#but I’m also really not too panini pressed about it love will come and go as it pleases | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gukyi · 4 years

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the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?��

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

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peachyteez · 3 years

Text

mint chocolate chip ice cream ≫ EPILOGUE.

this abandoned, shy bunny hybrid loves hanging around the open field area of the recovery facility. one day, with the help of jungkook, another bunny hybrid, jiyu meets mingi. after days of mingi being too shy and running away from her, a bag of carrots and mint chocolate ice chip cream was all it took to seal the deal.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist:@defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee

✧ notes: this epilogue actually focuses on jiyu a bit more and what’s going on behind the scenes (sort of) 😅

back。

“this phone call’s a week late, miss,” yuta’s teasing tone came from the other end.

jiyu playfuly rolled her eyes. “be glad i even called,” she retorted. she could feel yuta’s small pout and see his drooped ears. “i’m kidding, it was a busy week since we get a lot of new hybrids in the facility during the winter every year. but thank you for bringing me the papers.”

yuta hummed in acknowledgement. “i will say, though. for someone who mistreated their hybrid, she put up a pretty good fight in trying to keep him for herself, even though she made no attempts to even look for him in the first place,” yuta remembered the rigourous process it took for him to force the woman to hand over mingi’s adoption documents.

jiyu’s face hardened as she thought about yuta’s words. “it was probably leverage over him. she knew that he couldn’t actually leave her if she still had his papers, so she kept them as a way to have mingi still obey her. it’s quite disgusting.” a shiver—both from disgust and the chilly breeze that blew by—ran through her spine.

jiyu sat on the couch of the penthouse terrace, looking out at the bright lights of seoul during the night. even though she was adorned in her puffer jacket, she still felt the wind biting at her skin. taking her eyes off the view of the city, she turned in to look at her four hybrids curled by the fireplace, their eyes glued to the tv. it warmed her heart seeing them relax without a care in the world.

“your father doesn’t know, does he?” yuta carefully asked. he knew the topic of her father was a sore spot for her.

biting the inside of her cheek, anxiety began to creep up in her heart at the thought of her father finding out what she’s been up to. it wasn’t that he hated hybrids; but because her late mother was also formerly a hybrid caretaker before getting married, her father’s views on hybrids soured over the years. they reminded him of his wife.

“no, he can find out when i come back,” jiyu firmly said. “has he...said anything about me?” she meekly added. the reason she asked: she never responded to her father about her choices in potential suitors, so she had a feeling her father was up to something behind her back.

she heard yuta sigh, and her heart slightly dropped. “i wasn’t supposed to tell you, but your father grew impatient and chose someone for you. he had me visit them and everything.”

“...oh.” she pinched her nosebridge and her grip on her phone tightened. “who did he choose?” she asked. as much as she wanted to scream, protest, anything, she knew it’s be useless. her father’s words were final, no one could go against them, and it made her blood boil everytime he played her like a puppet for his own benefits.

“kim, sunwoo...?” yuta said, hoping it’d ring a bell in her head. “he’s the son of one of our long-time business partners.”

jiyu remembered his file on the list. he was the heir to kim corportations. no doubt her father chose him since combining the shares of both hwang enterprises and kim corporations would indeed boost both companies. it’s a win-win situation.

“hm, i see.” she also knew her father would call her soon to relay his decisions to her.

the terrace door slid open and a half-asleep mingi waddled out. he rubbed his eyes with his fists. jiyu’s face immediately melted from a stone-cold expression into a smile. “i’ll call you back, yuta. thanks again for everything.”

“of course, miss,” yuta added before quickly hanging up before jiyu could give him an earful about the title again.

“this kid...” jiyu mumbled under her breath with a wry smile before putting her phone down. she pat the seat next to her, telling mingi to sit down since he looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up.

mingi gratefully took her offer and plopped down next to her. his head dropped onto her shoulder and he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. her scent relaxed him—the smell of her peach shampoo and body wash was way better than his previous owners smell of heavy, dizzying perfume.

“what’s up, buddy? sleepy?” she chuckled as she ran her hand through his fading-red hair, ignoring the ticklish feeling of his bunny ears against her cheek. she noted his thin layer of clothes and frowned. reaching up, she turned on the heat lamp that was next to the couch. “you’re going to get sick, bubs.”

mingi hummed as he curled closer to jiyu. “it’s okay...i’m used to the cold,” he mumbled, his eyes fighting to stay open.

jiyu’s heart ached when the words left his mouth. i wonder if anyone cared for him if he did get sick...i mean maybe yunho...but what about when yunho wasn’t there?

before her thoughts could grow any deeper, the door slid open again, only this time, the other three came out carrying a heap of blankets and handwarmers. jiyu cocked her head in confusion.

��what are you all—”

“blanket pile!” yunho laughed as he threw a blanket onto jiyu and mingi’s lap before sliding in next to mingi. seonghwa and hongjoong sat by jiyu’s side, and soon, the fivewere cuddled together on the couch covered by blankets to keep them warm along with the heating lamp.

soft snores came from mingi, making them smile as they fondly looked at the bunny hybrid resting on jiyu. the fire and the lights from the inside bathed the terrace in a warm, orange color. jiyu contently sighed; everything was so peaceful and perfect, she hated for it to all change soon.

seonghwa rested his cheek on top of her head, careful of hongjoong’s body slightly leaning on his. “everything okay?” he quietly asked. he had taken several glances at her when she was calling yuta, and he noted her emotionless, yet angered expressions.

jiyu nodded. “don’t worry, everything’s okay,” she reassured, although she was trying to convince herself more than she was telling seonghwa and the others. “what movie did you guys watch?” she quietly asked as to not wake up the sleeping giant bunny.

“yunho wanted to watch avengers so we watched the first one,” hongjoong replied, his tone growing languid and lazy the more he relaxed. “were you calling yuta?”

jiyu smiled before reaching past seonghwa to gently pet hongjoong’s head. “yeah, i never thanked him for helping us with mingi since the recovery center grew pretty busy this week.”

“he’s a black cat hybrid, right?” yunho curiously asked as he gently leaned onto mingi. “i’ve never seen one before, but i heard they were really elegant. and they were right!” he smiled.

jiyu stifled a chuckle. yuta? elegant? that’s what he may seem like to strangers but he was the same man that trips over his own two feet when they were just walking. “elegant may not be the best word to describe yuta, but it fits during some ocassions,” she joked. “i remember once he bumped into a man carrying a stack of files and he let out the most ungracious yelp and his arms flailed everywhere when he fell.” she chuckled at the memory.

they all chuckled, surprised of the cat’s clumsiness when he seemed all cool and mysterious to them when he visited to hand over mingi’s papers. “he sounds like mingi,” yunho chuckled. “he gets scared pretty easily and can let out some ungracious yelps, too.”

that i have to agree with. she thought with a smile when she remembered their first meetings.

“now my only concern,” she suddenly said, catching their attention, “is how we’re going to get mingi inside.”

“can we honestly just sleep out here?” hongjoong asked, too comfy and relaxed to move. “it’s really comfy...”

“we’re all going to catch colds though, even though we’re drowing in blankets and the heat lamp is on,” jiyu reasoned.

“we’ll keep you warm!” yunho added as he leand more onto mingi, causing him to press closer to jiyu. “sleeping out here won’t be that bad of an idea! it’s pretty warm, too.”

“hm...for once, i’m actually okay with this idea, too,” seonghwa mumbled, his eyes and ears drooping tiredly. “we’re all too comfy and sleepy to move...so sleeping out here doesn’t seem too bad...” he yawned as he nuzzled his face into the other side of her neck.

"alright...but don’t blame me if you all get colds tomorrow,” she quietly laughed as the four hybrids drifted off to dreamland. she looked at their sleeping faces as if etching the scene into her memory. everything was perfect.

“but nothing stays perfect for long...” she whispered under her breath. she knew that soon, everything would change once she had to return home. but until then, she swore to all the stars in the sky that she would make their time worth it; she swore that she would give them all the love that they deserve.

now and forever.

✧ notes (cont.): our lovely mingi is complete! i miss him so much but i hope he’s okay and doing well 🥺❤️ i’m really glad kq let him rest to take care of his mental health. mental (and physical) health should always be a priority!

next up on the list, yeosang!

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #song mingi #song mingi imagines #mingi imagines #mingi scenarios #ateez mingi #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #ateez hybrid #hybrid!ateez #ateez au

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hankwritten · 3 years

Text

Hofstadter’s Law

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for MinnesotaMedic821, Drunk

“You sure this best way in, Jane?” Demo muttered quietly as he gazed up at the looming concrete spires of BLU base.

“I am very sure!” Soldier said, not quietly at all. Practically yelling actually. Right in Demo’s ear too, what with his arm slung around the RED’s shoulders as the only thing keeping him upright.

“Shhh!” Demo hushed him. “You want me to go half-deaf as well as half-blind? ‘Sides, the last thing we need right now is the other BLUs hearing us.”

Soldier’s head, lolling like a pad of butter sliding around a hot pan, took a long and winding trip from one side to the other. “…Why?”

“…Because I’m a RED in the middle of a nest o’ BLU corn snakes?” Demo raised a brow. “Ach, you really did have a number done, didn’t you? Remind me not to let you near the Everclear again.”

“Okay! I will definitely remind you!”

Demo eyed him dubiously. “Remind me what, Jane?”

The grey shell of the helmet stared at him for several seconds. “…What?”

“Let’s just get you in, aye? We can do all sorts of filling in each other’s memories when your toesies are tucked safe under your covers.”

But in order get the Soldier safely in bed, they’d need to first traverse the minefield of potential termination that was the center of BLU operations. No problem at all really. It was late—even if some of the mercs had hit the town like Demo and Soldier had, they’d certainly be back by now, fast asleep, no chance at all of waking up and discovering a very difficult to explain situation in the form of an enemy merc carrying around their Soldier. As long as they were quiet, they’d be perfectly safe.

Demo guided Soldier towards the back doors, at which point they promptly ran into the enemy Demoman.

The BLU, spread out on a fabric lawn chair surrounded by dust, desert, and least a half-dozen bottles, blinked wide-eyed at the pair who’d just come around with the low-speed but high-inertia gait of a drunk couple. He shook his head slightly, as though to dispel the ‘ole three am fog and ascertain that yes, that truly was his teammate being helped along by the RED demolition’s man. Demo, for his part, froze like he’d been staked to the ground.

Soldier, as heavy things are want to do, kept going at his expected velocity. It nearly took them both over—Demo had to abandon the arm under his shoulders, lunging to haul Soldier up the waist and folding him in half like a Panini.

“Well,” the BLU in the lawn chair said, “you two look like you had fun.”

His face was a mish-mash of raised brow and, perplexingly enough, a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he bore witness to the two truants. Most shockingly of all, there wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face now, just those shades of smug amusement you put on when watching a particularly entertaining drunkard. The fact that Demo was used to having that expression leveled at him was neither here nor there.

“Er…” he said eloquently.

The flash of dread that’d shot through him when he’d caught sight of the BLU was the worse case scenario of course: reported on, fired, dead in a gravel pit somewhere, all rendered in gory detail by his mind’s eye. (His overactive imagination a bloody menace sometimes.) But as the BLU continued to sit there, not sounding the alarm, not even looking particularly worried, Demo’s fear for his own neck slowly morphed into confusion.

“I was just er-”

“Oh, hello Demoman!” Soldier chimed in. “We have been out. Drinking alcohol!”

“I’ve heard that’s a fun pastime,” his teammate commented mildly.

“Don’t tell him that,” Demo complained, hauling Soldier to an upright position. “Jesus, this er, isn’t what it looks like, honestly.”

“Sure it isn’t,” the BLU said, wearing what could now be identified unmistakably as a smirk. He gestured with his bottle. “Back entrance ‘s that-a-way.”

A little ball of defensiveness, not matter how unjustified, rolled around in Demo’s gut to the point he wanted to stop and give the other Demoman a piece of his mind. Which would probably involve lying. And then consequences to lying since Soldier had already given away this wasn’t a one time thing. He shut his gob and took the out.

Until the hum of the BLU’s resumed tune was far behind them, until the curving architecture of the base would keep them from being overheard, he didn’t dare start asking questions. Only when he was sure that the corner they’d rounded was at a significant distance away did he accusatorily hiss, “what was that about?”

“Hm?” Soldier asked pleasantly. He fixed a dopey smile on his friend, a second ago which had been the responsibility of a beetle crawling a tuft of bullheadidly tenacious grass.

“Your Demo, why’d you tell him where we were? And why didn’t he flip out?”

“You’re my Demo,” Soldier hummed unhelpfully.

“Ach,” Demo said, realizing he’d get nowhere with the security lights and a whole herd of horseflies bearing down on them. “Fine, lets get you inside first. But I’ve still got some bloody questions.”

They’d arrived at the unassuming little door cut into the base’s thick concrete, welded metal gushing haphazardly from its size as though its very addition had been an afterthought. Demo motioned at Soldier.

“Pass me your keycard, lad.”

“M’what?”

“Keycard.” Demo’s heart sank. “You keep it in your wallet or something, right?”

Soldier stared at the card reader. He stared at long and hard, so long and hard that Demo was starting to wonder if the question had made it through his ear canals at all when he concluded, “I forgot it.”

“You for- Oh for the love of Pete.” Demo took the hand that wasn’t supporting his mate and rubbed it long suffering across his face. “Well that’s great. Bloody great, risk my arse hauling a drunken fart back to his base cause he can’t hold his bloody liquor, and we can’t even get in to the fecking-”

The door hissed, layers of dust shaking loose like with a sci-fi swish as the vacuum seal was opened to the desert night. Demo gawked, watching it shake away grit like it was built into the surface of Mars instead of a dead-end town in the middle of New Mexico, and letting out a wash of air-conditioned oxygen.

When it was partially ajar, it unveiled the BLU Sniper, arms folded and leaning on the inner wall.

“How…what?” Demo asked. Soldier was too busy looking at the beetle again to be perplexed.

“Heard you guys arguing from the roof.” Sniper jerked his thumb upwards. “If you were sneaking ‘round, might want to think about keeping your voice down in the future. Probably could’ve heard you all the way at RED.”

“I wasn’t- We weren’t-”

Sniper waited. When no adequate explanation was forthcoming he said, “you comin’? Cold air’s getting out.”

Demo grimaced, and began the arduous processes of lugging the Soldier inside.

