall in front of you there’s still hanging your favourite photo from that day. Your sister took it with her phone, not some photographer Namjoon's mum had hired to photoshop your faces afterwards. It’s black and white, a little blurry and you’re laughing at something Namjoon had told you seconds before Soojin tapped the button on her phone.

You wonder what will happen with this picture and many others after everything will be done.

Sighing, you open the cardboard box with Christmas decorations. You still have a tree to carry upstairs from your basement but you don’t think about it now. Normally, Namjoon would do it. But you know he will be back by the time you will be already at your sister’s home, eating dinner.

You hear door lock rattling and instantly annoyance flashes through your whole body. If that’s your mother, asking you to come home today and nag you to change your mind again, you swear you’re going to snap real hard this time.

But it’s not your mother. She doesn’t have keys to your apartment. She doesn’t own a briefcase and that’s certainly a noise of it being thrown on the floor next to the shoe case. And she for sure doesn’t sound like your own husband, greeting you during lunch hours on Christmas Day.

‘’God, I was held up in a traffic for an hour. If that’s how’s it going to be for the next days, then I’m not leaving the house,” Namjoon says, walking past you. He pours warm coffee you had made earlier into his favourite Captain America cup right away, and sighs deeply.

You haven’t seen him in the morning. He had already left to work when you opened your eyes, which is not anything new recently. It feels like he’s avoiding you purposely after receiving divorce papers. Almost as if he’s been growing distant to give you even more reasons to end things with him for good.

His eyes trail from the kitchen counter to you, still holding a golden Christmas tree chain in your hands. He hums, gulping another sip of his coffee. ‘’Oh, you brought decorations. Remind me to go for the tree to the basement later.”

You’re irritated. You don’t even know why. Probably because he’s so normal and casual about this. He’s still doing all this domestic shit, keeps up appearances and acts like everything’s totally fine. Except one thing: the lack of intimacy. He stopped calling you baby, giving you good morning kisses and goodbye hugs. He doesn’t touch you anymore, barely talks about anything that isn’t some topic he’d heard in news. He’s become now the stereotypical version of husband every woman wouldn’t want to have. It’s frustrating.

“Why are you home so soon?” you blurt out before you could stop yourself.

Namjoon places his cup in the dishwasher (he never does that and you have to remind him to do it every time) and crosses his arms over chest. “It’s Christmas and I’m the boss. I wanted to leave early, so I did.”

You hate how cynical he sounds. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s not been coming home like that every day just because he can, because he’s entitled to work young economist and businessman who gives himself days off to please his wife.

“I’m not staying here for dinner.” You don’t like how formal your voice sounds. It’s the voice you use while talking with clients on the phone. Two can play this game.

Something shifts in Namjoon's expression. He clears his throat awkwardly and still, the first words come out hoarsely. “You’re not staying home for Christmas?”

Home. This shared apartment bought with Namjoon's money is still yours too. Until it won’t be anymore.

“No. I’m going to Soojin's. She’s making a dinner for her boyfriend and his parents and she invited me as well.”

You don’t know why you feel like you need to explain yourself in front of him. Namjoon nods his head sheepishly. You haven’t seen him look like that for a while. If anything, he looks disappointed. Something aches in your heart at the sight.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, irritation long gone and replaced with something you could mistake only with genuine concern.

Namjoon cracks a smile. “No, it’s just… I thought we could eat here, alone. You know, since it’s our last Christmas together,” He's speaking more quietly now. Almost like he’s afraid of even approaching this topic aloud, choosing the words carefully yet they sound uncertain anyway. “Mom is on Maldives right now with her new guy.” he adds after a while.

“Oh.”

Namjoon scratches the back of his head. “I guess I will spend some time alone, then.” He chuckles but you know it’s not an honest laugh. Namjoon loves Christmas just the way you do, though he will never admit it to anyone and the thought about him being in your own apartment probably even without Christmas tree because he’s too clumsy to decorate it himself, makes your insides clench uncomfortably.

You look at him now carefully for the first time in weeks. He doesn’t look like the confident, snarky businessman he aspires to be sometimes. His hair has grown longer, his skin looks paler, there are bangs underneath his eyes and you wonder if he gets any sleep. He used to cuddle you up during night hours when insomnia kicks in, because he says your body's warmth helps him relax. He doesn’t do it anymore from the day he had read the papers. He lays next you peacefully every night and even if he itches to touch you, hold you, caress you, he won’t.

Namjoon looks lost and perhaps he is, he’s been like that since his father died for lungs cancer over one year ago, leaving his business in Namjoon's hands hence he's the only heir to the empire. It was all too sudden and before you could do anything in your power to help mister Kim recover, the disease had progressed to the point of no return, taking his life away few months after he came to the hospital.

Namjoon hadn’t smoked a cigarette since the day you asked him to quit. He broke that rule once, on his father's funeral day. You found him on the porch in front of his family’s estate, so sad and broken and with a grey smoke swirling around his features. He was crying. You had never seen him like this before. He used to say tears were the luxury he couldn’t afford.

“I’m sorry.” he said to you, voice rough and strangled because there was another wave of sobs forming in his throat.

“It’s okay. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured, coming up to him. He gave you the half-burnt cigarette without a word and you throw it away. “It’s going to be okay, Joon.” He crashed his body into yours, straining your black dress with sadness and grief he was always so afraid to show while you were around. You held him like that, rocked him like a baby until eventually his breathing slowed down to normal.

He put his chin on your shoulder, still hugging you tightly, like he was afraid you were going to evaporate and asked, “Do you think I will be able to do it?”

You knew he wasn’t ready for that. Every twenty-something guy wouldn’t be. But you believed in him like he never did in himself. You had all your hopes in him, signed your future with his name, the name of the boy who let go of his beloved addiction just because you said so. Namjoon might have been entitled to marry you but you weren’t obligated to fall for him, yet you did.

Namjoon has always been the strong, monumental fortification that kept you safe in. And together you’ve made home.

Placing your hands on his chest, you pushed him away slightly so you could look him in the eyes. “You won’t be alone,” you urged firmly. “I am here. You’ve got your father's coworkers who put their faith in you.”

“What if I fail them? What if they don’t see me as someone responsible enough to be in charge because I’m some young shithead who had inherited this business from his father?”

“Then you have to prove them you’re worth it.”

“Easier said than done.”

You shook your head, your palms coming up to cup his cheeks. “Kim Namjoon,” you began, “I’ve never given a fuck about economy but when you rant about it over dinner I find it interesting, because you can make it seem like that,” He smiled lightly and your mirrored his gesture. “And I know your views about business. It’s not some liberal shit that’s actually well disguised capitalism. You are more than that, Joon. Don’t you dare ever put yourself down.”

And then he was kissing you. It was more a simple smooch than anything else but it felt right to do so. To stand on your toes and capture his lips in yours. When he broke off after a moment, he placed a fleeting peck on your nose. It made you smile silly and he was smiling too, despise the situation.

“I love you.” Namjoon breathed out, leaning his forehead into yours.

In that particular moment, on a porch of his family's old manor, you were certain you were going to survive every storm when he was by your side.

“I love you too.”

It’s been two years since that day. A lot has changed, hell, both of you have changed. But looking at Namjoon right now you start questioning yourself again, whether this storm is worth letting the ship sink without trying to at least reach the land.

One last Christmas together, he said. Nothing more and nothing less beside two married people biding farewells before they part their ways for good. You owe him that much.

“You don’t have to stay here alone. We can go to that cottage my parents have. You know, the one where we spend my dad's birthday in January.”

If Namjoon is surprised with your sudden statement, he hides it pretty well. His eyebrows raise with interest. “Is that okay for you? I mean, you’re already invited to your sister's and she’s probably waiting for you, she made a whole dinner and–”

“Joon,” you cut his rambling off. Joon. You haven’t called him that in a while. He smiles bashfully and you can faintly see pink tingling the apples of his cheeks. “It’s fine, really. Soojin wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it. But, uhm–” You clear you throat awkwardly. “–we have to buy some groceries if we want to actually eat something for the dinner.”

