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bffsoobin · 3 years

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This Time Around

➤ idol!yeonjun x non!idol/ex!girlfriend reader ft. same reader x jungkook (mostly platonic), fluff, angst, lots of messy feelings, other txt members make appearances/are mentioned

↳ weeks after your chance reconnection with Yeonjun, you book a flight to Seoul under his encouragement. When you arrive, you’re not only overwhelmed by the lifestyle of an idol, but the new people you meet. Will you and Yeonjun be able to hold on to each other this time around?

word count: 9k

requested?: yes! (thank you for this great idea, anon)

warnings: this is largely angst. crying, arguments, swearing, feelings of betrayal and confusion, Yeonjun is kind of an ass, self-doubt (in both Yeonjun and reader), messy feelings and relationships all around, this does NOT have a happy ending so don’t go in expecting one lmao also disclaimer (?) that I a) have no idea what the BH building looks like inside b) don’t think that either Yeonjun or Jungkook would act this way...we are here to write fiction, after all.

A/N: This is a sequel to Just One Day! I won’t be making too many explicit references to the content of that fic but reading it first will help with storyline clarity! I also don’t explicitly state this but the reader in this case already knows Korean, she just has never been to the country before- it was simply easier for storytelling. I really hope y’all like this. I was very inspired by this request especially since I was in the mood to write both angst and a sequel to one of my older pieces! (also this gave me a good excuse to write about koo without feeling bad for straying from TXT content lmao) ALSO this is not proof read or edited, as usual for me :)

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“I think it’s a good idea,” Yeonjun’s voice, velvety and heavy with sleep, seeps through the speakers of your phone. You glance at the time displayed on your computer and do the mental math which proves it’s a crisp 2 am in Korea.

“Go to bed, Junnie,” you half-scold, knowing that you wish for nothing more than for him to stay on the line until he eventually falls asleep in the middle of the conversation. He sighs through the phone, and you imagine him stretching his arms above his head to eliminate the fatigue creeping through him.

“Not till you promise me you’ll come,” he counters smartly. Your stomach flips wildly at the words. It had been almost three months since you spent the day with him, and not a single day had passed where he hadn’t been on your mind. Whether you spent your time talking to him or indulging yourself in your newfound kpop guilty pleasures, Yeonjun was almost always on your mind. Staying in touch proved to be harder than expected, due to both time zones and your equally packed schedules. Since he had flown back to Korea, you’d begun your first big girl job in a serious office that required constant business attire and piled the paperwork onto you, the newest and youngest hire.

“I’d love to, but you know how it is at work. I think my boss would combust if I told him I was taking a week’s vacation.” Talking about work made your head swim, as you recalled the stack of paperwork currently residing on your bedroom desk that needed to be finished before you showed up on Monday.

“That’s exactly why you deserve a vacation, Y/N. Look, if you fly into Seoul I promise I’ll make sure you don’t think about work for a second. I know you have time to take off, so take it. Come see me.” The line was quiet for a few seconds as you pondered, weighing your options carefully.

“I miss you,” Yeonjun’s voice came through loud and clear, crumbling the last remaining bit of your resolve. You missed him too, so much more than you ever thought you would, and your heartbeat kicks into high gear at the thought of seeing him again.

“Okay, I’ll file for my week off on Monday. I’ll see you soon, Yeonjun.”

----

When you finally arrive inside of the BigHit building, suitcase in tow and a huge visitor lanyard around your neck, your hands are sweating profusely. A kind staff member had picked you up from the airport and delivered you to the practice room that Yeonjun would presumably be inside of. The walls were soundproofed well, but you could hear the faint beat of bass through the heavy door as you hesitate in pushing it open. Another staff member passes behind you and eyes you closely until recognizing the badge hanging around your neck.

Feeling awkward for hesitating in the hallway after being seen, you push on the door until it swings open in a smooth motion. The wheels of your suitcase click over the seams of the floor, and the sound would have been enough to make you cringe if it weren’t for the pounding music.

A track you don’t recognize echos through the mirrored room as none other than Choi Yeonjun stares intently back at his own dancing reflection. You catch your own reflection; arms crossed in a protective latch over your chest.

His body moves fluidly, as if he had left all of his bones waiting for him at home, and a thrill of excited anxiety crawls through your chest. He was really there, mere feet away, and you were really here in the middle of the BigHit building, achieving the dreams of fans all over the world.

The music stops and your mouth runs dry. Yeonjun’s heaving breath is the only sound in the mirrored room and you try to drive away the thought of the last time you’d heard him pant like that; sweaty and shirtless overtop of you on your rickety secondhand couch.

“You made it.” He says, impressively able to control his voice even after the exertion.

“In one piece, at least.” You say. Your arms stay wound around your body, a protective cage against his stare and his touch. He eyes you carefully and you’re suddenly concerned that your airport-chic appearance is inadequate.

“You look pretty.” He whispers, stepping close enough that his heaving chest almost touches your crossed arms. His hands, fingers calloused and rough, wind around your wrists and tug gently, giving you plenty of time to pull back. But you let him unwind your arms and pull them to your sides. His hands are large and warm and press gently into your skin, grounding you into the room and the moment and the absurdity of the fact that you’re actually here with him in Korea.

“You bleached your hair.” You offer weakly, withering underneath his attention.

“I’m not supposed to tell, but I’m getting ready for pink.” He says. Sweat drips down his temples, meeting and rolling together in tracks down to his chin. He looks just as handsome as you remember him to be months before, but it’s hard to ignore the thinned frame of his face.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” You ask, finally finding courage to string together a meaningful sentence.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Yeonjun leans into you, supporting himself on the tips of his toes until he’s dangerously close to toppling you both over. He levels a heavy, constant gaze on you, eyes drifting down to the surprised pout of your lips and sliding back to your eyes. In a second you know that he wants to kiss you, and there is nothing more you’d like than for that to happen, so you close your eyes and lean into him; feel the warmth of his breath and you can almost taste the salt of his sweat, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Yeonjun startles and drops his hands from you, takes one huge step back and immediately bends into a deep bow.

Your back is still facing the door, but you catch a glimpse through the mirror. Jeon Jungkook stands just inside the door, dark wavy hair tied half up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats and rubbing fatigue from his eyes, but he’s somehow even more handsome in person. Your face flushes, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him through the mirror and knowing you failed as soon as he shoots you a small, toothy smile.

“Didn’t know you had company,” He says in lieu of a greeting as he steps just slightly closer to the two of you.

“We were just going.” Yeonjun bows again, grabs your wrist and tugs you in a persuasive manner.

“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook enthuses, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement at Yeonjun’s behavior and before you know it your face twists into a similar smile. It had been a long time since you’d seen Yeonjun so nervous, acting like he was attached to a live wire that kept him moving nonstop. “No need to rush out on my account.” Jungkook adds as Yeonjun tugs you again, leaving your suitcase abandoned in the spot you’d been standing. You open your mouth to protest.

“Wait! I don’t think that...” Jungkook looks at you pointedly as he rolls the suitcase back over to the two of you.

“Y/N.” You offer, hands sweating profusely as he passes over the luggage.

“I don’t think that Y/N would like to leave without her suitcase.” His eyes twinkle with something like an untold joke, an anecdote he wants to share but keeps in the back of his head for later. You thank him shortly, still starstruck and nervous as Yeonjun pulls you out of the door.

----

“I’m so sorry about that.” Yeonjun apologizes again as you arrive at a new door, this one in a whole new wing of the building that you would have gotten lost finding on your own.

“It’s okay, Jun. I expect to run into...o-other people.” You stutter as he opens the door, facing the realization that you were probably about to meet Yeonjun’s members too. The dorm was simpler than you expected, opening up to a lightly furnished living room that looked like it had been hastily cleaned- you could see a stack of clothes had been clumsily shoved behind the couch.

The lack of instant greetings surprises you as you follow Yeonjun blindly into the room but you don’t say anything. You kind of wish that the other four boys would come bursting out, bombard you with questions and jokes and prodding fingers as Yeonjun lets you into his room. The air is still charged from your interrupted kiss, and your fingers curl around the handle of your suitcase as you recall Jungkook’s reaction. He had clearly found it amusing, but was he more interested in teasing Yeonjun or finding out exactly who you were?

In the moment you had found his attention comical although stressful, like a funny anecdote that Yeonjun might grumble about a few weeks later. Now, you replay it over and over again, worried that every chance interaction with another idol within the building would play out exactly the same. Maybe you weren’t quite cut out for this. Yeonjun had been speaking the whole time, rattling off words you don’t catch as he opens and closes drawers.

“-is that alright?” He asks, spinning on his socked heels to face you. You freeze, trying desperately to claw through your mind for any clues to what he’d said. Yeonjun smirks, closes in on you and raises a well-kept eyebrow.

“What did I just ask you?” He asks, voice level and cool despite the teasing nature of the question.

“I-I don’t know.” You admit, a blush rises on your cheeks as his smirk pulls even larger.

“I asked...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “if you wanted to share a bed. You could always sleep on the couch, but I-”

“No, I’ll sleep with you!” You slap a hand over your mouth as Yeonjun dissolves into giggles. “I mean, I mean, I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You try desperately to break through his laughter but it’s useless, so you succumb to the same fit of giggles. Yeonjun cups your cheeks sweetly, squishing them together in earnest before leaning in the same way he had just minutes prior. Your heart stutters at the knowledge that this kiss was finally happening after three months separated.

Your lips meet in soft, tentative passes against each other until you recall the feeling. Yeonjun is hesitant, hanging back until you surge forward, kissing him harder and wiggling your tongue between the seam of his lips until he opens them. His teeth rake your bottom lip and nibble hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you into the moment until Yeonjun pulls back, thumbs stroking the tops of your cheeks. He places another kiss to your nose, giggling against your skin as you shy away.

A loud crash sounds from just outside the door and you jump, eyes blowing wide when the sound of overlapping voices grows closer and closer. Yeonjun tells you that the rest of the boys must be back and ushers you out of the room before you can protest.

In the living room you’re faced with the four of them, all busying themselves with mundane tasks or scrolling through their phones until Yeonjun clears his throat. They look up simultaneously, synchronized enough that you would have laughed under a different circumstance.

“Everyone, this is, my uh, uh, Y/N.” Yeonjun awkwardly sweeps a hand your way and you flush, feeling small as the four boys you’d watched and laughed with and admired through a screen bowed to you.

“I really-it’s not...well, hi.” You sigh.

----

Introductions aside, the night slides by easily until the wear of your travel catches up with you so suddenly that you slump onto the nearest body. Yeonjun shakes you awake and it’s only then that you notice the shoulder you were leaning upon belonged to Beomgyu. You apologize to the boy as soon as you can get your tongue to work properly and are soon whisked away to Yeonjun’s bedroom. The short trip awoke you to an unpleasant degree, almost feeling as if you were suddenly too aware of your surroundings. The lights were too bright, the scent of fabric softener too strong in your nose, the sound of the remaining four people in the living room too loud. And of course, the presence of Yeonjun too much to handle.

You sit at the foot of the bed and pick at your nails while Yeonjun shuffles around the room, doing something you don’t bother to track closely.

“Are you going to get ready for bed?” He asks shortly, not even turning to face you. You now realize that he had pulled on pajamas of his own; a too-big graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. Frowning, you head for your own suitcase and dig through the carefully stacked clothes until you find some suitable options. You change quickly, keeping your back to him although you can feel his heavy stare at your back.

“Did you like them?” He asks. You sit back at the metal headboard and nod thoughtfully. His lips draw into a straight line as he settles beside you. “You and Beomgyu really...got along well.”

“Sure, I think we all got along well.” You offer, tucking yourself underneath his newly cleaned sheets. For a moment you wonder what he was going to do about the lights overhead, but they extinguish with a press of a button on his phone. Plunged in darkness, you can’t help but feel a bit bolder, indulging in the burn of defiance within you.

“Why? Are you jealous?” You ask. Yeonjun scoffs and you can feel the sheets pull as he flips underneath them. He says nothing but you can feel the air in the room shift. The bedding feels suffocating.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

----

When you wake, you’re uncharacteristically hot. You notice the sweat beading your neck and forehead as soon as you sit up, desperate to free yourself from the covers. You wonder if Yeonjun is suffering a similar fate, or if his body is used to the brutal heat of his bedroom. You turn to look for him, happy anxiety at the thought of seeing his sleeping form in real time brewing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d imagined this exact moment, wondered if he scrunched his face in his sleep or if he looked serene and peaceful, wondered if he snored or spoke or sighed in his sleep.

But all you saw was crumpled sheets and a small, bright green post-it note with bunched writing. It stuck to the bed sheets as you pulled it up, and you had to blink a few times before you finally understood the gist of the note. Yeonjun was gone, off to do his daily idol duties, and you are welcome to use their shower as none of the boys were home. You scan the note again for any sign of love or sincerity but find nothing more than cold and clinical facts, like a teacher giving instructions to a class.

Bitterness grows in your chest as you slip into the cramped shower and cool yourself off under a trickle of water. Theoretically, you know that Yeonjun would be busy while you were here. After all, you couldn’t expect the company to let him off of all responsibility just because you were around. Your skin was growing red under the scrub of your fingers. But he could have at least run it by you last night, warned you that he would probably be gone by the time you got up and given you some idea of when he’d be back. What were you supposed to do all day? You stepped out of the shower, flinging your wet hair away from your face. You could barely make it out of this building alone, but you’d be damned if all you did was sit here and wait for him to return. If he wasn’t going to be here, you’d make your own fun.

You were unfamiliar to Seoul, but after navigating yourself out of the BigHit building you felt as if you could conquer anything. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had passed by in your slumber until you stepped into the real world. Dusk had begun to fall over the sky, painting it a hazy purple-pink in anticipation of a sunset. People and cars and buses rushed by with purpose as you stand still and baffled at the city before you. The packed street before you is a little bit intimidating, but reminded you enough of the bustle of your hometown that you took a brave step forward anyway. Crossing so quickly that you almost run into a group of teenage girls, you finally reach some kind of a destination. To be fair, you had done zero planning on sight seeing before coming, so almost every building looked like a destination to you. A particularly cute looking café seemed to manifest itself out of thin air and beckon you in with sweet drinks and sugary snacks. You order and eat greedily with the realization that this is your first real meal since being on the plane yesterday, and the waitress laughs when you tell her that as you flag her down for another piece of cake.

The café certainly lives up to the hype you make for it, but you notice the employees begin to clean and close things down, so you leave and thank them on the way out. You finally check your phone, hoping that Yeonjun might have sent you an apology or an update, but you see nothing aside from email notifications. Emblazoned by his actions, you continue on your exploration, opening the doors to a clothing shop with so much force that other patrons cringe. Inside, you buy way too many things to fit in your suitcase before traipsing yourself-weighed down by bags- into a nearby restaurant. Something about being in Korea had elevated your appetite to an extreme level, so your stomach growls as soon as you cross over the threshold. The place is crowded, almost packed wall to wall as patrons and employees alike bustle between one another.

The cute wooden sign reads “seat yourself” so you dodge and weave until you find a tiny table, just big enough for your party of one, hidden in a more private corner of the restaurant. An employee spots you and yells out that he’s going to go get a menu, so you content yourself with people watching in the meantime. At the table diagonal to you, you spot a woman who looks just about the same age as you. Her hair is carefully waved; a deep, shiny brown that flows just down to the top of her chest. Every feature you can spot is immaculate and it makes you feel sick. Her nails are perfectly manicured, not a single chip or hang nail in sight, while your own nailbeds are torn up and bloody as a result of nervous picking. A weird, unwelcome acidity crawls up the back of your throat and demands to be acknowledged, makes your eyes burn with envious tears as the waiter finally delivers a menu and you wonder why you can’t just look that put together and perfect. After you order you can no longer stand to look her way anymore, angry at the fact that you were so resentful of this stranger.

Your waiter drops your food and utensils with polite haste but you aren’t nearly as hungry as you were before. Noodles and broth swirl around your spoon as the steam rises into your face, paying more attention to the bustle of the open kitchen where you spot a fun streak of vibrant pink hair. Whoever is donning it must have had it done recently. There’s a few small patches of pink dye spotting the back of their neck and it’s quite endearing to think about until you remember- Yeonjun was supposed to be dying his hair pink soon, and that tall frame and broad back look suspiciously familiar, and he still hasn’t sent you any texts, and you think that maybe he was just getting some takeout and heading back home but then he turns away from the counter and heads to your corner of the building. Your mouth goes dry, all the air still and stale in your lungs as his eyes land on yours. He looks away and then looks back again, double taking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he hadn’t been the one to invite you out to Korea, as if you hadn’t shared a bed last night. And then he moves, finally, walks away from the counter and toward your table with a tray piled with food and your heart hammers against your ribs as he walks right by and settles into the seat across from the perfect girl. She smiles wide as he unloads the food and settles in.

There’s nothing you can do but stare and fight the sting of your eyes until your waiter comes back around, notices your untouched food and asks if you want a takeout container. You say yes loud enough for Yeonjun to hear, and you can see him flinch but you know he won’t turn around. Not in public, with all these people around. Not when he’s an idol and you’re just a normal girl- a fucking tourist- and not when Miss Perfect is giggling her perfect laugh at whatever he just said.

The air outside is cold and it stings. Your face is wet but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t know any of these people, and they will never see you again. They probably won’t even remember that you cried on the walk home, weighed down with bags of food and clothes and the knowledge that Yeonjun was lying.

When you return to the dorm Beomgyu, Soobin and Taehyun are hanging around the living room, watching something on the television.

“Hey- where’s Yeonjun? He said he was going to dinner, we assumed he was meeting you.” Soobin asks, his tone cautiously trying to hide his confusion.

“Well, I did go to dinner,” you lift up the bags on your arm, “and so did Yeonjun. At the same place.” Your voice clips and you take a moment wonder if you should go on until Beomgyu mutters a soft “oh”.

“Well, here’s some food.” The plastic bag thuds on the coffee table. “Not hungry.”

----

You don’t know what time it is when Yeonjun decides to come back, but you have no plans of acknowledging his presence. The room is dimmed, only a bedside lamp left to keep you out of total darkness. You are perfectly content to simmer in your own anger for the night, let him feel it radiate off of your back the whole time you sleep. Until he has the audacity to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You see red in the dark room. Your fingers clench into the pillow, making a victim out of the poor feathers and fabric as you contemplate throwing it at his head. His new hair looks even nicer in the low light; nearly fluorescent and falling in a perfectly styled arc around his face.

“Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know.” You spit. Yeonjun says nothing but he clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s about to make an argument, but you beat him to it.

“At least tell me who she is.” You try to hide the waver of your voice but it’s already there to stay.

“She’s no one! I’m not really supposed to tell anyone about it yet, the guys don’t even know-”

“They don’t know what? That you’re keeping two different girls in your pocket? Can’t even commit to one for a week long vacation? Jesus, Yeonjun, If you want to...cheat on me, at least wait until I’m not in the country. Fuck, I can’t even call it cheating because you don’t even want to date me! We only met up again a few months ago, and we spent one day together! And we fucked and it was nice and it was fun but what the fuck was it really? I texted you today, you know, to ask where the hell you were, and you never answered. I know that your life is busy, but a warning yesterday would have been nice.”

“I’m not cheating on you! She’s not- she’s just, someone I- that’s not the point, Y/N! And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but I was really busy, and I forgot to bring it up and I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to hang around all day?” You grit your teeth to stop an annoyed screech from hopping out.

“Of course not, Yeonjun. I’m not an idiot. What I expected was some fucking communication. I traveled across the world to come see you, maybe even try to figure out what we are, and so far all I’ve done is wander around the city alone. This isn’t what I wanted to do! I’m missing a week of work for this! I didn’t come out here just to be your little plaything once you get home!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Yeonjun stands up from the bed, rubbing his palms over the back of his neck. “I knew you would never understand. You can never understand how busy this lifestyle is, and I guess I was stupid for believing that you could understand, and that you wouldn’t be mad at me for having to go do my fucking job.”

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand your life? Will you ever just admit that you only like me because you can mold me around your shit? When I’m back home you can call me at any hour that works for you, and I’ll pick up. You can bitch about your job and your friends and your company and all the pain you have but whenever I call you you’re tired or sick or just don’t feel like it. Guess fucking what Yeonjun. I’m here now. And we share a room and a bed and a city so you can’t keep me miles away and at your beck and call whenever you so well please. I’m right in front of you now, and you need to own up to your shit. You ignored me. Now you’re lying about whoever the fuck that girl was. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re a famous idol.” Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. Sweat is beading on your forehead just like it did this morning and it makes you itch but you refuse to move a single muscle, hardened to the spot and staring Yeonjun down. You can’t even remember how the argument started, but all you know now is that you can’t stand to look at him any longer. His eyes are wide, bottom lip wobbling. Tears sting at your eyes and your nose burns and you’re ready to lay down or maybe chug a bottle of vodka.

“I’m going to bed.” You pull the covers over you even though you’re sweltering, turn off the bedside lamp with the switch and clamp your eyes shut.

----

Your brain never shuts off. Even when you slam your eyes shut and start counting metaphorical sheep, you’re still replaying the argument on a relentless loop. Yeonjun had left the room moments after you tucked yourself in and you had yet to hear the door creak to announce his reappearance, so it was safe to assume that he was sleeping on the couch or holed up with another one of the boys. Or maybe he went crawling back to Miss Perfect.

The room is suffocating; heat simmers off of every surface even after you’ve thrown off the sheets and the white walls are annoying you. If you ever talk to Yeonjun again it will have to be about his piss poor decorating skills and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to hang up some pictures to break up the never ending white. Your phone says it’s just minutes shy of 2 am, but what does that really mean when you have no idea what time you laid down? Your legs move before your mind decides where you’re going, seemingly possessed by the idea of leaving the room as fast as possible. There’s just enough time to shrug on a crewneck and a pair of sneakers before you find yourself under the blinding fluorescents of the hall that remind you exactly where you are. Tall, sturdy black doors stand on both sides of you, metal accents gleaming and boasting their contents. There’s no easy way to understand the layout of the building, and you assume that’s for the protection of the idols, but it also means that you completely forget the only route you know for leaving the building.

Had you taken a left or a right? Did you pass by the hallway next to the ladies bathroom or go down it? Had there always been a potted plant next to that office, or did all of the doors just look similar? Somehow, you find yourself back in the place you had first been delivered to when you arrived. The doors were slightly different here, some made of thick wavy glass that was vaguely transparent and others made out of the same black you had become used to. A set of three rooms with the wavy glass were right next to one another, and if your suspicions were correct they were all practice rooms, presumably empty at the lack of music. The thought of the rooms, empty and clean and sporting just enough comfortable furniture in the corner for you to sprawl out on. There was no way that sleep was going to overcome you, but at least you could feel secure in your loneliness for a few hours.

The metal handle was cold, chilling your sweaty palm instantly, but you’re met with harsh resistance. It doesn’t budge forward no matter how hard you push downward and lean into the door. Out of anger you try one more time, grunting and digging your heels into the carpet of the hallway.

“You need a card to get in.” A voice calls from what must just be steps behind you, and you jump embarrassingly high before turning reluctantly. Surely some poor late-shift cleaner or intern had seen you struggling with the door and decided to take pity on you before someone really saw you making a fool of yourself. You could only imagine what they were thinking- how they would go home to their pets or family or friends and laugh about the girl they saw throwing her entire weight against a locked door.

But in the split second your neurons begin to fire anew, you know that you weren’t lucky enough to be discovered by another normal member of society. On this already annoyingly unlucky night you come face to face with- once again- Jeon Jungkook. You flush immediately and pull at the hem of your shorts until they do a better job at covering your thighs. You’re still sweaty, strands of hair matted to the back of your neck and your forehead, and the fact that it’s sometime past 2 am and you’ve yelled and cried and tossed and turned and cursed everything that led you to this moment only makes you look worse.

And, of course, even though it’s sometime past 2 am and maybe Jungkook had also been sweating and tossing and turning and cursing everything too...he still manages to look like an angel. His hair is unruly, all loose and wavy and sticking up in some places. His outfit is almost identical to what you first saw him in, but this it was black instead of gray, and his sleeves are bunched at the elbow, only affording you half a look at his lithe muscles and tattoos. His lips split in the same toothy grin as he gestures a small plastic card your way. How dare he look so handsome no matter the circumstance. He’s so much closer than he had been before, merely a foot away from you in the narrow hallway. Up this close you can see how perfect his skin is, as smooth and pore less as Yeonjun’s and Miss Perfect’s.

“No, I don’t need it.” You dismiss his hand with a small wave, sour after reminding yourself why you were here to begin with.

“Seems like you do?” Jungkook’s voice was oddly small too. He retracts his hand halfway, making sure you could still take it from him if you want to.