Chill ran up where his t-shirt had sweated to his neck, Soldier fairing no better since they’d spent the past half hour (every moment since Demo had realized Soldier would be going nowhere on his own) with their sides pressed together. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until the cold ai) brought the slightest suggestion of relief to his (admittedly also not terribly sober) body.

“If this is going to be a running thing for you two, maybe don’t get so munted next time, yeah?” Sniper offered. It was neither reprimanding nor conversational, like this was a totally normal exchange happening here with a RED in a BLU hallway.

“Who said anything about a ‘running thing’?” Demo demanded. “You didn’t overhear that!”

Sniper raised a brow. “Soldier said you were his new best mate. I assumed that meant you’d both be out and about more than once.”

Demo grit his teeth, the pieces clicking into place. “Did he now.” He leveled his best attempt at a glare from his blindspot at the disoriented Soldier who, unsurprisingly, was more interested in resting his head on Demo’s shoulder than being reprimanded. “Well that’s good to know. Any chance you can point me to his room?”

Sniper took one gloved hand and shoved a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thanks. Cheers.”

“Goodbye Sniper,” Soldier said belatedly, a good three minutes after he’d disappeared around a corner. “Oh hey! My room!”

“Jane, is there anyone you didn’t tell about us?” Demo demanded.

Soldier thought for a moment. “…I didn’t tell any REDs.”

“Jane,” Demo groaned. “This is supposed to be a secret. What if one of them tells the Administrator? You want that? Going to be hard ever meeting up again if we’re both six feet under.”

For the first time, a bit of shame managed to reach the Soldier through the woolen mesh of his inebriated state, and he looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just got really excited. Wanted everyone to know I was hanging out with you.”

Demo sighed heavily, not up bullying his friend when he was in such a pathetic sate already. “I know you were. Ach, it’s fine. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.”

Later being sometime after he’d managed to deposit Soldier onto a four-poster, though with the way the night was going it seemed like that moment would never arrive. His outlook wasn’t improved when he opened the door of Soldier’s room and found that not only was it Soldier’s room, but the occupancy of the entire Offense division.

“Whzzat?” Scout said, rolling to his elbow just in time to be bombarded by the hall light. “Ahg, dammit Sol. What the hell man?”

Demo didn’t bother freezing this time, successfully desensitized to literally every BLU on the planet stumbling across his ill-advised trip through the enemy base. Instead, he walked over, dropped Soldier on the bed, and began helping him unlace his boots.

“What the-?” Scout said when he finally lowered his arm. “Oh right. You. Jesus, how ‘bout a little consideration for the sleeping guy?”

“Mmrrhaunna,” came from the bundle in the corner.

“Yeah, what they said.”

“You don’t got the right to be begging consideration from anyone, jackrabbit,” Demo said hotly as he frees the military-grade combat boots from Soldier’s feet. He threw a blanket over the man’s form, who sighed appreciatively and said something about how this would earn Demo a medal. “‘Sides, don’t need to worry about me no more. I just came to drop of your sergeant and get out of here.”

To prove it, he backed out of the room with hands raised. Mission complete. Time to get out of here and bring this mortifying night to an end.

He might have gotten away with it too, if Pyro hadn’t shot straight up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Mrrhaha! Hudda hah ha hoo.”

Demo reared back slightly from the Pyro who was still very much in their rubber suit, now with added nightcap. Whatever the hell they were saying, they were very impassioned about it. He looked to the Scout for help.

“They want you to tuck them in too,” he said, and the light flooding in from the single open door was good enough to see that he was smirking as he did so.

“Wha- I’m not bloody tucking anyone in,” Demo said hotly.

“Hudda ha. Mrra haa hur ha.”

“You tucked Soldier in,” Scout translated. “Only fair.”

“Gurrhaha.”

“…Otherwise they’ll tattle.”

“I cannae bloody believe this,” Demo groaned, rubbing his face.

Grudgingly, he made his way over the giggling pyrotechnician, absolutely giddy to have gotten their way. Thankfully boots weren’t part of the pajama equation, and Demo had only to tuck in the blanket’s edges ‘round a pair of socked feet and a squirming, suit-clad body. When he tried to leave it at that, a keening noise stopped him, and he was forced to repeat the process for Mayor Balloonicorn. All the while, he could feel the Scout staring smugly at the back of his head.

“D’awww, ain’t that adorable. Going to be hard to be scared of you now, though. Y’know, after you swung by to give us goodnight kisses and all that crap.”

“Just for that, I’m going to have a sticky trap with your name on it, boyo,” Demo pointed an accusing finger in Scout’s direction. He just shrugged.

“But uh,” Scout added, just as Demo was finally about to make his escape. “Glad you turned out to be cool though. He was really gung ho about tonight. Its nice he has good friends besides us.”

Demo cast his gaze to Soldier, who’d fallen fitfully in the short while it’d taken to get Pyro off his back.

“…That’s good. It was a fun time.”

“Oh yeah?” Scout wiggled his eyebrows. “How fun?”

Demo took one of the pillows he’d used to burry Pyro in and flung it at Scout’s face.

“Sticky trap. Your name.”

He could still hear Scout snickering all the way out into the hall.

#demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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princessmariaphiliper · 3 years

Text

A Midsummer Daydream | Oneshot

Summary: You and James are friends at school and he’s started to change recently. For a reason yet to be disclosed.

Notes: James Acaster,

Pairing: James Acaster x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Oneshot, Highschool AU

Words: 1, 642

Hello all my girls gays and theys! Hope you’re all doing well, I’ve finally finished the one shot requested by @laurabeech

“a one shot where awkward lanky teenage James attempting to ask a girl out on at date at school, he tries to overplay being cool and she tells him he doesn’t need to” Not sure I hit the nail on the head totally this one, I tried to channel my inner high-schooler but I hope it can still quench your thirst for James during the dryness of the panini. Stay safe an I love you all xoxo

You’d had a crush on James for ages. The two of you had been friends for a long time hanging around with the same group of people. And for what seemed like the moment you met you instantly began liking him. His lanky, awkward composure and quick wit charming you into wanting him to be yours. The two of you would spend lunches together with friends, but once school was finished you’d relish in having one on one time with him. Both of you walking in the same direction home. Sometimes you’d stop by the park if it was hot, de-stressing from the day of studies.

He was acting differently around you recently and you’d started to notice. His demeanour was vicious as though he was trying to emphasise his masculinity. It was nothing major, just offhand comments and the adoption of traits that didn’t seem to fit his usual personality. It didn’t suit him to be whatever he was trying to become. And this Friday afternoon it was starting to make a difference to your attitude.

You sat on the picnic bench in ‘middle yard’ with a group of mates. Chewing on a sandwich and chatting happily. The sun was shining and you were chatting shit about the homework you hadn’t done that was due next period. James and another friend approached the table, you scooted naturally across to allow him to sit next to you. He thanked you quietly with a shy nod, chewing a hole in the bottom of the plastic juice carton in hand to drink from it.

“What you saying?” He asked. Recently having adopted stereotypical ‘cool’ lingo that all the ‘cool’ kids were using.

“Nothing just chatting about the English homework,” You responded.

“Oh I’m not doing that,”

“Why?”

“I can’t be arsed.” He replied, face going cold and unlike him. “Hate Great Gatsby.”

You sat baffled, eyebrows furrowing at him. Not two months ago the two of you’d been chatting about your favourite books. James had admitted that before you’d started studying it at school James had already read it twice. Knowing that he was lying to the group, you challenged him on it.

“I thought you said you liked it?”

“Yeah well people change” He said with a hint of sass, making your mates around you chuckle. His attitude felt mean, upsetting you. But you decided to brush it off with a snide comment.

“Alright don’t have to be a dick about it James.

“I’m not being a dick. It’s called having a social life.” You glared at him, unimpressed by this statement. Budging your leg away from touching his own on the bench. You didn’t speak to him again for the remainder of lunch.

And so once it was time for the two of you to walk home you’d grown all the more annoyed with him. You left your maths class, bag slung over your shoulder, school jumper wrapped around your waist. Half intending on continuing your ignorance towards James you became conflicted once you saw he was already waiting for you in middle yard.

He too had taken off his jumper and was sitting on one of the tables under the rain shelter. His lanky legs stretched out on the bench where his rucksack rested. The two of you made eye contact as you made your way across the yard. The blonde in his hair glistening in the afternoon glow, he lent back on the palms of his hands as you approached, giving you a shy smile. And as much as you wanted to keep your anger, but the moment the corner of his lip curled all of your annoyance melted away.

“Hey,” He greeted you. His tone was softer when people weren't around, he jumped off the bench, pointing at you playfully with both hands. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” You decided blunt answers would be your way to get your point across.

“You okay?”

“Amazing.”

“You don’t sound it,”

“Hmm.” You spoke, beginning to walk past him towards the gates of the school ground. He grabbed his bag and followed hot on your case like a lost puppy. You walked in silence for some time, following the waves of people flooding out of the school. The air was light-hearted between seemingly the whole school with that Friday feeling, causing you and James to stick out like sore thumbs. Your usual enthusiastic and animated chats a contrast to your standoffish natures today. You walked past two of James’s close friends, a couple called Alice and Sam, waving you a hello as you continued your journey. Alice was a pretty girl, seemingly too pretty for a guy like Samuel who was quite possibly your least favourite friend of James’s.

Samuel seemed to be where James had been getting the recent douche attitude from, so as soon as your eyes locked on them you didn’t shy away from letting out a sigh of annoyance.

“Pissed off your bird James, or she just on her period?” Sam spat cockily as the two of you passed. Making your face scrunch up in disgust. You half turned your face to meet him, ready to give him a piece of your mind how you were not a ‘bird’ but a human being, and that yes James had annoyed you, but it was most likely because of Sam that he was acting a prick. And that whether you were bleeding or not was none of his business (Obviously throwing in that James and you were just friends) Yet before even your profile was twisted around James was already talking back to him.

“Fuck off Sam,” He replied, “And grow up, you sound like a twat.”

James caught up to speed with you then, gently ushering you away from him and Alice, obviously not wanting a prolonged event this afternoon. As much as you knew James was a kind soul, you thought maybe because of how he’d been acting that he wouldn’t stick up against such backhanded sexism. Especially when it had come from one of his pals. You did a bit of a double take, having to process what had just happened within the next few minutes of walking alone with him. Eventually you decided to break your vow of silence to give him a gentle thank you.

“Its okay Sam’s just a dick.”

“You’ve been acting a dick too lately.”

“I have?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“I guess,” You pondered for a moment, trying to pinpoint an exact moment when James’s attitude begun to change. “Harry’s house party?”

“Oh.” James rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking his feet to avoid the eye contact with you now. You looked at him as he walked on your right hand side, the glow of the sun being blocked by your head, casting a shadow on his face in the shape of you. “I guess I’ve got things a bit wrong.”

His term of phrase confused you. You genuinely couldn’t comprehend his meaning, and so you pressed him for answers.

“What do you mean?”

“Well-“ He started but lost confidence, trying his best to glance at you from under his hair.

“Go on.”

“I just thought that you were into guys like that?”

Furrowing your brow and widening your eyes slightly you stared at James in disbelief. “What?”

“Like- you know. ‘Badboys’.”

“What gave you that impression?” You stopped walking momentarily, pulling James to sit on a nearby wall next to you. The flow of people dying off now and the street becoming more peaceful a place for conversation.

“Well as Harry’s you kept talking about how much you liked the guy in 10 things I hate about you.” He admitted sitting down next to you for the second time today. “I think in my head I’ve been trying to become an asshole since then.”

“Why James? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“To impress you?”

“You want to impress me all of a sudden?” You asked, confusion hanging on your face.

“Yeah.” He paused, turning his face to the right away from you. “I just wanted you to like me I guess.”

“I do like you James, or I did before you started acting a dick.”

“No I mean. Like-like me.”

Heart rolling into your mouth you couldn’t breathe. Was James Acaster confessing to you? You pressed the question just to make sure, you also trying to look anywhere but towards him. You squinted at the sun, noting it wasn’t your best option. But you felt the need pain was necessary to remind you that you were not living in a dream.

“Why do you want me to like you?”

“Because I like you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“I’ve like you for ages Y/n.”

He turned back to face you, his movement causing you to look away from the sun. His body had a grey tinge to it as your eyes readjusted to the light. You couldn’t quite believe what happening, your mouth began running on its own. Cards on the table.

“Me too James.”

“You have” He quizzed, obviously bewildered by the statement.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you make me smile and I don’t feel I can be myself as much around people as when I’m with you.” You blushed, hoping he wouldn’t notice you shying away. “You didn’t have to change to try and impress me, I’ve liked you for so long I don’t even remember when it started.”

“Oh.” James contemplated for a moment before a bright smile beamed on his face. “Well… maybe we could go out at the weekend? I’ll get you a hot chocolate as a ‘sorry for being an arsehole’ gift?”

You met his eyes, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging in them.

“I’d like that James. Do you want to stay here a while?”

“As long as I’m with you I’m happy.”

#james acaster imagines #james acaster x reader #james acaster fanfic #james acaster oneshot

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littledrummeraussie · 3 years

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At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 2

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 3488 words tags/warnings: past: an unhealthy load of flirting. food sharing. some heart-to-heart talks. snowball fights. there’s still only one bed. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia. a healthy load of teasing.

“Do you think we could eat some more of that cookie we’ve left out for Santa?” Ashton nodded towards the kitchen, a grin spreading across his face. “We could tell the boys the reindeers ate them.”

“Daddy doesn’t have a sweet tooth, the reindeers do,” you lovingly rolled your eyes at him, hands sliding onto his face to pinch his cheeks, making him giggle.

“There’s something else Daddy loves that’s sweet,” his eyes were sparkling with mischief, hands sliding under your thighs to pick you up, and you muffled your squeal against his neck.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he stood up, blankets falling to the floor in a heap. Ashton squeezed your butt lightly, brushing a smiley kiss onto your lips before adjusting you up on his hips, bringing you over to the kitchen. He put you up on the counter and stepped between your legs, already reaching for the plate of chocolate chip cookies you have baked the night before while he finished decorating the house with the boys. Their giggles still rang in your ears as you recalled them chasing each other through the kitchen, tiny arms wrapping around your legs for shelter before Ashton picked them up, pressing a series of kisses on their cheeks and noses, making them squeal with laughter.

Ashton broke a cookie in half before putting it in his mouth, leaning forward so you can bite into it as well, your lips lightly brushing in the middle. A smile pulled at your lips at this and the memory of how sharing Christmas cookies became a tradition for the two of you, something that now you also did with your sons. When the first batch was done you brought one over to the three of them; Tyler and Henry were cuddled into Ashton’s sides, watching a movie together while Bailey napped at their feet. Your heart was ready to burst with love as you watched him breaking the cookie into three, carefully giving the boys their own portions before sharing the remaining piece with you.