Namjoon's brows furrow. “Do we have time to cook something for ourselves?” he asks.

You open your mouth to object but all arguments die on your tongue. He’s right. You don’t have time to do it on your own. Well, fuck, you want to say but then, an idea pops in your head.

“I’ll take care of this.”

You’ve always loved Christmas. Never had you thought about spending them with your soon-to-be-ex husband, though.

Namjoon has always been a convincing person.

You think this side of him comes from the field he works in. When you’re standing in the middle of Christmas market down your street, he analyzes the problem of buying a real Christmas tree like it’s another deal he has to sell to his future business partners, listing you all the pros and cons and transforming them into an excel chart in his head.

He doesn’t even know why you’re here. One minute you were driving to your sister's house after dropping by grocery store, and the second you told him to pull over and wander with you through the numerous stalls with Christmas decorations.

“Why are you so determined to buy a real Christmas tree?” Namjoon asks astonishingly.

You sigh, sending the seller in front of you an apologetic smile. You’ve been standing there with Namjoon for a few solid minutes now and you can sense the man's impatience. You shrug simply in reponse. “Because I’ve always wanted to have one.”

“Yeah, but,” Namjoon pauses when you click your tongue in irritation. Now it’s his turn to sigh. “We are going to be in that cottage just for one night. We can take our Christmas tree from home with us and decorate it there.”

Upon hearing that, you take his wrist and walk a few steps from the seller. That’s it, Namjoon thinks, you’re going to pull another card now. You’ve always been persistent when things you want are in the game and Namjoon is terrible at saying no to you. The evidence stands in your living room, an old Chinese vase that doesn’t suit the design of the room at all but you insisted on buying it. No matter how much he tries, Namjoon can’t help but fall for your pleading eyes every single time, like he did when you pursued him to spontaneously purchase plane tickets for the romantic weekend in Paris across the globe, when you asked him to quit smoking. Or when you stabbed his heart with paper dagger filled with words he will eventually sign because that’s what you want from him.

So he won’t protest either when you’re about to buy a real Christmas tree although there’s absolutely no need to do so.

Namjoon knows he’s been gone since the moment you attempted to puppy-eye him. Nevertheless, for the sake of hearing you trying to convince him with sweet words and maybe some PG-13 arm brushing, he tongues his cheek in faux annoyance.

“Come on, Namjoon,” You elbow him playfully instead. “Don’t be like that. We’ve never had a real Christmas tree before.”

And after that holidays, we will never have an occasion to buy another one together again, he wants to tell you. It’s ridiculous how both of you still sound so normal and domestic when your marriage is yet to be terminated few days after New Year. Maybe it’s just an act you put up for audience.

“Please?” you try once again and yes, there it is. Your hand brushes lightly his biceps.

Namjoon exhales loudly. Then, he points his index finger at the seller. “Give me the biggest one you have here.”

And fifteen minutes later, you’re driving to Soojin's house with a 5’6 Christmas tree on the roof of Namjoon’s crystal black SUV.

It’s awfully quiet between you two, mostly because you’ve been wondering for the past ten minutes how to break the awkward silence and ease the tension. Looking through the window, you try to locate any familiar spot on the streets that could tell you how far from your sister’s house you are. When you pass the Japanese restaurant with big koi fish in the logo, you estimate you’re up to five minutes from Soojin's.

“Does she know you’re not coming for Christmas dinner?”

You’re so deep in thought you almost don’t register Namjoon's talking to you. “Huh?” you mumble dumbly.

“I asked if you already texted Soojin you won’t be on her Christmas dinner.”

In the corner of your eye you see the sports equipment shop. Three minutes to go. “No, I didn’t. I will explain her everything in person.”

Namjoon nods, stopping the car at the red light. You curse in your head. One more minute longer. “Do you think she really won’t mind? Knowing your sister she’s probably going to be pissed off you’re making a fuss in her well-planned schedule.” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe he’s impatient too.

Instantly, you chuckle at his words. Namjoon’s right. Your sister is a control freak. She doesn’t like last minute changes and sudden cancellations. You’re more than aware of that. But this time, you know she won’t have anything against your sudden outburst.

“Have a little faith in her, would you? It’s Christmas.” you reply teasingly.

The light changes to orange, then to green.

“I really want to but I can’t help but think how she almost beat the shit out of me when we both overslept that one infamous morning and you were one hour late to your branch.”

“It was a day after we got from the honeymoon. She hadn’t seen me for almost a month back then.” you point out, although not to justify her.

Namjoon snorts. “She came to our apartment that morning and gave me a lecture when you were showering,”

“Yeah but–”

“She told me, I’m quoting: ‘You had a whole month to yourselves and you decided the morning I was supposed to have a branch with my sister is the best time to bang’.”

You’re fully laughing now, cheeks red from embarrassment because apparently, Soojin was partially true back then. You did wake up that morning around eight to get ready for the meeting, but you were too distracted by the feeling of Namjoon's morning wood poking you from behind. And when you unintentionally moved your body so your ass rubbed against his stiff shaft, the groan you heard in response and a muscular arm sneaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest prohibited you any kind of protest.

Your face goes hot at the memory. And by the slight blush adoring Namjoon's cheeks, you know he’s thinking about the same thing as you.

He clears his throat. “So yeah. Your little sister scares me.”

The car pulls in the familiar neighborhood of akin terraced houses, the one in which Soojin lives with her boyfriend standing at the end of the street.

“Even though she’s younger than me, she’s always had in herself to protect me at all costs. She really likes you though, Namjoon. She did from the very beginning. It was just her weird way of keeping things in control.” you say and that effectively puts and end to the conversation.

Namjoon's SUV stops in front of the gate and you see him smiling in the corner of your eye. “I know,” he breathes out. “Don’t be there for too long. We still have a Christmas tree to decorate later.”

You don’t know why you’re beaming like a teenage girl when you slam the door behind yourself and walk to your sister’s house.

Soojin, as Namjoon has predicted, is displeased. But apart from everything else, she’s mostly confused, standing in front of you in yellow apron with hands on her hips and raised eyebrows.

“What the hell are you doing here already, Y/N?”

You sigh loudly, taking off your coat and stepping off your boots. You feel your younger sister’s eyes piercing through your scull yet you don’t falter. Straightening your back, you greet her, “Hello to you too, Soojin-ah.” You hear her scoff in response.

“Hi, Y/N! What’s up?” Taehyung, Soojin's dear boyfriend shouts from the living room. He’s sitting on their couch, fumbling with Christmas tree lights and probably trying to find the faulty one among ninety-nine others working.

“Hi, Tae. Everything’s peachy.” you answer him and the man sends you his signature boxy grin in response.

Soojin crosses her arms over chest. “Peachy? Then why are you here so early? I told you we start at seven.”

“Yeah, about the dinner. We need to talk.”

She narrows her eyes but cocks her head at you to follow after her to the kitchen anyway. There’s quite a mess going on here and from the smell of the pastry lying on the counter you assume she’s making your mum's cinnamon rolls.

“So,” she begins, taking off her apron. “Talk.”

“Are those cinnamon rolls from mum's recipe?” you quip, trying to avoid her persistent stare.

“Y/N, we are not here to talk about food,” Soojin warns but when she sees you extending your hand towards the plate where warm, already made ones lay, her gaze softens. “I changed the recipe a little bit to make it vegan. For Taehyung.” The corners of her mouth lift up slightly at the mention of her boyfriend.

Taking the first bite of the roll, you hum between chews, “Tastes good. Like the non-vegan ones.”

“I guess I made a good job then,” Soojin laughs. “But seriously though, Y/N, don’t play coy right now. I saw Namjoon's car on the driveway. Has he signed the papers yet?” she asks.

“Nope.” you respond, emphasizing the ‘p'.

“Is you being here has something to do with him?”

“Kind of.”

You look up to meet her eyes and that’s your first mistake because Soojin has something in them that makes you reveal every secret you hide right on the spot. It has always been like this between the two of you, you coming to your two years younger sister to talk instead the other way round. You still admire it in her, the determination and persistence she has. You were the parent’s favourite child from the very beginning and Soojin knowing that, was determined to do everything they would have never wanted for her. She graduated college with degree in journalism and writes to the local newspaper, at the same time saving money to publish her own novel in the future.