“No, what I need is a new boyfriend.” You spit the words before your conscious can review them, before you can remember that Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend, that he isn’t technically anything except a rekindled flame you traveled across the world for. Jungkook pulls his arm all the way back and his face softens. You know he puts the pieces together quickly and you can feel the sympathy pass through the hall. “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re busy, or need to pass by or- yeah, sorry.” You stand aside, press against the wall and wait for him to walk away, but he stays grounded and levels his soft but deadly gaze on you. It’s an unwelcome reminder that he’s one of the most famous idols in the world and you’re standing in the middle of his company building; tired and teary.

“Did you fight? Is that why you’re wondering through our part of the building alone?” He gestures at one of the doors further down the hallway, a solid black one, and you can make out a shiny plaque with his name on it and some cute little decorations taped on the wall.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t find my way around this place- I just couldn’t sleep so I wandered and I guess I ended up in...your part of the building.” You can feel the heat radiate off of your face as he smiles again, nose scrunching at your panic.

“Cute.” His nose wiggles one more time before he schools his features as if the word didn’t nearly knock you on your ass. Cute. Cute! He has the audacity to stand here in the middle of the night and call you cute. “Seriously, if you need somewhere to sit down or sleep, there’s a couch in my studio, it’s clean in there, you can-”

“Oh, no! Jungkook,” you blush stupidly at using his name, “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just circle back to Yeonjun’s and sleep it off.” The thought makes your stomach churn, the idea of trying to fall asleep in the exact room your almost relationship fell to pieces. Surely the carpet couldn’t be too uncomfortable-

“No, please, I’m offering. You look tired, and if you fought...well, I know how awkward it can be in the morning. Come on.” He walks away before you can protest and some other worldly sense makes you follow him. You never expected to be in this position, but you also never thought that Yeonjun would disappoint you so much. Inside of the partially padded studio is a surprisingly large sofa with a charming patchwork blanket draped over the back. Jungkook stands awkwardly next to his desk and picks at his fingernails as you sit down. You sink in to the couch and instantly feel more comfortable than you have in days, the soft scent of lavender and the warm yellow lights bring you as close to relaxation as you can get.

“I saw him with another girl.” You lose your filter again and Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “He says it wasn’t a date, but he also won’t tell me who she was, and the rest of them all thought he was with me so he’s obviously lying. We aren’t technically dating, so can I even be mad? He’s lying no matter what, and he didn’t even tell me he would be out all day or text me during it. But I also still have three more days to stick out here.” A few hot tears are slipping down your face and you can’t help but feel insecure about them.

Jungkook says nothing of the tears but chews thoughtfully on his thumbnail. He leans his hip against his desk, intimidating and sharp yet soft and handsome and sweet for letting you stay here and spill your anger into his studio. His socked foot taps on the floor in a rhythm unknown to you, and you can’t help but wonder how many people would kill to be in your exact spot. You notice a day-by-day calendar that’s quite a few days behind on his desk, and it makes you smile until he’s moving, lowering himself to the floor just a few inches away from your feet.

His fists clench- subtle enough that you wouldn’t even notice if the room didn’t feel so charged- and as he looks up at you, you see that a look somewhere between anger and pity paints his face. It’s embarrassing to sit here like this, so clearly under his scrutiny with nothing but your pajamas to cover you.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks again and shakes his head so much that a few ebony pieces of hair slip into his eyes in a near-perfect arc. You shrug. “Really, Y/N. I’m sorry. That’s an asshole move, no matter who the other girl is. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and after all the trouble you put in to come out here and see him-he’s lucky we don’t cross paths often.” He sighs and suddenly he’s sitting next to you on the couch, the weight and heat of his body making the situation that much more real and that much more odd. You must still have unshed tears lining your eyes when you find the courage to look up at him because he frowns. “Please, don’t cry! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a girl in here, and well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if she spends the whole time crying.”

A shit eating grin sprouts on his face as soon as he sees your lips upturn with laughter. It’s hard not to be grateful for the joke, so you laugh and thank him for trying to make you feel better.

“And thanks again, for the place to sleep. Or, try.” You have a feeling that sleep will evade you all night, no matter how cozy the room makes you.

“If you don’t think you’re going to sleep-” Jungkook stands suddenly and rushes over to his desk. When he gets there, he turns his wide desktop computer until it faces the couch and logs in. “Then at least watch some movies! Here,” he puts a wireless keyboard in your lap- “whatever you wanna watch, I have it all.” You hesitate for just a moment and then type in the title of one of your favorite films with seconds to spare before Jungkook throws the patchwork blanket over both of your laps. He sinks back into the couch and you follow his lead, careful to keep a good few inches of space between the two of you because holy shit, you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and holy shit he’s watching a movie with you, and holy shit he just saw you cry and he looks so handsome from the side.

You pay more attention to Jungkook than you do the movie. It’s funny to watch someone who feels so extraordinary do something as normal as watching a movie and realize that he really is human. And the way he crinkles his nose and widens his doe-eyes makes your heart stutter with attraction and then guilt at the thought of Yeonjun, who still makes your palms sweat and your heart shake with anticipation of his touch despite your argument.

But here’s Jungkook, being kind and open and raw and willing to stay up with you on this random sleepless night although you only met by chance mere hours ago. And his kind eyes widen and narrow and crinkle when he laughs at the movie, and he offers you a second blanket and a throw pillow when your eyes get too heavy for you to focus, and you don’t think that you’re imagining things as you feel gentle fingers comb through your hair.

----

Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you wake up, confusion soaks your senses as you piece together where you are and how you got there and who’s lap your head is laying in. As if he could read your thoughts, Jungkook lets out a long and loud groan from above you. Clearly he had fallen asleep where he is now, head lolled against the back of the couch and a throw pillow folded between his arms.

“Good morning.” He drawls, voice still deep and thick from slumber. Out of all the things you never thought you would do, waking up to Jungkook is near to the top.

“M-morning.” You manage to call back as you run your hands over your face, hoping to absolve yourself of any evidence of shock. Jungkook’s studio is just as welcoming as it had been to you last night, but now a deep sense of guilt creeps through you. Yeonjun might have woken up by now, maybe he was ready to talk and try to make things better, maybe he’s been calling and texting you and you haven’t seen any of it. Your phone is nowhere to be found as you dig around in the blanket, a noise of distress clawing up the back of your throat. Heart pounding, you put a hand underneath the couch and slide it back and forth until your fingers graze over the cold, hard mass that must be your phone. As soon as it’s in your grasp you can see that the time is just a few minutes past 8am, and that you indeed do have a few texts waiting from Yeonjun.

“Oh, Jungkook, thank you again for-y-you know, but I have to go, do you mind showing me which way to go?” Poor sense of direction had landed you here to begin with, and you wouldn’t let it make this problem any bigger again. Thankfully he doesn’t protest; just waits by the door as you straighten out your pajamas. Out in the hallway, the lights are bright and imposing and you recognize a headache from the late night is starting to creep up behind your eyes. No one really seems to be around to see the two of you, and you are nothing short of grateful for that when Jungkook makes a quick stop and you barrel into his back, face burning with embarrassment. He laughs as you sputter apologizes and wave for him to keep leading the way, but he insists on stopping and turning to face you. His face is puffy with sleep, eyes still scrunching against the lights, but they’re still clear and gentle and it’s hard to miss the teasing twitch of his full lips in such close proximity.

A wave of admiration crashes through you, followed quickly by a sickening feeling of guilt. Yeonjun was probably waiting for you to come talk things out, and here you were drooling over a different boy. “I’m okay, lets keep going.” Urging him on with a gentle push to his muscled back is the most you can do since you still don’t notice anything distinctive to lead you back to the correct dorm. Just a few more steps down the hallway and you can hear voices, overlapping shouts, and one voice you would recognize anywhere coming from the way you were about to turn. Before you even had time to open your mouth to voice your concern to Jungkook, Yeonjun is stomping down the hallway, a panicked looking Taehyun in tow.

His face is draw, sharp features heightened by either confusion or anger- it’s hard to tell- as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. The two boys are fairly evenly matched in height but Yeonjun still squares up, lifting his shoulders higher and craning his neck. You know he knows you’re there; you shared a moment of eye contact in the seconds before he leveled a glare at Jungkook.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yeonjun spits, anger shaking the fists at his sides. Jungkook is shocked, you can tell even from behind him, the way he recoils just slightly and scoffs as if he can’t believe his ears.

“Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I was just helping Y/N get back to your dorm.” You’re amazed at how well he controls his anger, especially after seeing the anger he held back against Yeonjun the night before. You take this as a queue to step out from behind Jungkook’s frame, allowing Yeonjun a better look at you.

“Oh, before or after she spent the night in your studio? Just couldn’t resist giving her a place to stay. Someone to sleep with?” Anger flares in your stomach, lighting a fire underneath your skin.

“What the fuck, Yeonjun? Do you really think that I would-”

“Sleep with him? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? Look at the state of you two, don’t tell me you didn’t fuck.” There was simply no believing what was coming out of his mouth, and his words only made you wish that you had acted on the feelings you felt brewing last night.

“What if I did? You certainly don’t want me! I’m sorry I went looking for companionship somewhere else!” It’s much too quiet in the hallway after that, the only evidence that the world hadn’t stopped turning is Jungkook’s hand that comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“So you did.” Yeonjun rubs his chin, taking a step backwards in what you assume is disbelief. Tears creep into the corners of your eyes, stubbornly burning and forcing you to blink until your vision is blurry. Jungkook says something you don’t quite catch through the static buzzing in your ears. You feel exhausted, weak at the knees with disbelief at just how awful this interaction was going; so lost that it takes Jungkook shaking your shoulder to bring you back to reality.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this here. Yeonjun, let’s go, please.” You beg, walking toward him before he even responds. The idea of being caught in this odd trifecta made you sweat. Jungkook protests but you wave him off quickly, assuring that there was nothing else he could do. As upset as Yeonjun was, you knew that he would calm down substantially once the older boy was gone.

The walk to the dorm is thankfully short, and Taehyun tries his best at making small talk while Yeonjun trails behind like a petulant child. As soon as you cross into the dorm you feel awkward and hot all over like everyone is watching you even though Taehyun is already disappearing into his room and locking the door while Yeonjun breezes right past you.

“I’m not playing the silent game.” You follow Yeonjun into the kitchen where he has his head buried in the fridge, making a point to rattle every bottle and package inside of it.

“Alright, fine. Then you get to tell me the truth.” His voice is softer now, much less elevated and harsh than it was just minutes before. “Did you spend the night with him?” It rattles your bones to hear the edge of hurt in his voice.

“I was wandering around the building in the middle of the night, and he was too- so I told him what was going on and he offered for me to stay in his studio, on the couch. And I said yes-” Yeonjun’s face crumples. “We watched a movie and I fell asleep.”

“Why didn’t you just come back? I texted you, Y/N. We literally just argued about communication and the first thing you do is run to a different guy? If I’m not good enough for you, just admit it.”

“I could say the same exact thing to you. Why am I here? Should I just book a flight home tonight and call it quits? Do you even want to try this?” Yeonjun cracks open a bottle of water and drinks half in one go, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “And I did nothing with Jungkook. Because I respect you, and whatever the fuck this-” You gesture between the two of you, feet apart, “is. Or was.”

“Don’t say that.” Yeonjun’s voice cracks, reminiscent of the way he used to sound on the phone when he called you at the end of the day. “I- I don’t want to hear you say that. Please.” A tremor of hurt shakes your bones, creates an unpleasant lump in your throat that you try and fail to swallow. Yeonjun appears to you now as similar as he did in your teenage years; uncertain and small and his wide, glassy eyes latching on to you like a lifeline. And you can’t help but remember how you used to be too; devoted to him and naïve about where life was going to take you.

“I don’t want to say it either, Yeonjun. I hate saying it. But we aren’t the same people we were all those years ago. We’re in two different lives, and as much as I want to be able to fit into yours...it’s never going to happen.” Your body weight feels suddenly too much, like you’re being filled with lead and sunk to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. Yeonjun finally closes your perpetual gap in a slow gait that seemed like it would last forever. His eyes are red, puffy, rimmed with unshed tears. Dark circles ring his eyes and you know they’re because he probably didn’t sleep last night either. His lips are chapped and dry, pouting in an incurable sadness. Your fingers itch to cup his jaw and litter him with kisses until he finally grins.

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” If any other noise had happened at the same time he spoke, you wouldn’t have heard the question. A stake strikes through your heart at the words, scarring your soul for years to come.

“No, Junnie. I love you so much.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you gasp out a sob, “I just don’t think we’re going to work this time around. We’re both too busy, and on different tracks, and I think we just have to be more r-realistic.” You have to close your eyes, unable to watch the way tears begin to cascade down his own face. “I’m sorry.” You stand alone, still and cold and clamping your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

Yeonjun’s body molds around your form, tight and warm and shuddering slightly from his own tears. He smells like laundry detergent and musk and you shake with regret as his arms wind around your back and hold you as close to his frame as you think is humanly possible. Your tears soak his crewneck as the fabric scratches your skin. His heart beat is erratic, but you know yours isn’t fairing any better, and you can’t help but curse the universe for bringing you all this way with him just to shoot you back down.

“I’m sorry too. For not being enough.” His words rumble into your hair and you can’t even find the energy to refute them and instead just shake your head. Your head spins in wild circle as Yeonjun finally stops shaking underneath you in favor of cupping your face in tender hands, forcing you to open your eyes. His look felt more intimate than anything else you had shared before; a pure and expressive opening into his most vulnerable form and the knowledge that you were the reason he was feeling it.

“I think I should try to catch an earlier flight home.” You aren’t quite sure exactly why you say it, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised at the notion. After all, there would be nothing to stick around for. He still had to work and you had no relationship left to hang on to. You hadn’t even gotten around to unpacking your suitcase. Yeonjun nods sadly, wiping at a few more tears before clearing his throat. His voice is thick, the evidence of his emotion loud and clear and your heart breaks at the thought of truly walking away from him.

“I’ll miss you, Y/N.” There’s no telling if he would ever contact you after this, or if you would contact him. Maybe the two of you will live with odd shadows of one another in the back of your heads for the rest of your lives- a teenage romance rekindled years later only to explode and crackle and eventually fade into the dark.

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blouisparadise · 3 years

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Here are a few fics where they’re snowed in together or have a snow day. This is one of our shorter rec lists, but we hope you enjoy it! If you do, please help spread the word about these fics by reblogging and liking the post. Happy reading!

1) Come With Me For Christmas | Explicit | 3630 words

Louis is alone, and Christmas is right around the corner. He hasn't put up any decorations or lights, as he doesn't want to be reminded of his loneliness. His Postman comes in a snow storm to bring him a package. Louis invites him in, warms him up, and they decide that on Christmas they are spending the day together.

2) Let The Rumors Fly | Explicit | 5203 words

The boys are stuck in a hotel during a relentless blizzard. The unexpected down time is giving Harry all kinds of reasons to let his mind wander... but his thoughts always come back to one person. When Louis catches Harry in a "compromising position" one night, is it ridiculous for Harry to hope that Louis thinks about him too?

3) Been Gone Way Too Long | Explicit | 8836 words

“This can’t be happening,” Louis says, banging his hand against the window. “This seriously can’t be happening right now.”

Things like this only happen in the movies. Things like this don’t happen in real life. There’s no way that he’s seriously been snowed in. There’s no way that the heating is broken. There’s no way that it’s going to take upwards of twenty-four hours and probably a lot longer for the storm to break and someone to come and rescue them.

“Just sit down, Louis,” Harry sighs from somewhere behind him. He sounds miserable, like he’s already feeling the cold.

Louis whirls around and points a finger at him. “Did you plan this?” he demands a little hysterically. He regrets the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but he thinks he’s got a valid point. It’s not like this storm just came out of nowhere - it has to have been on the news for a couple of days, at least. Plenty of time for Harry to have canceled this excursion.

4) Winter Night Traveler | Explicit | 9398 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

A dangerous snow storm leaves Louis stranded in his cabin. Lucky for him, he gets an unexpected visitor...

5) Holiday Greetings (And Gay Meetings) | Not Rated | 18474 words | Sequel

Note: This fic has no smut, but the sequel does and it is omega Louis.

The one where Niall’s dead car and and a foot of snow conspire to force Louis into spending time with an alpha he hates…. or does he?

6) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24416 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he’s stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

7) Night Changes | Mature | 29743 words

Harry is buying last minute Christmas gifts for a party on Christmas Eve and gets snowed in the store with cashier Louis.

8) Warming Up to You | Explicit | 56227 words

“I feel you,” Harry nods along as he zips his bag open, carefully pulling out his fancy looking camera before pressing a button to turn it on. “I love taking pictures for a number of reasons, but I think the best part of the whole thing is that I’m able to go through my older pictures and have all these memories from those moments come back to me.”

He puts the camera against his eye and points at Louis, and before the shorter one can even react, he hears a ‘click’, and Harry’s smiling down at the screen of his camera.

“And I don't think I want to forget about the day I got stranded in a cabin with a pretty stranger,” he finishes off.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry #blp #blp fic recs

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anarmorofwords · 3 years

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“…James realizing his parabatai suggested being suicidal from time to time and he just,,, didn't really grasp it?”

I understand that James is a teenager and like I wouldn’t know what to do with this at that age either but I’m really hoping post gracelet James is more aware of these red flags and slowly realizing he’s been…in a forest of just red flags since Matthew’s mother got sick two years ago, maybe even longer than that and tries to open up an honest conversation about with him, maybe he pareses out the secret, who knows, but James putting his foot down needs to happen.

Though, just telling him he loves him and would have chosen him a billion times over would be a wonderful breathtaking start and realization for Matthew. James and Matthew are still just 17, and the problems they deal with as friends despite the fantastical setting, do take time and effort to heal but I hope they can do it together.

(Also selfishly, with the hc that Matthew has what would become known as bpd, it’s (well not nice) but uh amazing your one of the only people whose brought up Matthew vocal suicidal thoughts or urges. Repeated threats or attempts are one of the markers of getting diagnosed (it’s one of the “later”) and I don’t mention it much considering it’s like…really heavy shit and I think people read Matthew as joking here (sometimes I feel like the people who have been tricked the most BH Matthew act is the audience haha) but for me I always take those things seriously bc sometimes I’m like without the merry thieves kit? Thomas? and james I wonder if Matthew would still…be here? I guess? Idk too deep of thoughts for shadowhunters I guess but yeah)

hi anon!

Oh definitely!! I'm not expecting him to be super aware and know how to handle it like a therapist, but he's the person who knows Matthew best, I wish he could see all those red flags, as you say.

I just hope he will at least try and pay more attention to Matthew and his struggles now that he's free of the gracelet - show him his love and support, address his issues, and not just in a passing comment. Focus on Matthew and do it relentlessly. Yup, I'm pretty sure Matthew getting to hear that James still does and would have chosen him any time, that despite his faults or issues he wants to stay by his side,,, that would mean so much to him.

Them healing together is something I need so badly - under adults supervision and care, obviously, but still hand in hand, because they need serious help and adults, but there's also nothing like being with your best friend during a hard time.

Ever since I heard about the bpd hc, I slowly started reading more about that, but when it comes to that particular scene/line, it's been haunting me for a long time, and I can't understand why people aren't talking about it more. He canonically mentioned feeling suicidal and people just,,,, ignore that? I could probably write a couple of essays about readers' perception of Matthew (I do in fact agree that many of them seem to be fooled by his charming facade, which, yikes, but also might be due to the fact we weren't GIVEN HIS DAMN POV) and how easily people believe his act. It's a whole thing about Matthew - hiding his emotions and problems behind a wall of charm and arrogance and seemingly cynical attitude. Maybe it's because I can relate to that so much, but it always baffles me that readers fall for that. Matthew needs to allow himself moments of vulnerability in front of his loved ones, instead of pretending everything's fine, or "yeah something haunts me but we don't need to talk about it :))))"

I think it was made explicitly clear in that moment, that he was not joking - he was shaken and that caused a moment of surprisingly blunt vulnerability, which makes it even more concerning imo? I would still worry if it was a joke, because damn isn't that so often said as a "joke" when people actually mean it, but he wasn't even trying to suggest it as a joke.

I don't wanna think about it most of the time, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder about that - if his loved ones aren't the only remaining bit of self-preservation Matthew has.

I wouldn't say it's too deep for Shadowhunters thoughts - on the contrary, these books tend to feature characters with various traumas/mental health issues/illnesses, and while I understand some people might not want to focus on that,or even really catch it, it's also perfectly valid to address/discuss that.

Thanks for bringing this up, feel free to add more or respond if you feel like it!

#tw suicide mention #tw bpd #matthew fairchild #the last hours #tlh #shadowhunters #ask answered #spilling the tea

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peppersonironi · 4 years

Text

How I Picture a Batfam Age Reversal

I’m going to write this as a fic (And I want to go on into a young justice world where dick forms the team and his siblings are protective) but here is the outline in bullet points in case anyone is interested. Please note this is VERY first draft.

Ages (At end) & Order:

Damian- 24

Duke- 21

Stephanie- 20

Tim- 21

Cassandra- 19

Jason- 19

Barbara- 15

Dick- 13

Damian is Ten when he is sent to live w/ his father. Bruce is 30.

They don’t really work well together at first. But Selina, Alfred, and Clark somehow get it through Bruce’s thick skull that he has to care for this child.

Damian keeps sneaking out on patrol, against B’s wishes. Eventually, he let’s Damian join and tells him to choose a name (Not what we meant, Bruce!)

Damian wants to go for something like Shadow, or Demon, but Bruce puts his foot down. He says that Damian shouldn’t try to be darkness.

Damian is pouting in the gardens when he finds a wounded robin. It’s wing is broken. He demands that the animal should be taken to a shelter, and carries it in his hand the whole way there.

The bird makes it, and Damian demands to be called Robin. He designs his suit, going slightly more colorful. “I might be called Robin, but I am NOT wearing brown, Pennyworth.”

Bruce introduces him to Superboy (Jon, note: less age dif) and the pair are close friends.

He is Robin for a little over seven years before he begins to fight with Bruce about being allowed to patrol alone, and being his own hero. (basically what happened w/ Dick).

Damian leaves Gotham, opting to claim Bludhaven. Jon joins him. He suggests they call each other Nightwing and Flamebird. Damian thinks it’s a bit childish, but he can’t say no to Jon. They’re costumes are here. (done by @hyperactive-lectiophile! Fantastic job!)

They eventually realize they’re in love w/ each other, all while trying to figure their lives out. Damian briefly tries to join the police. He hates it. Eventually, he enrolls in BH college for a major in Art and a minor in business.

Later in Gotham, the We Are Robin/Robin War stuff happens. Long story short, Duke is adopted.

Damian is angry to find out he has a new brother, goes to Gotham to yell at Bruce, but then meets Duke. They bond, and are close siblings. Damian makes his father promise to not adopt any more strays.

Stephanie Brown wants to stop her Father, so she sews up a costume and goes out as Batgirl. Bruce is apprehensive at first, but his family basically yells at him to train the poor girl before she gets hurt.

He does, and after Steph meets Damian, who she absolutely adores (He loves her too. The way she pisses his father off is legendary), Stephanie decides she wants to be Robin. Batgirl was good for dealing with her father, but she wants to belong to this new family, and, w/ Damian’s blessing, she makes a new costume.

Unfortunately, after a while, Stephanie is killed by Black Mask (her death is faked, like in the comics, but the Fam doesn’t know)

Enter Tim Drake. Batman has been going crazy over grief, and not even Nightwing, Catwoman (this is SOOOO batcat, btw) or The Signal can calm him down. Tim steps right up, and demands to be robin.

Damian and Bruce fight over this. Surprisingly, Damian is the one who thinks Tim should be given a chance. He sees how his father has been acting. Damian knows that Tim must be brilliant to figure out their identities, and thinks that should count for something. Duke takes his side, knowing that it takes guts to talk to batman, and be willing to join him. Bruce, meanwhile, is a constant chant of “no more dead robins”. After a while, and lots of arguing, Tim takes his place as Robin. They redesign the suit, and he takes his place as robin.

It’s little while after this that Stephanie comes back. Tim offers Robin back, but Stephanie declines. They talk and grow closer. At one point they talk about Stephanie’s new moniker. She says she doesn’t want to be Batgirl either. She wants something new. Tim suggests Spoiler (Bad pun turned brilliant idea?).

Cassandra Cain arrives on the scene next. She saves the commissioner’s life (like No Man’s Land, minus No Man’s Land), and Stephanie immediately imprints on this tiny assassin child (So do the rest of the family, but Steph claims the fourteen-year old first. She and Bruce fight over custody.). She offers Cass Batgirl. Gotham gained a new vigilante, and Bruce Wayne adopted a new child. (Faster than the comics, I KNOW. But Cass deserves happiness)

Everyone loves their new sister, and everyone spoils her. Duke is the one to take her to a ballet the first time. She immediately begs to be put into lessons.