“What are you thinking about?” Ashton pushed himself up on his tiptoes, playfully biting your nose as he leaned closer, and you scrunched up your face, pulling back a little.

“You’re so weird. Why did I marry you?” you reached for another cookie and broke off a piece, bringing it to his mouth.

“Dunno. Why did you marry me?” he accepted the cookie from you, munching on it as he spoke. “I mean, the sex is really good, so…”

“Yeah, it was only for the sex,” you chuckled, curling a leg around his waist to pull him closer. “No, I was thinking about our day in London. How you stole half my croissant at breakfast.”

“Hey, I shared my panini with you,” Ashton gave you a faux pout. “And it was a damn good panini, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, I know, I brought you there,” you stuck your tongue out at him before popping a chocolate chip in your mouth. “Guess this is why I married you.”

“Because of the panini?” he furrowed his eyebrows and you leaned forward, pressing a kiss onto the bridge of his nose, stroking your thumb over his scruffy cheek.

“No, silly,” you shook your head, smiling at him “Because not a day has gone by without you making me laugh. Making me fall in love with you even more.”

*****

It surprised you how easy it was to convince Ashton to have breakfast with you in a small corner café instead of your hotel’s restaurant. Maybe it was the promise of fresh coffee and the world’s best panini, or maybe the offer that this time it will be you paying for both of your food. Either way you couldn’t complain as you’ve made your way towards the breakfast place.

“So what are your plans for today?” he asked as you both settled down at a table, waiting for your orders to arrive. “Or do we just walk around London all day long?”

“I mean, you’re welcome to go back to the hotel but I’ve thought we could make the most out of this situation,” you shrugged, giving him a smile. “I mean, when was the last time you’ve seen a winter wonderland like this in LA?”

“Can’t recall,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But you have to promise me you’ll join at least one adventure of my choice today.”

“I mean – you were willing to come and have breakfast with me, so I guess that’s the least I can do.”

“We were sleeping in the same bed last night, having breakfast together is just the next step,” Ashton sent you a wink, one that could only be described as flirty. “And anyways, you’ve promised me the world’s best panini. Now I don’t know how you know that, but I trust you on this one. Can’t disappoint me now.”

“It is the best, I promise you.”

Before any of you could make another comment the waiter has arrived with your food and coffees, making both of you focus on your breakfast. You needed to stifle your laugh as Ashton moaned around his sandwich, clearly enjoying it as much as you’ve thought he would.

“Okay, you were right. This really is the best panini I’ve ever had,” he took another bite of it, eyes almost rolling back from how much he enjoyed it.

“Told you so,” you sipped you coffee with a smile, lightly kicking his foot under the table. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if it wasn’t the best.”

“Yeah, yeah, but your croissant is looking really good too…” his gaze moved from your face to the plate in front of you, and you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Nooo. Don’t you dare…” but you were too late – a mischievous grin pulled at his lips as he quickly reached across the table to snatch up your breakfast, taking a hearty bite of it. “Ashton!”

“That’s a damn good croissant too,” he munched on it between words, and you rolled your eyes at him, laughing at his antics.

“I’m really glad, but you just ate my breakfast,” you kicked his foot again playfully, and he curled his ankle around yours, making heat crawl up your neck.

“Here,” he placed his plate in front of you, giving you another smile. “You can have the other half of mine.”

“Giving up your panini for me? What a gentleman,” you took a bite of the offered sandwich as Ashton kept eating your croissant. “Guess we’re getting better at sharing?”

“Yeah, I think we are,” he rested his chin in his hand, still smiling softly at you.

Your legs stayed tangled together under the table until you’ve finished breakfast.

*****

“It was one of the best days of my life,” Ashton pulled you to the edge of the counter, wrapping both your legs around his waist as he hugged you, face hidden in the crook of your neck. “I never wanted it to end.”

“And to think we were both on our way back home…” you hummed in agreement, fingers slowly brushing through his curls.

“We were already home,” he mumbled against your skin, lips pressing a soft kiss on your jaw. “We just didn’t know it yet. That home is not a place, but a person.”

*****

“You know, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you since yesterday,” Ashton’s shoulder brushed against yours as the two of you made your way back to the hotel.

“So why didn’t you?” you let yourself slightly bump into him, making him let out a chuckle.

The day was spent walking around London and getting lost in the snowy city, window shopping and buying whatever food or drink one of you started craving. Both of you ended up with a few trinkets and last minute gifts that you just couldn’t leave behind before Ashton treated you to lunch, claiming that he also knows places you have to try out. He shared stories with you about the time he spent in England, how snowball fights with the boys were his favourite past time around this time of year, and in the end he made good on his promise and dragged you out to ice skating even though none of you have done it in years.

“What were you doing here?” he finally asked, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I mean before you were meant to go home.”

“You really wanna know?” you chuckled and he nodded, making you continue. “One of my friends came up with the brilliant idea to have a singles trip. Guess her bucket list included something about hooking up with a British guy but she didn’t want to come alone, so she dragged us with her. We rented a house and just had fun there, or went out to meet people, you know. She did find herself a guy, and it looked kinda serious, so I guess it wasn’t for nothing.”

“But you were alone at the airport,” your path led you through a park and Ashton kicked one of the snow piles, not looking up at you. “Did something happen?”

“I wanted to stay for a day or two,” you shrugged then a moment later let out a sigh. “I didn’t actually want to go home.”

“Why?” Ashton stopped and blinked at you, the confusion clear on his face. “I’ve thought you couldn’t wait to be back in LA.”

“There’s nothing wrong with LA. Just… going home means I have to go home, to see my family, and those visits usually end up, well– let’s just say they care too much about my personal life.”

“Is there someone waiting for you at home?” he stepped closer, the toes of his boots touching your shoes, and you looked up at him, shrugging.

“Does the guy my parents want to set me up with count?” at that Ashton let out a breath, cheeks turning slightly pink as a smile pulled at his lips.

“No, I don’t think so,” he chuckled, and you did the same, slowly continuing your way back to the hotel. “What about here?”

“What do you mean?” you had a pretty good idea what he was asking, but wanted to hear it from him.

“Have you met someone in London?” his shoulder bumped into yours again, and you stopped, eyes meeting after a few seconds.

“Do you count?” you quirked an eyebrow, the slightest bit of flirt in your voice.

“Maybe…” it was Ashton’s turn to shrug, his face turning another shade of red as he kicked the snow with his boots, quickly casting his gaze down.

“Then yeah. Maybe,” you stepped away with a giggle, making sure you brushed against him. “Are you coming? I don’t wanna miss dinner, Irwin.”

Ashton shook his head with a little laugh, scurrying after you. He fell into step with you, quickly picking up your previous conversation about his early days in London as you made your way across the park.

“…and then Calum somehow locked himself out in his boxers and– Y/N? Where ar– fuck, that’s cold!”

You laughed as Ashton turned around, shoulders pulled up and jaw clenched as he realized you just hit him with a snowball. You already had another one at the ready, and you could see the flash in his eyes as he dropped his shopping bags, reaching for the closest pile of snow.

“Oh no, you didn’t…” he gave you a grin, aiming at you.

“I think I just did!” you shouted at him, giggling as he missed hitting you with the snowball just by a few inches.

“I’m gonna get you, you can’t run away!” Ashton suddenly started running towards you, and you shrieked with laughter as he chased you through the park.

You felt his arms wrap around your waist, both of you crashing to the ground in a fit of giggles, trying to catch your breaths. His pupils were blown wide, lips slightly chapped but so kissable as he pushed himself up, looking at you like it was the first time. A second passed, maybe two, then he collapsed next to you on his back, giggling again.

“Told ya I’ll get you.”

“You still couldn’t hit me with a snowball,” you poked his side which made Ashton laugh even more.

“God, you hit my neck! It’s all the way down my shirt! I’m soaked!” he let out one last chuckle before looking at you.

“You can shower first when we get back,” you smiled at him and he just nodded. “We don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Can we go back now?” Ashton pouted at you, pairing it with his best puppy dog eyes, and you stifled another laugh, sitting up.

“Sure,” you reached for his hand, none of you feeling the cold around you when your fingers touched. “Come on, Australia. Let’s go home.”

*****

Someone started moving upstairs and both of you stopped in your tracks, listening to the sounds coming closer and closer to the stairs. A moment later you’ve heard a thump, and soon Bailey appeared next to you, stretching and yawning.

“Well, good morning to you too, boy,” Ashton reached down to give him an ear scratch, and Bailey nuzzled against his palm. “Is everything okay upstairs?”

The dog nudged Ashton’s knee before turning around and making his way to the door. Ashton leaned back to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek before nodding towards Bailey.

“I’ll let him outside. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Sure, hot stuff,” you chuckled, and Ash wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Bring him back for some biscuits!”

A few minutes later the dog was already back in the kitchen and you slid down from the counter, reaching for the treats he loved the most. You saw Ashton smiling as you crouched down to Bailey, petting his muzzle as he patiently waited for his treats. He nuzzled against your side before starting munching on the biscuits, taking them one by one from your palm.

“Who’s a good boy? Yes, yes you are, Bailey, you are a good boy,” you stroked his side as you talked to him, and Ashton joined you too, scratching his ear again.

“Did you know I’ve got him for you because you’ve told me you wanted a dog for Christmas?” Ashton caught your eyes over Bailey’s head, and you bit your bottom lip, blushing.

“I didn’t think you remembered,” you confessed. “I just thought it was a lucky coincidence.”

“No, I did remember. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to get you a dog, and thought our first Christmas as the Irwins would be it. Of course, I didn’t know you were pregnant, in that case I would have thought about it twice, but I wasn’t about taking him to a shelter just because of that.”

“I’m still amazed you gave up your precious garden just so me and the boys could have a dog,” you gave the last biscuit to Bailey, and Ashton beamed, a blush on his cheeks.

“I love you. I love the boys. And I love Bailey. A garden is just a garden – but you’re my family, and I would do anything for you,” he squeezed your hand, and you tangled your fingers together.

“I couldn’t ask for more. And I love you too, Ash. So much.”

*****

By the time Ashton got out of the shower your dinner had been brought up to your room, so he settled down next to you, knees slightly pressed together as you ate your food. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, and you joked if he was trying to protect himself from another snowball, for which he just stuck his tongue at you.

“Really funny, Y/N,” he rolled his eyes, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I do think it was funny,” you stifled your giggle, and he poked your knee with his finger, making you laugh even more.

“You’re still weird. I kinda like it,” he said, almost as an afterthought, but before you could react to that he already moved onto something else. “What about the cookie? Did they send that up for us as well?”

“No, that was actually me,” you confessed, and you suddenly felt a bit shy and embarrassed. “I would say it’s a peace offering, but– it’s a Christmas tradition in my family.”

“Now you have my attention,” Ashton put his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his palm. “You’re gonna tell me?”

“Okay, traditionally it’s a Christmas apple not a cookie, but it was easier to get this one,” you started, pulling your legs under you. “They say that those who are together at Christmas and share an apple then they are all going to spend the next Christmas together too. It’s something my family has been saying and doing since forever, and… I mean, it’s Christmas Eve and we’re both here and not at home where we thought we will spend the holidays and…”

Ashton reached for your hand and squeezed it, tangling your fingers together. He gave you an encouraging smile, nodding a little to go on.

“I just thought that– that this could be something that we could do? Just a little piece of home while we’re here,” you mumbled, not really daring to look up at him. “It’s silly, I know. I’m being weird, I’m sor–”

“No! No,” Ashton turned towards you, thumb brushing over your cheek. “It’s really lovely. I really like the sentiment behind it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you quickly reached for the cookie, holding it up for Ashton. He grabbed the other half and broke it off, never looking at the baked good but at you, even when he brought it to his mouth to take a bite.

“So – does this mean you want to spend next year’s Christmas with me again?” he chuckled, munching on his cookie and you shrugged, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Who knows, we might get stuck at the airport again. In that case it’s good to know I have someone who’s willing to share his room with me.”

“If we’re both in LA next year I’ll make sure to share a cookie with you at Christmas,” Ashton winked, his other hand still holding onto yours.

“Sounds like a promise,” you chuckled, taking another bite of your cookie.

It was around midnight when both of you found your ways to your shared bed after watching a tacky Christmas movie or two. Ashton was already wrapped in his blanket when you came back from the bathroom, slipping under your own sheets. He propped himself up, cheek resting against his palm as he looked at you and you turned towards him, blinking up at him.

“What would be your ultimate Christmas present?” he asked, voice soft and curious. “What is something you hope to find under the tree?”

“A dog, maybe,” you answered after some time, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth and you saw Ashton mirroring you. “I miss having one. Would love to have someone waiting for me when the day is over.”

“Yeah, they have that effect on you,” he reached towards you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “They are great company. I have one back in Australia – kinda miss little old Indie.”

“That’s a cute name. I would love to see them,” you rubbed your cheek against your pillow, getting comfortable. “What about you?”

“I have everything,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “The only thing I wish is to see my family. I really miss them, haven’t had the chance to go home since forever. I’m really lucky with my life and job, but family is family. They’ll always be on top on my list.”

“I’m sure we will be able to travel in a day or two. Snowstorms aren’t forever. You’ll be home before you know it,” your eyes moved to the window where you could still see the snow slowly falling. “And me too.”

“While I do miss being at home… right now I couldn’t ask for more,” Ashton whispered, and you knew there was something he wasn’t saying, something that you felt too.

“Me neither,” you shook your head with a smile, slowly closing your eyes. “Good night, Ash.”

“Remind me to show you a picture of Indie tomorrow,” he lightly chuckled, and you felt him brush another lock of hair away from your forehead. “Good night, Y/N. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumbled, already drifting away.

You still heard Ashton quietly humming, something that sounded a lot like I’ll Be Home For Christmas, and you could swore you felt him moving a little closer before you fell asleep.

Morning found you with fingers lightly tangled together between the two of you, his touch warm and comforting, and – even in this strange city – feeling a lot like home.