Your parents bitterly accepted it, just like your future career path, but they weren’t going to let her be that easily, arranging a meeting with possible husband-to-be a year after you got married to Namjoon. Little did they know she had been already madly in love with Kim Taehyung, the photographer who she met on an internship. And instead of going on a date with Park's youngest son, she proudly sent your parents a picture of her and Taehyung with a caption ‘sry im taken' like she was responding to some horny man on Instagram.

You never keep anything from her. She was the first person you told you were in love with Namjoon and she was the first one to know you want a divorce.

“It is about the divorce papers, isn’t it? He doesn’t agree to split up? Is he making any difficulties?” Soojin asks question after question, and you shake your head.

“It’s not that. He will sigh them eventually, I know this.”

Your sister purses her lips. “Of course he will because he loves you,” she says matter-of-factly. You bite your lips so hard you might draw blood. “Do you want to know what I really think about this whole situation?” You nod hesitantly. “I think you’re making a big mistake here, sis, divorcing Namjoon. And have in mind that I am the one telling you this.” She points her index finger at herself for emphasis. “When you told me about that I was more confused than anything else because who the fuck would want to divorce someone like Namjoon. I wouldn’t.”

“Me neither!” You hear Taehyung shouting from the living room.

“Shut up, Tae, it’s ladies talk! Don’t listen!” Soojin shouts back. Her boyfriend’s giggle echoes through the house. “Anyway, back to my point. I know it doesn’t always seem like that but I like Namjoon, despite all the banter between the two of us. He’s a good guy and I’m sure he would never hurt you. That’s why it came as a shock to me.”

You don’t even know how to answer her. Because quite literally, you aren’t so determined about your decision anymore, as you had been just weeks ago. You feel like you’re doing the right thing yet at the same time you can’t help but question your motives. You came here for Christmas food, for fuck's sake, and now you’re having a free therapy session with your little sister.

Last months, of course, has been tough. Namjoon's firm had its first crisis since he’s become the CEO. He was spending most of his daytime at work, sometimes he was at the office even during the night hours, and at some point your shared life at home started lacking of intimacy and affection it'd had before. It felt cold to come back to an empty house and it didn’t use to be like that.

At the same time, your own business began blowing out. More and more people were buying clothes from your online shop and you started thinking for real about opening your own atelier in the city. And ironically, your biggest dream, the thing Namjoon had always supported you in, was the cause of your huge argument that lead to the situation you’re currently in.

It was two months ago. You remember your personal assistant Jisoo calling you and rambling incoherently through the phone. You were only able to make out ‘agreed to rent‘ but that was enough information for you. The developer let you make a studio in the place you had chosen, the place you knew was the best destination possible for not huge amount of money. In that moment, you were on cloud nine.

You remember Namjoon coming home late as usual that evening. You had already prepared a celebratory dinner, bought your favourite wine, lighted up some candles to make it even more cheesy but it didn’t matter because you couldn’t even recall when was the last time you both spent your time like this. Alone, all to yourselves.

Hearing the jingle of the keys you rushed to the door, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as he closed them behind himself. He stiffened at your touch but you ignored it, hugging him tightly. Sensing his discomfort, you pulled off, looking at him with a grin plastered on your face.

You were too lost in your own excitement to notice how sad Namjoon looked. “I did it!” you blurted out. “Namjoon, I did it! The developer said yes. I can start arranging my own atelier!”

You saw a faint smile on his lips, however it didn’t reach his eyes at all. He sighed and when he spoke after, his voice sounded weary. “Congratulations.” He wasn’t excited like you. There was no trace of a man in him who told you to go after your dreams no matter what. He’s eyes looked shallow.

Your brows furrowed. You instantly felt irritation bubbling in your throat. “That’s it? You don’t have anything more to say?” you snorted.

‘I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. You look so ecstatic,” you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

At that, Namjoon seemed to have lost his control as well. He bit the inside of his cheek before scoffing, “What do you want me to say, Y/N? Should I dance on the table? Open the door to balcony and shout out my immense happiness to the whole neighborhood?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “I just expected more support from my own, beloved husband. That’s it.”

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Listen, Y/N. I really don’t want to argue. I had a bad day at work, a whole week actually, and I just want to spend some time alone.” He stormed off the hallway, walking into your shared bedroom.

“Don’t turn your back on me right now, Kim Namjoon!” you shouted after him, entering the room as well. “We aren’t done yet.”

Namjoon practically threw his suitcase on the desk, turning to face you abruptly. “I am done.”

“Everyone has bad days. Me too. You aren’t the only one struggling here, Namjoon. It doesn’t give you the right to act like that.”

Upon hearing that, he chuckled darkly. You saw him gnawing his bottom lip, as if he was debating if he should say what he was going to. “You’re right. Everyone has shitty days. But for your information, mine was the worst since I’ve started running this fucking business. Do you know what happened?” he asked. “Our main investor retreated his shares from the project. Do you have an idea how much is that? 20 fucking percent. That’s a lot of money when there’s a crisis on the stock market and inside the firm as well. So excuse me, Y/N, but I have too much on my own mind to care about your stupid shop.” He slumped down on his chair and rubbed his temples.

You stared at him, trying to fight back the tears trying to spill from your eyes. You didn’t want to break down in front of him. This was your day. You were supposed to celebrate, not cry because your husband acted like an absolute asshole. Yet the tears started rolling down your cheeks involuntarily.

“I’m sorry.” you uttered, exiting the room.

Namjoon looked up, catching the glimpse of your expression and that was the moment he realised his mistake. He stood up and ran after you. “Y/N, wait! I didn’t mean it like that, shit!”

You stopped in your tracks to face him. You were fully crying right now and something in Namjoon's chest tightened at the sight. “Don’t say anything, Namjoon. I get it. Your business is more important than my stupid shop. It’s fine, really.” You sniffed, wiping the smudges of mascara underneath your eyes.

Namjoon put his hand on your arm but when he saw you flinch, he withdrew. “Of course you are important, baby.” he said quietly and another fresh wave of tears streamed down your face when you heard him use his favorite term of endearment for you.

“But it doesn’t look like I am anymore, Namjoon. And that’s the problem.” you uttered brokenly. “I think we should take a break from each other. It’s not healthly for us being together now.”

Namjoon looked anywhere but at you. “If that’s what you want.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

The break lasted two weeks. You spent some time at Soojin's, travelled to Japan. And when you came back you home you bitterly realised nothing really had changed. Namjoon picked you up at the airport, took you for dinner to your favourite restaurant and back home fucked you so hard and unforgiving you couldn’t remember your own name anymore. He said he missed you and counted days to your arrival. Missed your face, your voice, your pussy wrapped around his cock. You climaxed with his name on your lips and with a promise for a new tomorrow that eventually didn’t come because the reality kicked in sooner than you had expected.

“Don’t you think it was a little bit impulsive of you to file for divorce?” Soojin asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. And you hate your little sister so much because she might be right. You’re definitely far from being all-out and determined about everything. “You know I will be always by your side, Y/N. It’s only your decision to make.” she adds after a moment, reaching to squeeze your hand.

“I know,” you sigh, reciprocating the gesture. “That’s why I need you to do me a favor.”

“I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath before explaining your initial motives. “First of all, I won’t be at your Christmas dinner. Stop glaring at me like that!” you wail, seeing her expression.

“Babe, do you know where–” Taehyung starts, entering the kitchen but he’s quickly cut off by his girlfriend.

“She won’t be at the dinner!” Soojin points her finger at you accusingly while Taehyung tries to hide his amused smile. He probably has overheard your hushed whispers even though Soojin had asked him not to.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because I don’t want Namjoon to spend Christmas alone since he’s mother is on Maldives.” you answer.

Taehyung hums. “Fancy.”

“So you’re spending Chrismtas with Namjoon, right?” Soojin quips, making you nod.