Somewhere in here Tim’s mom dies and his dad is in a coma. Bruce takes him in.

Eventually, Bruce decides to offer Tim Red Robin, hoping to avoid the strife he had with Damian. (Like in the comics, Bruce was going to give Jason Red Robin)

Tim is unsure of this, and puts off deciding. Then little Jason Peter Todd decides to jack the tires of the batmobile and is immediately taken in.

Everyone is captivated by the tiniest addition to their family, but it's also at this time that Jack Drake finds out about Robin and forces Tim to quit. Tim gives Jason his blessing to become Robin.

Everyone pitches in on helping train the newest Robin. Damian teaches the kid things he learned from the league (non-lethal things, since Damian loves this kid), Duke teaches him escrima fighting, Stephanie (Much to Bruce’s dismay) has a full seminar of the delicacies of glitter bomb making. Tim teaches the kid hacking, when he can get away from his dad.

Unfortunately, when Jason has been Robin for almost a year, he is killed by the Joker.

The family is torn apart by greif. But this time around, Bruce has a much larger support system. All of them lean on each other.

The only time that Damian ever broke his no-kill rule while living with his father was to kill the Joker. He hunted and murdered the clown, sparing Harley. He had been friends with Quinzel since he was Robin, and knew how the Joker treated her. Harley became the batfam’s honorary aunt after this.

Bruce was too emotionally tired to fight with Damian over his actions, so no one said anything. Eventually, Bruce and Damian did argue. Damian refused to apologize,, though he did promise his father to never kill again. Their relationship was strained for a while, but they worked through it.

Less than a year later, Jack Drake dies, and Tim comes back onto the vigilante scene. He refuses to become Robin, however, choosing to take Bruce up on his offer and become Red Robin. He designs his own suit, and the world seems to slowly become normal. Or some semblance of it.

One night, the circus is in town and the whole family (except Alfred) is home. Duke, Tim, and Steph drag Bruce, Cass, and Damian to go see it.

It is on this night that Dick Grayson’s parents fall to their death. Dick is sent to live in juvi, meanwhile Bruce tries to adopt Dick. He succeeds, and the manor once again has a bright young child running through it’s halls.

Dick figures out the secret identities of his family and instantly demands to be allowed out. He wants to take down Zucko, and won’t settle for every single member hunting for him. Dick wants to take down his parent’s murdered himself. He tries to sneak out multiple times, but is always stopped.

Damian talks to Dick (They are extremely close) and explains the origins of Robin. He says that the mantle was born out of a want to distance himself from the revenge and violence of the league. Dick cries when he learns this and says that his own parents used to call him Robin. He suggests that the mantle is more than a personal need. Robin is Family.

Damian almost immediately demands that Dick be trained and help catch Zucko. Bruce is confused, as before, Damian was strongly against letting a nine-year-old fight crime. Damian explains (after much cajoling. He might be more emotionally open and healthy than when he first arrived in the manor, but the kid is still constipated) what Dick had said, and that Damian understands the kid’s need for direction. “When I first came here, I needed Robin. I might not have known it, but I did. Richard needs Robin now, as well.”

The family took sides on the issue, but eventually Dick (with the aid of his puppy-dog-eyes™) won everyone over. He got his own Robin costume, and they caught Zucko.

Dick refused to stop being Robin, and so Gotham gained a new bird.

Dick was Robin for almost two years when The Red Hood made his appearance in Gotham. No one knew what he wanted, as he didn’t seem to do much beyond killing criminals. They thought he was a vigilante at first, but then he began to take over the criminal underbelly of Gotham, regulating crime. On top of that, Red Hood targeted Robin. Attacking the boy wonder when no one else was around. After the red helmeted rogue let loose a few hints about the league of shadows, Damian interrogated his mother, who explained the identity of The Red Hood, and how she had set him on Gotham.

As soon as the family figured out the newcomer’s identity, and the reason he was alive Damian tracked him down. He knew how to deal with pit rage from his childhood, and brought the lost bird back to the nest.

The family was whole for the first time in years. Jason was still angry and resentful, but he had his family back. Jason was grateful for Damian taking revenge for him, and they were once again close.

Slowly, Jason let everyone back in, including Bruce. Dick is wary at first of this new older brother, but the little chicken nugget quickly warms up to Jason, and even convinces him to teach him how to shoot a gun (In secret, of course, Dami and Bruce would blow a gasket). Jason couldn’t resist the kid. It was physically impossible.

A year later, Cass decides to pursue dance as her career. She gets a job with the Hong Kong Ballet company. She moves there, and decides to take a new moniker: Black Bat. Her family is so proud of her, but they miss her dearly. Duke visits often, bringing new back to the family.

The absence of Batgirl is filled after a while by Barbara Gordan. She makes her own costume and starts going out. Once again, Stephanie Brown adopts a smol bean (Well, not legally. The commissioner is still alive) and outfits her with a more Gotham-friendly suit and weaponry (I.e. heavy kevlar and leather)

Babs is taken whole-heartedly into the fold, and is made an honorary sister.

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

Hi. I was wondering if you could maybe do a Diego Hargreeves/Reader one using BH from the 100 Ways to Say I Love You or Kiss #V. I mean if you're not too busy. Sorry, I know you probably have better requests but there's not a lot of Diego ones that are sweet and I feel like you're really good at sweet.

A/N: Alright, you asked for cute, so I tried to keep cute, as fluffy and fun as I could while also applying generous steam. Also, look Letters! Hope you enjoy Word Count: 1769 Rating: M - sexual situations

“Please just come unlock the door for me, I know you have a master key and can,” you begged Al, struggling to balance the boxes and bags in your grasp.

“No. I’m not Hargreeves’ minder and it’s not my job to let his girlfriend in just because she doesn’t rate a key,” the old man snapped.

“I mean, in my defense, you told Diego he wasn’t allowed to make a copy of the key and give it to me.”

“I don’t know you, so I don’t want you having a key to anywhere in my gym! It’s a boiler room not an apartment. Nice, pretty thing like you shouldn’t be bothering with him while he lives there anyway.”

You managed a shrug around your packages. “If you won’t let me in, can I decorate out here?”

“No!”

You rolled your eyes before fixing the gym owner with your best puppy-dog pout. “If you didn’t at least sort of like Diego, you would have kicked him out ages ago. So I know you’ll understand when I say that I really, really want to do something nice for him this year.”

“I’m not helping you with this nonsense.”

As he turned to walk away, you blurted out in desperation, “I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

That seemed to catch his attention and he turned back to you. “Why didn’t you start there, girl?”

Several hours later, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, the banner over the sink hung just slightly askew for example, but you had to give it to yourself, you had done a pretty good job.

With a slight smirk, you placed the two paper conical hats on the little folding table, the finishing touch, and sat on the bed to wait for your boyfriend to return home.

You were just about dozing off when you heard the doorknob rattle and braced yourself. You were fairly certain that he wouldn’t enter expecting danger, but with his penchant for throwing knives, you could never be too careful.

“Hi hon,” you said, once you were sure you weren’t about to be skewered.

“Y/N,” he started before smirking, “hey.”

“How was your day?” you tried to be as nonchalant as possible, even though if you were standing you would be bouncing on the balls of your feet in excited anticipation.

“You know, same old same old,” he shrugged as he started removing the leather harness he always wore out.

You moved to his side, kissing him on the cheek, your hands deftly replacing his own to undo the buckles on the straps.

“Really?” you asked. “There was nothing special about today?”

His eyes flickered to yours as he caught your tone. You watched the quick flash of panic as he considered that he might have forgotten something important, like an anniversary, before he registered that you were still smiling adoringly at him. Only then, did he actually look around the room, searching for some clue for what was going on. His mouth fell open in shock and he stared, dumbfounded.

“What’s…all this?” he asked after a moment, stunned expression still in place as he gestured to the signs you had carefully taped to the walls.

“Well, if you looked a calendar, you’d know today is October 1st…”

“Uh-huh…” he nodded, eyes now falling on the table and the party hats sitting there.

“Which means today is…?”

“Y/N, what are you getting at?” he asked, facing you with a completely puzzled expression.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s your birthday, Diego. So I wanted to do something for you. I know it’s not much, but Al vetoed throwing you a party in the main room. Said something about it being a serious business, not a Chuck E. Cheese.”

“Y/N. This is your idea of ‘not much?’ There are balloons…” his voice was incredulous and for a moment you worried that he was annoyed.

“I…it’s just…I know your father was never big on parties…or fun…or joy…when you were growing up, so I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought, for once, you should have a proper birthday.”

You could see him melt at your words, offering you a soft smile. “It’s perfect, Baby. I…can’t believe you went through all this effort just for me.”

“Of course I did, I love you Diego.”

He grinned even wider at that, pulling you in for a kiss which warmed you to the core and made you very tempted to suggest skipping the dinner and cake that you had worked so hard to procure. After you reluctantly separated, you guided him over to the table and set a plate of take-out lasagna in front of him as if it was a five-star dinner at the most exclusive club in the world. The two of you ate in companionable quiet, one hand laced together over the tabletop the entire time. Even if you were in a dingy boiler-room, everything about the moment was perfect.

“There is one more thing…” you smirked as you set about cleaning up from both dinner and the chocolate cake that had followed. “Your birthday present.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Y/N. Not after all this.”

“Well I did anyway. But you’ll have to unwrap it.”

You returned his puzzled look with a temptingly raised eyebrow. His eyes trailed down over you slowly before flicking back to the look on your face.

“I think that can be arranged,” he said, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders.

“I thought as much,” you replied. You itched to start planting kisses over every inch of him, but you wanted to let him have total control, do whatever he wanted tonight, so you stood as still as you could.

Slowly his hands trailed down your arms, ghosting over your flesh before he twined his fingers with yours.

“I might be the luckiest man in the world.”

He pulled you in close by your joined hands causing you to almost stumble into him as he kissed you, but quickly, you took control, impatient with his gentle touches. Tugging teasingly on his lower lip, you coaxed his mouth to part for you and allow you to explore every inch of his mouth, as if you didn’t know everything about him. Fingers still interlocked, you began luring him toward the small bed in the corner, step by faltering step.

You hadn’t gotten far when he pulled you up short with a growl, releasing your hands in order to tangle one of his in your hair, tugging lightly and drawing out a moan. With the other, he began to caress your side, running his fingers up and down, sliding increasingly lower past your hip until he reached the hemline of your dress. Bunching the fabric in his fingers, he gathered it and slowly pulled it off of you, hot skin brushing against yours as he exposed you and the royal blue lace lingerie you had bought specifically for the occasion. He pulled back to get a better look at you and groaned, the sound sending a thrill up your spine and drawing out even more of your desire.

“Do you have any idea the things I want to do to you, Y/N?” he asked, trailing kisses along your collarbone and down the slope of your breast.

He began moving again, backing you toward the bed as he continued to tease, using the hand still tangled in your tresses to angle your head and expose even more skin to him. You moved as he directed, a marionette for him, stumbling and shuffling in a passion-drunk haze.

“I have a few guesses,” you said breathlessly, one of your hands carding through his short, spiked hair and the other clinging desperately to his shoulder.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure what all he’d want to do with or to you, but you trusted him and surrendered to him completely, especially tonight. Anything he wanted, if it was within your power, would be his as far as you were concerned.

Your knees hit the edge of the bedframe and the pair of you fell back. You sighed in relief at not having to try to support yourself on jelly-like legs as he hovered over you.

“God, baby, you look so good like that,” he groaned.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knocking on his door.

“Diego,” the voice on the other side, one you recognized as his brother Klaus, whined through the thick panel. “It’s urgent.”

He sighed. “We could just ignore him. He’ll go away.”

“Or you can just acknowledge and get rid of him. I think knowing he’s hovering outside the door might…kill the mood a bit?”

Before he could respond, the man in question burst through the door in a fabulous flail of limbs and fur trim, landing face first.

“Oh! The door was unlocked!” he cried as he climbed gracelessly to his feet.

His eyes fell on you and Diego, lingering for longer than made either of you comfortable on your half-clothed form below his brother.

“You should hang up a sock or something at least,” Klaus teased.

Diego grunted in frustration, shaking his head and rolling his body to block Klaus’s view of you. “What do you want?”

“Well it’s our collective birthday. And during my third…fifth?...drink I found myself thinking, do I really want to spend today alone? No. I want to celebrate with someone important to me. And who could be more important to share today with than my beloved brother?”

Diego rolled his eyes as Klaus continued to ramble, either too high to realize just how much he was interrupting, or just not caring. The curly-haired man flopped sideways into the threadbare chair in one corner.

“So anyway, happy birthday, bro,” he drawled, kicking his legs about until he positioned himself in a way that he thought was comfortable, sprawled out and clearly determined to stay.

You sighed and reached down to the floor, digging out your dress from where it had somehow ended up, under the bed. Tugging it over your shoulders, you asked, a little sharply, “Do you want some cake, Klaus?”

He grinned and clapped his hands, “Oh I would love some. That is so sweet of you, Y/N.”

“No, babe, don’t. If you feed him he’s never going to leave,” Diego complained.

“I’m not going to be rude. It is his birthday too after all.”

You leaned in to whisper into Diego’s ear, nipping teasingly on the lobe as you did, “besides, it’s not like your present is going anywhere. It’s yours, any time any place.”

#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #Diego Hargreeves #reader insert #The Umbrella Academy.#TUA #Klaus is a loveable pain in the ass #is this too generic? survey says results inconclusive #requested

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Note

directors commentary on absence plzzz

what an excellent choice!!

commentary in bold italics

So the BH arc was chopped to shit while I was working on it, because I couldn’t decide what Mom got REALLY mad about. Because Derek really had the corner on being mad at Aaron over Emily and I wanted to push it into the personal a little more.

Plus, I sometimes think the “let’s get mad at Aaron and JJ for Emily” is a touch overplayed and definitely would have been that way in this story.

You let yourself into his apartment, slamming the door behind you. He’s been waiting for you, leaning against the windowsill across from the door.

“How dare you.”

He sighs and presses a hand to his forehead. “You have to understand that I -”

“Bullshit, Aaron. I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing. What are you thinking? We need you.”

His head tips up, and he looks through you. The haunted look in his eyes almost makes you falter - it so acutely reminds you of the days following Haley’s death - but you keep your resolve. You know what that is? Growth! Mom is REFUSING to cave to his inner demons bullshit. He doesn’t say anything, just lets you yell at him until it’s out of your system. You could never actually hate him and he knows that, which makes some of it easier, but not all of it.

This was also the fight that was originally written for Mean It, but I spliced different beats in based on what the story called for. This one fit much better here, and increases the stakes because he’s about to leave.

The tears start and pick up speed as you continue, nearly at a shout. “You’ve known for seven months that you were going to leave for Pakistan. I read the brief. Seven. Fucking. Months, Aaron. You didn’t tell us when the task force assignment came through. Emily died, and you’re still leaving?” He flinches. And they’re so worked up they don’t even notice the magnitude or depth of the flinch like they usually would. “You’re leaving me and Jack. You’re leaving our team. I never thought you could do something like that to us. Maybe them, but not me. Never to me. I mean, after everything we’ve -” You cut yourself off and raise the back of your hand to your mouth, unable to finish the unbearably painful thought.

I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this fight. I LOVE writing fights.

And “wet anger” as @ssaic-jareau put it, is so much more interesting and damning than dry anger for situations like this, especially in opposition to Aaron.

He’s not sure which part is the most painful - the fact that you list yourself with Jack instead of with the team, the fact that you say ‘our team,’ or the tone that drips with hurt. The sob that rips through your chest breaks his heart. Remember in enough when he was thinking about the horror of causing them pain? Yeah me too. He leans heavily against the arm of his couch, knocked down by the weight of your tears.

No - the hardest part is knowing he deserves it, that you aren’t saying anything that isn’t unfair or untrue.

Mom’s anger and hurt feeds right into his insecurities. This is quite literally his worst fear come to life, and as confident as he is in the strength of their relationship, he is terrified that he wont come back from this one.

“I can’t even look at you right now.”

He can only watch you as you walk back out, leaving the door open behind you.

There’s something so satisfying about leaving the door open after a fight. Like the drama of a slammed door is one thing, but I’ve always preferred creating a situation in which the other person has to get up and close the door behind you.

From experience, it’s incredibly satisfying.

About twenty minutes later, he receives a text.

9:34pm I’ll be there tomorrow at 12:30 to take you to base. Be ready when I get there.

He crawls into bed about a half an hour later, and receives another text.

10:05pm Goodnight.

The period at the end of that text is like the death knell for Aaron.

Fuck.

OOOOOOOH Aaron you done fucked up, kiddo. Good thing you’re self aware and have literal MONTHS without Mom to figure it out :)

(God he’s an idiot)

+++

The ride to base ride is mostly silent, and you know something’s wrong. It’s nothing you can articulate or even really put your finger on, but it’s something bigger than just his imminent absence.

As much as they know about each other, their emotional tuning forks can’t get past what they won’t share with the other. In this instance, Mom has not the first clue about what he’s hiding from her. How could she know?

He’s boarding a C-130 supply transport to Pakistan, and it will no doubt be a long and deeply uncomfortable flight. His go bag, packed with desert fatigues and a couple of creature comforts, looks smaller than usual at his feet.

“How long?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Taskforce operations are need-to-know.” There’s so much he can’t tell you, and it eats at him. Because it’s you, and he’s been an ass, he concedes a little. And also he can only keep so many secrets from them. “Probably a couple of months.”

“We’ll be okay, Aaron.” A little laugh leaves him, and it pulls a smile from you. “What?”

“Remember when you chased me down last night to tell me the team couldn’t do this without me?”

This is a dialogue motif for sure - it shows up all over the place in this series.

Remember all those other times you chased him down to yell at him about something? Yeah, those too.

You roll your eyes. “It’s still true, but we’ll manage. We always do.” There’s a moment of silence, and you continue. “And you’re going where you’re needed - that helps.”

It’s true. Your anger had cooled (just a little) overnight, and you decided you didn’t want him to leave while you were still upset with each other.

You already miss him.

Yes, that’s a motif and the reference in fear itself, with Haley.

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

He looks out the window, and you can hear the wheels turning in his head. Jack is on his mind, and so are you. There’s nothing more nauseating than the thought of leaving you while you’re still hurting from Emily’s loss. “I know.”

Why are you going through with this, Hotchner?

Oh, right. You’re a coward.

“I just don’t want our last conversation before you leave to be a fight.” You sniff, but don’t look at him as you continue driving down the highway.

I think this is their version of not “going to bed angry” as the saying goes. There was this fear I tried to convey that if they fought before he left and something happened to him, your last words to each other would be angry ones.

I am perhaps the most undeserving man on the planet.

You’re also an idiot, Aaron.

He says, “Thank you. I don’t want that either,” but he hopes you can hear what else he can’t say.

He has the same fear - of something happening to them (because he’s never worried about himself) while he’s gone, coming home to another funeral.

I love you. I’m sorry.

+++

“Alright, you’ve got everything you need?” You stand next to him on the tarmac, shading your eyes from the sun.

Aaron hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. “Think so. You gonna be alright?”

This was the first scene I saw. I so clearly envisioned the blinding sunlight in the middle of the afternoon during a Virginia spring with the two of them standing out there in a kind of isolated no-mans-land out on the tarmac.

You nod and reach for him. He embraces you, tucking his head into your shoulder. “You be safe, Aaron Hotchner. If you die out there I’ll kill you myself.”

He chuckles, and you hope the sound is enough to keep your heart from breaking too much over the next couple of months. Your eyes close as he presses a kiss to your cheek. This image made my heart hurt. “I’ll check in when I can.”

Shoving against his chest, you turn him around and push him toward the plane. “Get outta here.” And that, kids, is what we call emotional redirection and a repressive coping strategy!

He takes one last look over his shoulder when he reaches the ramp and offers you a wave. You return it.

+++

You manage to get to the highway before the tears start. The only person you want to talk to is Emily. She’d know exactly what to say, and she’d make sure your days off were full of fun and good company. You pull off on the side of the road, your head falling into your hands, sobs wracking through you.

When you’re able to keep driving, your chest hurts beyond belief.

Without her, these months seem to stretch before you forever.

+++

“Ready or not, here I come!” You call across the apartment, sneaking through the familiar rooms with practiced ease.

This was another one of those very clear scenes that just popped into my head.

Aaron’s been away for close to a month, and you’ve settled into a routine. Cases, of course, keep you busy. Derek’s rather good at playing Unit Chief - decisive and collaborative - but you miss Aaron’s steady, even hand.

Really, you miss everything about him. You try not to think about him too much.

You fail, often.

Avoiding thoughts of Aaron gets even harder as you creep into the master bedroom. The smell of him hasn’t left. Smell is such a strong link to memory and I just had to include that as something in this chapter of their lives. Like it’s so weird going into someone’s room, no matter how many times you’ve been there, and there’s no evidence that they’ve been there since the last time you saw them. Past the doorway, the air is spicy, masculine, and warm. You squint at the bed. One of the pillows moves, just a little, and you pounce, pulling the covers back and grabbing the wiggling pillow.

Jack screeches and throws himself at you. You catch him and fall back on the bed, laughing. “I found you!”

Jess is off running errands for the afternoon, taking some well-earned time off. You’ll more than likely spend the night over here tonight to give her more of her weekend. It’s never any trouble to stay with Jack. You adore each other.

I am so soft for Mom and Jack y’all.

Usually, Jack leaps right to his feet for another round, but he stays put after his fit of mirth passes, sprawling across your chest.

“What are you thinking about over there?”

He sighs, and brings his little hands under his chin, propping his head up so he can look at you. He’s six, now - still very much a boy - but the pensive look on his face starkly reminds you of his father. Oh, don’t worry. He’ll keep doing that well into adulthood but the resemblance will only get scarier. “When’s dad going to be home?”

You push some hair off his forehead. “I’m not sure, my love. I’m hoping it’s only a couple more weeks, but it could be a little longer than that.”

He sighs, and it breaks your heart a little. You turn on your side, and he curls into you, resting his head on your arm and tucking under your chin. Don’t worry. He’ll keep doing that, too. “Are you and my dad best friends?”

You laugh a little. “Yeah, I think so. Your dad and I have known each other for a long time.” His little hands play with the collar of your shirt. There’s more to his question. Jack’s just like his dad and takes a bit of ferreting out. Luckily, you’ve had plenty of practice. “What are you curious about, little bug?”

“Do you miss Dad?”

I always want to show that Jack feels safe with them, and can ask them harder questions without fear of judgment.

A track of Aaron’s laugh, his smile, the way his arms feel around you flies through your head. “Yeah, I miss him a lot.”

“I’m happy you’re here so we can miss him together.” You can almost hear Aaron’s voice in Jack’s. It sounds just like something he would say, and probably has said, talking to his son about Haley.

I love the things that kids kind of implicitly understand.

“Me too, buddy.” You kiss the top of his head. “Me too.”

Jess returns about an hour later, groceries in-hand, to find you and Jack curled together in Aaron’s bed, snoozing the afternoon away. She snaps a picture with her phone, saving it in an album she keeps for Aaron. After she puts the groceries away, she escapes, leaving a note.

I LOVE THESE little tableaus. And y'all know how much I like pictures.

Did you notice that this picture comes up in mistletoe??

You’re on your own tonight and tomorrow. Have a good time with breakfast - he’s been picky lately.

XO, Jess

+++

Back to back cases - five of them, to be exact, pull you through the next two months by the ear. Formal leadership wears on Derek more and more by the day, and you find yourself making just as many decisions as he does. That’s a fun parallel to season five!! You’re immensely proud of him, but the whole thing is exhausting. Most days feel held together by duct tape, with you and Rossi acting as the adhesive.

Thus, your evening with Jess is both well-earned and much needed.

“Wanna crash here tonight?” She sets a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of you and sits heavily back on the couch. “It’s pretty late.”

You check your watch and find it is indeed late. Before you can answer, your phone rings, and you answer it with an apologetic glance toward Jess. “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?”

“We have sat call notification from Hotch. Can you come in?” He sounds exhausted.

In real life, you don’t just get to carry sat phones around willy nilly. Satellite time is EXPENSIVE and the US Govt is FRUGAL in the extreme (when it comes to minor DoJ teams and stuff - don’t get me started on being a global police force because that’s a RABBIT HOLE)

“Yeah, I can be there in twenty. Is everything okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah, looks like a routine check-in.”

Jess sighs, knowing the drill. She goes to the kitchen and pours your tea into a travel mug.

Have I mentioned yet today that I LOVE Jess Brooks??

“Are you calling anyone else in?”

“Nope. Just you. See you when you get here.” He hangs up.

You stare at your phone as Jess sits next to you again. “We have a call from Aaron coming in, and I have to head to the office.” She hands you your travel mug, and you take it gratefully.