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

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum @fanficsandotherthings @melanindarling

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #dad!ashton #afic: at christmas all the roads lead home #fiction time #series: at christmas

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

Running to a Standstill - 15

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1610

Rating: E

Warnings: Nothing for this chapter

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 15

It was too easy to fall into a sense of comfortable security while you were navigating your relationship with Bucky and Steve. Whether it was false or not, you still had moments where it scared you how many defenses you’d let down when you were with them. Two weeks after the incident at the library and you were heading out to parks again with Geo and Bucky. A month of nothing popping up on your radar and you were relaxed enough not to keep looking around everywhere while you were out. It wasn’t a conscious thing, but if you were asked why you’d relaxed so much you might have said that it was just a hope that the people after you had seen you with the Avengers and figured you were too difficult a target to pin down.

It was hard to say if it was exactly that. The truth was that being that relaxed most of the time made those times you weren’t relaxed worse. When it all bubbled up that it was quite possible that there were people out there that still wanted to get their hands on Geo you’d have a panic attack and on more than one occasion Steve and Bucky had needed to talk you down from doing something really rash or stupid.

You wished that there would be some kind of break in the case so that whoever the hell it was that had been hunting you could be arrested and your son could get a normal fucking life. Or at least a happy and stable one. Steve kept you up-to-date with what was going on, but even after almost two months of having people undercover they’d only managed to get in with a few of the larger dealers on the island and they still didn’t have the supplier.

You figured it had to happen some time though, so even when those panic attacks hit, you didn’t run. You were falling in love and as much as you were trying to protect Geo from becoming attached to Bucky or Steve you knew he already was. And not just to Bucky or Steve, but to Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, and FRIDAY too. You had to commit to this working for his sake and hope it wasn’t the worst decision you’d ever made.

They made it easy to commit to though. The three of you had been following the plan you and Steve had set out. Bucky had been sticking to your side for every outing. He came to parks and museums with you, always making sure to stay alert ever when Geo was babbling away to him or using him as some kind of organic jungle gym. Even after a month and a half of no signs of being followed he stayed alert in ways you had stopped being. He noticed everything, and it might have been part of the reason why you had started to relax so much.

The three of you had been taking time to bond with each other individually as well as together. It was working well and even when you did have small flares of jealousy over what might have been perceived as a special bond between Bucky and Steve that you didn't always feel you shared, they were quickly chased away when your own unique bond with each man was pulled into the spotlight.

This was not at all the life you had envisioned for yourself when you’d started college all those years ago, but considering the huge dip the roller coaster that was your life had taken, while this new high was unique, but you were definitely enjoying it.

Bucky had organized a trip to the Math Museum. He’d had to call ahead because the security at the venue was pretty tight and he didn’t want to have to explain why he was carrying two different handguns and three different knives into a children’s museum.

They let the three of you through the gift shop and as soon as you’d entered the play area Geo had rushed to the square wheeled tricycles and started riding one of them around in circles, occasionally needing Bucky to give him a little push but squealing with excitement anytime he got any kind of speed up.

“We really need to get that kid a bike,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, things like bikes were never really very practical,” you admitted. “I guess if we’re sticking around we can get one.”

Bucky smiled. It was a smile that made his eyes look soft and content and he wrapped his arm around your waist. “Next time we go out, we should take him to get one.”

Geo climbed off the bike and toddled over to you. You crouched down to face him and he flopped down onto the ground, his fingers opening and closing on the ground. “Down dare,” he said.

“You want to go downstairs?” You asked.

“They down dare,” he said and patted the floor.

“Okay, come on kiddo,” Bucky said, picking him up so he was upside down, kicking and giggling in delight. “Let’s go see downstairs.”

Bucky carried Geo down the stairs and it was clear even by halfway down what had been calling to Geo. The room was filled with interactive screens, battling robots, and floors that lit up with different games. Geo came alive. Running from activity to activity with no pattern you could follow but a smile that wouldn’t leave his face. There was no other kid there, regardless of their age that could keep up with him. Every machine seemed to want to please Geo and they all performed their roles perfectly for him.

It felt like you were down there for hours. Geo just jumping from one thing to the next. Eventually he started to wane and he ended up just lying down in the middle of the mathsquare - much to the annoyance at the kids trying to play on it.

Bucky went and scooped him up. “Okay, Gee, how about we go and get some hotdogs?”

“Bug-key,” Geo whined, flopping dramatically in his arms.

“Maybe we should just get him home, he looks pretty tired,” you said, as you walked upstairs with Bucky.

“Didn’t you want to head down to the farmer’s market?” Bucky asked. “You have the stroller right?”

You nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

You grabbed the stroller and Bucky put the little boy in it. Geo immediately shoved his thumb in his mouth and held his hand up. Bucky dug around in this backpack and pulled out the tablet, giving it to Geo who immediately hugged it and closed his eyes.

Moments like these gave you such mixed feelings. Bucky had gotten so good with Geo he could read him without Geo using his words. He was becoming a dad to him more and more each day. It was wonderful in so many ways. Both Steve and Bucky seemed to love that role and it was rare to find men like that and here you had two who not only obviously liked Geo and cared about his wellbeing, but cared about you too and accepted that the two of you came as a package. Yet it was also terrifying. The more they fit that role the worse it would hurt if it didn’t last. It was so soon in your romantic relationship and it was so much pressure to love up to that even under normal circumstances things would feel like they were moving too fast and were too fragile to hold onto. And these were far from normal circumstances.

Bucky offered you his arm and you hooked yours around it and began the walk past Madison Square Park.

It wasn’t a long walk to Union Square Park and it was a nice day out. Geo was deep asleep by the time you arrived at the bustling markets.

“I consider myself a native and I don’t think I’ve ever been to these markets before,” Bucky said as you passed under the banner welcoming you to the markets. “There’s so much stuff.”

“What do you want to get? Purple carrots? Edible flowers? Little chilies that blow your head off?” You asked.

“Yes to all of those things,” he agreed. “But I’m hungry right now, so let's find something we can eat as we walk around.”

You found a place selling pastries and paninis and grabbed a sandwich each to eat as you strolled the markets. Bucky kept getting ideas for meals with every new stall. Your reusable bags were soon filled with colorful tomatoes and chilies, purple carrots, rainbow chard, edible flowers, crusty bread, pickles bottled in Amish country, fresh herbs, raw honey and milk, and a selection of cured meats and cheeses.

“I think we might have enough,” you said as Bucky started browsing punnets of fresh berries.

“We don’t have any fruit,” he argued. Geo likes blueberries and I could make a mixed berry pie.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t argue with pie,” you said.

Bucky had selected a few punnets and his phone rang as he went to pay. You took over for him as he answered the phone.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?” He said, pressing the phone to his ear. “We’re at Union Square… Five minutes if I can get a cab… Alright, see you soon.”

He hung up the phone and looked at you. “Gonna have to go. Steve said it’s urgent.”

“Good urgent or bad?” You said, a familiar panic starting to close in around your heart like a snake.

“I don’t know. Come on,” he said, leading you back out of the markets. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

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davekatzdefensesquad · 3 years

Text

shitposts i made on my phone for no reason but maybe they’d make a good song/chapter title or sentence starter

What the hell’s a gouda panini?

These are the questions that haunt me

How’d you get so funny? more under the cut

please, please let me

actions have consequences? more likely than you think!

that’s how you get the rona

jesus christ on a pogo stick

perish

im not doing well but thanks for asking

autocorrect got me sent to the ER

i just stared down my dog for ten minutes straight so i think we’re on the same wavelength

as the old saying goes: ew, and also, no

all we are is dust in the bin

having an existential crisis on the toilet mid poop is all i’ve done this week by fall out boy

what if someone lived in my basement without me knowing?

can we stop pretending i’m ugly?

i know what i’m talking about! i’m in therapy.

how many calories are in childhood trauma?

i won’t apologize for being so sad

you’re hotter than me but we’re identical twins

i’ve come to the conclusion that men aren’t funny

i was thinking about asking if you wanted anything from the store but then i remembered i’m kind of awkward in public and didn’t want people thinking i ate healthy food

sorry i smoked all your weed

i wonder if there’s people turned on by pitchforks

someone ate my banana bread and i’m really about to lose my shit

hooked on sonic

too many flaws, not enough time to fix them

i love you more than i love finding money in coat pockets that i forgot i owned

etsy for men

i’m probably overreacting byt i’m not sure what to do about that mid freak-out, okay?

the moose is loose on the field

i have a talent for going to bed peacefully after a horror movie marathon

how did you get your mom to stop trying to hook you up with her boss’ son?

i didn’t spend nine years on tumblr just to talk about captain america’s butt

don’t talk to me if you’re gonna lie about all this sexual tension

hey, siri? how can i get my feelings out of my life?

i had a crush on my spanish teacher who kind of looked like a gopher

when i see a man using pinterest, i slow clap for about 45 seconds in his honor

when in doubt, pick c

not enough meth in the world to get me over him

i can’t poop in the woods! i’m shy!

i’m not allowed back at subway

i love ice cream but it doesn’t love me back

injured in a mosh pit? i can help!

i’m not really scared of being dead, i just don’t want it to hurt or be embarrassing, know what i mean?

how to fight off the advances of the ghost boy in my basement

i think about that guy who was killed by a turtle entirely too often to not be a descendant or something

i done fucked up: a mystery told in two parts

i wonder if all computer teachers escaped hell together

all those dryer settings and you chose to be stuck on permanently pressed

i wasn’t being rude, i was being extra

why does my poop smell like carrots

is this depression or food poisoning?

heaven is overrated

a redder shade of neck on a whiter shade of trash

#shitposts #shitpost #shitposting #sentence starters #memes #chapter titles #song titles #book titles #writing #meme starters #sentence starter #mine #rph

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pressedinthepages · 3 years

Text

Family Business

Chapter 3: Date Night

A/N: Whoops, our hands slipped. Myself and Margaret (@sometimesiwrite) have completed another chapter about these two silly boys! In this episode, Eskel sees a new side to Julian, and they finally are able to go on their first real date. But will all go as planned? Only time will tell.

also, I, Erica, will not apologize for making Lambert extra sexy.

Warnings: discussion of past death of a loved one, super soft flirting, loss, mourning, brief mention of religious-based homophobia, slightly NSFW texting (nothing explicit), unnamed character being an ass to a hostess, maybe...another k*ss?

Previous chapter: Here! Erica’s Masterlist: Here! Margot’s Masterlist: Here!

ENJOY!

Eskel’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he passed a latte to the last customer of the breakfast rush. It was 10:24. Perfect. Plenty of time to clean up, check the espresso, and… take a look at the notification he knew was waiting for him on his lock screen. He checked around as he rinsed the cloth for the steaming wand and wiped the countertops. Geralt was sipping away at a glass of ginger-apple-kale juice (typical), and Lambert was busy cleaning off the panini press, apparently hellbent on breathing in as much of the cheesy bread fumes as possible (he always did love the smell of a grill top). No new customers. All clear. Eskel pulled out his phone and saw a text notification—Julian.

Still up for helping out? I am...stressing.

Eskel smiled at his phone screen and thumbed in his passcode. I’ll see what I can do, but as you know, Lambert had to dress me yesterday so… you have fair warning.

Three little dots floated on the screen. Julian was typing. Eskel glanced around to make sure no one was waiting for help and that Lambert was minding his fucking business.

Ok, option one:

And then, an actual photograph of Julian sitting in front of his mirror wearing a tastefully loud dress shirt—black with white vines and flowers. As Eskel examined the photo more closely, he realized that the young man was also wearing a… a well-fitting pair of dark boxer briefs. Thankfully, the hand not holding the phone was resting in his lap and obscuring anything salacious. Eskel blushed bright red and immediately lowered his phone. He breathed out slowly. Okay. Okay! This is… this is okay. This is a normal adult thing to do. Eskel’s mouth was very dry as his phone pinged again. There was no reason to be feeling embarrassed or… Then again, maybe he hadn’t meant anything by it. After all, Julian was younger, less inhibited, had fewer hangups about modesty. And even if he did mean to be an absolute scoundrel, this was… healthy. Yeah. Healthy. Eskel arrived at the conclusion that, at the very least, Julian trusted him, and he clung to that as he opened his phone back up, desperately wishing he wasn’t at work.

And option two:

Now Julian had on a pair of pants, thank Christ. But Eskel couldn’t help but laugh. They were bright red corduroy bell-bottoms and potentially the most atrocious things he’d ever laid eyes on, even with his self-reported lack of fashion sense. Julian was also sporting a navy vest. But this was no ordinary, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of vest: it was decorated with large jewel-tone flowers emulating stained glass, and covered so much of the base colour it was barely visible. What was perfectly visible was Julian’s bare torso underneath. Arms, shoulders, and the top of his chest were on full display, while a coquettish tilt of his head gracefully extended his neck. Jesus. Eskel could just make out the crease and dimple of a grin on the side of Julian’s face in the mirror as he turned his head away. You cheeky little bastard.

Eskel’s fingers hovered over the keypad for a moment before settling on a reply. He didn’t want to encourage him too much and risk an… awkward situation at work. On the other hand, he still deserved a little credit for boldness. Well, those are two very different options Julian.

Julian’s reply was almost instant. I CAN HEAR YOUR JUDGEMENT FROM HERE.

Eskel chuckled, Only of your fashion choices, I assure you ;)

Meanwhile, across town, Julian gaped at his phone in amused surprise. He...that bastard winked at me...good. Julian looked over the piles of sequins, florals, polyester, and lycra he’d stripped out of his closet, feeling quite pleased with himself. His eyes tracked to the one chair in his bedroom on which he’d carefully draped his already-ironed outfit for that evening. (Oh come on, give me some credit. I’m not completely helpless. I know how to dress for a date).

Julian shucked off the pants, a favorite, and let the vest fall to the floor. He carefully pulled out a pair of bright, sparkly golden boots and zipped them up to his knees before striding back to the mirror. He snapped a quick picture, cropping it to show just enough and still be considerate of the recipient. His phone shwooped it back to Eskel, and Julian worried his bottom lip while he waited for a reply. Had it been too much?

Eskel’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he handed a coffee and a muffin to a customer. He reticently reached into his pocket. How far was he going to take this? His heart beat a little faster as he opened his phone to reveal the photo. “Yup okay, that’s…” He closed his phone and leaned heavily on the counter, exhaling a little too intentionally.

“Mouth a little dry?” Geralt was beside him holding a glass of water with a slice of cucumber happily floating inside.

“I—what? No, I’m…”

“Texting with the Boy? Just drink the damn water and try to keep it cool.”

“Yeah, that’s great advice, Geralt, thank you.” He drained the water in a few gulps and heavily set the glass back on the steel counter, “Jesus.”

Geralt said nothing, but took the glass away, giving his brother an encouraging pat on the back. His amused laughter was audible, though, as he grabbed his iPad for inventory.