“I am. And that’s why I want to ask if you might share some of your food with me?” you hesitantly wonder and Soojin raises her eyebrows. “We are going to our parents’ cottage and we don’t have time to cook for ourselves.” you explain. She eyes you carefully and you know it’s seconds till she softens. “Please?”

Taehyung nudges her side. “Come on, babe. Let them eat something delicious before they eventually fuck as a final goodbye.”

“Taehyung, that’s not funny!” Soojin protests but her boyfriend only giggles in response. There’s a small smile dancing on your lips and when she locks her eyes with you, she reciprocates it. “Okay, fine. What do you need?”

“What do you have?” you ask.

Soojin gestures for you to come closer to the kitchen counter and opens the fridge. ‘”I've already made bulgogi for Taehyung’s parents so I can give some of it to you. I also cooked kimchi and sweet potatoes. Oh, and those vegan cinnamon rolls. I will pack you a few.” she lists, while taking out the clean food containers from the cupboard.

“Thank you so much.” you breathe out.

“No big deal,” Taehyung assures, sending you a wink. “Although I’m a little bit sad you won’t come for the dinner. Maybe you should just take Namjoon here.” he suggests.

You shake your head. “No, we should spend some time alone, talk through some things and… stuff.” you trail off.

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “And stuff,”

“Jesus Christ, Taehyung, let them be!” Soojin grumbles, packing the last container into a paper bag and handing it to you. “You owe me something huge for this.” she mumbles but you know she’s just bickering with you. Taehyung hugs her waist tightly from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder and you can help but coo at them.

“Once again, thank you for saving my ass. I gotta go now. Namjoon's waiting.” you say.

“I will walk you to the door,” Soojin proposes, unwrapping herself from Taehyung's arms.

“Bye, Taehyung. Merry Christmas!” You wave at him.

“Bye, Y/N, Merry Christmas! Say hi from me to Namjoon. Oh, and remember: use protect–ouch!” His words die on his tongue when he’s effectively nudged into his stomach with Soojin's elbow.

Giggling under your breath, you shuffle into the hallway. You could sense your sister's eyes on your back while you’re putting on your coat and the moment you turn around, you find her staring at you with puzzled expression.

She sighs before saying, “Y/N, you’re my sister and you know I want the best for you and I will always support your decisions–don’t roll your eyes! I’m having an emotional speech right now,” she huffs, coming up to give you an affectionate hug. “Just please, promise me you won’t do anything reckless or stupid.” she mumbles into the material of your coat.

You shut your eyes tightly. “I promise.”

Soojin clears her throat and pulls away. She looks like she wants to say something more but chooses not to. You’re thankful for that. “Bye, big sis.” she says.

You smile. “Bye, kid.”

You make your way to the car quickly, apologies already on your tongue when you shut the door behind you. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he assures. “How did Soojin's interrogation go?”

“Surprisingly smoothly,” you answer. Smooth is an exaggeration here. It was bumby, with a lot of twists and turns but you made it through with even more conflicted mind and a bag full of food. “She gave me bulgogi.” you add, knowing pretty well what kind of reaction would it elite in Namjoon.

“God, please don’t say things like that. We still have some time before the dinner and I’m already salivating.”

“Let’s go then.”

It’s been quite some time since you’ve been in your parents' holiday cottage.

You didn’t have time to visist it during summer since you were too busy with setting up your own showroom in Seoul and Namjoon… Namjoon was always too caught up in work to have a free weekend. So the last time you’ve had a chance to spend time in their cottage was almost one year ago, in January, on your dad's 52th birthday.

The road to the cottage takes about thirty minutes from the city. It’s situated near the small lake, hidden in a valley surrounded by forests from every side. You’ve always found the place charming and beautiful, ever since you were little with Soojin, when your parents decided to buy land there and built a small house on it.

Your parents visist the cottage regularly, checking out and looking after everything. You had your eighteenth birthday party there. And your bachelorette night was also held there.

You’re halfway through the distance when Namjoon decides to play some music.

He turns on the radio connected to his spotify account and puts it on shuffle. When the first tunes of the song start playing, your face instantly flushes in pink.

It’s one of the songs you both included in your ‘sexy times' playlist as you jockingly named it back then when you lived in Namjoon's old apartment with walls too thin to properly mute the sounds of your moans and whimpers of pleasure which were by any means subtle while Namjoon was having his way with you during late hours of the night.

In the corner of your eye you see that Namjoon is as flustered as you are, quickly reaching to change the song but you stop him. “Don't!” He falters. Fucking hell, why did you say it so abruptly? Your blush deepens. “Leave it, please.” So he does.

It’s a sensual melody, one of your favorite songs in general but you’ve never actually played it for yourself since you moved out from that apartment. It brings too many memories because if anything, sex with Namjoon has never been unsatisfactory and plain vanilla. He’s never left you unsatiate and thinking about those lustful moments makes you squirm in your seat, familiar butterflies flattering in your lower stomach.

And from the clench of Namjoon's jaw and his tight grip on a steering wheel, you know he thinks about the same things as you do.

You wonder what flashes behind his eyelids now, because for you, it’s always him hovering above you, chest sweaty and heaving with every ragged breath he takes as he fucks you deep and with purpose. He’s rough but you like him that way, when he loses himself in you. It’s his hand on your throat, on your hips, bruising as he takes you from behind; marred in red skin on your asscheeks when you haven’t been behaving good enough.

It’s him between your thighs, lavishing your cunt with his tongue until you're writhing and begging him to stop but he never listens, bringing you to immense ecstasy until tears well in your eyes and your voice is hoarse from screaming.

It’s his hushed whispers in your ears leaving you bothered and breathless when you’re on some public event together, flithly promises he’s going to fulfill once you're home because the waiter was too flirty and you smiled at him too courteously.

It’s him standing above you, pulling the belt from the loops until it lands on the floor along with his pants and you on your knees, taking his cock in your mouth to please him the best you could. It’s his fingers tangled in your hair, praising words on his lips because you’re such a good girl, always so good for me.

It’s Namjoon and his hands placed securely on your waist, chest flushed to your back when he spoons your spent body after another round of love making. It’s his soothing and calming voice in your ears when you drift off to sleep with his love confessions and gentle touches on your bare skin.

It’s him and you’re scared it will always be only him. The song changes into another and you hope he doesn’t hear the shaky breath you let out. You don't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

“And here we are.”

A thirty minutes long ride has never been more drawn-out than now. Exiting the car, you promise yourself you’re gonna do everything in your power to make this twenty-four hours bearable and not as awkward as your drive here was.

Once the car is parked, Namjoon opens the trunk and takes out your bags from it along with the cardboard box with Christmas decorations. You scurry to help him but he sends you back with a small smile. “It’s okay. Go and open the door, I’ll get this.”

Inside the cottage you’re immediately met with chilly air so the first thing you do after putting Christmas food from Soojin on the kitchen counter is taking care of the fireplace. It’s a new addition to the living room's design, your parents new investment in biofuel energy, or something.

Glancing through the window, you see Namjoon carrying the Christmas tree into the house and soon it’s standing right in the middle of the room in its full glory.

Namjoon claps his hands. “Let’s do it, shall we?” he asks, reaching to the cardboard box and pulling out the first item that caught his attention: a golden, glass bauble. But before he could hang it on the tree, it slips from his hands and lands on the floor, shattered into pieces.

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters, crunching down to pick up the mess he’s made.

“Don’t touch it, you’ll cut yourself!”

He stops abruptly and you can clearly distinguish the redness on his cheeks. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” he says sheepishly.

“We should start with the lights,” You take them out from the box and start to untangle. “Okay?”

There’s a small smile on Namjoon lips when he nods his head and helps you put them on the tree. Half an hour later, your collaborative job on decorating the Christmas tree is almost done. The final touch is the golden star you’re trying to attach to the tip without success, until you feel a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and lifting you up.

You let out a surprised squeak at that, putting the star quickly on it’s right place. Once your feet touch the floor, you turn around just to be met with Namjoon smiling down at you softly. “Good job,” he comments, pointing at the tree. If he sees your flustered state, he doesn’t let you feel it. “We should prepare for the dinner. It’s getting late.” he adds and before you could say anything else, he exits the room and disappears in the hallway.