“You’re welcome back here - I can set up Aaron’s room for you. We’re a lot closer to the office than your place, and I don’t want you to drive if you’re too tired.” She sets a hand on your knee, and you reach over to embrace her.

“Thanks, Jess.”

+++

When you arrive, Derek’s already on the phone. “… So, no leads?… Right.” He looks up and catches your eye. “Here, Hotch.”

You take the phone. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He sounds relieved. “Are you doing okay? How’s Jack?”

I love this moment, and I could so clearly picture some of the tension leaving his shoulders on the other end of the phone.

His questions make you smile. “We’re good. He’s good. I just left the apartment - Jess and I were having some grown-up movie time.”

You’re warmed by his laugh. “Good. Glad to hear it. I was just telling Derek that the leads out here have gone cold, but we’re still working.”

“Ah. Any chance you’ll be home soon?” You avoid Derek’s searching gaze.

Derek always knows something, doesn’t he?

“It doesn’t look that way, no. We’re picking up on some chatter out there, but nothing firm. We’ll have to keep out for a couple more weeks at least.”

Your heart drops, but you hide it as best you can. “Alright. Anything you need from us back here?”

“Just keep doing good work.” You know he can’t say much more than that, with more than a couple of NSA guys in between you on the line, not to mention the archival recording of the call. Both of those things actually happen, too. You can’t just say shit about shit over a sat phone. Even then, you know he means looking for Doyle. “That’s all I need from you.”

“We can do that.” You give him a quick rundown of some recent cases, all surface-level. You’re mostly stalling, using up incredibly expensive satellite time just to hear his voice.

You hear him sigh. “Alright, I gotta get back. Tell Jack and Jess I love them.”

There’s also something unspoken here!! But we all knew that.

“Of course.” You hand the phone back to Derek and wait while they finish up. Your eyes wander over the volumes of law books in Aaron’s bookshelf, the pictures of Jack and Haley and Jess behind his desk. Wandering over to his chair, you sit down and rest your head on your arms.

Your eyes wander to a photo taken a year and a half ago at Haley’s service. You’re not sure who took it, but you’re crouched on the ground talking to Jack, while Aaron stands behind him with a hand on his head. Jack’s little hands are in yours, and he’s smiling a little.

I am just a sucker for pictures. I know I’ve said this before, but they are such a wonderful vehicle for implicit characterization. I think, in some ways, he keeps this picture because in a kind of abstract, mournful way, it’s a photo of all four of them.

Of all the photos to keep on his desk…

Derek hangs up the sat phone and puts it back in the lockbox. He crosses the office and leans against the desk beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

PHYSICAL CONTACT

+++

When you get back to the apartment (indeed much closer than your home), Jess is asleep in the guest room, and Jack’s still out like a light.

Aaron’s bed feels far too big and far too cold without him.

+++

The next time a sat call comes in, you can’t go into the office. Jack has the flu and is absolutely miserable. You can’t, in good conscience, leave Jess to her own devices. Between the vomit and the sleeplessness and the tears, four sets of hands are absolutely necessary.

I think this is really one of those moments where they step into the parent role for Jack. I didn’t feel the need to explicitly note it in here, but that’s the way I approached this scene.

“Derek, I can’t leave. Jack is literally puking his guts out as we speak, and I don’t have any new intel for Hotch.”

Morgan huffs into the phone. “Come on. You know you’re the only one he actually wants to talk to and the only one who has any actual updates about Jack.”

“You just have to tell him that I’m with Jack tonight because he’s got the flu. Isn’t that enough of an update?” You don’t really mean to snap at him, but the lack of sleep has made you a little punchy.

“Fine. If he -”

“Yeah, I know. If he gets upset, just blame me. He can deal with me when he’s not in Pakistan. As long as there are twelve time zones between us, I’ll take my chances.”

“Fair enough.”

Even though he’s Acting Unit Chief, they’re still best friends and you can tell lmao.

He hangs up, and you return to the hall bathroom, where Jack’s cheek is pressed against the toilet seat, his forehead damp and face pale. Jess is taking her turn to sleep - you’ll switch off in an hour.

“Hey, bubba.”

He mumbles something that sounds like, “Hi.”

“Can I get you some crackers?”

Jack shakes his head and lifts himself up, holding his arms out. The risk of illness far from your mind, you gather him up and lean against the cabinets, rubbing his back.

“Can you try to close your eyes for me?”

“I don’t feel good.” There are a few tears in his voice, and it breaks your heart a little. You’ve so been there.

“I know, baby. I know. Just close your eyes for a minute, okay?”

He does, and his breathing evens out eventually. He’s still feverish, but you’re happy he’s sweating, at least. It could break by morning at this rate.

The makeshift towel-bed on the bathroom floor looks more than inviting. You gingerly shuffle over and lay down, keeping Jack flat against your chest.

This was such a hallmark of my childhood - the sleeping on towels if you had a stomach bug. I remember being so exhausted that the towels were suddenly the best thing in the whole wide world. Like....mattress who??

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

+++

The hardest days are the ones where you end up by yourself. Derek’s picked up kickboxing with Penelope, JJ has her family, and Rossi retreats to the cabin by the lake with an alarming degree of regularity.

Thank God he’s not as cranky as Gideon.

That would be too spooky.

Any excuse to get a lil jab at Gideon in, it’s one I’m going to capitalize on.

Everyone is out of the office, scattered to their respective distractions. You sit on the floor of Aaron’s office, leaning against his desk. Your laptop sits open in front of you, playing a movie you’re only half paying attention to.

I like this image of them just...going to the office to hang out, even on a day off. I used to do that in the theatre when I was in college. I had no reason whatsoever for being there, but it wasn’t my house so it was a nice change.

It was only this afternoon you realized his office smelled more like Morgan’s Tiger Balm than Aaron, and it broke your heart a little. Your only solace was his apartment - the evidence of his existence was inescapable there. With Emily gone for good, you often needed the reminder.

His office phone rings. You pause the movie, stand, and answer it.

“Agent Hotchner’s office.”

NSA is on the other side, dry and professional. “We have an incoming call from Agent Hotchner. Is Agent Morgan available?”

You tell him he’s not, but that you’re the next in line to receive task force updates. In an equally dry and professional tone, you relay your credentials and your unique intel code.

“Thank you. Please stand by.” Click.

You roll your eyes.

God, they’re boring.

Sitting down at Aaron’s desk, you wait for the armed guard to arrive with the phone. As per protocol, you’ll sign for the call and remove it from the lockbox yourself. You’ll return it for pickup when the call is completed.

The guard shows up and you step through the motions, finally getting the phone to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Oh, it’s you.” He sounds surprised, but not displeased.

You laugh a little. “Yeah, it’s me. Morgan’s unavailable at the moment.”

“I see. Is Jack feeling any better?”

Another thing I wanted to lean into in this part was the anguish Aaron must feel being so far away from Jack for so long.

“Yeah. He’s been alright for about a week now. It was a pretty nasty bug, but he’s a trooper. Any new chatter down your way?” You trace the wood grain of his desk with your finger, only a little absent-minded.

“There’s a little bit of activity on the border. We’re monitoring the situation. Is everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, for the most part. We’ve been feeling the heat a little since Seaver transferred to Andy’s unit, but we’re managing alright. Dave’s called JJ back in to lend a hand, and she’s doing really well.”

That was such a tiny detail in the show, but i realized how rough it must have been to be down like three people by the end of it.

He hums. “That was a smart idea.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Oh, please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head.”

You smile. “Fair point. Any updates on the timetable?”

When are you coming home? Please make it soon.

“Not at the moment. I think we’re getting closer. Few more weeks.” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite grasp, but you let it go. Again, not a singular clue means that the emotional tuning fork is broken.

“Alright. Keep us posted.”

“Will do. You know the drill.”

“I sure do. I’ll relay the information to the team, tell your son you love him, and talk to you in a couple of weeks.”

You can almost hear his smile. “Exactly. Talk soon.”

“Be safe, Aaron.”

+++

You’re all gathered at the roundtable when Aaron walks in, looking all the worse for wear and -

Is that a beard?

Did I make myself myself laugh with that first observation? Yes. Was it my first thought even before I could process the delight that we wouldn’t have any episodes without him the first time I saw 7x01? Yes.

Wait. He’s back.

You just spoke to him on Monday, with news of a “few more weeks.”

Fucking bastard knew he was coming home, didn’t he?

All of your joy in seeing him evaporates, and you narrow your eyes at him. This was that moment where I had that AHA! thing. I realized that THIS was the thing they were going to get upset about. And it’s not just the anger from right now, the anger from before comes rushing back too. Basically - he’s safe, so they can get really mad and the fear goes away. Just like the last time you were in this room together, there’s an apology in his gaze.

“Welcome back.” Derek doesn’t sound surprised, and your head whips toward him. He doesn’t look at you.

Unbelievable.

“Thanks. Everyone, have a seat.” You follow Aaron’s instructions, and sit, crossing your arms. It’s childish, sure, but the balance of personal and professional life has flown out the window. Okay serious question. Was it ever in the room with y’all?

The next part here comes straight out of the show but it was SO fun to reframe.

Collecting the dialogue and who says what is often the most tedious part of the process for the episode-linked fics, but once that’s done I have a lot of fun putting it together and linking things into the rest of the universe - pointing things out and the like.

I always feel like y’all know so much about how I watch the show and my perspective on it with the episode fics. It’s kind of an interesting picture to me, like y’all are looking at it the way I see it. I dunno. That was a random thought.

This feels like a personal slight, rather than a professional one. You try to push it away, but it lingers in your sternum like a lit flare. It’s uncomfortable, and you hate it.

I’ve always found it’s really unpleasant to be mad at someone you really love. I always hate it because I don’t usually want to be mad. I wanted to lean into that feeling here.

“Why?” Derek sounds a little concerned, and you can’t blame him. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team.” You notice, brow furrowed, that JJ stands beside Hotch like an ally. They both have odd looks on their faces. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle.”

No.

Reader doesn’t know what they don’t know, but they know something in their gut. I don’t think it would be too off-base to attribute it to their connection to Aaron.

“The doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

No.

“Her identity was strictly need-to-know. She stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

No.

There’s silence, and you can’t tear your eyes from Aaron.

“She’s alive?”

“We buried her.”

Penelope and Spencer’s comments rush past you and you feel much like you did in the waiting room on that horrible, horrible night seven months ago.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.”

His eyes finally meet yours, and you find your vision blurred. You blink away your tears.

It was a necessary lie.

You go into this business expecting to be lied to.

Not by Aaron.

That’s not the issue and you know it. He left.

He left us.

THIS is exactly the conflict and why Reader can’t fully trust him. It’s very normal to have these kinds of covert operations in agencies, though they seem jarring in the context of a team that’s so close.

It’s a weird reminder that this is still the FBI, and even though they’re family, they are colleagues and agents first. That’s an uncomfortable realization and part of me thinks that’s why Derek got so mad.

He was so ready for the BAU to be different, to be his family. We know that Derek has HUGE issues with trust, so evidence that his family isn’t as “safe” as he thought would be have been so difficult to process.

“Any issues?” Derek’s disbelief is marred by hurt, but you can’t reassure him through your own shock. “Yeah, I got issues.”

He’s cut off by Penelope’s glance toward the doorway.

The team, save for JJ and Hotch, rush toward her. You’re stuck to your seat until she approaches you. At her touch, you come back to life, throwing yourself into her arms. “Emily.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Her grip on you is tight, but your arms, looped around her shoulders, don’t feel like they’re attached to your body.

Y’all ever felt that buzzing feeling when there’s so much happening and everything feels like radio static? Yeah.

She lets you go and continues to speak. Derek’s frozen, and you can’t imagine for a minute what’s going on in his head. Emily wraps around him. He’s stock still, his eyes misty. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he brings his hand to her shoulder, his cheek falling onto the side of her head.

It’s back to business faster than you can blink, and now you’re sure you’re not the only one ready to kill Aaron where he stands. Derek is livid.

They stare at each other while Spencer starts asking questions. Eventually, they focus back. Aaron crosses to you, contributing where necessary. He just wants to be close because he missed them :’) Nice try, buddy. You’re in deep shit. You don’t acknowledge him. It’s horrible. You hate being so angry with him, but there’s nothing to be done.

You can’t be upset at him about Emily. There’s too much to understand, and yet the initial shock of it is like a never-ending bucket of cold water poured over your body.

Selfishly, you realize you’re upset with him because he didn’t tell you he was coming home. It’s so small when there are other, much bigger, issues to address.

I also loved the opportunity to lean into such a small issue??? It was a challenge to make it big enough to be a believable blowout in mean it, but it got easier once I realized that their anger wasn’t really about Pakistan. It’s more of an activating excuse that brings all of their feelings up to the surface and it’s overwhelming!

Emily’s lie is professional. Just part of the job. This one feels personal.

You’re a child. Let it go.

He knew and he left.

He didn’t tell you he was coming home.

Whew. That was fun. Stay tuned!

#anon reply #tali answers stuff #a joyful future #tali talks cm #tali provides commentary

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Found Me Right Next to You (Branjie, oneshot) - Holtzmanns

AN: Back at it again with the oneshots! This one’s been sitting in my google docs unfinished for weeks, but blackhighheels challenged me to finish it if they published their most recent quarantine fic. So, here it is. Hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the continued love that you all continue to send my fics, it makes me so happy. And a huge thank you to Writ for betaing this and also being the best hypeman to ever exist. Title from ‘Ritual’ by Wrabel.

Maybe it’s the quarantine. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s only had his cats for company.

Not that Brock really minds it much. Henry and Apollo have been sticking to his side the entire time and it’s nice, having the chance to cuddle them for more than just an evening between connecting flights out of Nashville.

Brock isn’t a homebody, not really - he’s so used to utilizing all the resources he can to ensure that he’s maximizing his engagement with the public, taking every opportunity that is worthy while flying around the globe and making sure that everyone knows who Brooke Lynn Hytes is. He’s crafted a career that’s catered to him and will take him higher and higher - at least, that’s the plan.

Except now he’s at home because it makes the most sense and it’s the safest thing to do and there’s no way he can take a flight right now, anyway. Being in this apartment makes Brock feel like the present time could easily be the months after Continental instead, back when he’d moved to Nashville and had started working at Play. Waking up and going to sleep and doing it all over again while still being at his home base makes Brock realize how much has changed since then. Because even though this isn’t his regular routine, it’s nice to have the reminder that he’s actually done something with himself.

But such an extended period of time without the noise of his gigs, without the jam-packed schedule that keeps his brain in go mode has given him time to stop. Time to think. Along with more time to actually breathe for a second, and not having to worry about having to focus on where he has to go, what obligations there are for him to fulfil next.

It’s strange, not having to live thirty minutes ahead of schedule the way he normally does. Time almost feels unreal, unimportant - a sensation that Brock hasn’t experienced before.

It means more time on his phone, more time going through his camera roll and passing selfies that Courtney has taken on his phone, pictures of Steve sleepily eating a breakfast burrito at the airport. Endless pictures of Henry and Apollo because he’ll never have enough. It also means more time scrolling through Instagram, catching up on his feed because he doesn’t really have anything of his own to post, unless it’s his cats.

Seth texts him and asks if he’s in Toronto and Brock doesn’t really feel a pang of regret in his stomach when he says no.

He passes ads from fellow queens about online streamed shows and some other videos of them going stir crazy at home, and bites his lip when he sees posts from the local queens who are struggling. He knows the feeling. He’s glad it’s not him, but he remembers it. Wants to make it better for them.

Brock scrolls past posts from Jose but they don’t stop his heart as much as he expects them to because everything is familiar - how can it not be, when they’ve started texting again?

Sure, it’s all cat related. Jose asks him questions related to Thackery and it makes sense, because Brooke has been a cat dad forever and of course Jose wants advice. Brock had helped to pick Thackery’s name, after all. And he loves all the pictures that Jose sends him of Thackery, the daily stories of all the funny things that he does because they’re all adorable, and because Brock tells Jose stories of Henry and Apollo, too. And now Jose gets it, understands him on a different level.

Jose interrupts Brock’s scrolling with a picture of Thackery perched on along his shoulder blades while he’s lying on his stomach, and he’s all soft with his hair growing out in curls and his eyes all kind, the way they always are when he’s not tired. Jose winks at the camera and the curl in Brock’s stomach doesn’t mean anything.

JC: he gets annoyed if I try and move him

JC: this wack ass cat

BH: you secretly love it, don’t lie

JC: maybe so

JC: he weighs nothing

JC: my heels weigh more than him

BH: he’d be tiny next to Henry and Apollo

JC: bishhhh we gotta make them meet!!!!!

JC: when we allowed out again

JC: I’m going stir crazy lol

BH: maybe when I get to see the Vegas show I’ll bring them with me

JC: stop getting my hopes up like that dumbass

BH: promise I’ll come watch and bring the cats

JC: you wouldn’t bring them travelling

BH: so you’ll have to bring Thackery here, then

Jose’s typing for long enough that Brock puts his phone down, starts petting Henry and gives him a little kiss on the top of his head, but then Brock’s FaceTime starts to ring. Jose’s face pops up on screen and he’s looking at Brock with the eyebrow raise that’s reserved specifically for him.

“Nerve, is what your ass has.” Jose tuts, and the sound makes Thackery scamper closer to him, his grey fur blocking Jose’s camera.

“God, he’s so cute. I wanna meet him so bad.” Brock has a cat weakness, everyone knows that. But he can’t help it, not when Thackery’s squished little face is so adorable.

“Gotta pay for a meet and greet. He ain’t free.” Jose scoops Thackery up into his arms, snuggles him close and Brock wishes he had the ability to travel through the screen.

“Yeah? What are you charging?” Henry climbs off of his lap and Brock feels the sudden chill, shuffles lower on his couch so he can grab the spare blanket.

Jose purses his lips. “I dunno if you can pay.” But his eyes are twinkling, a smile on his lips.

“Guess I’ll be missing out, then.” Brock’s own face pulls into the smile that is inevitable with Jose, his stomach lighter than it has been in awhile.

Brock doesn’t get it, but he supposes there’s no point in fighting it. He can just enjoy it, and talk to Jose because it’s nice, because it makes him feel happy and clearly Jose doesn’t mind, either.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Brock just likes it.

Jose picks his phone up with one hand, Thackery in the other and plops down on his bed, the room still so familiar to Brock despite the new painting on the wall, the sheets on the bed that he doesn’t remember. “How you keeping yourself occupied while we all in prison at home?”

Brock shrugs. “Mostly wading through my emails, they’re a mess. Trying to work out here and there, though that feels fruitless.”

“Gonna get all swole, Toes?”

Brock snorts. “As if. I’m not Kameron, I don’t have that level of dedication. I’m good with staying toned.”

“You used to look great to me.” Now Jose’s the one bringing them back there, that weird line that they both like to cross over, as if they don’t have boundaries between them.

“Used to, huh?”

Jose rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. My ass is tryna compliment you and you’re mouthing off already.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

Brock knows that Jose does, because that’s why it’s so fun with him. That’s why they’ve started to FaceTime so much, because he’s missed the way he gets to wind Jose up a little.

And maybe he has a little smile on his face every time that he hangs up after a call from Jose, because even if they’re not physically in the same place, he always feels a little lighter, a little happier after time with him.

Brock’s kitchen looks like it’s been hit by some drag tornado, from the old shake and go wigs hanging off of the handles of his cupboards to his baby queen outfits that definitely don’t fit him anymore.

Quarantine brings out quite a few sides of Brock, including, apparently, a deep cleaner. Though now everything is beginning to look more chaotic than not, and Brock wonders how on earth he had gotten everything to fit inside the storage boxes in the first place.

His phone rings with Jose’s contact popping up on FaceTime, and he swipes to accept it without a second thought. Jose’s curls are hidden under a beanie and Brock wishes that he could reach through the camera, pull the hat off and ruffle his hair.

“Thackery missed you.” Jose holds his kitten up, who looks as if he’s already grown since their last call a few days ago.

Brock grins. “Thackery did, huh?”

“Mhm. Made me call you and everything.” Jose clicks his tongue, shrugs even as his eyes gleam.

Maybe, just maybe, Brock knows that it’s not just Thackery, not Thackery at all. Maybe it’s the little smile that Jose’s trying to keep back, the way Jose’s fingers are tapping on the table in front of him.

But then Jose’s brows knit, and he’s leaning closer in towards the screen and Brock can’t help but feel self conscious and want to pull back a little, because what’s Jose looking at?

“Why the hell are there shoes hanging from the handle of your fridge?”

Oh, yeah.

Brock has to stifle a laugh. “In the process of cleaning out all my old drag. Figured it would be best to get out everything and sort through it.”

“Chile…” Jose lets out a slow whistle. “You gone and messed up. That’s gonna take you years to clean up.”

“Good thing I have you for company while I do so then, huh?”

“Does this make me a judge on Project Runway or some shit? Do I get to judge your outfits?”

Brock holds up a rather unfortunate leopard print jumpsuit from his baby queen days, which wouldn’t be as appalling if it wasn’t green and purple. “Judge away.”

Jose physically recoils, pulling back from the screen. “You’re telling me you’ve worn that in public?”

“Shut up.” Brock snorts, placing it in his ‘toss’ pile. “It worked at the time.”

“I’m sure it did, what, in 2003?” Jose giggles the way he always does when he can’t hold himself back, when he’s excited by his roasts, and Brock makes a face.

“I’m not that much of a drag grandma!” But it’s no use, because Jose’s cracking up even harder, and so Brock sticks his tongue out at him like the twelve year old he is. “I got better outfits, I swear.”

“Pull ‘em out. Maybe model them too.”

“With no mug or any padding?” Brock raises an eyebrow.

Jose hides his laugh behind his hand. “Fashion.”

Brock can’t help but join in at that. “You’re so stupid.”

“And yet you love it.” It’s so natural, the way Jose says it, that Brock nods along, almost doesn’t realize the implications.

If there even are any implications.

With Jose, he just doesn’t know anymore.

“You find a place yet or what?” Jose’s question makes Brock wince, because it’s another reminder of the fact that he’s moving across the country without everything exactly in place like he needs it to be.

“Sort of.” Brock manages as he closes off yet another box with packing tape. “It’s not available ‘til April fifteenth, though.”

He’s going to have two weeks of managing his entire life in boxes, stacked in the corner of Bianca’s old apartment that she’s letting him stay in. He wants to get to his own apartment already, unpack everything and spread out the way that he deserves to, the way that Nashville doesn’t necessarily let him do so.

It had been a no brainer when Brock’s contract came up with his landlord, because signing his life away in Nashville for another year until next March is the last thing he wants to do. He’s been in Nashville for work, because it’s given a kickstart to his career but he’s already outgrown it. He wants more, he wants to be away from the south and closer to his friends and sunshine and beaches and-

“I know you. You’re freaking out about that, aren’t you? About the dates not lining up?”

Jose knows him too well.

“I’m not freaking out. Not really.” Okay, maybe Brock is, but he doesn’t need to show that. It’s just annoying when he can’t have everything under his control, with every last detail figured out to make sure that things happen as planned.

“Think of it this way. You’re not gonna be stuck in yeehaw-land anymore. That in itself? A cause for celebration.” Jose tips an imaginary cowboy hat and Brock’s not sure why it’s as funny as it is.

“Yeehaw-land? Nashville’s plenty progressive, y’know. All the gays live here.”

“All the yeehaw gays. Speaking of yeehaw gays, even Kameron’s left and come to LA. It’s about time your ass followed.”

“Why, you miss me?” Brock looks up at the camera, sees Jose’s indignant face but also the red on his cheeks.

“No. Only a little.” Jose’s lower lip is pushed out in the slightest pout but just enough for Brock to catch.

“Then I miss you only a little, too.” Brock waits for Jose’s telltale offended gasp, and it arrives right on cue as he stacks the boxes near his front door.

“Only a little? Bitch-”

“You said you miss me only a little, too!” Brock walks back to his phone and the crossed arms, the pout on Jose’s face makes him crack up. He’s so easy.

“You know what I meant.” Jose huffs, and Brock loves it, he really does. “So. Where you gonna stay ‘til the fifteenth, then?”

Brock doesn’t miss a beat. “What, are you inviting me to yours?”

“No-I wasn’t-I’m gonna whoop your ass.” Jose grumbles. “Just for that, you can’t stay here anyway.”

“No worries. Bianca’s got an empty pad. I’m crashing there.” If Brock hears a hmph from Jose, he ignores it. “Rooming with you would be fun, though.”

“Fun? You’re the messiest person to exist. My living room’s gonna be run over with your stuff the second you step in here.”

Brock can’t even deny it, because Jose is right. “I always cleaned up after myself though, didn’t I?”

“Only whenever you left.”

So maybe that stings more than Brock wants it to.