Eskel took a deep breath and opened his phone again: Perfect. You’ll fit right in.

Eskel sighed as the bell on the door chimed three times in quick succession, a line already forming as his new customers looked over the cold case. Right on time. His phone vibrated once more in his pocket while he started taking orders, and he stepped over to the espresso machine as Lambert took over the register.

***

Julian ran his hand through his hair, letting it flop artfully back down as he gave himself one last once-over. He had on a dark pair of jeans which he’d rolled up just high enough to show a peek of his bright fuschia socks, which somehow didn’t class with his red Doc Marten brogues. The shirt he’d actually chosen to wear was navy blue with red, fuschia, and turquoise plaid accents on the inside of the cuffs and collar, pearlescent buttons glinting down the front. He’d arranged his sleeves carefully for an optimal pop of colour, and he’d left just enough buttons open to be both casual and flattering—showing off a hint of chest hair and clavicle—while still being subtle.

Julian’s phone let out a muffled ding from...somewhere in the room. “Shit, where’d I put my…” He hadn’t heard back from Eskel all afternoon. He probably got busy, he told himself, but a part of him still couldn’t help but worry he’d pushed too far too soon. In his joyful impulsiveness, he’d lost track of the fact that they hadn’t really talked about anything—boundaries, preferences, that kind of thing. It made sense that they hadn’t, they’d only just had their first date (kind of). But after the fiasco of the previous night, he’d wanted Eskel to feel wanted, appreciated.

He eventually did find his phone, tucked just barely under the edge of his bed after a somewhat frantic shaky-handed scramble. How it ended up there, he’d never know. A text from Eskel blinked at him from the screen and Julian’s lips turned up in a soft smile as he unlocked his phone with a cold thumb.

Sorry for the late reply, had a bit of a busy day. Just finishing getting ready, can’t wait to see you :)

Julian held his phone to his chest and sighed, happy and relieved, turning to the mirror propped up against his closet door. “Okay, Jules. You can do this. He likes you. He kissed you. He was flirting with you this morning, and you did not scare him off. It’s just dinner. Everything’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be lovely food, and...wait, where are we going again?”

Right on time, his phone dinged again. Here’s the address for the restaurant. Should be about a fifteen minute walk from your place.

Great, thanks. See you soon :) Julian looked at his watch. Shit. “Okay. Time to go.” He paused with his hand on his doorknob, “Uhh, phone, wallet, keys… do I need a jacket? What temperature is it?” It was an awkward temperature. Jacket would be too warm. No jacket would be too cold. “Oh my God, fine, I’ll carry it.” With that, he locked the door behind him and clattered his way down the musty, worn stairs of his walkup and out onto the sidewalk.

Eskel nervously loosened his tie a little, not wanting to look too rigid, and adjusted his sleeves. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. It’s just dinner. He likes you… Jesus, he better like me after all that.” He gave his hair a final mist of salt spray (he may have been out of touch with fashion, but the one thing he would always pride himself on was his hair). His mind wandered back to their kiss the previous night and felt a thrill tingle through him. It had been so unexpected and so… was heartfelt the right word? It had been passionate, but not just in a sexy way—though it had been that, too. Eskel was discovering that Julian was proving himself capable of a great amount of emotional depth as well as unbelievable cheek, and he was genuinely looking forward to seeing him again.

He glanced at his watch. Here’s the address for the restaurant. Should be about fifteen minutes from your place, he typed hastily, wanting to give Julian a grace period in case he really was struggling to figure out what to wear—though Eskel had strong suspicions that he already knew full well what he was planning on wearing and that the morning’s texts had been for his sake alone.

Eskel carefully pulled the tan jacket over his shoulders and peered around his living room in case he’d forgotten anything. His eyes landed on the framed photo above the fireplace. He took a tentative step forward, “Hey, Jo. You’re still lookin’ real good, you know that?” He took a few steps closer, and modeled his outfit. “Not bad, right? I’m, uh, listen, I’m going on a date tonight. I’ve met someone.”

He leaned against the mantle, hands resting on either side of the recently-dusted frame, a melancholy settling over him as he looked at the familiar face. He shok himself out of it, “I think you’d like him. A lot, actually. He’s, well he’s a lot of things, but he’s…he cares. And I think he could make me happy if I play my cards right.” He smiled, “Thought you’d want to know.” He glanced at his watch, “Alright. Wish me luck.”

He gave a loving wink to the photograph and turned to the door, feeling for his keys in his pocket before letting it lock behind him.

The breeze blew gently through his hair as he waited for Julian outside the restaurant, going over the list of Fun Things To Ask On A First Date in an article he had pulled up on his phone. It was a cool evening, but it was clear that winter had more or less had its last laugh: the crocuses were starting to come up in the planters on the sidewalk, and the air had that sweet smell that only came with warmer weather. A beam of sunshine illuminated the sidewalk and passersby as Eskel kept an eye out for his date. He wasn’t waiting long, though, and smiled wide as he caught a glimpse of well-coiffed chestnut hair and a flash of bright blue coming towards him.

Eskel greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, but he was quickly pulled into a firm hug. Julian pulled back so his blue eyes could give Eskel a proper once-over.“You look unbearably handsome, Eskel, how dare you.”

“Julian, you look very nice. Can’t help but notice you’ve worn, let’s see, none of the options you tormented me with this morning.”

“Are you disappointed?” Julian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nope,” Eskel replied simply, opening the door and letting his date enter first.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Julian cooed as he brushed past catching a whiff of mellow cologne—smokey and sweet with hints of cedar and maple. They were greeted by a young woman at the host stand who smiled gently at the two of them.

“Hey, Jess” Eskel smiled in return, carefully placing his hand at the small of Julian’s back.

“Eskel! It’s been a while since you’ve stopped in, I guess the cafe’s keeping you three pretty busy. I’m so glad it’s doing well!” Julian glanced back and forth between the two of them as the gears finally clicked into place. Jess led them to their table, tucked away in a private corner, and Julian slunk into the booth as she walked away.

“You didn’t tell me that this was your dad’s restaurant!?!?!” Julian hissed lightheartedly.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want you to think my whole family would be watching us,” Eskel cheeked as he filled Julian’s water glass from the carafe on the table, and was met with a quizzical look. “In all honesty, it’s one of the few places I can always get a table on short notice this late in the week. Besides, it’s comfortable.”

A few more gears clicked. Of course. This was a public place where he not only knew the staff, but also knew the space like it was his home: he’d worked the bar, served guests, hosted… He felt a sense of ownership and belonging. It didn’t matter whether people stared and whispered, because he knew the placement of every single piece of glassware and cutlery, and they didn’t. The restaurant itself was like family to him.

Julian nodded understandingly, and grinned as their server approached the table. He was tall, with honeyed skin and dark wavy hair, startlingly green eyes, and an impeccably-groomed goatee. “Hello there, can I interest either of you in any drinks to start off?”

They each ordered a glass of red wine and Eskel sat back, quietly observing his companion. Julian’s sea-blue eyes were flicking back and forth over the menu before him, his brow furrowed at the sheer number of different options, some of which contained ingredients printed in Italian.

“Can I make a recommendation?” Eskel cocked his head with a smirk.

Julian pursed his lips for a moment, glancing up at his date before gluing his eyes back to the menu. “Yes. I am terribly out of my depth.”

“I said the same thing to Lambert last night. Listen, why don’t I order for us, and we can both relax a little?”

Julian’s eyes swept over the menu one last time, “Please, God, yes.”

“Anything you don’t like, aside from spicy?” Eskel asked, taking Julian’s menu from his helpless hands.

“Not a huge fan of alfredos.”

“Well, that’s fine, we’re both drinking red and that doesn’t pair with cream sauce, I wouldn’t allow it, anyway,” he answered back. It was an offhanded comment, but Julian caught the radiant heat off Eskel’s flare of confidence as the restaurateur casually glanced over the menu. This was a different Eskel, completely in his element with absolutely no doubt in his mind that he was correct about every decision he was about to make. Julian wanted to jump across the booth and pick up where they’d left off the night before. Instead, he sipped his wine, savouring the palette as it tingled the back of his throat and warmed his stomach.

“You’re very sexy when you talk about wine pairings.”

Julian watched a pretty pink flush spill up Eskel’s chest and neck, just barely tinging his cheeks. Their server had impeccable timing, choosing that exact moment to make a beeline to their table. “And how are we doing over here? Ready to order?”

He may have been briefly flustered by Julian’s comment, but Eskel’s tone immediately shifted into that of a professional in his home environment, “We’ll start with the carpaccio with the truffle oil, please, and then I’ll have the penne calabrese, and he’ll do the spaghetti carbonara. And could we get a bread basket before the starter, please?”

“Of course. All delicious choices, I’ll get everything started for you.” Their server left them once again, and Eskel felt Julian’s fingers brush over the back of his hand.

“I don’t know how to explain this,” Julian murmured, barely loud enough for Eskel to hear, “but that was incredibly attractive.”

“What, ordering food?” Eskel laughed but didn’t move his hand away. Instead he let himself relax into Julian’s touch.

“Well, yes, but there was more to it.” The musician’s slender fingers gracefully coasted over the landscape of knuckles and veins—accentuated by years of pouring neatly from full bottles and carafes, and carrying water glasses and full plates. “It was your demeanour; the way you held yourself, looked out of your eyes, it all shifted a little. It was subtle, but it’s… sexy.”

Eskel smirked and leaned back in his seat, letting Julian’s fingers lazily fiddle with his, “Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s—you’re confident and in your element. You’re highly skilled.” Julian paused for a moment, scanning this new Eskel in his natural habitat, “You could take over and serve this entire restaurant if you needed to. Couldn’t you?”

“Easily,” Eskel answered, his brow set in easy certainty. His expression quickly softened into an easier smile, and he gave his date a little wink. “But don’t tell the—”

“So sorry to interrupt,” their server had glided his way over to the table with surprising stealth, “but the chef was wondering if he could have a word with you, Eskel.”

Eskel sighed, clearly having wanted to avoid playing Backup Owner for the night, “What, about the order? Or is it something else?”

Their server shook his head, his dark locks shaking over his forehead, “He wouldn’t say, just asked me to bring you back to him for a moment.”

Eskel deflated, looking conflictedly back to Julian. It was part of his life, being in the restaurant business meant being on-call almost any time during business hours for any number of things. Still, if this date was going anywhere meaningful, he didn’t want to start their entire relationship by abandoning him to tend to a work crisis. Julian reluctantly let his fingers drift away from Eskel’s hand, “Go on, I’ll be fine here, it sounds important. Just don’t get roped into working in the kitchen?”

“I may be a workaholic, but I’ve never once abandoned a date at the table. Back in a sec.” Eskel heaved himself out of the booth and followed the waiter around the dining room and through the doors to the kitchen, fully ready to step into his Owner’s Son Who Used To Work Here shoes.

However, it wasn’t the head chef waiting for him. It was… the owner’s son who used to work there.

“Hey! How’s it going out there?”

“Lambert. What are you doing here?”

“Well, you never let me wear my chef’s coat at the cafe, so-”

“Sorry, let me try again: what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Okay, okay, fine, I’m here to spy on your date. Happy?”

“Of course not!”

“You’re both looking good tonight. I mean his shirt? Bold, makes a statement, mature-yet-playful—although I have some questions about his taste in footwear. But hey-hey-hey, is he holding your hand? It looks like it, but I can’t see the wall side of the booth from the pass—”

“Lambert…” Eskel could have sworn he felt his hair actually bristling, “I cannot fucking believe you—that you would have the-the the audacity to think it would be appropriate to just—I mean, on a Thursday. How many people’s schedules did you have to mess up in order to work tonight?! Do you even remember how to be back here?”

“Please, I’m a professional. Like riding a bike.”

A metal spoon fell to the floor with a loud clatter and Eskel took a long, deep breath, “Listen, we’ll talk about this later—and believe me, we will talk about this later—but right now I have a very handsome, very thoughtful, very patient date (who does, in fact, have very soft hands), waiting for me in the dining room.”

“Okay, okay, go, I’ll text you later. But hey, hey, listen: you’re doing great, big guy. Really great. Love the menu for tonight. And the wine pairing? Ballsy to order the wine first but, damn, when you know, you know.”

“Thanks, Bert.”

“Go get ‘im, tiger!”

“Unbelievable,” Eskel muttered as he went towards the kitchen door. “Corner!”

Eskel strode back to their table, and found Julian looking intently at something in front of him, chewing on a slice of bread from the basket that now sat on the edge of the table. As Eskel got closer, he saw it was a phone, and immediately felt the lack of weight in his own pocket.

As if sensing him, Julian looked up, his eyes sparkling under the comfortable lighting in the booth. “W-pray tell, my chivalrous date,” he murmured as Eskel came to a hesitant stop at the edge of their seats, “why do you have a list of Fun Things To Ask On A Date?”

Eskel slowly, carefully slid into his seat across from Julian, feeling the tips of his ears starting to burn. “I-uh...found the article earlier...a-and, well, like you, I was feeling a little nervous... here, you know what, we can just forget you ever saw tha-”

He reached for his phone, but it was quickly held out of reach, “Oh, nononononono, we are so doing this,” Julian smiled wickedly, his chestnut hair flopping as his head bobbed with glee. Eskel dragged his hands up his cheeks and rubbed his eyes dejectedly, glancing around to see if any of their fellow restaurant goers could help free him from the private hell that was going to be the next twenty minutes.

“Question One: What’s one thing you want to ask me but you’re too nervous to?’ Ooooh starting dramatically,” Julian twinkled his fingers for punctuation.

“Oh God, do we really have to—”

“Oh yes. We do. Come on,” Julian waved him on in encouragement, “no wrong answers, I promise. Only a bit of fun.”

Eskel groaned, leaned back in his seat, and folded his hands in his lap. “Alright, fine. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Julian answered without hesitation. “How old are you?”

Eskel grimaced, “Forty-two.”

“And yet you don’t look a day over thirty.”

“Hey, I work in customer service, I know a placation when I see it,” Eskel smirked playfully. “Let’s—can we move on to the next one?”

Julian grinned sympathetically, turning back to the screen. “Question 2: zodiac sign?”

“Hmm, late February, that’s Pisces, right?”

Julian smiled and nodded, “Indeed. I’m a Taurus. Stubborn-yet-endearing, thank you very much.”

“I don’t know all that much about star signs. What does all this mean?”