“Y/N?” Namjoon calls out, entering the kitchen. You whip your head to look at him and can’t help but stare. He’s wearing a plain, blue button-up shirt which sleeves are rolled up and revealing his forearms. He must have taken a shower because his honey blond hair still looks a little bit damp at the roots and when he comes closer to you, you feel the unmistakable musk of his cologne. It’s still the same one he uses after you bought him it some time ago.

“Yes?”

You’re dressed in red just like you were three years ago when you first met in that damned ballroom and it’s really ironic, he thinks. Your probably last civilised meeting being like this, a celebratory Christmas dinner made by your sister in a holiday cottage away from the town.

Whatever he wanted to ask you dies on his tongue the moment he hears your phone buzzing on the counter, your mum's contact number popping up on the screen.

You exhale loudly. “God have mercy,” you mutter, picking up the phone. “Yes, mom?” you say and instantly roll your eyes at the sound of your mother’s rambling from the othe side. We'll talk later, you mouth to him, leaving the kitchen.

Namjoon curses under his breath and against every fiber of his being, he takes a few step closer to where you stand in the hallway, staring out of the window, back facing him.

“No, mom, I’m not at Soojin's,” you say to the phone. “I’m with Namjoon. We are having a Christmas dinner at your cottage.”

You’re silent for a moment, listening to whatever your mum is telling you but Namjoon, even in the dim lighting illuminating from the living room could see you’re tense.

“On Maldives,” you answer. She has probably asked you about his mother, as he supposes. “Mom, I told you to stop asking me this. It’s not your decision to make.”

You take a deep breath before adding, “It’s Christmas. I don’t want to talk about this right now, please.” He knows what you mean by ‘this’. He doesn’t want to think about what future is going to bring either.

Your mother can be too much sometimes and he knows it. He’s stood up and defended you in front of her more than once. Responded cleverly and calmly to her every question about kids. And when she met him for a coffee to talk about the divorce, he simply said he didn’t plan to get you in the way, which probably wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to hear.

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Love you. Tell dad I love him too. Bye.”

You hung up with a sigh.

Namjoon quickly shuffles to the living room, fishing out his phone and pretending he’s been scrolling through it the whole time. When you enter the room, he’s eyes look up at you.

“How was it?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“You know how my mother is sometimes,” you trail off.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods. ‘’Too much.”

You smile and Namjoon could actually seen in you right now the girl he’s fallen in love with three years ago. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall and say, “I think we can begin.”

“Do the honors.”

The dinner has gone by smoothly. You felt normal, like nothing ever happened and you start wondering if Namjoon isn’t doing all of this just for old times sake. He can’t be, another voice in your head is saying, he isn’t doing anything extraordinary for him: he’s just him, the same guy who proposed to you with plastic ring and quit his beloved addiction so you could agree to marrying him.

You’re sitting on a couch right now, your favourite Christmas movie (it’s Holiday; your love for Jude Law has never died down since you were a teenager) playing in the background. It was your silly tradition, to watch them every year like those basic couples do. You both know by heart the ‘to me you’re perfect' scene from Love Actually and it never fails to make you laugh when Namjoon recites the lines so dramatically.

You’re sitting so close to him you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, your shoulders brushing with every breath or chuckle he lets out and you find yourself wanting to lean into him more. You wish he wrapped his arm around you, pulled you closer, kissed you on the temple and assured everything would be perfectly fine. But it isn’t.

Nicole Kidman has already landed in Los Angeles when you feel Namjoon shifting next you. He takes something out of his pants' pocket, nudging your side in process so you peek at him. You know he wants to say something but doesn’t have an idea how to start, you’ve been with him too long not to recognize the way he wets his lips and rubs his hands on his thighs as the sign of his nervousness. Which makes you jittery as well.

When he finally decides to shoot, Cameron Diaz meets drunk Jude Law for the first time.

“Y/N?” he says to get your attention because he doesn’t know you’ve been more than aware this whole time.

“Yes?”

You’re breathless and you don’t even know why. It’s Namjoon, for God’s sake, your own husband, who won’t be one soon, the voice in your head adds.

“I know we agreed on not giving gifts to each other for Christmas but this isn’t actually a gift. I mean… It was a gift once but now it kinda isn’t so technically I’m not breaking an agreement,” He's rumbling. A sight he’s definitely on edge.

Before you could stop yourself, you place your hand on his thigh. It’s a gentle manner, an affectionate touch meant to soothe his nerves. He raises his eyebrows at that, staring at your hand absentmindedly tracking patterns on his leg. You withdraw your hand awkwardly.

Your gaze lands on Namjoon's palm. He’s clutching something in his fist. With a deep exhale he opens it and then you see it: the charm you lost some time ago and haven’t found till now.

It’s a simple, cheesy infinity sign, a gift from him to you. He decided to give it to you this when he saw the bracelet on your wrist and ask you what’s the story behind it, so you told him. Your parents gifted the piece of jewelry to you on your 18th birthday. Then they, including Soojin, bought you charms to complete it. A clover from your dad, a heart from your mum and a star from your sister. And a few days after you shared this with Namjoon, the infinity sign has found its place on the bracelet.

One day you realised the piece he gave you is missing. You searched through the whole house but you couldn’t find it. Ironically, everything seemed to crumble down from the moment you had lost it. And here it lies now, on Namjoon's open palm.

“Cleaning lady found it in my office. It was underneath my desk.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you blurt out.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. You can wear it or not, I just wanted you to have it back.”

He lays the charm on your palm and for a brief moment you hesitate before asking him, “Can you–?” gesturing to your wrist.

“Sure.”

He attaches the piece to your bracelet in it’s former, rightful place and there’s a soft smile dancing on his lips. It’s laced with melancholy, making your insides clench uncomfortably. On the screen Graham and Amanda make out and you know there’s something heavy in the air, unspoken words and conversation you should hold but don’t know how to start.

It’s Namjoon who takes the mattress into his own hands this time.

“Do you think we could be friends after all of this will be done?”

The question surprises you. You don’t have a clever answer for that because the future is always uncertain. You don’t even know if you’re making a right decision. You just believe you do.

Maybe joking isn’t the best thing to do now but it’s your shitty defence mechanism against facing the true. You decide to play it cool. “I don’t know about us but I’m sure my dad won’t stop inviting you to play chess with him.” You chuckle.

It doesn’t seem to amuse Namjoon much, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. You clear your throat, avoiding his persistent gaze. That certainly hasn’t been a good thing to say to ease the tension.

“Your mum insisted me for a coffee two weeks ago. To talk.” he says suddenly.

You purse your lips. “What did you talk about?”

“About us. About the divorce,” The movie is playing in the background but you don’t pay attention to it anymore. What’s the most crucial is right here in front of you, in the person of your future ex husband. “She asked me to convince you not to do it. Said you’re irrational and mentioned something about you always making important decisions hastily.”

You roll your eyes. This is so typical of your mother to say something like that. “And what did you say to her?” you ask, afraid of his answer.

“That it’s only your choice to make and I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want.”

Your breath hitches. Some part of you really wants him to put up a fight. You spent countless hours wondering why isn’t he doing that until it finally hits you like a whiplash: Namjoon has never, ever in his life disrespected your decision. He might not be on the same page as you but he will never beg you to change your mind. That’s his manifest of the love he has for you.

“Namjoon–” you begin but you don’t even know what you’re going to say to that. Fortunately, he cuts you off.

“Don’t pity me right now, Y/N. Let me talk, please.” He's never addressed the divorce directly and even if you’ve been dying these past weeks to find out what’s on his mind, right now, sitting in front of him when you’re both vulnerable, you aren’t sure of anything. “When I read that papers for the first time I thought it's some kind of a cruel joke, you know? But then the seriousness of this hit me and I was like: fuck, it’s really happening, isn’t it?” he says, chuckling bitterly to himself. “I knew it was bad but I hoped that we could figure it out together somehow and the sun will rise again as it always does after the storm. But I guess I was wrong.”