It’s easy to pretend like the last year has never happened, that they’re just friends and casual friends at that, that they get along easily and there’s no weird history behind the two of them at all. Except that there is, and no ignoring the elephant in the room is ever going to change it, not when neither of them can resist poking the elephant from time to time, just to see what will happen.

Brock wonders if things will change in LA. Because they’ll be within a drive of each other, not a plane ride away, because the excuse of distance won’t really apply anymore.

Well, once the pandemic is over.

The pandemic isn’t over, but Brock’s finally moved into his own place and begun to unpack his boxes and is already getting a bit of a tan from the California sun, and he feels better than he has in ages.

Henry and Apollo aren’t as traumatized by the move as Brock expected them to be, something he’s grateful for. They’re curling up on his sofa under a ray of sunlight as if they’re meant to be there and Brock supposes that maybe they are, that they all are.

He opens up FaceTime to call Jose as he finishes throwing the last of the empty boxes in his closet, because why wait to give Jose a tour of his new place when he has nothing else to do?

Jose picks up on the first ring as he always does, like Brock is used to him doing so. He’s holding up Thackery to the camera because he knows Brock’s weaknesses, and Brock can’t help the little aww that leaves his lips, not when Thackery’s sniffing the screen with interest.

“Officially moved in.” Brock grins as he says it, because he has his place, he’s home. His new home.

“That two weeks at Bianca’s wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jose lifts Thackery to sit up on his shoulder, and it amazes Brock how the cat doesn’t immediately fall off.

Brock falls onto his own couch with a sigh, squinting into the camera when the sunlight shines on his face. “Nah. But it’s nice to be done.”

“Now that you’re mostly unpacked and shit, it’s time.” Jose’s voice is suddenly all business and Brock raises an eyebrow.

“Time for what?”

“To steam clean my carpet. No, to meet Thackery, dumbass.” Jose reaches behind himself, scratches Thackery’s head, and Brock can’t resist the soft expression his face falls into.

But he can’t. “Did you forget the fact that we’re all supposed to be at home right now?”

Jose doesn’t miss a beat. “And? You just moved across the country, Miss Thing. That’s not staying home.”

“I mean, I’m technically home now.” Brock knows his argument is weak, and Jose does too, from the look that he throws at him on camera.

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“What if I accidentally give you the coronavirus or something? Maybe I’m carrying it from all the travelling. I don’t wanna be the reason you end up in the hospital.” Sure, it’s far fetched, but who knows, really? What if meeting up really is dangerous?

Except Jose pays no attention, letting out a snort. “Listen to yourself. Besides, if I get Miss Rona, I’m also gonna get you to nurse me back to health. So it’s a win-win.”

“You think I’m gonna play nurse for you?”

“I know you’re gonna play nurse for me.” Jose grabs Thackery, holds him up to the camera. “Look. Thackery’s even crying a little ‘cause you won’t visit him. You wanna make my cat all sad?”

Brock lets out a laugh. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re making this newborn baby cry, that’s what’s ridiculous. Now come see him. When’s the last time you had some human contact in person, anyway?”

“I had movers help me yesterday.” Brock offers, but he knows it’s a weak defense.

It makes Brock weigh his options after he hangs up, ping pong them back and forth in his brain. He’s the kind of person who blooms in solitude, who finds the lack of interaction restful because his brain needs the time off. So quarantine has been helpful, really, in giving him that downtime, the opportunity to stop thinking every minute of the day and following his schedule down to the second. His biggest obligation has been feeding his cats and occasionally himself, too, a far cry from what he’d been doing a few months ago.

But as nice as it is, it has been a long time. Especially when the last ones to cuddle him were his own cats.

He’s only one person, so what harm could going to Jose’s do, anyway? Except that they’re not supposed to, they’re supposed to stay home, and what if Brock messes things up for everyone else by visiting Jose?

But he’s also now moved across the country, which definitely hasn’t helped by any means. So what will a measly visit to Jose’s house really do, anyway?

Besides, Brock misses him.

Brock’s phone buzzes, and it’s a picture of Jose with Thackery on his lap, mid meow. Brock wonders if he really has a choice in the matter.

He’ll stay in Jose’s front doorway, maybe, not come inside. He’ll keep a six feet distance. He’ll be socially conscious as he should be.

Jose’s bed is as comfy as Brock remembers it to be.

He’d been planning on staying in Jose’s entrance and keeping his jacket on and leaving after five minutes, really, he had. But then Jose had thrown himself onto Brock in a hug and buried his face against his chest and Brock couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter because he’d missed him.

And what’s the point of staying six feet apart now, anyway?

Brock’s back on his side of the bed and Jose isn’t beside him because he’s gone to make some popcorn in the microwave, so he’s scrolling through his Instagram. There’s a picture hanging on Jose’s wall that hadn’t been there before, and he’s changed the organization of his makeup on his vanity mirror. But everything else is the same - the drag tucked in Jose’s closet, the curtains along the window that always let the light in when the sun rises, the pictures on Jose’s dresser that he has of Alexis and his mom and his friends back in Tampa and-

Jose’s put a picture of the two of them up, too. The one where Jose’s resting his head on his lap and they’re in the backseat of an Uber enjoying Chicago together, alone for the first time in what back then had felt like months. It’s the same photo that Brock still has in his ‘favourites’ album on his phone, because he’s never gotten around to removing it. Not that he ever will.

The way his heart flips doesn’t mean anything, because it’s just normal with Jose, that’s all. Jose always makes Brock smile and makes him happy and maybe a little tentative but that’s their status quo, it’s what he expects with him.

It’s just nice to see that Brock’s up there for Jose with everyone else, too.

One of the younger local queens from Toronto is on Instagram Live, and Jose’s still in the kitchen, so Brock clicks on her profile because he wants to get to know the newer ones a little bit better. Miss Fiercalicious is exactly how Brock remembers her from whenever he’d gone back to visit last, and it’s fun, shooting the shit about straight celebrities that they’d like to put in drag, especially when Jose pops his head in the doorway.

“What about Troye Sivan? I’d wanna make him over.”

Brock’s not sure if Jose’s voice is loud enough to carry over the microphone, or if they should even show that they’re hanging out, but he can’t resist a snort. “Troye Sivan is not straight.”

Jose’s walking over with Thackery after dropping the bowl of popcorn on his dresser and maybe things don’t matter anymore, maybe Brock doesn’t really care about the implications of what could happen because he turns the camera towards Jose, gives the phone to him.

Except it’s hard to talk when Brock’s brain is mush, when Jose’s grinning like that and dropping Thackery on his lap, when the queens on their screen are confused but excited as hell. What words matter, anyway, when Jose’s plopping himself down on the bed beside him as if no time has passed at all, curling into his side and fitting perfectly?

He ends the livestream and Jose is looking up at him with an eyebrow raised, a silent question that Brock doesn’t know how to answer. So he just shrugs, tugs his arm around Jose in a little bit tighter.

They don’t have to figure everything out now, not when they have seemingly endless time ahead of them. But somehow, this feeling of coming home is exactly what Brock has needed, and one that he doesn’t want to let go.

Tags: branjie, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, canon compliant, holtzmanns,

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #canon compliant #holtzmanns

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princesstadashi · 4 years

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Big Hero 6/OUAT AU

Okay guys--so I worked this whole big AU up in my head while I was at work today, inspired by @honeyxmonkey ‘s Tangled the series OUAT AU and @greensword101 ‘s accompanying ask to me about Fred finding Hiro and giving him a hug once the curse was broken! Now, sadly I think I accidentally left my page of notes at work, or else they’re just lost somewhere in my bag, but I’m going to type of everything that I remember and hope for the best--here we go!

Backstory of how everyone got dragged into the curse: So I’m not even going to try to go into weird multi-versey type shit and try to be detailed with this but what you need to know is that Fred/Tadashi and Honey Lemon/Gogo are the main ships here, and Fred’s mom/Gogo’s parents are not happy about this, like at all. I have this headcanon that Gogo’s parents, while not as wealthy as Fred’s parents, are pretty well off (business owners? doctors? I’ll leave it up to your imagination) and are not at all happy with Gogo’s lifestyle choices/were probably emotionally and psychologically if not physically abusive to her, which is why as soon as she could she ran away to live with Honey Lemon’s family, and she and Honey Lemon eventually got together. Definitely not the match her parents wanted for her and they’re still mad that she wasn’t this perfect feminine daughter that they wanted. Fred’s mom is kind of the same way but mostly she’s just homophobic as shit and also wanted to marry Fred off to some rich girl like her and Fred’s dad’s parents did to the two of them. When it came down to choosing, Fred’s dad chose his son over her and divorced her, so she’s pissed because of that.

Moving forward before this gets too long: Long story short, Gogo’s parents and Fred’s mom kind of knew each other from moving in the same social circles and when they somehow find out about the curse (which wasn’t going to hit most of San Fransokyo, if at all) they either go to Regina or (more likely) Rumpelstiltskin and make a deal so that they can get not only themselves and their families pulled into this other world where they can have the lives that they wanted, but also pull in the friends and other people who encouraged Gogo and Fred to be themselves and “punish” them for what they did.

Characters Involved and Their Lives After the Curse:

Fred (new name: George): Engaged to Gogo (a match set up by his mom and Gogo’s parents), his dad in the cursed world doesn’t even fight his mom on things so he had no one to teach him to fight for himself and so he’s just sort of letting life get away from him and hiding in his fantasy stories and comics to escape reality.

Gogo (Edith): Engaged to Fred, never actually rebelled and never ran away from home so while she’s still got her fighting spirit on the inside it’s mostly been stamped out and she spends her days going to social events she hates and acting like she’s the perfect daughter she isn’t.

Honey Lemon (Heather): Works in an overly busy dress shop trying to earn money for college but is so underpaid she barely makes rent, let alone being able to save anything. She does all the tailoring on Gogo’s dresses and other clothes, including working on the wedding dress (which Gogo’s mom is never happy with, she’s probably made fifty dresses by now.) She and Gogo are secretly having a bit of a relationship (fitting rooms = closed doors and privacy with limited clothes for at least a short period of time) but no one can know. (More on the relationship below.)

Wasabi (Darnell): Honey Lemon’s roommate. Also trying to earn money for college (also failing at it), he works cleaning Fred’s family’s house--he’s great at the job because he’s so detail and cleanliness oriented, but he hates being around any germs, and the biggest part of the curse for him is having to clean Fred’s room.

Hiro (Nico): Hiro is a foster kid being “raised” by a horrible man named Montel (a.k.a. Yama) who forces Hiro into stealing things for him to “pay his keep” (and Hiro has the scars to show what happens if he disappoints him.)

Aunt Cass (Rachel): Works as the cook of Fred’s family, Fred’s mother delights in ordering her to make ridiculously elaborate and detailed meals, whether they have company or not, and then criticizing every part of them. Rachel would probably leave except she has a young son, Max, to look after and she can’t afford losing a job and having him taken away from her. (Red herring name alert: Max is actually a human version of Mochi, but if I ever turn this into an actual story it will be fun to throw people a bit off the trail! Also the reason Fred’s mom pulled Aunt Cass into this is because she felt Aunt Cass encouraged Tadashi and Fred to get together, being bi herself, and so she has an especial and very misplaced hatred for her.)

Tadashi (Shiro): Tadashi was found on the outskirts of town unconscious and covered in horrific burn scars. No one new his name except a few letters on a very decayed medical alert bracelet that looked a bit like Shiro (Tadashi Hamada--the “H” and “a” were pretty smeared kind of looked like “r” and “o”, the rest were completely illegible, so they guessed a bit on his name.) He was put in the hospital and put into a medically induced coma while he continued healing. When Emma came to town and time started moving again, Tadashi recovered enough for them to wake him up, but he has no memory of who he was or who his family was, and as his burns were still very severe and had gotten infected he’s still in the hospital for a very long time. (Explanation for Tadashi being alive: back in BH 6 world Fred’s dad, being a superhero, rescued Tadashi but since Tadashi was in such bad condition was still trying to get him back to being stable before letting anyone know that he was alive in case he didn’t make it. Fred’s mom did not count on this being a factor when she made the deal!)

Baymax (Mike): Baymax is a nurse in the hospital where Tadashi is being kept--in Once Upon a Time fashion, he did become human once in our world (I imagine his appearance being a lot like Aziraphale’s, only his irises are dark brown/almost black.) Another glitch in the curse (this time a literal one): even though Baymax’s memories were changed/rewritten for the curse, as a robot his system had backup storage for his memories. Robot brain being combined with a human brain was not quite compatible, so Baymax still talks/moves a bit like a robot which means a lot of people make fun of him for that, but more importantly, while he doesn’t remember everything, Baymax does have flashes of memories from the other world, and somewhat remembers being a robot. Of course anyone he tries to explain this to acts like he’s crazy so he’s learned to keep it to himself, but needless to say he feels a very strong connection to his patient, Shiro (who he at least on some level realizes is probably Tadashi), and is very, very protective of him.

(This started getting long so actual story development below the cut!)

Story Ideas:

-Fred and Gogo, while resigned to their eventual marriage,are still both incredibly gay in spite of being forced into the closet, so their general secret arrangement is that they’ll be married for their parents’ sake but both are free to privately have lovers or partners (as long as their parents don’t find out about it.) Gogo’s first choice, of course, is Honey Lemon. Honey Lemon is totally in love with Gogo, but she’s torn as to whether she’d truly be happy spending her life as someone’s mistress and not truly married to someone she loves.

-Fred and Hiro meet for the first time when Fred catches Hiro breaking into his room, having been sent by Yama to loot the house. Fred almost calls security, but he sees how skinny Hiro is and how beat up he is and takes pity on him. He wants to call CPS but Hiro begs him not to, afraid of being sent to an even worse home (he has curse memories of being in even worse homes to keep him from ever leaving Yama.) Fred would gladly try to take Hiro in himself but he’s too afraid of what his mother would say. So instead he and Hiro make a deal--any time that Hiro wants to, he can come by the house, and Fred will provide him with money or whatever else he needs to take back to Yama to avoid getting in trouble, and then Hiro gets to secretly spend a few hours with Fred, playing video games, reading comics, doing all the fun kid stuff he never gets to do at home--and of course Aunt Cass makes it her mission to make sure that Hiro always gets at least one good meal while he’s there, even though she doesn’t understand why it hurts so much to see this teenager she doesn’t even know leave to go back to his foster home.

-Hiro and Baymax meet when Hiro’s class goes to the hospital to help decorate it for the patients (remember when Henry went and met “John Doe”? Same visit, even though Hiro is of course in a different, older class and also probably in a different wing of the hospital.) Baymax sees Hiro and, with his glitchy memories of the other world, remembers Hiro, but unfortunately Hiro is only freaked out by this stranger calling him Hiro (”My name is Niko!”) and acting like he knows him. Finally Baymax has to give up on that. Still, he “conveniently” sends Hiro to decorate the room of a sleeping patient in the burn unit. Hiro is grumbling about how stupid all of this is, how decorating a room won’t really help anyone, when he hears a voice saying, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is a waste.” He turns around to realize that the sleeping patient has woken up.

The patient introduces himself as Shiro, and even though Hiro feels weird talking to this guy who’s mostly covered in bandages, somehow they end up talking all the same, and Hiro finds himself spilling his whole life story to Shiro, who turns out to be a great listener. When Hiro’s teacher tells him it’s time to leave, Hiro finds he actually doesn’t want to go! But Tadashi asks him to wait for a moment, and then pulls a small bag of gummy bears out from a bag by his bed, saying, “Here. My nurse brought these for me and I was saving them for later, but I think you need them more than me.” Which almost makes Hiro cry because he loves gummy bears but he can’t even remember the last time that he had them. (A.K.A. Hasn’t had them since being sent here by the curse.) He promises to come back to visit Tadashi as soon as he can, and he makes good on that promise. He and Tadashi can’t do a lot for each other, but they always find ways to do small things, like how Tadashi will always save the desserts from his meals to share with (or more often give to) Hiro, and Hiro will check out books from the library that he thinks Tadashi would like and reads to him. “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is a waste” becomes their motto.

-Hiro, spending time with both Fred and Tadashi, and having started seeing both of them as older brother/almost dad figures, plus eventually finding out that they’re both gay, starts dreaming of a life where Tadashi heals enough to leave the hospital, then meets and gets together with Fred, and the two of them adopt Hiro and they all live their happily ever after together. Hiro never manages to get Fred to physically come to the hospital with him, but somehow convinces him to become pen pals with a “lonely guy with no family or loved ones to look after him (he totally pulls out the puppy dog eyes guilt trip) and somehow despite anyone’s best efforts to keep it from happening, Tadashi and Fred start to fall in love all over again :)

The Curse Breaks (a,k.a. the one part of the story I actually wrote):

Hiro races towards the center of town, running as fast as he possibly could. He’d through that Montel was evil--he’d never imagined that things could possibly get worse, but when Yama’s memories had returned Hiro was pretty sure it was only the delayed shock of getting all his memories back at once that had let Hiro get away with little more than a bloody nose (and his life.) Hiro had no idea what the hell was happening--how he was here, in some town called Storybrooke and not in San Fransokyo, and how he had these two completely different lives and memories living in his head and currently at war with each other--but all he really knew is that he needed to get somewhere safe. Somewhere that Yama couldn’t find him and hurt him.

“Hiro!” Hiro almost kept running when he heard someone shouting his name, too terrified of Yama catching up with him if he stopped, but then he suddenly felt arms wrapping around him and, after a moment of struggling, he realizes that he knew the person holding him.

“F-Fred?” Hiro gasps, looking up at the older man.

“Yeah, Hiro--it’s me,” Fred answers, a look of relief in his eyes as he smiles down at Hiro.

“Y-You remember?” Hiro cries, glad that this was at least some sort of proof that he hadn’t gone completely crazy.

“Of course I do.” Fred hugs him tighter. “I-I’m so glad that you remember too, I was afraid that you might not--”

“No, I remember.” Hiro shakes his head before adding with a shiver, “A-And Yama does too...”

“Yama?” Fred repeats only to gasp after a moment. “Holy shit! I-Is that who you’ve been living with this whole time?”

“I think the answer is obvious,” Hiro answers, pulling away and gesturing to his bloody nose.

“Oh my God.... Oh my God, Hiro I am so, so sorry,” Fred whispers, his voice full of horror. “I can’t believe-- I-I should have gotten you out of there a long, long time ago, but the curse...”

“Curse?” Hiro repeats in confusion. “What curse?”

“Apparently that’s what’s gotten us all here--a curse that took us from home and put us here, and gave us fake memories and made sure that we’d all be as miserable as possible. And it’s not just people from San Fransokyo, you won’t even believe who some of the people living in this town really are...” Fred answers before adding quickly, “But I can explain more on the way--all of our family and friends are back at my house, apparently my mom and Gogo’s parents have something to do with all of us getting wrapped up in this.”

“So everyone’s there?” Hiro asks hopefully. “Aunt Cass, Wasabi, Honey Lemon?” He’d have asked about Gogo too but Fred had already mentioned her so he could only assume that she was.

“Yes, everyone--even Mochi, can you believe that he’s actually Max?” Fred laughs.

“Whoa... That is pretty crazy,” Hiro says, shaking his head, trying to wrap his head around the idea that Aunt Cass’ cat had somehow become a human child.

It was as he was thinking this over that another thought occurred to him.

“Wait, Max...” he says slowly, and then gasps as the realization fully hits him. “Holy fuck, Baymax!”

“Hiro, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know where Baymax is yet, everyone coming out of the curse has everyone pretty scrambled up...” Fred starts to say apologetically, but Hiro cuts him off.

“No! I mean, I think I know where Baymax is!” Hiro cries, tugging on Fred’s hand. “C’mon, we have to go get him!”

“...The others can wait,” Fred after agrees after only a moment’s hesitation. “Let’s go get Baymax!”

A few minutes later, both of them rush into the hospital--things were in such a disarray that they didn’t even bother to stop at the nurse’s desk, Hiro leading the way up the stairs to the burn unit where he hoped that he’d find...

“Baymax!” Hiro lets out a huge sigh of relief when he sees the man in his standard white scrubs--it was still incredibly weird to think of the marshmallow-esque robot that Tadashi had made was somehow human, but all that really mattered that he was here and that he was safe.

“Hiro!” The man turns to Hiro, a bright smile on his face, quickly putting to rest any fears that Hiro might have had that this wasn’t actually Baymax.

“Wait, that’s Baymax?” Fred cries in surprise.

“Fred, hello!” Baymax answers cheerfully, waving to him.

“I... Uh... Hi?” Fred waves a bit awkwardly.

“I’m so glad that you’re okay,” Hiro says gratefully, hurrying into Baymax’s open arms and giving him a tight hug.

“I am very well, thank you,” Baymax answers, hugging him back, before letting him go and continuing, “There is someone else here who would like to see you!”

“Someone else?” Hiro repeats in confusion. Who else could be here that he knew?

“Hiro!”

That’s when Hiro hears a voice--a voice that, even before the curse, he’d given up on ever hearing again. No. No, it couldn’t possibly be--!

That’s when he sees Shiro, sitting in a wheelchair next to his hospital bed--the burn scars had greatly changed his appearance, it was true, and his hair was a bit longer than it had been before. But there was no mistaking those eyes, or that smile.

“T-Tadashi?” Hiro whispers, tears welling up in his eyes before he could even fully process what was happening. “I-Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” Tadashi answers, looking a bit teary eyed himself, and, without even thinking about the consequences, Hiro launches himself at Tadashi, landing in his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him, never wanting to let him go, only to find his hands wandering over Tadashi’s features--his arms, his hands, his face--trying to prove to himself that this was real, that Tadashi was really here with him. Tadashi was doing much the same, half laughing, half crying, stroking Hiro’s hair and kissing away the tears as they fell down his cheeks.

“H-How?” Hiro whispers. “How are you here? “

“I don’t know,” Tadashi admits, shaking his head.”I-I don’t remember anything that happened to me after the fire... But I’m here, and I’m with you, and that’s all that matters.”

Hiro decides that questions can wait for later--all that mattered was that he had Tadashi back.

“D-Dashi?”

Hiro suddenly remembers that he wasn’t the only one here who had a very good reason to be glad that Tadashi was alive.

“Fred?” Tadashi cries, looking up at Fred with what could only be described as joy in his eyes, and Hiro wisely chooses to move out of the way just in time to avoid being caught in the middle as Fred pulls Tadashi into a deep, passionate kiss. Maybe back in San Fransokyo his old self would have found this gross or made a joke out of it. But not anymore. This was something he’d been trying to get to happen for months, and it felt like his dream was finally coming true. Shiro and George--no, Fred and Tadashi!--were finally a couple, and maybe with this stupid curse gone, they could get married and adopt him so he could finally be away from Yama!

But wait. No, that wasn’t right! Hiro shakes his head. That was Niko’s dream, when he was stuck here, not Hiro’s dream! Hiro never would have dreamed of his older brother and his brother’s best friend getting married and adopting him! ...Would he have? More to the point, though: if a curse had somehow sent them here (and he couldn’t think of a more logical explanation at the moment), and it had indeed been broken--shouldn’t they be back in San Fransokyo? Shouldn’t they have gone back home?

Hiro feels a cold shiver pass through him. What exactly was going on here? And who would have the answers?

“I have heard that there is a relief center being set up for those who are trying to find loved ones or who have questions about the curse,” Baymax pipes up, in the uncanny way that he had of almost reading Hiro’s thoughts.

“Well, that sounds exactly like that place we should go,” Tadashi says, turning towards them, with Fred’s hand firmly wrapped around his own.

“It does--maybe then we can bring some more information back to the others,” Fred agrees.

“Dashi, is it okay for you to leave the hospital, though?” Hiro asks a bit worriedly--he knew that Tadashi had been recovering, but he hadn’t left the hospital since being here!

“I can come with to monitor his condition,” Baymax offers.

“That would be great, thank you, Baymax.” Tadashi grins up at the other man.

“You are welcome!” Baymax replies, looking pleased to be of assistance.

“Well... If Baymax is coming with us, then I guess it should be okay,” Hiro finally relents.

“So, are we ready to go?” Tadashi asks, looking first to Fred and then to Hiro.

“Yeah,” Hiro agrees, taking Tadashi’s free hand as Fred continues to hold the other and Baymax begins pushing the chair forward. “I think we are.”

As long as he had his family and friends by his side, he was ready for whatever the future had in store for them.

((Random future story bit: The group running into Yama and Baymax giving him a good punch in the nose since Tadashi can’t stand to do it himself. “I no longer have programming, so I am no longer prevented from injuring a human being :)” (Protective Baymax is SCARY AF and also totally awesome!)))

#big hero 6 #once upon a time #ouat #big hero 6/ouat crossover #big hero 6/once upon a time crossover #fredashi #honeygogo

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winchester90210 · 5 years

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The BH 90210 Rewrite. 1x10: Isn't It Romantic?