“Well, it means we’re compatible, in theory. Pisces are generally loyal, empathetic, intuitive, private… Taurus tends to be stubborn, patient—can be a little possessive, but I’m working on that. According to one horoscope, I apparently ‘dislike synthetic fabrics’ which is patently false as previously demonstrated by the contents of my closet.”

“Yes, and thank you for that, by the way. It was worth almost having a heart attack at work.”

Julian winked as he scrolled along down the list. “Glad you enjoyed that, because I know I certainly did. Now, what’s your lOvE lAnGuAgE?”

Eskel frowned, “What’s a ‘love language?’”

“Oh, it’s how you show and accept love. Here,” he opened the quiz on a new tab, “You can do it while I’m in the restroom.”

Eskel gratefully accepted his phone back and watched Julian meander his way to the men’s room. He breezed through the quiz questions, thinking he may as well be with his niece at a slumber party and wondering whether they were going to be playing Never Have I Ever next.

“Physical Touch, apparently,” he answered, pocketing his phone as Julian slid back into the booth.

“Well, we’re proving very compatible this evening. I’m the same. With some gifting thrown in from time to time. Where’d you put the phone?”

“You mean my phone? In my pocket.”

“Well, give it, I want to keep asking you questions!”

Eskel leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, “No, I don’t think I will. Later. I want us to enjoy ourselves. Actually enjoy ourselves. And the carpaccio will be up soon.” As irritated as he was with his younger brother having commandeered the kitchen, he was looking forward to the promise of an impeccable dinner. He was feeling more relaxed now, largely thanks to the joyful enthusiasm of his date, but he didn’t want to rely solely on the dubious contents of a Cosmo quiz to make a meaningful connection. Julian let himself get lost in the freckled honey-nut-hazel and the secret sadness tucked behind them. Eskel, too, took the opportunity to look, really look, at Julian’s almost-too-blue and the subtle edge hiding amongst the kindness and charisma. And so they just...looked at each other for a moment. No pretense, no joking. Taking each other in.

Julian startled at the sudden sensation, but smiled as he realized Eskel had taken his hand. He’d broken their eye contact to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in the process, but now that he’d found his bearings, the cafe owner looked back across the table to his date, “You know, I… want this to work.”

The young musician’s eyes grew big and his cheeks flushed hot with the sudden outpouring of sincerity. He already cared about Eskel more than he thought he should after so short a time, and it was both a shock and a relief to know that Eskel might be experiencing the same thing. “W—I—”

“I know that it’s early. And I know there’s a lot we still don’t know about each other. And a lot that we’ll need to figure out, and maybe we won’t be what the other needs and that’s fine. We can always go our separate ways. But I want you to know that I’m… taking this seriously.”

Julian tried to put words together, but was cut off by the re-return of their overly-handsome waiter. A large plate of thinly-sliced raw beef tenderloin was presented, prompting an abrupt release of their hands. Eskel thanked the waiter, and Julian’s stomach rumbled as he scrambled a bit to close the gap in their conversation. But what could he say to that?

He intercepted Eskel’s hand on its way to a slice of bread, “Thank you. Really. I’m taking this seriously, too. I mean that.”

Eskel gave a small sideways smile, “Let’s eat.”

Julian carefully took a portion of the carpaccio, set it on his own little plate and took a bite, and oh god the most delightfully combination of flavours and textures met his tongue. They ate contentedly, not sharing many words, but also finding it hard to look away from each other. What an excellent evening. The food was exceptional, the wine was warm and bold—hell, the whole week had been so pleasantly unexpected that they both settled into a kind of trance.

After a few minutes and with not much appetizer left, Eskel topped off their water glasses. “Alright then, my turn,” he said, dusting his hands free of bread crumbs and wiping his mouth on his napkin.

Julian blinked and swallowed abruptly. “For…?”

“Picking the questions,” Eskel pulled his phone back out and kept it well within his grasp. “Come on, there are actually some good ones in here, believe it or not.”

Julian nodded and shrugged, “Ask away.”

Eskel cleared his throat as he scrolled through the list, finally settling on his three questions. He learned that Julian worked days at an artisanal candy shop in town where he was in charge of making marshmallow animals, which he clearly enjoyed as well as having the skill and patience to do. The next question revealed that Julian had an irrational hatred of polenta, and Eskel despised parsnip, citing that they “taste like carrots wearing perfume.” The final question turned the conversation to their childhoods which proved a little more serious. Julian, it turned out, had grown up in a small, predominantly Christian town. Needless to say, his well-meaning, churchgoing parents had had a difficult time adjusting to the fact that their one and only precious little angel was, in fact, undeniably homosexual.

Eskel’s phone found its place in his pocket once more while he collected his thoughts. “I’m sorry if that brought up any—”

“No no, it’s fine! It’s a part of my life, it made me who I am now.” Julian gently set his now-empty plate aside.

“Do you, uhm, are you still in touch?”

“With my parents, you mean? Yes. We had a bit of a rocky start when I came out, but once I shipped off to university and they had some time to think a little, we started over. It’s—they try. They don’t always get it right, but they try.”

“Could be worse, I suppose. Still...”

“Family’s what we make. Sometimes we’re born with family, and sometimes we find it. Sometimes it’s a bit of both. We’ve all come a long way in the last few years.”

“That’s good to hear, I’m happy that they’re able to be supportive.”

Julian nodded, stroking his thumb over the back of Eskel’s knuckles. “Enough of my sob story, your turn. Best part of your childhood.”

“Well, once we got old enough that Lambert wasn’t ‘the baby’ anymore, we started running around causing havoc. Of course, I always tried to keep the peace, but my brothers are fucking maniacs. It’s not that I never got into any mischief myself, I was always just...better at not getting caught. I don’t think that either of them know the definition of the word ‘subtle.’”

“No, not from what I’ve gathered,” Julian smirked as he cast a quick glance at the kitchen doors. Eskel followed his gaze and caught a hint of Lambert’s hair ducking out of view and he shook his head.

“Truly? He is the bane of my existence. I love him to death, but he may end up in the fucking wall tonight,” Eskel sighed, rubbing his weary face as Julian laughed brightly.

Their server came around with their main course, and refilled their wine glasses before leaving them to their dinner. “Now, I know it’s tempting to eat the whole thing,” Eskel began as he dusted fresh parmesan onto their plates from the little bowl between them, “but we do still have dessert. My advice: don’t be a hero. We can bring home leftovers.”

“You’re going to kill me with all of this,” Julian sighed as he spun his fork in the fresh spaghetti before slurping it up. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he tried hard not to make undignified noises at the dinner table. Eskel chuckled joyfully and ripped a slice of bread in half, dipping into some of the sauce. Julian thought if Eskel committed to their…. whatever this was… even half that much as he was committed to his food, he could count himself pretty damn lucky.

“Is this how you grew up eating? Just this? Casually? Every night?” Julian wondered aloud as he continued to stuff his face as gracefully as he could.

Eskel shrugged, “More or less. Of course, we dress it up for the restaurant, and it wasn’t always pasta. Same idea though, especially when Ma was still around. Pops is pretty protective of the recipes nowadays.”

“He’s very protective of all his children, then,” Julian winked, twirling his fork for another mouthful of pasta. “When did—I mean, if you don’t mind the question, when exactly did your mum… uh?”

Eskel smiled, “No, I don’t mind. Geralt was ten, I was nine, Lambert was… five I think? He doesn’t remember much, bits-and-pieces here and there, but Pops gets out the photo albums once a year on Christmas.”

“Wow, so he like, raised you.”

“Pretty much,” Eskel nodded proudly. “He stepped up well. Of course, everybody makes mistakes. But here we are! He kept us all alive, and that wasn’t an easy feat.”

Julian shook his head with a laugh, “No, I bet not. I imagine he’s proud of you, though.”

Eskel shrugged, “Yeah. We try not to bring too much shame on the family.” A little hazel-eyed wink lightened the mood and the two continued to enjoy their meal and each others’ company. Eventually, Julian pushed his plate back.

“I absolutely cannot eat anymore if I’m going to have dessert. This was delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it. It’s a favourite of mine.” Eskel got the attention of their waiter, “Could we get these boxed up please?”

“Absolutely. Any interest in dessert?”

“Two espressos and a tiramisu, please. And two spoons. Thanks.”

As they waited for their dessert, Julian reached across the table, waggling his fingers for Eskel’s phone. “My turn, please!”

Eskel begrudgingly handed Julian his phone, and he immediately opened the page back up. “Are you… a morning or a night person?”

“Night. I hate mornings.”

“Ironic, since you chose to open a coffee shop.”

“I know. I still haven’t forgiven myself. You?”

“I can be a morning person if I need to be, but I prefer staying up late. I write better in the evenings.”

“You have about a minute and a half before the espresso gets here,” Eskel said with a smirk, his ears having pricked at the sound of the espresso grinder kicking on.

“Okay, okay. Last one: why didn’t your last relationship work?”

Eskel went quiet. Cleared his throat. Stared at his hands on the tabletop. “I’m not going to avoid that question, Julian, but I’m going to table it for now because I don’t want to answer it here. Later,” he added with an affectionate touch to the back of Julian’s hand.

The musician tilted his head sympathetically, “Of course. And obviously, you don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’ll listen whenever it feels right.”

Eskel nodded and straightened his tie, giving himself something to do with his hands. “Thank you. I do want to. Just...not right this second.”

“I completely understand,” Julian reassured him before chancing a glance at the kitchen door which was swinging suspiciously.

The waiter returned with their parceled pastas, and then once again shortly after with a beautifully layered, barely-holding-together tiramisu, and their coffee.

Eskel sipped on his espresso as Julian daintily dug into the dessert-y corner nearest him: it was the creamiest, moistest, most delicately sweetened tiramisu he’d ever tasted. “Dear sweet Baby Jesus and the Mother... Eskel—and I need you to answer me honestly—do you, or do you not, know how to make this? Because if you do, I—you’re not going to have to work very hard to keep me around.”

Eskel smirked and set his now half-empty cup down, “It’s a family recipe, we can all make it. It was kind of a rite of passage growing up. You know Papa trusted you in the kitchen when he put you on Dessert Duty.”

“Maybe you could teach me someday?”

Eskel narrowed his eyes over the rim of his small demitasse cup, “Hmm maybe. Not yet, though. I still have no proof you’re not working for a rival restaurant. Someday. For now, I have to entertain the possibility that you’re a double agent.”

He took his own hearty spoonful and flashed Julian a bright smile as he chewed. Lambert had prepped this. He could tell. Every element was executed with clinical precision, from the saturation of the biscuits to the subtle eggy sweetness of the custard—even the dusting of cocoa on top was perfectly proportioned with the rest of it. Lambert had truly, from start to finish, outdone himself, and Eskel couldn’t help but think his younger brother’s hijacking of the kitchen was about more than just spying on his date. No, he’d wanted it to be perfect, as good as it possibly could be; though of course he’d never say it. He didn’t have to. Lambert was a snarky pain in the ass with a heart the size of a cruise ship. This was him saying it.

Having polished off the remains of their dessert and espresso, Eskel went to the restroom and settled the bill while Julian put on his jacket, and the two made their way to thank the hostess one last time before heading into the now-dark evening. As they approached the host stand, however, Eskel stopped walking. He was in earshot now, and didn’t like what he was hearing.

“...don’t understand, what about that table?” An irritated middle-aged man and his dinner companion were standing in the doorway.

“Once again, sir—and I’m very sorry—but that table is reserved and there’s a one-hour wait without reservations.” Jess was clearly flustered, but holding her own as Eskel hovered nearby.

“Well, then, where are the people whose table that is?” The man blustered, pointing to a recently-vacant, un-bused table.

“I’ve phoned them, and have been assured they’ll be here within their five-minute wind—”

“You know what, that’s okay, we’re going to take a seat, thank you,” the man pushed past, no longer even looking at Jess, clearly speaking solely for the purposes of shutting her up. On his way, he collided with the broad-chested, half-Italian-half-Polish son of the restaurant’s proprietor.

“That table’s reserved,” Eskel said, coolly. Julian felt a shiver down his spine as this new Eskel he’d caught glimpses of all night took full form. He seemed to occupy twice the amount of space he had before and the vague threat of physical force loomed in the distance like a far-off thunderstorm. Oh my. Julian took a few measured steps back, not sure quite what to expect. Still, it wasn’t fear that whirled in the pit of his stomach. Rather it was something much warmer, a mix of admiration and curiosity that turned over and over as he watched the scenario unfold.

“Excuse me?” The man’s watery eyes flashed indignantly as he looked Eskel up-and-down. He scowled and made to step around, “Mind your own business.”

“This is my business.” Eskel once again put himself between man and table. “To be more precise, it’s my father’s business, but we’re a close family.”

“Well, then, you should train your staff better. This girl has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. We have a reservation! We told her we had a reservation, and now she’s telling us we have to wait an hour because of her incompetence. It’s a liability to your business, having staff that can’t handle simple things like reservations, can’t keep track of a simple thing like that, you ought to fire that girl!”

Eskel looked over the man’s head to Jess who shook her head, shrugging helplessly as she pointed to the reservation list. “This woman,” Eskel continued, “has been with us for seven years and has helped us to streamline and optimize our reservation system at least three different times. She’s more than competent, she’s an asset, and now I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You think you can come into my father’s restaurant—any restaurant—and insult the hostess, refuse to abide by carefully structured systems and policies, and force your way to a table that’s meant for someone else? There is no table for you this evening.”

Julian’s eyes widened as he watched from his safe distance, pretending to scroll on his phone so as not to draw attention to the fact that he was hanging onto every word of this interaction. Eskel was magnificent: grounded and calm, his tone still polite but inarguably authoritarian. Julian would stake his life on Eskel not being a violent person if he could avoid it, but for someone his size, even the vaguest possibility of an altercation would be enough to make an opponent question their choices.

“What?!” the man blustered again, utterly aghast at being denied.

“I will repeat myself once: you are not welcome in this restaurant tonight. Within five minutes of walking through that door, you’ve abused and disrespected the staff, and abused and disrespected the policies of this establishment. I wish you and your companion a pleasant dining experience elsewhere.” The crossed arms as a final punctuation were almost over-the-top, but the gesture drove the point home.

Julian glanced over to Jess. She was clearly finding the whole experience immensely gratifying (who wouldn’t? It was every service worker’s dream come true). But there was something more behind her relieved expression that told Julian she was also deeply touched. It was easy to see why: Eskel at peak protectiveness may as well have been a lioness or a mother bear warding off a potential threat to her young. Besides, he was clearly enjoying himself.

“Unbelievable. This is unacceptable. I’ll make sure the Star and the Herald hear about this.”