He pauses and you looks down at his hands. They’re shaking and you fight an urge to take them into yours. “So at first, I was mad at you. I was so, so angry I couldn’t even think straight and I started blaming you for this. I bought a pack of cigarettes and lighted up one but I never finished it. I threw the whole pack into the trash can.” He lets out a long sigh. You’re feeling like the whole air has been sucked out of this room, your heart racing with anticipation of his next words.

“A part of me wanted to pick the sword and fight. But then, one night a few days after I read the papers, I was in my office. I sat there staring at the wall and thinking through everything. And that was when I decided it’s all my fault we are in this kind of situation. You laid it all in front me and I still couldn’t fucking believe I am the problem.”

You’re shaking your head because no, it’s not like this, it isn’t only his doing, but he doesn’t let you speak. “You’re so special, Y/N. You make the world revolve around you. I envy you,” Namjoon says, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “You’re pursuing your dreams and you managed to do all of this on your own. There was no family business you were destined to run like I am. All I do is sit in my father’s chair and try not to fuck up everything he’s built so far. And you, Y/N,” He faces you fully, staring at you with so much love and adoration you want to look away. But you can’t. “You’re so much more than this. And now I know I was just holding you back. But I love you enough to let you go.”

You’re loss for words. Before Namjoon could register what is happening, your hands are on his cheeks and you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him until you lose you breath, until you both can’t think straight and you’re drinking from each other’s mouths like you’ve been thristing for it for years. Namjoon tastes like the red wine you drank earlier and something only akin to him.

He’s surprised at first, not really comprehending it’s your mouth slotted over his, your breath mingling with his. It takes a sharp intake of air from you to him to sprang into action. He kisses you fiercely, like he’s been dying and your lips where the only cure which could heal him. He sighs into your mouth like he’s finally feeling relieved. Like you’re his savior.

When his hands find purchase on your waist, you feel like you’re grounded after floating in the air for so long. Kissing Namjoon feels like home and you’re scared you will never going to experience this kind of halcyon ever again.

It’s Namjoon who breaks off the kiss first. He’s breathless, panting against your swollen lips and his eyes are shimmering. “God, Y/N,” He sounds pained, like he’s holding onto the last straw of his sanity. ‘’Please, let me have you one last time. I need you so bad, baby.”

He never begs but here he is, shaking and vulnerable, with his hands gripping you so tightly like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear the second he’ll let go. You’re nodding frantically at his words and he dives for your lips again. He doesn’t ask you to use your words like he usually does when you’re both in the mood to play. It’s raw and pure passion when he opens the seam of your mouth with his tongue, when he urges your body to lay back on the couch so he could hover over you.

It’s been long, too long, since he’s seen you like this; keening when his teeth graze your throat and whimpering when he sucks the skin in between harshly and you know it’ll blossom rich red the next morning.

Your hands move on their own accord, reaching to fumble with the buttons of his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin underneath your fingertips. When the garment pops open you can’t help but run your palms over smooth expanses of Namjoon's chest, digging into every ridge and deep of the flesh so you feel him tense under your touch.

He detaches himself from your neck and takes off the shirt, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Sitting on his knees and straddling your waist, he looks down at you with hooded eyes. “Take of your dress,” he commands and you hurry to obey him. You missed this side of him, his deep voice that never fails to make you squirm in pleasure and anticipation of his next move.

You get up from the couch, pulling the zipper of your dress down and letting the material fall to the floor with light thud. You don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, standing in front of Namjoon only in your linegerie. He’s seen you exposed like this many times before yet something about the way his eyes roam your body makes you bite your lip. It’s an expensive set and you’re suddenly aware he was the one who had bought you it. You wonder if he remembers that.

He gestures for you to come closer and with an unexpected boost of confidence you step out of the dress pooled around your ankles and move to straddle his lap. His hands immadietly find purchase on your waist and you wrap yours around his neck, leaning to kiss him.

He groans when your teeth graze his bottom lip and you feel him squeezing your sides tightly. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into your mouth, making the corners of your lips lift up in a smile. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

Something swells in your lower regions at that. A sheer want and crimson desire for him to claim you as his for the one last time.

Namjoon reaches to unclasp your bra but he stops with his fingers brushing just underneath the material. “Can I?” he asks gently. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, how many times he's brought you to the brick of pleasure until you were screaming, he’s always waiting for you to grant him consent first.

“Yes.” It’s the confirmation he needs to unclasp it, letting the straps fall to your shoulders and free your breasts to his wandering hands.

One of the things you’ve learnt about Namjoon during years of sleeping with him is that he’s boobs man. So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when his palms engulf your mounds, squeezing them gently.

Soon he’s leaning closer, taking one of your nipples into the hot crevice of his mouth and bitting down on it so you let out a small noise of content. The angle is awkward but he doesn’t seem to care, sucking the hardened bud until you’re writhing in his lap, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging slightly on the roots.

“Namjoon, please,” you whimper, feeling his fingers brushing the waistband of your panties. You’re rubbing yourself against the bulge that has formed in his pants, needing more, always more of him because you know he’s up to please.

He pulls out from your nipple with light pop sound. “What do you want, baby?” he prompts; the chilly air in the room washes over your bare body and you shudder from the sensation, your core getting wetter with each passing second.

“Want you to touch me.”

“Yeah? Want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”

You nod, shutting your eyes tightly when his palms find the inside of your thighs where you need him the most, where you’re throbbing with the desire for him to touch you.

He runs his index finger through the material of your underwear where you’re sure a wet spot has formed already. “Answer me,” Namjoon demands and his other hand squeezes your hip harder. There’s a part of you wanting to play with him a little, push his strings to the point he has no choice but put you in your place, bend carelessly over his lap and make you count till he forgives.

But today, it’s not time for that.

You whimper. It’s actually funny how single touch of his combined with his autorative tone can make such a mess of you in span of minutes. “Joon, please,” you moan, bucking your hips into his hand. ‘’Touch me with your fingers.”

Namjoon smirks in response. “Open your legs wider for me, baby.” You do as you’re told, exposing yourself to him. He hums, pulling the material of your panties to the side. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Is this all for me?” A part of him is disgusted for wanting you to know he’s the only one who can make you like this. It’s ugly possessiveness but he needs you to say it. Needs you to admit it.

“All for you. Always for you, Joon–please,” It’s a breathless plea on your lips that makes him dig his fingers into your wetness. He runs his long digits through your slick folds, thumb circling your clit and you mewl, biting your lip in favor to contain yourself from moaning shamelessly aloud so soon. Namjoon however doesn’t like that idea.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Let me hear you.”

His middle finger prods at your entrance and you gasp when he pushes it inside, immediately adding second to the mix and curling them up just right, making your walls clench around them. His thumb still abuses your sensitive nub and you’re whimpering incoherently as he toys with your pussy with practiced ease.

You open your eyes to look at him but his sight is solemnly focused on the way his fingers are sinking into your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to edge until you are actually feeling the coil in your lower stomach tightening. But when you’re about to cry out in pleasure, it all stops abruptly.

Namjoon withdraws his hand from your pussy, placing a small kiss on your pouty mouth briefly, as if he’s apologizing for you denied release. You watch him bring his fingers to his pillowy lips, groaning as his tongue tastes your juices.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, baby. Wanna taste your pretty pussy.”

Your face grows hot at his dirty words. Namjoon's filthy mouth is something that never has never failed to turn you on. He knows what to say to get you going, to make a shiver run down your spine and insides tighten.

He mannevrous your body so you’re laying back on the couch again with him hovering above you. He takes off your soiled panties and tosses it on the floor.

“Spread your legs.”

You oblige, revealing your dripping center to his hungry eyes. You don’t even have time to shy away from his intense stare because he wastes no time and dives in, lowering himself to bury his head between your thighs. He licks the first strip up your folds and locks his clouded in lust eyes with you. You almost come right there on the spot just from the sight of his plush lips covered in your slick.

He eats you out like a man starved, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue and sucking it into his mouth obscenely loud, making you moan out in pleasure. You aren’t even holding back now, lifting your hips to chase your high but he effectively pins you down in place with his palms sprawled on your hips.