Rewrite Masterlist

Read the previous chapter here!

My work is not to be reposted and/or edited without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging is fine and encouraged!!)

Chapter Summary: Dylan and Brenda's hook up causes everyone to reassess how they feel.

Warnings: A makeout scene! Lots of feelings, colds, condoms, more feelings, 2 different fights, mentions of sex, a little fluff, guilt, cuddling with a sick person, platonic (?) cuddling, swearing, angst, possible pining depending on how you look at it?

Word count: 4,000

A/N: This was definitely one of my favorites! Brenda and Dylan are one of my favorite couples ever so I'm looking forward to that. Don't cuddle with contagious people, folks.

Feedback is incredibly appreciated!

"Hey, B," you strolled over to Brandon in the Walshes backyard. The sun, per usual was unrelentless and aggressive, bright. But the birds were chirping, you were at the Walshes, and you felt great.

"Hey Y/N/N,"

"Uh-oh, how's Mondale?" You placed your hand on the hood of the Chevy, and tapped it with the pads of your fingers, observing the car's fleshed out state.

"Oh, he's fine, just tuning him up a little," A loose grey tank top hung on his shoulders, grease from the car in every odd place on his body. And he still had the audacity to look that good. "We're still on for the movie tonight, right?"

"What, like I would miss seeing Animal Crackers on the big screen? I'd hope you wouldn't take me for a fool, Walsh," You smile, and he grins back, wiping off the tool, twisting it in his hand.

Dylan slides out from under the car, just as grease-laden as his friend. He smiles up at you, squinting from the sun. He takes the wrench from Brandon, "That's what I kept tellin' him, no girl in her right mind can resist Animal Crackers."

All four of you crowd around the movie theater table, setting your drinks, various amounts of snacks, and a large bucket of popcorn down. A girl, tall with curly blonde hair struts over.

"Hi Dylan," she smiles.

"Hey, how you been?" He chuckles, lips wrapping around the straw of his soda.

"Great," she taps her straw on his shoulder, breaking it open and pulling it out with her teeth. With that, she walks off.

"Friend o' yours?" Brandon asks.

"Well, we used to hang out a little bit. I would've introduced you guys, but I forgot her name,"

"Nice," Brenda nods.

"What a gentleman," you add.

"Wait, it's not my fault! She keeps changing it! To-- to things like 'Tanya' or 'Blue' 'cause her real name is something like 'Gertrude', or 'Beatrice', or 'Brenda,'" He quips, dangerously close to cracking up at his own joke. Brenda takes her straw and jams it against his shoulder, taking it out with her teeth and walking off. You smile delightedly to the boys and follow Brenda in.

Rock music fills the apartment as you sit down on the sofa, Brandon directly to your right.

"This sound system is incredible! I mean, it's like it's alive!" Brenda praises the stereo as she sits down onto the ottoman.

"Yeah, you don't just hear it, you feel it!" Dylan enthuses.

"Sub-woofers, right?!" Brandon asks.

"You got it," Dylan answers. The doorbell to the apartment buzzes, making him hop to his feet. "Foodage!"

"Hey, thanks for letting me come with you guys," Brenda says.

"Oh, no problem! It's nice having another girl here,"

"Yeah, and you play cards, right? Maybe you could come with us again," he leaned over the back of the sofa, "What do you think, McKay?!" Brandon shouts back to him, who's got four paper bags in hand as he makes his way back.

"Absolutely!" The four of you pounce on the bags, immediately digging into them.

"Hey, these fries are just like at the hotel," Brandon comments.

"They are from the hotel, ever since my dad closed the suite, Henry sends them to me because he knows we need our fix," He juts his pointer finger out and wiggles it between you and him.

"He gave up the suite? What happened?"

"Long story," he sits onto the floor, and looks up at Bren, "Hey! It's your turn, pick 'em!" Brenda shuffles through the different rock CDs on the table.

"Okay, okay! What about--" she hands one to Dylan, "--that?" Dylan gives her a sceptical "Are you serious?" Look before taking it.

"Ha, yeah okay," He giggles, taking it out of the case. Dylan shows both you and Brandon,.to which Brandon responds

"Oh, no, absolutely not!" All four of you begin to bicker light-heartedly, the CD issue clearly very polarizing.

Oh, joy. Let the wonders of the Health class sex unit begin. With Steve Sanders directly behind you, Brenda to your left, and David & Scott in front of you this class was always... interesting. The class period starts and Steve leans forward.

"Did you ever notice that when the subject turns towards sex Mr. Kravitz starts playing with his beard?" You and Brenda turn forward and see-- you guessed it! Mr. Kravitz your 45-year-old, Jewish, white, male teacher playing and scratching beard. Twin looks of disgust are thrown back Steve's way. He was right. And you were never going to be able to unsee that. Gross.

You're sitting at Brandon's blanket-covered feet as he sneezes for the tenth time that night. The blue robe he's wearing matches his eyes and his scratchy, deep, sick voice has got you melting when it definitely shouldn't be. He's still hot when he's sick. What an asshole.

Brenda waltzes in, her shoes clicking against the hardwood, ready to go for the second night of Marx Bros. festivities. She sits next to Brandon on the ledge of the couch, legs on the ground.

"I hope you feel better!"

"Hey, come on. It'll be fun. You can be the nurse, and Dylan can be the orderly," He jokes, his voice low and raspy. Fuck hormones and the horse they rode in on, because you're actually attracted to him right now.

"You don't want us to get sick, do you?" She responds. Brenda hops up when she hears the car horn. "Bye guys!" She's out of the door before anyone else can get a word in.

"Wait a minute, she's going out alone with that guy?" Jim complains, stacking up the piles of paper on his desk.

"Apparently," Cindy shrugs. Jim's pouting like a child, and stomps out of the room. His wife is following behind him, looking to calm him down.

"So I see your dad's a fan of Dylan," you jokingly muse.

"Yeah, they're buddies, I think I think he’s inviting Dylan out for golf and a movie," He smiles, "Are you sure you want to stay here? I don't know how much fun this is going to be." Brandon raises his mug of tea to his lips.

"I'm positive. I mean I've seen Duck Soup about a million times anyway," you assure him, "How are you feeling, by the way? Need more cough syrup?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks," He sits up, scooting over yo the far edge of the couch, "C'mere."

"What? Brandon, you're sick,"

"C'mere!"

"Brandon,"

"Y/N,"

"Fine," You show faux discontent as you lie down in the empty space, "I'll bite. What are we watching tonight?"

"Well, I've narrowed it down to either Quantum Leap or Magnum P.I."

"Oh, go with Quantum Leap, no question."

You stir back onto your side from your stomach, and your nose is met with the soft skin of Brandon's cheek. You moan sleepily and inhale, preparing yourself to get up even though it's the last thing you want to do. You open your eyes, trying to blink the sleep out of them. Your left hand is currently draped over his chest, with your legs intertwined with his. You needed to get up but... he was warm, and welcoming, and gentle and... your home definitely was not. You inch yourself up, getting up as gently as possible, lifting your arm up from him. He lets out a gravelly groan and wraps his arms around you.

"Stay."

"It's late, B," you yawn, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He mumbles a sleepy "mhmm," and you stand up, straightening out your clothes. "Love you, Y/N/N." WHAT?!

Okay, he's hopped up on cough syrup. It doesn't mean anything. It might've been an accident. Y'know, like when you tell the pizza guy you love him? Right? Right?

You're sitting own on the carpet of your bedroom floor, parallel to Dylan. The plush eggshell carpet is soft under you but the air in the room is hostile, uneasy, tense. You were sleepy, fighting to keep your eyes open due to it being 3 in the morning. He got here around midnight, and it's been nothing but utter chaos since.

"So, you're sure you're good with me and Brenda?" He tries to catch your gaze but you actively avoid it, your eyes darting to the window, the closet, wherever.

"Brenda and I," you correct him jokingly, but the playful part of it doesn't carry through in your voice. "I'm happy for you guys."

"Y/N," He starts.

"Dylan, don't," you beg, "On the off-chance that I wasn't okay with it, what good would it do? What would it change?"

"I- I need to know where we're at," He stresses, "Because you're sending me about a million different signals right now. I'm exhausted, Y/N/N. I need to know how you feel."

"I think..." you sigh, pondering, "you need to be with Brenda, if that's what you want."

"Stop telling me what you think and tell me how you feel," He urges. You bolt to your feet looking to escape, but he joins you, with a gentle grip on your shoulders. If he was anyone else, you would've been scared. But it was him. And you weren't.

"I feel like you need to be with my best friend. She's the one wanting to be with you, and she's the one you started dating." His jaw clenches, and he takes a deep shaky breath. His grip on you drops before he speaks again, his voice much quieter, much softer than before.

"Do you have feelings for me?" You're taken back by his boldness, your eyes widened and your brows furrowed. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing seems right. So you stay quiet. "Y/N, come on." His eyes search yours, desperate for an answer, a hint to what's going on inside your head.

"Maybe I did when I first got here, but--" you run your hands through your hair, inhaling. "Dylan, we're friends. That's all we're ever going to be, and that's all I want to be," He paces around your room as you sit back onto the foot of your bed, it faintly squeaks under you.

"Do you really believe that?" He laughs sourly. "We've never been just friends, and you know it." The faintest scowl was on his face, whether it was from disappointment or annoyance you couldn't tell. "You really think there isn't anything between us?"

"Yes! Because there isn't!" You're shouting now, desperately. And by all meanings of the word you're frustrated. Intensely. And thankful that your parents decided to go out tonight. "I can't do this to Brenda!"

"You wouldn't be doing anything. She's not my girlfriend, we're not getting married, hell, we're barely even friends! It was one kiss!"

"If the kiss was so insignificant, why tell me at all?!"

"Why are you so bent out of shape over this--"

"Why are you?! I--"

"Would you just shut up for a minute?!" His voice was boisterous, livid, you wouldn't be surprised if Eric could hear from the other side of the house.

"Make me!"

You're not sure how long you two had been bickering at this point. It had been going on all night. About Brenda, about Brandon, Steve, Dylan's dad, Mondale, pie. And every single time it circled back to the same topic: feelings. It was a topic that both of you were well acquainted with but not always willing to talk through. Especially when it had to do with each other. But you weren't losing this without a fight, because if you cared about your friendship with Brenda at all, you had to stick up for her. The weird thing is, these past few months you and Dylan had been drama-free. No spats, no arguments, no sparring. And now? You were both swinging at the other person whenever you could get a hit in.

Wednesday morning came around, and Brandon was trying to catch up with Dylan as he raced down the hall.

"Dylan? How's it goin'?"

"Gettin' by, how's the cold?"

"Better, thanks,"

"Where's Y/N/N? Aren't you two usually following each other around like lost little puppies?"

"She's sick," Brandon sighs, "I feel real bad about it too, it's kind of my fault. She stayed over the night you and Bren went out." Yeah, cuddling with a guy that has a major cold? Bad idea. "How was the movie, by the way?"

"We didn't make the movie," He shrugs.

"Hi," Brenda grins. She places a soft kiss to Dylan's cheek as he puts his arms around her.

"Brenda, hi,"

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't go to the movie?"

"How'd it go with Brandon playing nurse?" Kelly smirks.

"Fine," you laugh, "He came over, we played monopoly, I got high on cough syrup, we watched some Hartley House reruns. It was... fine."

"Oh, he is majorly into you," Kelly muses.

"He is not!" You argue. Crossing your arms over your chest, you continue, "He's just returning the favor."

"He's totally hooked. What guy would spend 6 hours at a girl's house when she's phlegmy and sneezing if he wasn't already completely in love with her?"

"I agree with Kel, Y/N/N. Brandon didn't stop talking about you after he got back! Y’know, he can be so sweet when he's not faced with the challenges of sticking up for me and Dylan. It's like they're all in this conspiracy to take away the most exciting and best thing that's happened to me since we moved here!" Brenda rants. Kelly lies on her side, flipping through a magazine with her back to you both.

"That's why you're going to keep your date with Dylan and sleep at my house," You pick up one of Kelly's discarded magazines. "You can't let your parents stop everything fun that ever happens to you."

"This is going so fast," She's apprehensive as she speaks, her brows creasing slightly.

"And we're just talking about it, wait till you get to the real thing," Kelly smirks.

"I guess I'm more into the romance angle, like in the movies,"

"That's all well and good for the movies, but you do have protection right?" Kelly looks up from her Cosmopolitan to eye Brenda up. Brenda pauses, and swallows.

"Well, no,"

"Open that drawer," She points to her nightstand, and Brenda pulls out a small wooden box, "Basic rule number one-- Never rely on the guy. Memorize that." She opens it up,

"You sound so clinical," Brenda criticizes anxiously. Kelly rolls her eyes, taking a silver condom out.

"Dear, clinical is 'What time shall we schedule the procedure?'"

Brenda's jaw drops, "Kelly, that's awful!"

"Would you rather be sitting around and thinking about names? How about Dylan Jr. or Brendina?" Brenda sighs jaggedly.

"Fine, I'll take 'em. But this is not the part I want to be thinking about."

"If it goes well you won't be thinking at all. Here Y/N/N, take some too." She tosses a few to you, and you catch them with a soft clap.

"Kelly, I'm just getting over my cold. I don't think I'm going to be bedding anyone soon," you laugh.

"You never know," she shrugs, "it could come in handy."

"Hey Dylan, where you going so fast?"

"Got to be someplace, what's up?"

"I was hoping you could help me work on my car this weekend,"

"Look, I'd like to, but my old man got back in town. He's got... it's a long story,"

"You don't have time to tell me about it?"

"Not really,"

"Oh, but you do have time to make out with my sister and flirt with Y/N," He bites, nostrils flaring and eyebrows furrowed.

"What's your point?"

"My point is you better really like my sister. She's very romantic, and dreamy, and sweet and she's not going to move on that easily! Dylan, she's a virgin. And I don't think you should be messing around with Y/N/N when you've already got Brenda.

"I haven't been messing around with-- what kind of jerk do you think I am?" He scoffs, shaking his head, "Have a nice weekend."

You're frantically helping Brenda get dressed, get undressed, get dressed again, and are now helping her do her hair and makeup in the mirror. She's been so nervous all night, now you're nervous and it's not even your date.

"Earrings?" Brenda asks, playing with her hair, "No, I don't need earrings. What else do I need?" Brandon stands in the other side of the bathroom doorway, watching you both pace around the entire time.

"Shoes!"

"Shoes!" She repeats, "Shoes, shoes, shoes!" You race over to her small, but albeit nice shoe collection and help her slip both black heels over her feet. "Okay, okay! What do you think?"

"You look perfect, Bren!" You smile genuinely and excitedly, your eyes crinkling at the edges. She hugs you, and you could practically feel the nerves bouncing around in her. "Have a great time tonight, okay?"

"Okay! Bye Brandon, bye Y/N/N!"

"Bye!" His voice startles you. You'd been so wrapped up in helping Bren look flawless that you didn't even notice he was there.

"I hope everything goes well tonight." You pause, and then step over to him, "What's going on in that head of yours, Walsh?" He was watching you from the moment you got there-- not predatorily or creepily but... fondly. It was unlike him. He was always talkative, with a joke to crack or a comment to make. Dylan was more of the silent observant type. So to see him so speechless was almost concerning.

He says nothing and places a gentle hand under your chin. He lifts it and brushes his lips against yours. If this was a cheesy 80s sitcom, this would be the time the live studio audience would be going nuts because this kiss was... wow.

You return it, and it's an immediate switch of energy. Your hand goes to the back of his head as his hands find themselves against the small of your back and the kiss becomes hungry. Desperate. He worked his mouth against yours, and with his hands and his mouth and the way he felt against you-- your senses were ignited.

You pull away abruptly.

"What?--" you begin. You're both panting lightly, and he's just as flustered as you are. He draws intoxicating little circles on your arm as you both let your breathing calm.

"You wanted to know what was going on inside my head. There you go." Were you blushing? It felt like you were blushing.

"Oh." You look up at him, "Is there a possibility that your train of thought might need to be examined further in the near future?"

"Yeah, I think that's a possibility."

"Brenda?" You enter her bedroom through the conjoining bathroom. Inching closer to her, you see her as she's curled up at window sill, wet cheeks and puffy eyes. She drops the curtain wordlessly and turns toward you. Silently, you wave Brandon in. He tiptoes in and sits at the foot of her bed. You'd never seen her like this before. So vulnerable, so upset. So broken.

You wanna talk?" You ask, sitting down beside her as she sniffles.

"I've been talking to Kelly all night. And it didn't get me anywhere," She bellows, her voice breaking as she speaks. Your stomach wrenched.

"Well, we're open for the morning shift," Brandon offers,

"He didn't show up," she croaks out, "I was ready to spend the night with him. And he didn't show up." Oh, you were so going to kill him later. Brenda looks up at you for the first time that morning, shaking her head in disbelief. "What a jerk, huh?" That total asshole.

"He can be," you nod.

"Not him, me! I thought I was special," her voice comes out wavering and sad.

"You are, Bren," Brandon insists.

"Well, not to him obviously," she tucks a hair behind her ear, "And then finally I call him, and this man told me he was there but that he wouldn't speak to me."

"Brenda, you can't beat yourself up over someone like him," you put a soothing hand on her back.

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. I thought he was different... but he doesn't let people in,"

"I don't understand, Y/N! We were so there! Even yesterday out on the lawn, we were together! We were in sync! I was so happy," She's working herself up again, eyes redder and bottom lip quivering as she shouts, "I don't know what happened but something happened!" You were going to crucify that son of a bitch.

"I'm really sorry, Bren,"

"I have to find out what I did wrong," She cries out, "I need to know what happened."

You waltz into the robotics lab on your free period and find exactly who you were hoping for, sitting at the computer.

"Busy lately, Dylan?" Your arms cross over your chest as you lean against the doorframe.

"Well, if it isn't the queen of tact and diplomacy," he retorts, face still in the monitor.

"What the hell is going on with you?" You spit out, "I know you moved. Brandon and I went to your old house. They said you didn't even leave a forwarding address!"

"It's a long story," he dismisses, wheeling over to the other end of the table on his desk chair.

"Would you rather tell it to Brenda?"

"Y/N, don't start that with me, alright! I got the message," he barks, "you don't want me to hurt your best friend!"

"Then why is that exactly what you did?!" You reprimand loudly, trailing behind him as he gets up and walks to the other table. "I need to know that I had nothing to do with you standing her up, and that I had nothing to do with the utter pain that she's in right now." Your eyes are narrowing as he turns to face you.

"Look, it wasn't because of you. Okay? You gotta believe me-- something came up! That's all!"

"It's one thing not to talk to me, Dylan, I get it. But when you do it to her, she feels like she did something wrong!" As you finish your sentence his jaw clenches.

"It wasn't her!" He fumes, "It had nothing to do with her!" His fists clench against the white table.

"Tell her that! She was so upset, Brandon said she even stayed home from school today." You wait for his response, but he ducks his head, breaking eye contact with you. You scoff, "Fine. It's got nothing to do with her, nothing to do with me. Meanwhile, you're not talking to either of us. Makes a ton of sense!" You huff silently, "See you later, pal."

“I can’t believe him! He swears it’s no one’s fault but--” Steve cuts you off.

“You’re just way too emotionally involved with this, who cares? If he says it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault. Guys don’t beat around the bush like chicks always do. if he says it, he means it,” He scoffs as you both trail down the hall. You think for a minute. Somewhere under the misogyny and the blatant Steve-ness of that sentiment, there might have been a point. Maybe you were putting too much into it. Maybe you just needed to take a step back and look at it objectively.

“Actually,” you sigh, “you might be right.” Steve’s eyes go wide.

“Wait, really?” You nod. “Can I get that in writing? I want to have it tattooed.” Your eyes roll and you send a light push to his shoulder as you both laugh.

Objective. You could be objective.

The next day you're standing against the beige walls of the school auditorium, as Dylan trots over to you.

"Dylan, before you say anything-- I'm sorry. I totally flipped out on you. It's just been a weird confusing week for me, so if I took out my frustration on you--"

"No, I put you in a weird position with this whole Brenda thing, If it felt like I was trying to make you choose... sides or somethin', well... I'm sorry," He says. You smile at him, and he goes to smile back but he sneezes into his sleeve. "But you can be sorry for giving me your cold," he laughs.

"So, you worked everything out with Bren, huh?"

"Yeah, uh, everything's worked out,"

Before you can respond, Brandon waltzes over to your other side, mumbling a "hey," and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Brandon, hi," you grin as he clasps your fingers with his, bringing your knuckles to his lips. He matches your grin, leaning into you.

"You guys good?" He asks, finger wiggling to you and Dylan.

"Yeah, we're good," you nod, "You two good?"

"We're good," Dylan confirms.

"Good!"

"Good."

Taglist: @be-patient-be-good @mpmarypoppins @bevelyhills90210 @blueoz @harleylilo88 @princess-ghost-alien @hueycat2004 @l4life

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blouisparadise · 4 years

Photo

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics with everyone’s favorite trope - sharing a bed! We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Just Like Live Wires | Explicit | 5427 words

Harry climbs into Louis' bed when he's cold. Louis pines.

2) Been Gone Way Too Long | Explicit | 8836 words

“This can’t be happening,” Louis says, banging his hand against the window. “This seriously can’t be happening right now.”

“Just sit down, Louis,” Harry sighs from somewhere behind him. He sounds miserable, like he’s already feeling the cold.

3) I'm Trying Not To Make A Sound | Explicit | 10452 words

Louis thinks he could die right there. He can’t feel anything but the tingling sensation all over his skin. He’s throwing away all his past thoughts on trying to be straight and denying his reactions towards other men, he just wants more of this numbing feeling. Everything else is a long lost memory, can’t think of anything else besides, wow, this feels incredible.

4) Enjoy The Ride | Not Rated | 11103 words

The one where Louis, an omega more than tired of being treated as lesser than alphas, is forced on a road trip by his beta besties only to meet Harry who might just be the alpha he never knew he wanted.

5) Cuffed | Not Rated | 15254 words

What would you do if you were handcuffed to your enemy for 48 hours?

6) Up For It | Explicit | 18223 words

The one where Liam is Mr Organised, Zayn is too perceptive for his own good, Niall is a compulsive matchmaker, and Harry and Louis might just have the surprise to shock them all.

7) Holiday Greetings (And Gay Happy Meetings) | Not Rated | 18417 words | Sequel

Note: This fic has no smut, but it has omega Louis. The sequel has smut.

The one where Niall's dead car and and a foot of snow conspire to force Louis into spending time with an alpha he hates.... or does he?

8) The Aurora Zone | Explicit | 19633 words

The one where Harry is busy crossing off his bucket list while Louis is busy falling for the guy he's supposed to hate.

9) I Wanna Be More Than Friends | Not Rated | 20721 words

The one where Harry’s an alpha with no sense of smell, Louis’ an omega who isn’t allowed to scent his best friend, and that’s all they’ll ever be. Obviously.

10) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24417 words

Note: This fic has BH mentions. It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

11) Like A Siren In The Night | Explicit | 25868 words

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

12) Always Come Back To You | Explicit | 28682 words

“I’ll do it,” Harry offers brightly. No one even blinks. “I’ll do it?”

Louis sighs irritably. “Shut up,” he orders, tossing a pillow in the general direction of Harry’s face. This is a terrible time for jokes, especially Harry’s lame, old people ones.

Not that it was an old people joke. Just that most of the time Harry’s jokes consist of knock-knocks or terrible puns. The type of jokes old people like, Louis’ pretty sure. His nan always finds them hilarious when Harry tells her one.

Harry bats the pillow out of the air without even blinking. “Be reasonable, Lou,” he says in his most reasonable voice.

Louis is perfectly reasonable, thank you very much, and he’s also frustrated and upset and tired and he really wants to punch something. Maybe he should have held on to that pillow a little longer.

“You’re not gonna fucking do it,” he snaps. “That’s the last thing I need.”

13) We’re Not Who We Used To Be | Explicit | 30611 words

“Harry…” Louis’ voice catches in his throat, thick with tears threatening to fall out, so he coughs to clear it before trying again. “Harry is Liam’s best man?” “You didn’t know?” Harry is standing at the entrance of the garage, mouth slightly open and face pulled together. He sets his bag on the ground and puts his hands on his hips. When he does that, he looks just like the Harry that Louis remembers (and loves, he thinks with an aching heart). “I’m sure I mentioned it,” Liam says, but Louis can tell he’s lying by the way he chews on his lower lip and twists his fingers together. “You’re all a bunch of dick heads, I’m getting in the car.” Louis isn’t sure if he’s being unreasonable. He has no idea what the protocol is when your ex-boyfriend shows up after three years and nobody bothered to give you a heads up. He’s pretty sure he’s allowed to be upset about it, even if it’s only for a bit.