Eskel said nothing, but gestured with an open palm towards the exit, taking a few steps forward. The irritant had no choice but to vacate the premises. There was a moment of silence as the dust settled and after a deep breath, it was Eskel who broke the silence, “Sorry about that, Jess. Are you okay?” He tapped her elbow in familiar reassurance. She nodded, taking a sip of water. It was fine, she was just a little flustered. “Want to step out for a minute or two? I can watch the door. That is—if…” he gestured to Julian, having suddenly remembered exactly why he was there in the first place. He received a flippant wave and a shrug (‘yes of course you can send the flustered hostess on a break’) and took Jess’s place at the host stand while she went through the kitchen to get some fresh air.

When she returned, Lambert poked his head out the kitchen door and whistled to get Eskel’s attention, “‘Ey! Tutto bene?” All good?

“Stiamo bene.” We’re fine, Eskel answered with an easy shrug. “Chiamerei Papà.” I’ll call Dad. He held the door once again for Julian as they made their exit, pausing to say goodnight to Jess with a familial kiss on the cheek and a reminder that his number was still on speed-dial for a reason. The two stepped out of the restaurant and,—after a final pause for Eskel to call Papa Vesemir and explain what happened—fell into a slow and comfortable amble.

The two of them walked leisurely, their shoulders bumping back forth for a while. Julian glanced up into the sparkling stars overhead and back down to where the moon shone over Eskel’s skin. He noticed that Eskel seemed a little tense, and he knew that it wasn't because of the most-recent incident. No, a question was pressing very loudly into the creases of Eskel’s forehead, and Julian so desperately wanted to know the answer—not to be nosy, but so that he could help in some way, maybe. But in the last few days he’d already gotten the sense that Eskel was a private man, and that any amount of prying would only lead to friction.

Eskel’s hand fidgeted nervously with the keys in his pocket as they wandered down the ambling side streets of Little Italy—most of them one-way with barely a car in sight in contrast with the busy main drag. He thought back to the photo above his fireplace. If he was going to take this step, it was now or never. If it went badly, there was no great loss. A good few dates, maybe the possibility of something more, but no heartbreak. If he waited, he would only run the risk of making things much worse for much longer. They wandered into a small park where a modest bridge stretched over a pond filled with ducks and small fish. They crossed halfway and stopped in the middle, relaxing in the little pocket of nature tucked away inside the large city.

Eskel took a deep breath, worrying his lower lip slightly with his teeth, and Julian couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched him gather his thoughts, wondering exactly what information he was about to be smacked with. Does he have a secret family no one knows about? Maybe he’s a secret agent. That’d be coo- no, Jules, stay on task, he’s clearly going through it.

“So…” Eskel kept his eyes trained on the far side of the pond, watching the ducks float and mingle under the stars.

“So…” Julian said, resting his elbows gently on the old, weathered wood of the bridge rail.

“You asked earlier about my last relationship, and I would like for you to have an answer.” Eskel sighed and ran his hand down his face, discreetly scratching at the long scar on his cheek. “It’s...it’s not a happy story, I’m afraid.”

Julian stayed quiet, letting Eskel take the time he needed to say whatever it was he needed to say. His hand twitched to reach for him, but he pulled back. Let him have space. Does he need space? What if he doesn’t want space? Damnit, Julian, he’s a grown man, he’s fine just let him… be.

Eskel turned and leaned against the railing with his arms crossed in front of his chest. When he spoke, his words felt rough in his throat, but it felt good to be saying them. Felt right. “I was married before.” Julian’s eyes widened as he raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know why, but Eskel had given off a strong bachelor vibe, not at all what he would have expected from someone who’d already been settled down before. “College sweethearts, got married the summer after we graduated, got situated together as best we could—you know, nice apartment, grown-up furniture, houseplants. We made plans to move out of the city, saved up enough to put a small downpayment on a home somewhere quieter. And we did. Front lawn, backyard, space for a garden. It wasn’t much and it was right by the tracks, but it was ours. Packed everything up, rented a U-Haul (we didn’t have much stuff)... A week and two days after we moved in, a drunk driver ran a red going 100 in a 50 zone and ploughed into the passenger side door—damn near tore the car in half. I wasn’t alone.”

“Oh, shit,” Julian breathed, his eyes welling with tears, “I-I don’t know what to say, except I am so sorry…”

Eskel shook his head, still adamantly staring into the distance, his voice a little thick, “Thank you, Julian, you don’t have to say anything. I just… I wanted you to know. I’ve moved on, but I still love her, if that makes any sense.”

“I understand. Thank you.” Julian rested a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, and received a grateful squeeze from Eskel’s hand as it came to meet his. “So… I do have one question. If it’s alright, if not I can save it for another time if you’d rather not—”

Eskel shrugged dismissively, “No, no, it’s all on the table, you should be able to ask. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just… you said… her?”

Eskel nodded, “Yes.”

“So you…”

“Found someone I loved.”

Julian nodded, feeling the tears finally break through and trickle down his cheeks, cooling in the night air. He cleared his throat, “Eskel? Could I maybe—unless you want some space, which is fine, you can just tell me but—could I hold your hand? I just, I feel like I want to but don’t know if you—”

Eskel slid his hand over the rail and grabbed onto Julian’s hand, their fingers intertwining gently. Julian squeezed, scooting a little closer to Eskel so that he could feel the warmth radiating from beneath his soft suede jacket. Julian sighed softly, mirroring Eskel as they both looked over the water. “Why now? Why me?”

Eskel finally looked over, and Julian met his eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright and full of mourning and pain and something lighter, something that felt a lot like hope. “I think you came along at a good time.”

“Did you… I mean… have you been with many—”

“I’ve gotten all the rebound out of my system if that’s what you mean,” Eskel smirked brightly and Julian was surprised at the relief he felt to see joy come back to his companion’s face. He nudged Julian’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. At least, when it comes to people. Clothing is a different story, I’ve said as much myself. I like you, Julian. And I meant what I said about taking this seriously. You know, I… this might sound odd, but I like the way you make me feel. It’s a good feeling. And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to kiss you.”

It was slow and fluid, the way Eskel turned to face Julian, gently sandwiching him between the bridge railing and his own warm body. He didn’t crowd, didn’t press, but the soft wool of his sweater met the crisp cotton of Julian’s button-down and a thrill turned in Julian’s stomach as two large hands cradled the sides of his face. Julian swallowed and reached a tentative hand to Eskel’s right cheek. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but almost leaned into the musician’s cool fingers as they traced the jagged lines.

“May I?” Eskel’s whisper was almost plaintive and Julian could feel his breath trembling as he nodded.

Their lips crashed together and they both breathed deep in a mutual swell, noses filling with cologne and freshly laundered clothing, and the crisp smell of dampness that rose from the chilly water below them. Lips, hands, tongues, hair, bodies pressed closer, their breaths misting in the cool spring air. Only the soft sounds of sleepy ducks and the latent rumble of distant traffic could be heard as the two sunk into each other, relished one another. For Eskel, it was part-relief, part-comfort, hope and reassurance. For Julian it was also hope, but a hope that he could be good enough, be someone for Eskel to rely on, trust in. And so far, much to his amazement, he seemed to be succeeding.

When they did finally part for air, neither of them seemed keen to stray far. Eskel leaned his forehead against Julian’s, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. Julian, however, couldn’t keep his eyes still, drinking in every ounce of Eskel that he could reach. “You, uh…” Eskel swallowed in a gulping breath, “you still have time to run for the hills.”

Julian chuckled and touched their lips back together sweetly, unhurried, a soft peck in the moonlight. “I’m not running anywhere, I promise.”

Julian could feel Eskel’s smile pressing into his own lips, and he knew he was a goner. “Good. That’s very good…”

They stood there for a while more, lingering in each other’s space as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, hazy and golden. Though, as more clouds threatened to cover the stars in a dewy mist, Eskel murmured in Julian’s ear, taking his hand and leading him down the path towards Julian’s apartment. They took their time walking back, chatting quietly, sometimes playfully bumping shoulders until they finally reached Julian’s door. It was late, almost 10pm as they stood at the front of the walkup, both feeling slightly chilly.

“I would invite you in but… roommate. And I haven’t told her I’m seeing anyone, so. Not that I expect—er, I mean, whatever you, uh—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eskel said calmly with a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Plenty of time.”

With that, they said goodnight, and Eskel promised, once again, to text when he got home.

Meanwhile, Lambert had his back pressed up against the side of the restaurant, its windows dark and oblivious to the shenanigans taking place in its side alley. The usurping chef moaned as his bottom lip was gently pressed between a set of teeth, tugging gently, wantonly, with the promise of leaving him tender and swollen and wanting for nothing by the end of the evening. He knew what Lambert wanted, the smarmy asshole was an open book, and the waiter was always happy to oblige. Besides, Lambert wasn’t the only one getting something out of it. Oh no, this was an equal transaction, enthusiastically participated in by both parties.

Lambert threaded his fingers into thick, dark waves of hair and swallowed the moan he received in response. He felt the pair of hands around his waist slide down to his backside and squeeze tightly, grinding their hips together sloppily, desperately.

“I uh-” Lambert gasped between their lips, “I wanted to thank you again for helping out tonight, Aiden. It uh, I know how much Eskel needed that and-”

“Quit being such a sap and shut up so I can kiss you,” Aiden growled, pushing Lambert harder against the cold brick wall at his back and Lambert was very quickly at a loss for words. Did he have to be up at the ass-crack of dawn to go into the cafe? Yes. Was this just the beginning of a—hopefully—very long night? Aiden hooked a finger in Lambert’s belt and began tugging him towards his car. Yes, yes it was.

***

#family business #collab #eskel/jaskier #eskel/julian #fluff #modern au

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pickalilywrites · 3 years

Text

hi everyone!!! here’s the eretra au that a few of you might remember from my wip posts a few months (?) ago! i’m really excited about it, so i hope you guys like it. it’s very loosely based off a kdrama called big, although there aren’t very many similarities. i hope you guys enjoy it :)

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My First Love Come Back to Me

Eretra. Big AU.

I’ll Love You in the Rain or Shine Series: Chapter 1

12788 words.

Read on Ao3!

Eren stands in the deli section of the grocery store staring down at the premade sandwiches that have, judging by the wilting lettuce and stiff-looking squares of cheese stuffed between dry bread buns, been sitting there all day after being passed over by other customers for more enticing premade meals like the colorful, little sushis in their plastic containers or the burritos so stuffed with filling that beans are practically spilling out of the tortilla wraps meant to contain them. He looks at one particularly sad-looking sandwich. Turkey chunks and droopy lettuce leaves are shoved inside a stale bread loaf. Tomato juice from the poor fruit that was cut to make this depressing sub bleeds out from the bun, dripping onto the plastic wrap that can hardly hold the thing together. A strange assortment of veggies also poke out from the bread - bright yellow bell peppers, chunky strips of carrots, and slices of onions - but they look as though someone has carelessly dropped them into the sandwich because they’re not even evenly dispersed through the sub. It is, Eren thinks, the most wretched sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on.

It’s a little sad, the fact that Eren is spending so much time picking out something to bring to a family dinner that he would claim, if anyone bothered to ask, to not give a single shit about. And, really, he doesn’t, but it makes him feel slightly better about going to those miserable gatherings if he’s able to bring something he knows his stepmom will hate. Except she’s not really his stepmom. To be more precise, the woman is his father’s first and only wife - the bastard having never married Eren’s mother - and his half-brother’s mother. In all honesty, Eren can completely understand why the woman hates him. He is, after all, a constant reminder of his father’s infidelity. It’s not like Eren likes her either and, with all of the snide comments about his upbringing and disappointing career path (although Eren has no idea why that is any of her business), she hasn’t given Eren any reason to.

Eren looks down at the sandwich again, leaning towards not getting it. As much as he would love to purchase it and slap it down on the dinner table with a cheerful smile, there are only so many times he can buy disgusting sandwiches for his family dinners. He really outdid himself last time with a self-made sandwich with all sorts of odd ingredients (blue cheese, coriander, tuna, onions, cherry tomatoes, the works) that had no business being slapped between the same two buns. He even remembered not to toast the bread buns. Apparently, the only thing his father’s wife hates more than sandwiches are untoasted sandwiches, but not everyone can afford a $300 panini press like she can. Apparently, any panini press with a smaller price tag can’t be called a real panini press. Eren only half-regretted his decision to bring the disgusting thing to his father’s house an hour later when he sprinted out of the house and biked half a block away to empty the contents of his stomach on the edge of a poor neighbor's sidewalk. No, a normal deli sandwich would be a step down from his previous contribution to family dinner, Eren decides.

He walks up and down the aisle of the grocery store, taking his time even though he’s already a half-hour late for dinner. (He’s doing them a favor. Nobody in their right mind should be having dinner at five when the sun is still high in the sky.) His green eyes glaze over tubs of soup and plastic bins filled with salad. For a moment, he wonders if he should walk through the shelves of chips on the other side or maybe into the frozen food section so he can haul a tub of melting ice cream to his father’s house, but he wonders if that’s too petty. It’s probably best not to, Eren thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t want to ruin junk food for himself forever.

In the end, Eren purchases a little tub of potato salad, hoping that it’ll be enough to piss off his Disney-esque sort-of stepmother. It’s not perfect, but he supposes it will do. It’s probably not as grotesque as the stuff he’s brought before, but he likes how simple it is. That woman’s definitely going to be miffed that Eren bought potato salad as if he cared so little that he couldn’t be bothered to spend a few minutes in the kitchen to make the same dish. He’s really going to enjoy seeing the vein on her forehead pulse when she sees him standing at the door with the potato salad.

Eren thanks the cashier for ringing up his purchase, sliding two dollars into the charity box next to the register, and walks away with his tub of potato salad, whistling as he practically skips out of the grocery store. He hadn’t taken as long as he would have liked; there are still fifteen minutes before six and he had hoped he would burn enough time to arrive at six-thirty, but maybe he can take a roundabout way to his dad’s house, Eren thinks as he drops the tub carelessly into the front basket of his bicycle. He unlocks his bike with a click and pulls it off the bike rack before mounting it and pedaling away.

Taking the direct route would be too quick. Eren quickly pedals across the road as soon as the road is clear and finds his way to the creek that cuts across the suburbs. It’s the same creek Eren used to play beside when he was a child. He fell in there once trying to catch a frog and his mom scolded him for being so reckless. It’s also the same creek that he frequented during the spring of his sophomore year of highschool when he was assigned to do a bug project, which Eren hated especially when the same project was no longer mandatory after his school cut the science department’s funding the year after. Eren doesn’t think he’s visited the creek ever since he graduated from high school. He blames it on college and summer internships taking up all his time and never really allowing him to return to his youth, but the truth is that Eren wouldn’t have sought out his childhood even if he had the time.