He laps up your slit, tongue dipping briefly inside your hole and causing more of your wetness to gush out. “Fuck, I could eat you out all day. You taste so good, baby.” he groans, sinking two of his digits into you until he’s knuckle-deep, hitting your sweet spot with every scissoring movement of his fingers.

You cry out, lacing your fingers through his locks and tugging harsher than you’ve anticipated when his tongue flicks your clit. “Joon, fuck–please, wanna cum.” He starts pounding his fingers lewdly into you faster at that, dragging it through your velvet folds until you're writhing. “Oh, God. P-please.”

“You’re so perfect, baby. Such a good girl. Let go for me.” he murmurs against your pussy, pushing you into your upcoming release.

Your vision blurr and you’re coming undone on his fingers and tongue, breathing heavily. Namjoon doesn’t stop though. He wraps his lips around your abused clit again, lapping your wetness greedily until you’re shaking from oversensitivity.

“N-namjoon–stop, I can’t,” you whine, shaking your head. Tears well in your eyes, hands fisting by your sides.

But Namjoon's doesn’t listen to your pleading cries. He’s ravenous and loves seeing you desperate like this more than anything. “Give me another one, baby. I know you can,” he breaths out. “Show me this pussy belongs to me.”

His onslaught on your cunt and crude words push you over the edge for the second time and you’re spilling all over his mouth again, screaming out his name.

He waits for you to calm down from your high, rubbing soothing circles on your sides. When you finally open your eyes, you see him smiling down at you, lips and chin covered in your juices he messily wipes with the back of his hand. He leans to kiss you, tongue lacing with yours until you’re tasting yourself on it. He swallows your moans, reaching to fumble with his belt buckle.

Pulling back from the kiss, he stands up to discard the rest of his clothes on the floor. You can see him in his full glory now. You take him in, from his neck and collarbones, through the taunt muscles of his abdomen and prominent v line to the trimmed hairline where you see his cock, hard and leaking precum against his stomach. Your mouth salivates at the sight.

He crawls over you, pumping himself as his eyes roam your nude, pliable body. Your hand stretches to replace his with your own and he lets you do it. Smearing his creamy release all over his length, you keep stroking him like this. Namjoon groans at that, throwing his head back.

You sit up on your knees but before you could take him into your mouth, he stops you. “As much as I want to see you with my cock in your pretty mouth, I need to be inside you now.” Buds of sweat dribble down his forehead and you know he’s holding himself back from flipping you on your stomach and fucking you into next week.

You scoot back and lay yourself, watching as he runs the tip of his dick through your dripping slit. He hisses at the sensation, looking up at you, pupils blown out with lust. “Beg for it, Y/N,” he says, voice deepening. “I want to hear you begging for my cock.”

“Please, Joon,” you mewl, moaning when his tip taps your clit.

He doesn’t seem to be satisfied with your answer, biting the inside of his cheek. “Please, what?” He leans closer, until his forehead is touching yours. “Say it.” he demands.

“Please, fuck me,” Your palms cup his cheeks, breath fanning over his parted mouth. It’s pure desire mixed with desperation when you utter your next words. “Fuck me so hard I can’t think straight, make me forget all of this. Please, Namjoon.”

He doesn’t need to hear anything more. He pushes himself inside you until he’s buried to the brim; your warm, wet walls letting him slide into you easily. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit,” Namjoon curses, closing his eyes as well. His face confronts in both pleasure in pain and you know he’s trying hard no to pound into you. He waits few bits of ragged breaths for you to adjust and starts moving. The first drag of his cock through your walls sends you into frenzy and you moan wantonly when he hits you right there when you want him the most. “You’re so tight, baby. So good, just for me, yeah?” he slurs, picking up his pace.

You nod, lips choking out, “Just for you.” and eyes rolling back in pleasure.

He groans at your words, hands fighting purchase on either sides of your head. You feel so fucking full, his cock plunging into you faster and faster with each passing second. His eyes dip down where his body ends and yours begin, watching himself disappear into your cunt.

“God, I’m gonna miss this so fucking much,” he blurts out before he could stop himself, in a moment of careless ecstasy he’s delivering to the both of you. It slips from his lips roughly and hits you right in the guts but you can’t let yourself dwell in this. Not now.

Now it’s just you and him fucking you into oblivion you’re oh so much craving.

His face falls to the crook of your neck, kissing, biting and sucking every inch of skin he could find as if he’s trying to embed his mark on you forever. Like he foolishly thinks you’ll stay his and only his after all of this will be done.

Namjoon speeds up, thrusting his dick into you in what seems as an animalistic pace now, hammering into your sweet spot with every slam of his hips, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids. He lift up his head to stare at your face.

“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, engulfing your cheek in his palm. His thumb traces your bottom lip, your eyes snapping open at his command. Your tongue laps at his finger until he pushes it inside your mouth, groaning when he feels you sucking on it. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, so hot–fuck. You take me so well.” he nothing but growls, sliding his hand from your face down your body, until it reaches the apex of your thighs.

Fingers finding your clit, he smirks when he hears you moan his name. “You like that?” he asks, voice sounding almost mocking but you’re keening, nodding frantically. “Want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, yes! P-please, Joonie,”

“I got you, baby. Come for me.”

You’re orgasming the third time this night, even harder than before, clutching onto his arms like they’re your lifeline. He fucks you through this, pushing you past the uncomfortable oversensitivity. You feel his hips loosening their rhythm, thrusting into you sloppily and chasing his own high.

He drops his forehead onto yours, lips hovering inches from kissing yours. “I love you so fucking much,” he chockes out and you feel something wet staining your cheek. Looking up, you find him staring at you with the same kind of fondness he’s been giving you during these past years. It’s Namjoon, your Namjoon who’s never disrespected your choice, who always gives you the part of himself he’s afraid to show to the whole world.

Before you could register what’s happening, you’re sobbing into his mouth, “I love you too,” and kissing him to the point you’re both breathless. You feel his dick twitch and then he’s spilling inside you, coating your walls with his seed in white.

You stay like that for a while, basking in post-orgasmic bliss. You’re rubbing soothing touches on Namjoon's back till he eventually pulls out from you. His cum dribbles down your thighs and you wince when you feel him cleaning you up with your ruined panties. Then, Namjoon puts on his boxers and helps you wear his dress shirt and button it up.

He picks you up from the couch without a word and carries to the bedroom. He lays you down onto the mattress, taking his place behind you. He throws the comforter over your bare bodies, snuggling closer to your back. You feel his breath on your neck, warm and comforting.

He places a small kiss on your shoulder and exhales shakily. “You’re the best thing that have ever happened to me, Y/N,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

You don’t answer him because you’re afraid of what you might say. Your throat constricts and tears involuntarily spill from your eyes, coating your cheeks in wetness. Namjoon's arm tightens around you and for the first time since you’ve given him those damned papers, he’s laying next to you like this, chest pressed flush to your back.

When his breath slows down after a while, you let yourself cry to sleep. You dream about a boy smoking a cigarette on a bench in front of an old manor.

It’s the sunshine who wakes you up the next morning.

The first thing you think about his that someone has seemed to forget to shut the curtains out for the night. It’s definitely too bright for your liking so you narrow your eyes as soon as they're met with the light. Blinking heavily, you realise where exactly are you. You don't remember you walls being wooden. It’s not your apartment. Which means you're in one of the many rooms in your parents' holiday cottage.

Turning away from the window, you’re faced with Namjoon's bare back. He always sleeps without his shirt on, no matter how cold sometimes it can be. He’s like a human equivalent of a heater. You observe the steady rise and fall of his body and listen to his quiet snoring. It’s something comforting in this and you find yourself seeking his warmth. You shuffle closer to him but then you stop abruptly.

It all hits you like a tsunami.

The dinner, your talk about the divorce, heated confessions and whispered I love yous with tear strained cheeks. His body against yours as he fucked you hard and unforgiving. It was silly for you to let yourself indulge but you couldn’t help but grant his one last wish. His arms around you when you were drifting off to sleep, his pained voice when he was murming sweet nothings to your ears.

And now he’s right next to you, as he’s been there forever, deep in unaware slumber where the reality of your life is nonexistent. You’re wondering what he dreams about.