14) Blind From This Sweet, Sweet Craving | Explicit | 31170 words

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

15) Welcome Back From The Friend Zone | Mature | 32584 words

The one where an idea to create a fake wedding with the sole intent to receive gifts from billionaires took a turn no one, but also everyone, saw coming.

16) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat | Explicit | 34572 words

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

17) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

18) Playing To Win | Explicit | 36732 words

Big Brother UK alumni Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are selected for the UK vs Australia All Stars series with a massive one million dollar prize in the offing. They’re both fit and smart and would make a great alliance... if only they can stop their feelings from getting in the way.

19) If I Stay | Mature | 37226 words

Harry and Louis agree to a temporary arrangement that Harry can't seem to walk away from no matter how many times he tries.

20) The Space Between | Explicit | 39917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

21) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

22) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

23) No Going Back | Explicit | 56102 words

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right?

This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

24) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

25) Swallow The Knife | Explicit | 76158 words

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

26) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

27) Perfect Storm | Explicit | 80230 words

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

28) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Mature | 102528 words

Another roadtrip AU featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #sharing a bed #blp #blp fic recs

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that-bi-film-nerd · 5 years

Text

ROCKETMAN: a brief spoiler-free review

HELL YEA.

If you read my other posts you’ll see I had some big issues with Bohemian Rhapsody which I strongly disliked for its poor script and production values, tone deaf LGBT representation, lack of respect for Freddie Mercury and the amount of praise and awards it received for these exact things (except Rami, you were great)

Due to director Dexter Fletcher’s involvement in both music biopic projects I wasn’t exactly stoked to see Rocketman even after the positive reception and the involvement of Taron Egerton, an actor for whom I have great admiration. The only reason I went to see this was because I had a spare three hours and it was the only film showing. And wow am I glad I did.

Hot take: Rocketman is the film Bohemian Rhapsody wishes it was and is superior in every way and here’s why. 🔥🔥

- First of all this movie captures the spirit, soul and personal journey of Elton John with beautiful truthness. I can’t state how incredible Taron is and the film is in many ways a character study of Elton, which benefits the film so much. The interesting factoids about Elton’s life and career are still here but wrapped up in a story with a more clear purpose, message and direction.

- The gay representation was beautiful. As well as a thankfully uncompromising sex scene, Elton’s journey to self acceptance about his sexuality is very tastefully done and made me tear up many times. From the ‘Tiny Dancer’ sequence where he wanders alone watching all the happy heterosexual couples including his best friend, to the awkward and risky rooftop kiss and a devastating phone call with his mother, it was a worthy encapsulation of the gay experience whilst also being respectful to Elton. It has a rare genuine understanding and empathy that BH (and indeed a lot of gay media made by non gay people) lacked.

- The musical numbers are buzzing with life and Elton-y vibrancy! Admittedly the first couple of songs fall flat and come across as cringy and misjudged from a bit too much cheese but as soon as ‘Saturday’ appears, the film kicks into gear and they are a joy to watch. In particular I must single out the emotional powerhouses that are “Rocketman” and “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”

In summary, i loved this movie and highly recommend you catch it if you still can! If Bohemian Rhapsody can receive the amount of accolades it did, let’s hope this movie catches onto the public in a similar way because it’s not a tiresome cash-in on a prominent figure, it’s a genuinely moving and dare I say necessary piece of work.

*mic drop*

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yoonminnow · 6 years

Text

Waiting (01)

→ pairing | Jungkook x Reader x Hoseok

→ word count | 9.5k

→ genre | Restaurant AU | host!Jungkook | waiter!Hoseok | crack, smut, and just a dash of angst for flavor

→ summary | Nauseating hangovers, grouchy bartenders, and stoned bus boys are just a snapshot of your daily life working as a waitress at BigHit restaurant. However, through the chaos, your new bunny-teethed trainee manages to capture your attention. Too bad romance and the restaurant industry go together about as well as Namjoon and sharp objects.

→ warnings | explicit sexual content, language, drinking, drugs (kind of), just general bts crackhead behavior.

A/N: Inspired by the movie of the same title as well as my own experience as a server. Believe me when I say it’s as much of a shit show as I make it out to be.

Part ii, (Coming Soon!)

The sway of your car makes you grunt in pain as you pull into the parking lot of BigHit Restaurant, BHs for short, or BigShit as it is so affectionately referred to as by you and your coworkers.

A hangover from Park Jimin’s party the night before sits nauseatingly in your skull, but you’re hoping the Advil you had taken dulls the ache before you inevitably slide your card into that damned POS system to signify the start of your eight-hour hell of a shift. Speaking of which, you glance at your car clock to see you have three minutes before you need to head inside. You silently curse at yourself for taking those last two, okay, two and a half tequila shots when you knew you had to be up for a morning shift, But, to be fair, Jimin’s parties only came around so often. And by so often you mean at least three times a month, but who’s counting really?

A groan escapes your lips as your hand swings behind your passenger seat to grab your apron. You had folded it nicely after your shift yesterday, but either Jin or Taehyung must’ve knocked it to the ground when you drove them to the party yesterday. Scoundrels. You eye the wrinkled garment before shrugging and tossing it to hang over your shoulder.

A final glance at the clock tells you that your time is up, so with a shameful amount of effort, you pull yourself from the car and make your way towards the ever so slightly totalitarian looking building. It had recently received a renovation as part of the company’s attempt to make the atmosphere more “hip” so as to appeal to a younger demographic. However, the designer had been a little overzealous with the industrial-eco-minimalist-Pinterest-esque design and the restaurant now looked like a high-class prison with an assortment of plants and string lights sprinkled on top. The day after the reveal, Yoongi had come into work wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and Manager Bang nearly had his head for it.

Your temple pulses as you force open the heavy wooden door, reminding you yet again of your poor decision-making skills, but luckily, you aren’t waitressing this morning. Manager Bang had listed you as a trainer on the schedule for today, and though you’d much rather be balls deep in a Black Mirror binge session, training is definitely preferable to dealing with the snobby customers that make up the weekday lunch rush. You’ll let Namjoon deal with that today.

Speak of the devil, you catch sight of Namjoon prepping his tables upon you entering the dining area. His hair is slightly disheveled to match his backwards apron, and judging by the puffiness of his eyes he managed to get about as much sleep as you had.

“Greetings, Joon!” you call out from the doorway.

Your shout causes his hand to flail in shock, and subsequently knock over the salt shaker he had been filling. The icy stare he directs at you would probably be more intimidating if you hadn’t seen him curled up on the couch clutching onto Jimin’s thigh just a handful of hours earlier.

“God, what are you, a drill sergeant? Shouldn’t you be as miserable as me?” he grumbles out, sweeping the salt from the table into his cupped hand.

“Ah, from years of practice I have become a master of masking pain. Plus, I didn’t drink as much as you did. Come to think of it, no one did.” you claim as you walk over to Namjoon to help him refill the formerly filled shaker.

“Mm.” Namjoon hums in response. “Was it that bad?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Jin doesn’t even remember.” you shake your head.

“Remember what?”

“Oh. Uhm, nothing.” you spew out.

“Y/N, what did I-”

“So anyway, your shirtless rendition of Careless Whisper was really something to behold!” you quickly change the subject.

“M-my what?”

“Don’t fret, your rhythm-was-wonderful,” you say as you pat his shoulder to punctuate each word.

“Please, stop talking.”

Driven by his discomfort, you slowly bring the salt shaker up to your mouth to pose as a microphone. “I’m never gonna dance again,” you croon out, reaching your hand up to run it down Namjoon’s unamused face. “The way I dance with youuu-”

“Ehem.”

The sound of a throat clearing prompts you to whip around, sodium mic still in hand, only to find yourself face-to-face, or rather face-to-bald-spot with your manager.

Despite his looming presence in the restaurant, Manager Bang’s physical stature doesn’t quite hold the same imposing quality. His wispy black hair reaches just about eye-level for you, and though this sometimes causes your neck to ache when you have to stare down at him for extended periods of time, it does mean that on this one particular occasion you are able to see over his head into the large brown doe eyes of whom you can assume is your trainee for the day.

The round eyes blink at you when you meet their gaze, remaining for what is likely considered a moment too long before your attention snaps back down to Manager Bang.

“Y/N, this is Jungkook. Jungkook, Y/N. She will be your trainer for today.”

“Hello.” the young boy named Jungkook smiles out, exposing a cute set of bunny-like teeth, and you can’t help the tug at your lips as you continue to take in his soft young features.

“Welcome.” you beam back, realizing you still have the salt shaker held up to your face. You quickly set the offending object back down onto the table before wiping your palms down your apron.

“Y/N is one of our strongest servers, and also our best host.” your manager relays to Jungkook.

“I’m the only host.” you correct.

“Making you the best!” Manager Bang proclaims.

“And the worst.” Namjoon digs from behind you.

You throw an elbow back, hoping to catch Namjoon in the side, but are met with only air and a self-satisfied chuckle from the waiter.

“She will teach you everything you need to know before tonight.” your manager directs towards Jungkook, to which he nods sweetly.

“Okay, then! Y/N, I trust you’ll mold this boy into an upright employee with your delicately skilled hands.” Bang booms as you try to hide your distaste with his peculiar choice of metaphor. “If you have any questions, I’ll be in the back.” Manager Bang announces before slipping past you. “And Namjoon, clean this mess up.”

“Yes, sir.”

You shoot a cocky smile back to Namjoon before turning your attention to Jungkook, who now has his bottom lip tucked under his teeth.

“Okay!” you clasp your hands in front of you and rock back onto your heels. “So, with that lovely image in our heads, have you worked in a restaurant before?”

“Uhm,” he speaks shyly while scratching at the back of his neck. “No, I’m actually- th-this is my first job like this.”

His mannerisms and slight stutter all serve to accentuate how damn young he looks, and though you fear his answer may sully your pride, your curiosity ultimately gets the best of you.

“Jungkook, if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“I just turned 21.” The corner of his lip turns upwards.

“Ah, I see,” you say, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the crows feet around your eyes that you spotted this morning. “That makes you the youngest here then.”

“Is that bad?” Jungkook questions innocently.

“No, not at all.” you wave your hands. “Everyone’s cool. No initiation bullshit,” you say as you throw a glare Namjoon’s way, and though he doesn’t lift his head, the shrug he gives confirms that he knows you were speaking to him.

Rather than speak, Jungkook simply nods.

“Alright, so a tour!” you announce, turning away from the boy to face the open restaurant floor. “This is the main seating area,” you say as you fan your arm over the booths and tables that take up a majority of the floor space. “This is my section,” you say pointing to the booths at the middle of the restaurant, “in the center because I’m the best.” you joke loud enough for Namjoon to overhear. He clucks his tongue but doesn’t bother to start a feud.

“That section is usually Namjoon’s, who happens to be that beaming ball of light over there.” you gesture in Namjoon’s direction and he sends a lethargic wave back to Jungkook. “And the patio is usually Hoseok’s, who you’ll meet tonight.”

“Only three of you?” Jungkook questions.

“Two for the lunch shift,” you correct. “Three on dinner. Yoongi our bartender and Taehyung our busser can serve if we need them, but Yoongi is a grump, and Tae is...well.”

“He’s Tae.” Namjoon finishes for you.

“I guess I’ll find out what that means later.” Jungkook laughs.

“Oh, I’m sure you will.”

Jungkook trails close behind you as you walk him through the restaurant, pointing out different sections and features he’ll have to know. He follows obediently, and though he doesn’t speak much, he has a habit of humming confirmations when you’re explaining something. Which is why halfway through the tour, when you’re walking Jungkook into the kitchen, you notice the absence of his cute little hums. You cast a glance over your shoulder to make sure you haven’t lost him only to find his eyes aimed down at an angle. Is he staring at my...You halt your steps suddenly so that the boy almost bumps into you. His head speedily snaps up to your face, eyes wide enough to be telling of his misdemeanor.

You raise your brow to him as a slight smirk pulls at your lips. If he had been anyone else in this restaurant you would laugh out loud at his obvious gawking, but you spare the young boy the embarrassment. Besides, it’s not like you minded a young twenty-something checking you out. You owned these pants partially for that effect in the first place. Jungkook stutters as if he’s about to apologize, but you simply cut him off to begin explaining the different sections of the kitchen, though you can see his face getting redder with shame by the second. Cute.

“Ah, Y/N. You’re up early!” a voice calls out from the kitchen, pulling your attention away from the riveting explanation of the dishwashing station you had been giving.

“Jin!” you beam as the broad man rounds the corner to pull you to his side. “How are you feeling?” your tone suddenly laced with a hint concern.

“Why is everyone talking to me like that this morning?” Jin glances with wide eyes down to you. “Did something happen last night?”

“Wait, you don’t remember the thing?”

“What thing?” Jin questions.

“Last night, when you and Namjoon- you know what, nevermind.” you puff out a breath of air. “Jin, this is our new host, Jungkook!”

Jin glances skeptically at you before turning to Jungkook to shake his hand.

“Good to meet you.” he shoots out at Jungkook. “Is Y/N playing nice today?”

Jungkook’s scrunches his brows as he babbles, “She’s, uh yeah-”

“I’m always nice, Jin. Don’t give him the wrong impression.”

Jin snorts, “Oh yeah? What about the other night when Jimin hit on that hot mom from your section.”

You click your tongue in disdain. “I only slapped him because he said he deserved half the tips for that table!”

“Or how about what you did to Tae last month when he caught you and Hoseok-”

“Okay! Nice chatting with you, Jin!” you shout over him as you guide Jungkook by his arm towards the walk-in refrigerator.

“What did Jin and Namjoon do last night?” Jungkook asks under his breath as you tug him away.

“I’ll tell you later.”

The training session continues like this. You wind your way through the restaurant with Jungkook in tow. He scribbles down the occasional note on his training manual, but mostly he just listens and nods, a large contrast to the noisy boys you’re so accustomed to working with. Up until you are showing him the storage cellar of the restaurant you’re sure he’s only uttered a handful of sentences.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you, Jungkook?” you inquire as you start pulling paper towels off of the shelf to bring back up to the restaurant.

“Oh,” you hear Jungkook shuffle behind you. “I’m sorry.”

You laugh, placing a bag of after-dinner mints on top of your pile. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m just curious.”

“I’m actually not that quiet.” Jungkook rubs at his neck. “It just takes me a while when I meet new people. I-I’m pretty introverted.”

“I understand,” you say, brushing off your knees as you stand back up. “I’m exactly the same.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches upwards. “You? I don’t believe that.”

“What? Why not?” you tilt your head. “Are you calling me loud?”

Jungkook laughs, “No, not loud. I just can’t imagine you as an introvert. You’re so...social.”

You scoff at that. “Oh, you don’t know me that well, kid. I am the queen of asociality.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jungkook’s tone suggests the hint of a challenge, and you are more than prepared to prove your social inadequacy.

“One time,” you pridefully begin, “I spent 45 hours in my room playing The Sims.”

“Oh, that’s nothing!” Jungkook brushes off your attempt. “Try a 72-hour overwatch marathon.”

You step closer as you cross your arms over your chest. You refuse to be out-lonered by a mere child. “I canceled going to a wedding last week to binge watch all the Harry Potters.”

Jungkook meets your steps and looks down at you from the bridge of his nose. “I failed out of one of my classes because I was refused to do the group work.”

“I only have two close friends.” you shoot back.

“I have one.” Jungkook cocks his head to the side, willing you to beat him.

“One time,” you smile, prodding your finger against Jungkook’s chest, “I went so long without talking to anyone that my mom filed a missing persons report.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open. “Is that true?”

“Scouts honor,” you say, holding up three fingers.

“Are you even a scout?” Jungkook snorts.

“What does that matter?”

“What does that matt- it doesn’t mean anything if you aren’t a scout.” Jungkook garbles out.

You shrug as you turn to pick up your pile of items.“I always thought it was a figure of speech. Like, ‘time is money’ or ‘nip it in the butt.’”

“It’s ‘bud.’” Jungkook corrects you.

“What?” you pause mid-lift. “No, it’s ‘butt.’ Why would it be ‘bud?’”

“‘Bud’, as in cutting off the bud of a plant before it can grow,” Jungkook argues. “Why would it be ‘butt’? Like you’re going to bite a butt?”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re into,” you mumble as you shift the weight of the objects in your grip.

“Here, let me help you,” Jungkook says as he grabs almost everything you had gathered in your arms, leaving you with just two paper towel rolls.

“Jungkook, how am I supposed to withhold my authority over you if you just take my work.” you feign offense as you wave your paper towels above your head.

“Oh, sorry. May I please carry these for you, Ma’am.” Jungkook bows his head to you.

“Ew,” you cringe as you tap the bottom of Jungkook’s chin with your index finger, urging him to look back up. “Don’t call me mam.”

“Yes, sir.” Jungkook flashes his bunny teeth at you, and you mentally curse at your stomach for the backflip it does.

“Opening and closing hours for the restaurant?”

“12 to 10 Sundays and Mondays, and 11 to 11 Tuesdays through Saturdays.” Jungkook rattles off without hesitation.

“Good,” you praise. “And what is the proper term for the patrons of our restaurant?”

“Guests,” Jungkook answers readily.

“Excellent! We never refer to them as?”

“Customers.”

“Nice, Jungkook! Your quizzes are all finished.” you beam at the boy sitting across from you. “Do you feel ready for tonight?”

“I think so,” Jungkook says while thumbing through the pages of the employee handbook.

“You’re going to be fine. And if you need help I’ll be on the floor all night,” you assure him as you pick up the empty basket of fries you had shared from the center of the table. “So, I have to start getting ready for my shift, but seriously if you need me for anything-”

“I’ll come to find you.” Jungkook finishes.

“Good.” you nod, turning away to head to the kitchen, but Jungkook calling out your name triggers you to look back in question.

“Thank you for helping me today.” Jungkook’s shy smile returns to his face.

Your face suddenly seems to flush with heat, and you silently pray it’s because you’re coming down with something.

“Anytime, Jungkook.”

By 5 o’clock Jungkook has settled into his spot at the host stand. You watch him nervously eye the door as you clean down the tables at your section. You momentarily consider going over to give him a little pep talk before the rush kicks in just to boost his confidence, but it’s not at all because you want to catch a glimpse of his incredibly endearing smile again. That would be stupid.

You’re readjusting the drink menus for the third time when a voice from behind you nearly causes you to faceplant into the table.

“Hey, Y/N!” a far too peppy Hoseok chirps from behind you.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” you say standing up to straighten your apron. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up behind me?”

“Oh, someone’s a little grumpy today,” he says, lifting his hand out to deliver a pinch to your cheek which you swiftly slap away.

“Don’t play with me, I’m on a double shift today.” you groan, massaging the tight muscle in your shoulder.

“Why? Are we short-staffed?” Hoseok asks, letting his eyes linger on your exposed neck for a moment while you roll your head to the side.

“No, I was training the new kid.”

“New kid?” Hoseok whips his head around to seek out the new face. When he spots Jungkook over at the host stand his eyebrows raise up. “Oh, he’s just a baby!”

“He’s not that young!” you say defensively before you can stop yourself.

Hoseok’s eyes quickly move back to your reddening face. He pauses for a moment before a sly smile pulls at the edge of his lips.

“Oh,” he tilts his head, “I see.”

“What? See what? There’s nothing to see!” you garble out.

“Oh yeah? Because your cheeks are about as red as Tae’s eyes when he’s baked.”

“Wha- You-” you stutter out. “I’ll show you red.” you threaten as you rise to your tippy toes to squeeze Hoseok’s cheeks between your fingers, but he quickly bats them away.

“Y/N, as much as I enjoy your sweet caresses I actually wanted to ask you something.”

You lower your heels back down to the ground, letting your hand swing limply to your side. “Shoot.”

“Well, there’s this party on Thursday-”

“Hoseok.” you try to cut him off.

“And I was thinking that maybe-”

“Hoseok, no.” you grab the wrist of his gesturing hand to stop him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not! We haven’t gone out in over a month.” Hoseok begins to bring his free hand up to your waist before remembering you’re at work and dropping it back down.

“Yeah, and do you have any recollection of why it’s been that long?”

Hoseok pouts his lips out as if he’s thinking before shaking his head innocently.

“Hoseoook,” you drag out his name in annoyance. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what? I thought what we had going was pretty good!” Hoseok brings his hand up to squeeze at your hip quickly before releasing it.

“Oh yeah?” you ask with a false cheerfulness. “And at Jackson’s party, was it going good then too?”

“Jackson’s party? Y/N, that was just-”

“Hoseok,” you interrupt, “you don’t owe me an explanation, you aren’t my boyfriend. But I just- can we talk about this later?”

Hoseok takes a step closer to grab the wrist you had been wringing between your clenched fist. “Okay, but-”

“Uhm, Y/N?” a soft voice calls from behind you.

Your head spins to look over your shoulder only to be greeted with the sight of a wide-eyed Jungkook.

“I’m, uh, seating you at table 23.”

You cock your head to the side to find that there is indeed an older couple standing just behind Jungkook eyeing you suspiciously. You immediately shake Hoseok’s hand from your wrist and spin on your heel, a wide practiced smile breaking out over your face.

“Oh, welcome!” you spew out, as they slide into the booth. “Can I start you with some waters?”

Hoseok tucks his hands into his apron as he passes swiftly behind you, and you do your best to ignore the burn of his stare you feel against your cheek.

The rush hits the restaurant like a semi-truck that night. The decked out kind with all those fancy little lights and a bunk for the driver to sleep in. Having just you, Namjoon, and Hoseok on the floor was a big mistake, and you make a mental note to tell manager Bang that in an only slightly passive-aggressive text later.

Your party of 12 has just spilled something sticky on the floor when another table calls you over with the snap of two perfectly manicured fingers. They brusquely inquire about the location of their second entree, claiming they had been waiting over half an hour even though you know for goddam certain you punched in their order less than 15 minutes ago.

“Let me check right on that for you, okay?” you beam out before stomping your way over to the kitchen.

Upon entering the area, you find that dishes have begun to pile up on the expo line. Though you’d normally refrain from pointing fingers, you can’t help but notice that Taehyung has been recruited from his usual assigned post of bussing to running food to tables, which may potentially probably is the reason that two entrees and a side of mashed potatoes have gotten lost tonight.

“Tae!” you call out as he’s gathering three dishes onto a tray.

His head cocks up to acknowledge that he’s listening without stopping his work.

“Where’s Jackson? Isn’t he supposed to be running tonight?”

“Called out,” Taehyung mutters.

“Son-of-a… that’s the second time this week!” you complain to the dead air. “Okay, well when you get a second could you ask Jimin to bus table 21?”

“Mm,” Taehyung grunts in a way that does little to put you at ease.

You watch for a moment as Taehyung is about to lift his tray up when you notice that the dishes on it are not evenly spaced.

“Wait, Tae! You can’t-” you dive in just in time as the heavy tray starts to tip to the side. Your hand supports the weighty edge to prevent the dishes from spilling over, and besides the bit of scaldingly hot soup that has splashed onto your arm, all the dishes are safe and sound. A woosh of air escapes your lips as you help a frenzied Taehyung bring the tray back to the stand.

“Holy shit! Thanks, Y/N.” he gasps. “Bang would’ve had me killed.” Tae glances up to you as he speaks, and that’s when you notice the red glassiness that is painting the whites of his eyes.

“Tae, are you fucking stoned?” you hiss out to avoid anyone else hearing you.

“I-I’m,” he stutters out as you attempt to burn a hole in his nose with your heated stare. “I thought I would just be bussing today! I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

You roll your eyes as you quickly re-adjust the plates on the tray, and set two more on the forearm and palm of your opposite hand. You slide your hand to the underside of the tray before lifting all the dishes with a display of balance that only comes with the experience of too many damn years in this industry.

“You owe me for this.” you shoot back at Taehyung who watches in awe.

You quickly drop the dishes to the assigned tables in Namjoon and Hoseok’s sections before making a mad dash back to the kitchen to recover your missing entree.

“Hey, Jin!” you yell into the smoky abyss. “Where’s my clam linguine?”

“Did you check the system?” is what echoes through the exposed window a moment later, though all you can see is the back of a fry cook’s head.

You glance to the screen on your right to find that your dish is four items away from being ready.

“It says you’re making it!” you shout back.

“So we’re making it!”

“Seokjin, please! I got this woman on my back.” you groan into the window.

“Yeah, me too,” Jin says as he appears in front of you, hair pushed back into a black cap. “And I’m looking at her.”

You blow a strand of hair out of your face, realizing that you need to reassess your tactic.

“Wow, Jin,” you say as you bat your eyelashes at him. “Did I ever tell you how handsome you are?”

“Are you trying to woo your way to the front of the line, Y/N?”

“Me? Well, I’d never,” you say in an adopted southern accent.