Suddenly you’re brought back in time to one morning three years ago when you were still newlyweds, still trying to get used to being tied together for life. It was one of your last mornings in Namjoon’s old apartment. After a round of passionate love making, both of you laid in each other's arms on the bed. Young, foolish and so in love you’ve never wanted to leave the embrace of his firm and protective hold on your body.

“Can I ask you something?”

Namjoon hummed hearing your voice, fingers brushing your shoulders with absentminded, affectionate manner and pressing into tight knots from time to time, easing the tension.

You took a deep breath, your digits playing with your wedding ring underneath the sheets. “How do you think our first big argument will look like?” you asked.

You felt Namjoon's body shaking with laughter as he hide his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. “Why are you even asking me this? Do you want me to get mad at you? Do I have a reason?” There was a slight teasing lilt to his voice and you knew he was smirking.

“Namjoon,” you whined.

“I know I have to put the dishes into the dishwasher after using them. And I swear I’m not going to use your hair conditioner ag–‘’

“Joon, I’m serious.” you huffed and he stopped because of the seriousness of your voice.

“Okay, okay. Go on, elaborate on that.”

You sighed, scrunching your eyebrows. You didn’t even know how to vocalize your thoughts. A part of you was aware how irrational and probably ridiculous you sounded but it was Namjoon. He was the closest person to you. He would never judge you and always listen to what you wanted to say.

“You know, recently I read those statistics about people under twenty five getting married…”

“Oh, God, Y/N. I’m someone who deals with statistics on daily basis. How many times do I have to remind you they’re not always relevant?” Namjoon interrupted.

You elbowed his side. “Let me finish!” you pouted, earning a kiss on your crown in response and muffled ‘sorry, babe’. “Basically they say the younger you get married, the possibility of having a divorce is higher.” you explained.

“So you’re trying to say that we fit in those statistics?”

“I didn’t mean that!” you protested. It wasn’t the case. This stupid article was just a something that made you start wondering. “It’s just… I’m scared, Joon. Of our future, what it will bring to us. We got married so early and I know the first crisis will come to us eventually but what will we do then?” you asked, voice quivery.

Namjoon was silent for a moment, until he spoke again. “Are you asking me what would I do if we got into an argument?”

You nodded shyly.

Namjoon squeezed your hand as he was saying with it he was here to hold onto when you needed him. “It’s okay if you’re scared, baby. I am too. But I can assure you that no matter what happens between us, I will do everything in my power to fix that,” he said. “I love you, Y/N. Back then in that ballroom when we first met I knew you were going be my wife one day. And I promised myself that if I ever felt like I was hurting you, I would let you go and be free.”

You pouted. “I don’t wanna lose you, dummy. Stop saying you will hurt me!”

He chuckled. “There are always good and bad days when you’re in love with someone. But they say the sun will rise again even after the biggest storm, right? If you love someone enough, you will overcome all those crisis you were talking about. And change the statistics. ” he said, making you chuckle at his last remark. “I can’t ask you to never leave me but promise me you will always do whatever makes you happy. Okay?”

He lifted his pinky finger and you brought yours, linking them together in a cute, silly manner. “I promise.” you murmured.

Now, laying on your back and staring at the ceiling, you realise how wrong you were this whole time.

It’s Namjoon who’s making you happy. You can’t let your first, big crisis take him away from you because he thinks you’ll be better without him. Fuck the statistics, fuck everything honestly. You’re having the world by your feet when he’s with you, and you’re not going to give up on that so easily.

He is your first love and you’re not letting him leave you so easily.

Standing on wobbly legs from the bed, you make your way to the kitchen. You have a plan in your head and you hopefully will manage to succeed.

You stop in your tracks by the mirror hanging on the wall, staring at your reflection. You definitely like you’ve had a rough night. There are smudges of mascara underneath your eyes because you haven’t removed your makeup before going to sleep and your hair’s a mess. There are splotches of red and violet covering the skin of your neck and cleavage and you’re more than aware now that Namjoon's shirt you’re wearing isn’t buttoned properly.

After washing your face in the bathroom, you enter the kitchen. You pull out from the fridge all the groceries you bought yesterday with Namjoon with purpose to make a breakfast the next day after Chrimstas Eve and start cooking.

You’re going to make your husband's favourite French toast.

Both of you have never been master chefs at cooking, in most cases choosing to eat out in the city or simply order something for dinner but breakfasts have always been something you are celebrating together in your house. And you can proudly admit you’re better than making them than your dear husband.

However, stress is a factor that makes you feel paralyzed in various kinds of situations so before you could blink an eye, you’re smelling something burning. You jump in horror, dropping the teaspoon on to the floor with loud clicking sound. There it is, Namjoon's French toast laying on your pan utterly inedible.

“Fuck!” you curse, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island and burying your face in hands.

Tears well in your eyes. For once you’ve wanted to do something right and here you are, crying over burnt toast because you have no time to make another one and Namjoon's probably already up–

“Good mornin–baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Namjoon's soft, a little raspy voice startles you. Your heart swells hearing the petname he's addressed you. Lifting your face up, you’re met with his worried expression.

He looks so normal. Like in every single morning you’ve spent together. He’s wearing his favourite, blue pajama pants and a plain, white tshirt. He hasn’t even put on eye contacts yet, choosing to wear his glasses instead that have successfully made you feel weak in the knees a few times before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks. You sniffle, gesturing with your hand to the kitchen counter where still lays the burnt toast. Namjoon follows your line of sight, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm down your breathing. “I wanted to make you a b-breakfast. And I fucked up as always because I burnt your favourite French toast.” you stammer out before another fresh wave of sobs racks through your body.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Namjoon crunches down in front of you, placing his hand on your bare knee and rubbing the skin in soothing manner meant to calm your nerves. Just like you did to him last night when he tried to confess his feelings about the divorce. “It’s okay. We can make another one together.”

“But I wanted to do that just for you!”

Namjoon shakes his head and you could see a small smile dancing on his lips. “Silly, why were you so determined to make me a breakfast?”

“Because that’s what you deserve,” you say firmly.

“I deserve to have a good breakfast?” he teases.

You angrily wipe the tears off your cheeks. “You deserve everything!” you exclaim, making Namjoon raise his eyebrows in confusion. “You’re always so good to me, Joonie. This Christmas made me realise just how much you care about me. I can’t let you agree to the divorce so easily,”

“What do you mean?”

You stand up from the stool and he follows you, towering over your form. You feel small but in a good way. You feel safe. “There will be no divorce. I’m not going to leave you.”

Namjoon cups your cheeks and he’s grinning like a fool but he needs you to say it. So he begs. “Please, tell me why is that.”

Your lips are already touching his when you whisper, “Because I love you. And I don’t think I will ever find someone quite like you, Joon.”

And then he’s kissing you. Your teeth clash but you don’t care, standing on your toes to mould your mouths together in better angle. He lifts you up from the floor with ease, swirling your bodies around. You’re laughing together and he isn’t even ashamed there is a tear or two running down his cheeks.

When he places you on the ground again, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He’s just living his dream life, with you by his side.

“I love you too.”

And just like that, your history together starts again.

Bonus:

“We made up with Namjoon.”

You hear your sister shriek on the other side. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you actually banged. You’re nasty, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t like that! I’m telling you we aren’t getting a divorce and the only thing you can think about is us having sex?”

But Soojin isn’t listening to you anymore. You hear her shouting, “Taehyung, they fucked and now they aren’t getting a divorce!”

“Soojin-ah!” you wail.

Taehyung's faint voice reaches your eyes. “I told you they would make up. You owe me fifty!”

“You made a bet?!” you exclaim.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Ghhh-shh. The connection is-shh-bad! I don’t hear-shhh-you! Bye!” She hangs up before you could say anything else.

Entering the kitchen, you’re met with your husband, casually sipping on his coffee. He lifts his eyebrows when he sees you and asks, “How's your little sister? Is she planning to rip off my balls?”

“Nope. But I’m changing my statement about her. She’s evil.” you say, sitting on a stool next to him.

“Glad we’re on the same page, baby.”

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