“Work on your acting. Here’s your clams.” Jin says as he passes you a plate through the window.

“Oh my god, I love you!” you say grasping the plate.

“Yeah, don’t spread that around, okay? It’ll ruin my cred.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning away to drop the plate at your table before making your way over to the bar. You make a quick pass by Jungkook who is hunched over the hostess stand. Stressed is an understatement if the shakiness of his hand crossing names from the waitlist is any indication. A sense of guilt washes over you for possibly not having trained him well enough for this, though, realistically it was Manager Bangs fault for starting him on a Friday night. That passive aggressive text is getting upgraded to a mildly-veiled threatening text.

“Hey, Jungkook!” you call out as you walk by. “Bump the wait to 30 minutes. The kitchen could use a break.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, nodding stiffly at you.

You smile and stride over to him to place a hand on the back of his tight neck, pressing into it lightly.

“Loosen up, you’re doing a great job,” you say as you bump your hip into his.

When he mirrors your smile to expose his bunny teeth you feel your chest jump, and you swiftly lift your hand away from him, suddenly realizing that the lack of distance you had created might not be the best choice. With a quick pivot, you head off to the bar.

“Oh,” you call back as an afterthought. “Will you get a busser on table 21?”

“Yeah, no problem!”

You shoot a thanks back to Jungkook as you walk into the bar, the familiar sight of an unamused Yoongi behind the counter bringing a grin to your face.

“Oh, Yoongiii-”

“Don’t start with me, Y/N.” he cuts in bluntly.

You feign a gasp as you press a hand to your chest. “Why, Yoongi. I’m hurt. I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

“Your fucking tables are running me up the wall.” the gray-haired man gripes, his tongue running the length of his cheek in aggravation. “Stop pushing the cocktails so hard.”

“Hey there, grumpy puss. Cocktails mean tips. And also, watch your language. There are children present.” you warn, nodding your head towards a family sat at one of the bar booths.

“What? Jungkook can’t hear me from all the way over there.”

Your mouth drops open in indignation. “He’s not that young!”

“Oh.” Yoongi smirks at your flustered face. “So, Hoseok was right. You have a thing for the new kid.”

“Don’t start.” You wrinkle your nose at Yoongi’s smug face. “And anyway, he’s only a few years younger than you, old man.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Mariah Carey,” Yoongi says turning back to his drink order screen.

“Mariah Car- Excuse me, but if I’m going to be a cougar I’d like to consider myself more of a Demi Moore,” you argue.

“You wish.” Yoongi taps the screen to life only to groan in response to the items coming up on his list. You can see that your party of twelve’s drink orders fill up a majority of his screen, but it’s too late to duck away in shame before Yoongi is turning back to you.

“Y/N,” he exhales, making you wince. “You’re a beautiful girl, and you know I care very much for your tip percentage, especially because it feeds into mine. But if one more of your customers orders a goddamn frozen margarita, I’m going to shove it so far-”

“Woah, Woah there, mister. First of all, they’re guests.”

“I actually might stab you.” Yoongi groans, sliding a martini towards you.

“So long as the blood doesn’t get in the drinks.” you wink as you place the martinis Yoongi prepared on your tray.

“You better tip me out well today,” Yoongi grumbles out as you turn to exit the bar.

“Is that all I am to you, Yoongi? A source of income?”

“Don’t forget ‘massive thorn in my side.’”

A giggle escapes your lips as you slide through the bar doors.

“Did the bussers clean table 21 yet, Jungkook?” you ask as you pass by the host stand.

“Jimin said he’s on it.” the slightly less frantic looking host relays.

“Mm,” you hum skeptically as you make your way to your table to pass out drinks.

Upon reaching your table 21, you find that it is, in fact, still not clean. A mix of a sigh and a grunt leave your mouth as you glance around the restaurant in search of the blonde haired suspect. Your scanning stops when you spot the accused chatting up one of the guests by the bathroom, and your legs are moving before you prompt them to.

You catch Jimin’s attention when you’re just feet away from him, his eyes widening in panic as his back turns to press against the wall he had been previously leaning against. You close in on him until there are just a few inches separating, willing him to look up at your towering figure.

“Hi.” you greet with a pep in your voice that serves as a strong contrast to your invasive stance.

“Uh, Y/N-” he squirms, feeling uncomfortable with your aggressively joyous demeanor.

“Can I show you something?” you cut Jimin off, tilting your head to the side.

“U-uhm, yeah.” Jimin stutters out before turning to the girl. “I’ll talk to you lat-”

“Okay, let’s go.” you jump in, placing a heavy grip on his shoulder, guiding him back towards the dining area.

Once you’re out of earshot of the guest, you let your face drop.

“What the hell are you doing, Jimin?” you spit out. “Can’t you keep your dick in your pants for one shift?”

“I can assure you Y/N, my dick is very much in my pants.” Jimin mocks, glancing down at his crotch.

“Well, I can assure you that it won’t be for much longer when I chop it off.”

“Yikes.” Jimin recoils from the grasp you have on your shoulder.

You reach up to massage at your shoulder once you reach your table, exhaling a breath as you dig into the tight muscle. “Sorry, Jimin. I’m just stressed about making my rent this month. I need to pull good tips this week, which means I need all the tables I can get.” you admit. “I don’t mean to go all psycho on you.”

Jimin eyes the way you roll your neck, suddenly filled with remorse for causing more stress to you. You roll your shoulders back before bending over to start clearing off some plates.

“No, wait Y/N. I should do it.” Jimin makes a move to grab the plates from your hand.

“Don’t worry, Chim. It’s faster if we both do it anyway,” you assure him, stacking another empty plate onto your forearm.

“Fine.” Jimin relents. “But, at least let me buy you a drink to make up for it tonight.”

You kick your head to the side to get a strand of hair out of your face, bringing your eyes up to Jimin’s. “Fine.” you smile lightly.

“Good,” he says, grabbing the stack of plates from your grip. “And then maybe after I can help massage out your shoulder.”

“Jimin.” your voice sinks to a warning tone.

“Fine, sorry. It was worth a shot.”

You scoff, a smile pulling at your lips as you turn away from the younger boy to start wiping down your table.

Jungkook’s body molds easily into the pleather backing of the booth he’s secured in the employee break area, which is really just a set of tables tucked into the corner of the restaurant. He plops his sandwich that he ordered from you onto the table in front of him before stretching his arms above his head, an exaggerated groan leaving his mouth.

This first shift had fully been kicking his ass so far. He could already feel the ache of his legs from all the standing and running around he had done today. He hadn’t expected a hosting job to be so chaotic. In fact, when his mom sent him out to find a job to help with his tuition payments he had chosen this job because he figured it’d be easy money. It seems like the restaurant gods were laughing at him now for doubting the difficulty of the position.

It certainly could have been much worse though, Jungkook considers. Luckily, you had been there to swoop in multiple times that night and save his ass when he had screwed up.

Watching you fly across the restaurant, handling not only your job but picking up the slack of others made Jungkook have a whole new appreciation for serving, and especially for you. The way you handled yourself was different than anyone he had met before, and he knew that you were probably just being friendly with the way you treated him, but he just couldn’t seem to get your damn smile out of his head.

The image induces a goofy grin to bloom across Jungkook’s face as he reaches to pick up his sandwich, but the sound of a voice to his side quickly snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Hey!” Hoseok says as he pulls out a chair to drop into. “Jungkook was it?”

“Yeah, and you’re Hoseok?” Jungkook asks as he brings the corner of his sandwich to his mouth. Of course, he already knows that. He’s been seating guests in his section all night, but he sticks to the formality anyway.

“Yeah, nice to meet you.” Hoseok shoots a bright smile at the young boy. “So, how are you liking the place so far?”

“It’s good! A lot to take in, but, uh, I had a good teacher.” Jungkook smiles down towards his food, an action that elicits a head tilt from Hoseok.

“Yeah, Y/N’s something, isn’t she?” Hoseok pops a fry in his mouth while keeping his gaze on Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, she’s- she’s really cool.”

The older server watches as a shy grin breaks out across the younger’s face, and begs him to clear his tightening throat.

“So, what rules has Y/N taught you so far?” Hoseok inquires as he leans back in his chair.

“Rules?” Jungkook raises a curious eyebrow at him before answering. “Uhm, don’t eat the after-dinner mints.” Jungkook recounts.

“That’s what I thought.” Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Okay, Jungkook. I’m gunna give you the lowdown on this place. Just some friendly tips.”

Jungkook swallows hard as he eyes the way Hoseok scoots himself closer to the table, hunching forward slightly as if he’s about to divulge something confidential. “What kind of tips?”

Hoseok brushes his finger along his bottom lip as he considers the question. “Think of this as an unofficial employee handbook.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jungkook wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Alright, so the first rule,” Hoseok says as he props an elbow up on the table with his index finger extended.

Jungkook leans in over his sandwich, fully attentive.

“Don’t piss off Min Yoongi.”

“Min Yoongi,” Jungkook repeats. “He’s the bartender, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Don’t let looks deceive you. He might be small, but he can cut you down faster than anyone, trust me.” Hoseok side-eyes the bartender across the lobby.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Let’s just say the last employee that messed with him had to be referred to a therapist once Yoongi was finished with him.”

“Wow.” Jungkook exhales. “Is the guy okay now?”

“He’s- well actually, no one really knows,” Hoseok crinkles his brow trying to think. “The company was mad because they had to pay for the sessions, but Yoongi never got nailed for it.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, he’s a softie most of the time. Just don’t get on his bad side.”

Jungkook tears another bite off his sandwich and nods.

“Alrighty, rule number two. This one’s more for our own safety.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says around a mouthful of bread.

“Don’t let Namjoon near knives.” Hoseok crosses his hands into an X over his chest for emphasis.

“What?” Jungkook cocks his head. “But he’s a server. He has to use knives.”

“Nope, not him. Bang made it a rule after he nearly degloved his finger cutting into a guest’s birthday cake.”

Jungkook winces just at the term alone. “What does deglove-”

“Don’t mind that, all you need to know is it’s not pretty.” Hoseok waves Jungkook off. “So, if you see Namjoon with a knife, come find me or Y/N and we’ll handle him. We’re debating extending this rule to Taehyung, but I’ll keep you updated.”

Jungkook hums in agreement.

Hoseok clasps his hands together and rubs his palms before continuing. “Okay, last rule, and probably the most important.”

Jungkook reaches for a sip of his water as he keeps his eyes on Hoseok.

“No incestuous work relationships,” Hoseok says with a straight face.

“No incestu-” Jungkook coughs into his glass. His eyes water as he clears his throat, ridding it of the offending liquid. “So, you mean no dating?”

“No dating, no hookups.” Hoseok nods.

“Oh.” Jungkook clears his throat again as his sights unintentionally jump over to where you’re chatting with Yoongi at the bar.

“Don’t even think about it, kid,” Hoseok says as his eyes follow Jungkook’s. “She’s off limits.”

“I wasn’t-” Jungkook starts, turning his large eyes back to Hoseok.

“It’s okay, We’ve all been ther- Well, wanted to be there before.” Hoseok laughs. “You know how these things go. If it were to get ugly it’d make work pretty awkward, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, “right.”

“Just looking out for you, bud.” Hoseok outstretches his hand for Jungkook to accept.

“Yeah, no I appreciate it,” Jungkook says as he slides his palm against Hoseok’s.

“Alright, well I gotta head back in, I’m just on my 5. But me and a few of the others are grabbing drinks after the shift if you want to join.” Hoseok offers as he collects his plate from the table, his hand smoothing out the crease in his apron.

“Okay,” Jungkook smiles up at the older man. “I’ll be there.”

[Hoseok: 11:12] Heading out in a sec babe. Just rolling silverware now.

Babe. You try not to snort at your screen. You had been cut just before the restaurant closed, along with Jungkook, Namjoon, and Jimin. The four of you had headed over to a local bar to secure a table before everyone else got off the clock.

Hoseok made sure to catch you before you left to ask if you were joining them for drinks, and when you confirmed he told you he’d text you. A man of his word, as uncharacteristic as that may be, his text lit up your phone that had been perched on the table to your side. You continue to stare at the text without unlocking your phone before picking it up off the table and tucking it back into your pocket. He knows you’re here already, no need to answer him.

Rather, you turn your attention back to Jungkook who is seated next to you, dress sleeves rolled up and beer in hand. You will yourself not to drool at the prominent vein that twists in his forearm each time he lifts his bottle from the table, but your self-control seems to be at an all-time-low tonight. You’d blame it on the shitty shift, but you’re pretty sure it’s just a result of the boy in front of you.

In the atmosphere of your stuffy restaurant, it was quite easy to mistake Jungkook for a young kid. His sweet demeanor was likely what landed him the job in the first place. But now with his shirt collar unbuttoned and his ruffled hair pushed back from his face it was hard to imagine him as anything other than a handsome young man. Really handsome. Devastatingly so. You grip tighter to your glass of bourbon, trying to clear the thoughts from your head.

“So, you were telling me about your major?” you say, bringing the cool rim of the glass to your lips.

“Yeah, video game design.” Jungkook nods. “I’ve loved video games since I was in diapers, so I figured this was the most noble route to take to justify my obsession.”

“Well, it is noble. It’ll force more people into my chair when their eyes start to go bad.” you laugh, crossing your legs under the table.

“Oh, so you’re an ophthalmologist?” Jungkook perks up.

“Soon to be, I hope.” you sigh, running your finger along the rim of your glass. “I’m paying my way through, so it’ll take me a while to save up enough.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re the best waiter we have then.” Jungkook smiles warmly at you, and you mirror the action without trying.

“I resent that,” Namjoon calls from his seat across the table where he is chatting with Jimin.

“He means waitress,” you call back to Namjoon.

“You’re the only waitress,” Jimin states.

“Making her the best!” Jungkook adds.

“And the wors-”

“Oh my god, where’s the off switch?” you whine, tipping your head back to down the last few sips of your drink. Your throat burns from the sweet alcohol, but you welcome the feeling. As you bring your head back down, you notice a nice little film glazing over your vision now that you sit at a comfortable level of tipsiness.

Jungkook laughs at your expense, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes your face heat up. You lean over to poke his thigh, imploring him to cease his taunting, but as you press your finger firmly to his thigh muscle you’re met only with pain as your finger bends back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Ow, what in the world?” you pull your hand back to your chest as if you had been burned. “Are you made of marble or something?”

“Carved by Leo himself.” Jungkook chuckles at your act of holding your limp hand.

“Da Vinci?” you question.

“No, Dicaprio. Da Vinci didn’t sculpt.”

“Oh and Dicaprio does?” you laugh.

“I’m sure that he’s capable, he’s a man of many talents.”

“Yeah, he sure is,” you say cocking an eyebrow up slowly.

“What? Don’t be weird, he’s like twice your age.” Jungkook twists his face sourly.

“What can I say,” you taunt as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I have a thing for older guys.”

Jungkook chokes on the beer that he had just tipped into his mouth as you bite down on your tongue to silence your giggles.

“What’s so great about older guys?” Jungkook asks as he brings a napkin up to his mouth to wipe the dribble of liquid from his chin.

“I don’t know. They just seem to know what they’re doing, you know?” you continue to tease.

Truthfully, you hadn’t intended the conversation to head in this direction, but you were thoroughly enjoying the way Jungkook was getting riled up.

“Age doesn’t necessarily relate to competence.” Jungkook challenges while twisting his beer bottle back and forth by its neck, and please god stop looking at his arm.

“Well, I’ve never been given an example that proves otherwise.” you challenge, wishing that you were truly joking.

“You’re probably just looking in the wrong places.” Jungkook shrugs before taking a sip of his beer. “Besides, us young ones have more stamina.”

Your jaw goes slack as you try your best not to let your thoughts linger at the underlying intention of his words, but it’s difficult when Jungkook is watching your face for a reaction. You’re about to mumble out some half-assed remark about lasting ability when someone suddenly drops into the seat to your right, making you jump in surprise.

“Oh, fuck Hoseok! You scared me. Again.” you exhale as he brings his hand across the back of your chair.

“Oops, sorry.” he quips, clearly not sorry at all. He too has stripped down from his work uniform. His shirt slightly wrinkled from the day’s work and his hair parted around his face to reveal his forehead. You wish like mad that you didn’t see him as attractive, but alas, you find yourself once again gripped by his crushingly handsome features.

“Bang held me late. Didn’t you get my messages?” Hoseok inquires, letting his eyes linger on your bare legs for a moment before lifting back to your face.

“I, uh, put my phone away.” you offer lamely.

Hoseok clicks his tongue as he brings his hands down to the seat of his chair to scoot it closer towards the table. You think nothing of it, but it isn’t until you feel the brush of his finger against the outside of your naked thigh that you become fully aware of his proximity to you.

“So, what were you guys chatting about?” Hoseok pries, running his fingertip down to your knee.

You shift your leg under the table to halt his movements, but it simply urges his to grip onto your knee to still it.

“Uh, Leonardo Dicaprio,” you answer in an attempt to keep the conversation flowing. You shoot Hoseok a warning glance, silently imploring him to stop, but he avoids it by keeping his eyes trained on Jungkook.

“Yeah, Y/N has a thing for him.” Jungkook chuckles, unaware of your sudden change in demeanor.

“Is that so?” Hoseok teases with a squeeze to the soft muscle above your kneecap. “You never told me about that.”

“It’s, uh, nothing serious. We haven’t even set a date yet.” you joke, trying to distract yourself from the way Hoseok was massaging his fingers into the flesh of your thigh.

“She says that she prefers older men.” Jungkook continues to taunt, fully oblivious to the way your spine has straightened against the back of your chair, and how your hands are now anchored on your seat.

Hoseok’s fingers dig into the smooth skin of your inner thigh as he slowly sneaks them further up your leg. The skirt of your work uniform providing next to no barrier from the onslaught of his movements.

“Well, I’m not so sure that’s true.” Hoseok replies, his voice dipping in tone.

You wish like hell you didn’t enjoy this, that you could swat away his hand or even call him out. But the truth was that you had been craving his touch since you last felt it over a month ago. The familiar pressure of his fingers on your skin immediately drew a reaction from your body, as if it had been trained to respond to him. You could sense how you were heating up, a warmth blooming under the grip of Hoseok’s hand.

The tickle of his fingers at the hem of your skirt makes goosebumps break out across your legs, and you try to hide the shiver that runs through you. You vaguely realize that Hoseok and Jungkook are talking, but the haze of your mind has caused you to lose track of the conversation.

You’re trying to rid your head of its fog when Hoseok suddenly dips his hand beneath your skirt. His pinky and ring finger brush lightly against your clothed core, causing your already useless mind to go completely blank. The sensation urges you to take in a sharp inhale, your chest rising harshly with the sudden intake of breath. You sense Jungkook’s eyes move to your face from where they had previously been focused on Hoseok, but you drop your head to your lap to deflect his stares.

Your break in resolve does nothing to halt Hoseok’s efforts though. He pulls Jungkook’s attention back to him with a laugh as his hand continues to lift your skirt higher up onto your thighs. Your breath comes in short puffs as you anticipate his next movement, and when his fingers tap your sensitive clit, even over the barrier of your panties, the sensation shoots pleasurably through your core, forcing your thighs to clench around his intruding hand. Your jaw slackens, and the feeling in your chest threatens to bubble out in the form of a moan, but you hide it in time with a forced cough. You feel Jungkook’s eyes look to you again and suddenly your rational mind comes back full force yelling at you for being an idiot. Though every muscle in your body is begging you to stay, you know you have to stop this.

Without a second thought, you plant your palms on the edge of the table to push your chair back, the legs of your seat scratching noisily on the hard floor. Hoseok’s hand hastily retreats from your skirt back to his lap as your legs become visible from under the table.

Your actions must have lacked any and all subtlety because upon standing you notice that all your coworkers’ eyes, even those you hadn’t noticed arriving, have now turned to you.

“Uhm, bathroom.” you offer awkwardly as you feel your cheeks burn from the attention.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way to the darkened hallways leading to the restrooms, only stopping once your hidden in the dim light. You press your back to the wall to ease some of the weight from your wobbly legs, cursing at Hoseok for being able to affect you with so little effort on his part.

You’re taking a deep inhale to steady your breathing when you hear footsteps approaching, but you keep your head tilted back against the wall already having expected the perpetrator to follow you here.

“What do you want, Hoseok?” you mumble with your eyes closed.

“I just think we should talk.” the familiar voice responds from a few feet in front of you. You finally lift your head to look at the boy whose dark eyes are hidden partially from the shadow his bangs are casting on his face.

“I don’t know about you, but I usually talk with my mouth. Not my fingers.” you cock your brow to accentuate your annoyance.

“Sorry,” Hoseok apologizes, taking a step closer to you. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s just been a while. I’m not thinking straight.”

“Well, if you can’t keep your hands to yourself then you probably shouldn’t be around me.”

Hoseok looks down at your arms you’ve folded over your chest. The emotion he’s conveying on his face being something akin to a kicked puppy, but you refuse to fold.

“Are you really that mad at me?” Hoseok asks as he furrows his brow.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you lift one arm to press into your tight shoulder. “I’m not mad, Hoseok. You can be with whoever you want.”

“But you are mad, otherwise you wouldn’t be avoiding me like this.” Hoseok attempts to reason.

He takes another step forward to place his hand over the one you had been pressing into your shoulder, nudging it gently to the side to replace your fingers with his own. The pressure of his deft fingers massaging into your tight muscles is worlds better than your own, and you have to resist moaning when he twists his fingertips into a particularly tough knot.

“I’m not mad,” you say as your eyes slip closed, enjoying the rhythmic circles Hoseok was now kneading into your shoulder. “I just don’t want to be mixed up in it anymore. I don’t want to be one of many.”

“Y/N, you’re not one of many. I enjoy being with you. It’s just-” Hoseok hesitates, and you lift your lazy eyelids to watch him attempt to find his words again. “I’m just not ready-”

“Hoseok,” you interject, “I’m not asking you to commit. I’m asking you to respect that I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

It seemed a bit hypocritical to be telling Hoseok this when all you wanted was for him to continue touching you, but it needed to be said. You had been falling in and out of bed with Hoseok for close to half a year now to no avail. Not that you had begun this whole thing with the intention to breed a committed relationship, but when you found yourself becoming a little too attached it became hard to accept the mere bones he’d throw your way. A text here, a call there, an occasional drunken hookup on the weekends. It all just began to feel dirty in your mind.

This became especially clear to you when you saw him at your coworker Jackson’s party with another girl just last month. Taehyung and Jimin had spent the whole night by your side despite you assuring them you were fine, but truthfully you had gone home just past midnight that night and cried into your pillow with Adele on full blast. The next morning you had awoken with a new found determination to pull yourself out of this situation, and dammit you were not going to cave now just because of Hoseok’s beautifully skilled fingers.

You bring your arm up to brush Hoseok’s hand off your shoulder, and he allows his fingers to slide down to your upper arm.

“I get it. I’ve just missed you a lot,” he says as he takes another half step closer to you, his body just inches from pressing yours to the wall.

“I-I missed you too,” you admit. “But, Hoseok-”

“Y/N?” you suddenly hear someone call from outside of the hallway, their voice laced with concern. The soft tone clues you in that it’s Jungkook who is approaching, and you swiftly realize that you have no idea how long you’ve been gone now. He must have come to check on you after you were missing for so long.

You’re about to call back to him when Hoseok unexpectedly closes the remaining gap between your bodies, effectively pinning you with his hips. The weight of his torso stops your words in your throat and they are instead replaced with a grunt when your back is pressed further into the wall.

“Hoseok,” you hiss, glancing up at the boy to find that he’s already looking down at you. “What the fuck are yo-”

You’re silenced immediately as Hoseok presses his lips to yours, the end of your question getting muffled between your mouths. Your lips still against his, unable to move since your brain has decided to short circuit. He moves for you, slotting your bottom lip between his and sucking lightly. It’s just clicking in your mind to shove him away when you hear an exclamation come from the other end of the hallway.

“Oh, fuck! Sorry.” the distraught voice of Jungkook rattles off, though you can’t see him with Hoseok’s head blocking your vision.

You hear the squeak of what you assume is Jungkook’s shoe pivoting on the hardwood floors and a series of steps before you garner enough sense to bring your hands up to Hoseok’s shoulders to push his upper body off of you.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss at the boy who’s only point of fixation now seems to be your lips. You twist them into a scowl, just to ensure your frustration is getting across. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m, uh, not sure.” Hoseok stammers, eyes glancing over your face. “I just heard him coming and- I don’t know.”

“Fucking hell, Hoseok.” you growl as you wiggle out from under his body. You run your hands through your hair before stomping your way out of the hallway, leaving Hoseok behind you.

“Where are you going?” you hear him call out from behind.

“Home.” you spit over your shoulder. “And don’t follow me.”

Part ii, (Coming Soon!)

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