It’s not that Eren had a terrible childhood. In fact, Eren would say that he had a fairly happy childhood. True, he grew up in a (mostly) single-parent household, but his mother was always patient and attentive to him even though he was a pain the ass about 75 percent of the time. Nothing incredibly significant happened. He didn’t win any awards and he never made the honor roll, but his mother was fine with it as long as he did his best. It was strange, but he got a lot more shit about his grades from his sort-of stepmom than he did from his own mother. He’s not particularly sure what his father thought about it. Eren’s father never said much of anything to defend him, but his father hardly said anything to him at all. It was kind of like not having a father at all, so it wasn’t really that surprising when Eren found a way to avoid his old neighborhood completely after his mother passed away after his senior year of high school.

Eren hadn’t planned on returning so soon. Actually, he hadn’t planned on returning at all after he had left for college. He only came back the summer after freshman year, but he bummed it at his best friend Armin’s house and only ventured as far as Armin’s front lawn. The following summers he crashed at his ex-boyfriend’s house - an art student-turned-tattoo artist who somehow ended up setting up a shop in the city Eren and Armin grew up in - or Armin’s dorm when they were both working at their internships. Somehow, they ended up landing jobs back in their hometown because evidently the big city did not want them and they were too young and broke to go up against the universe. Maybe another day.

It’s not that bad. Despite renting an apartment near his neighborhood, Eren hasn’t run into any childhood friends that might still remember all the embarrassing things he did as a teenager. He’s bumped into a few parents at the grocery store that would smile up at him and talk about how nicely he’s grown while reaching up to ruffle his hair. Other than a few childhood friends and the “family” he feels obligated to meet due to the biological bond he unwillingly shares with his father, Eren has successfully avoided most of his past.

He pedals past his old middle school, zooming past the gates and grimacing as he remembers the less pleasant parts of his past - struggling with algebra, running a mile at seven AM, and the terrible school uniforms they forced on everyone in a strange attempt to boost standardized test scores. He’s happier when he crosses the street and is greeted with the lit-up shops - the convenience store where he’d happily slurp down slushies with Armin after school, the Chinese restaurant that his class would frequent every year for Lunar New Year’s, and the bakery store that always smelled of freshly baked tarts and pies. Eren’s pedaling slows as he approaches the bakery and he inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of buttery baguettes and chocolate tarts. The aroma is so distractingly sweet. His mouth begins to water at just the thought of them, and Eren wonders why he hadn’t bothered stepping foot in the bakery since coming back. He’s about to stop his bike and pop in for a brownie or a lemon bar only to realize that he’s biking far too fast and about to crash into someone.

“Shit!” Eren’s bike screeches as he swerves out of the way and he crashes into a pole so hard that he can feel his teeth rattle. He topples to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as he rolls over onto his side that didn’t get smashed violently against a pole. When he opens his eyes, he sees stars as well as the face of an old man that he had last seen a decade ago. Eren tries to sit up, but his side is throbbing and he can only clutch at his side, trying his best to suppress a groan so as to not startle the man he had nearly collided with. He gives the man a weak smile. “Hey, Mr. Ral. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The old man’s mouth, which was already open to begin with after seeing Eren’s embarrassing bicycle collision, falls open a bit wider. “A-are you … okay?” he asks after a while, squinting a bit as he looks at Eren’s face and tries to place a name to it. Eren doesn’t really blame him for not remembering who he is. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen each other and Eren has grown up a lot since then.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bump,” Eren says, laughing it off. He manages to sit up and pushes himself off the ground, standing up and brushing off the little pebbles that have managed to stick to his face and clothing. He picks up his bike, leaning it against the pole before turning to the man again. “It’s Eren, by the way.” He pauses, observing Mr. Ral’s expression. When he sees that the man doesn’t recognize him, Eren politely adds, “Eren Kruger. I’m Zeke Jaeger’s younger brother.”

A spark of recognition finally lights up in the old man’s eyes at the mention of Zeke’s name. Eren’s not going to lie, but it kind of hurts. “Ah, Zeke,” Mr. Ral says fondly. Eren shifts from feeling hurt to feeling slightly jealous. “How could I ever forget him? And you, of course. You two used to play with my dear Petra back in the day.”

Petra, a name that Eren hasn’t heard in years, and yet hearing it still makes him blush like a young schoolboy. He ducks his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he prays that Mr. Ral doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How is, ah, Petra doing?” he asks. He had meant to ask the question casually, but he stumbles over the words a little too quickly.

“Petra? She’s well,” Mr. Ral answers with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his laughter lines deepen. He doesn’t seem to notice how flustered Eren is. “She just started teaching at the same university that Zeke is teaching at.”

That’s certainly news to Eren. Zeke hadn’t mentioned that at any of the family dinners Eren had attended recently. It could just be because Zeke hadn’t run into her yet or it had simply slipped his mind, but Eren kind of doubts it. If Petra’s father knew, then it’s highly unlikely that Zeke didn’t know. As much as Eren wants to frown, he fights the urge to turn the edges of his mouth downward and gives Mr. Ral a thin but polite smile. “That’s great to hear. What does she teach?”

“English,” Mr. Ral replies, his chest puffed out proudly. It’s endearing how much he adores his daughter. “She teaches some upper-division classes on creative writing and a few classes for freshmen on critical reading and writing.”

Eren’s smile is more genuine now, more fond as he listens to Mr. Ral speak about his daughter. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She was always really good with words.” He remembers lazy summer afternoons lying underneath the shade of a tree and pretending he was sleeping so that he could listen to Petra talk to Zeke on the front porch. It wasn’t even that he wanted to eavesdrop. He just liked the sound of her voice. Eren wonders if it’s still as wonderfully soothing and soft as he remembers.

“And what about you?” Mr. Ral asks, snapping Eren out of his reverie. The old man seems to ask out of polite obligation. It figures that he isn’t really interested in Eren’s life. After all, he hadn’t remembered that Eren existed until five minutes ago.

“I just graduated a few months ago. I majored in child education,” Eren replies. He looks down feeling slightly embarrassed although he’s not sure why. It feels like a step down from Petra’s accomplishments. His sort-of stepmom would certainly agree. She enjoys rubbing Zeke’s doctorate in Eren’s face whenever she gets the chance. Eren clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been working at Liberio Daycare. It’s near Shiganshina Elementary.”

It’s unclear whether or not Mr. Ral recognizes the name but he nods and reaches over to give Eren a pat on the arm, a grin on his face as if the old man is actually proud of him. “That’s good! Your parents must be proud.” He doesn’t notice the way Eren flinches and carries on. “It’s good to hear that you’ve been well.”

“Likewise,” Eren says. His eyes wander towards the bakery. It hadn’t occurred to him to look for Petra before, but now that he knows she’s back in town he can’t imagine doing anything else. He half hopes that she’ll be inside, maybe clearing the display for the night or wiping down the countertops, but all he sees is a girl his age at the register munching on some lavender bars that hadn’t sold. Before he can stop himself, Eren finds himself asking, “Is Petra in?”

“Petra?” Mr. Ral asks with his eyebrows raised. Maybe it does seem out of the blue that Eren’s asking. Petra was always more Zeke’s friend than Eren’s. Mr. Ral gives Eren an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. She told me she was eating dinner at a friend’s house. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Maybe you two can catch up sometime.”

Eren shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but he can feel himself deflating at Mr. Ral’s words. He really doubts Petra would want to meet up with him. It’s not as if they were incredibly close before. Still, he gives Mr. Ral a gracious smile and says, “That would be great! I should probably get going. I have to, ah, eat dinner…” His voice trails off and he looks to bike only to find the front basket empty. Eyes straying further, he finds that his tub of potato salad had rolled out of his bike basket and onto the ground where it lay pitifully. Thankfully, the tub hasn’t broken and the potato salad hasn’t spilled out, but somehow the salad looks even more pathetic than it did when Eren purchased it. It’s something Eren would have been happy about fifteen minutes ago, but it’s embarrassing now. Quickly, he goes to pick it up and drop it into his bike basket with the slim hope that Mr. Ral wouldn’t think much about it, but Eren has never been that lucky.

Mr. Ral must find him pitiful because he asks, “Why don’t you take some dessert home?” He’s already heading back into the bakery, gesturing for Eren to follow him despite Eren’s protests. “If you don’t, they’ll just go to waste. Or into my employee’s stomach, and goodness knows that she’s already eaten enough desserts today already.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” Eren says, humbly bowing his head.

“Sasha,” Mr. Ral calls the girl at the register. “Could you ring up a few things for Eren?”

The girl’s head snaps up at the call of her name, her cheeks filled with pastry and crumbs all over her mouth. “Sure thing,” Sasha says, gulping down the last of her lavender bar and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She walks over to the side, Eren following her on the other side of the counter, and washes her hands hastily. As she wipes her hands dry with the hand towel, she looks at Eren brightly and asks in a chipper voice, “Do you have anything you want in particular?”

Eren’s eyes scan over the display, but he doesn’t really look at anything in particular. He just wants to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He’s embarrassed himself quite enough for today. “Just … whatever you’d recommend,”

“Alright-y,” the girl hums, taking a bag and stuffing it full with little tarts and tea cakes and croissants. Eren looks at her briefly, realizing that he doesn’t recognize her. She must have moved here sometime during the past six years when he wasn’t around.

As Sasha finishes preparing the bag, Eren walks over to the register and gets ready to pull his wallet out but Mr. Ral walks over, shaking his head. “No need to pay for it,” Mr. Ral says. He reaches over the counter and takes the bag from Sasha, presenting it to Eren with a smile. “Consider it a treat. Really, you’d be doing me a favor just taking it. They would have gone to waste otherwise.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says, his face flushing once more. He takes the bag from Mr. Ral with a small bow of his head. “It was great seeing you again, Mr. Ral.”

“Likewise,” Mr. Ral says with that same crinkly smile. He walks Eren to the door, watching as Eren packs the desserts alongside his potato salad. “Take good care of yourself, Eren, and tell your brother I said hi.” He waves as Eren assures him he’ll do just that, returning to the shop only once Eren has biked away.

This is not how the night was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be wandering around the neighborhood with his potato salad before waltzing into his father’s house an hour late, his sort-of stepmother silently fuming at the dinner table while the family sat and waited for him. He hadn’t planned on bumping into his childhood crush’s father, and he certainly hadn’t planned on looking so incredibly pathetic in front of Mr. Ral. He can only imagine what Mr. Ral will tell Petra when she sees her dad tonight. Maybe something about how he grew up to be such a loser even though his half-brother managed to graduate with a Ph.D. and is now a successful anthropology professor at the local university. It’s not something that usually gets Eren down, but thinking about it now is making him feel especially miserable.

Eren’s not sure why the thought of Petra knowing how his life is so embarrassing. He hasn’t spoken to her in years, so her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. And even if she did have an opinion of him, he’s sure it wouldn’t be unkind. Petra had always been nice to him even when he was a kid and just being an annoying third wheel to her and Zeke. When his childish admiration of her turned into puppy love and eventually evolved into a full-fledged crush, she never brushed him off or thought him annoying, although there was a chance that she just never noticed. He couldn’t blame her for that when Zeke, honor roll student and valedictorian Zeke, was always standing right in front of her. He wasn’t even surprised when they started dating. It was inevitable. And when they eventually broke up for some reason that Eren still isn’t quite sure about, Eren knew he’d never be able to compare so he never tried to pursue her. It’s not surprising that he and Petra ended up losing touch.

As much as he would love to blame Zeke for it (and it would be incredibly easy for him to blame Zeke), he can’t. Maybe it’s strange that he doesn’t harbor a deep hatred for his half-brother. Their relationship has all the makings of a classic sibling rivalry - a complicated family history, stark differences in accomplishments, and affections for the same girl - but Eren could never bring himself to hate Zeke. Even if Zeke’s mother liked to hold all of her son’s accomplishments over Eren’s head, Zeke himself never bragged about them. In fact, he was quite humble and would even offer to help his younger half-brother if he was struggling with something in school. Oftentimes he would invite Eren to hang out with his friends even though their age gap made it a little awkward. He even remembered Eren’s favorite snacks and would make sure they were in supply whenever Eren came over to visit. If Zeke’s mother was an evil Disney stepmother come to life, Zeke was that one fairytale sibling that was kind to the tragic main character, so Eren had no choice but to like Zeke. Even when Zeke broke up with Petra and Eren couldn’t understand why, when Zeke told Eren that it “just happened,” Eren kind of left it at that and accepted that because he couldn’t imagine Zeke doing anything wrong.

Could Eren be classified with an inferiority complex with regards to his brother? Probably, but most siblings can. Eren would have to challenge whether or not someone with inferiority complexes would admire their brother as much as he does, but they might in a weird way. Eren’s sure that he and Zeke’s relationship would still be complicated even if they didn’t have all the weird history with Eren and Zeke’s parents.

Eren sighs as he flies down a dip in the road, letting gravity carry him down instead of pedaling. He really doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for this family dinner. Usually, he lets all of that woman’s snide comments ricochet, but his armor has grown weak and he can just imagine her landing the right thinly-veiled insult, her words burying into his skin and hitting right where it hurts. For a moment, Eren considers calling the dinner off with an excuse that will be sure to piss his stepmother off — probably something about how he has to restructure his lesson plan for the upcoming week — but he glances down at the potato salad and bag of baked goods in his bike basket and realizes that he really doesn’t want to eat them all by himself. If he’s going to suffer, he might as well make the rest of his family suffer alongside him. And besides, he’s pretty much already at their house anyway.

His bike slows as he approaches the white-picket fenced house. He takes the potato salad tub and the bag of baked goods before leaving his bike on the driveway, not bothering to chain it to the fence because nobody would want to steal the old thing he bought from a garage sale anyway. The sight of it lying in front of the house instead of properly locked up will be sure to piss off that woman too, which is just an added bonus. With a sigh, Eren marches up the front steps, shifting the food all on one arm so he can ring the doorbell. The familiar chime rings out, muted from behind the wooden door. A muffled voice mumbles something Eren can’t hear, but he already knows that the speaker has nothing good to say about him.

The door is thrown open and Eren looks down to see his stepmother glowering up at him, blue eyes a raging storm. “You’re late,” she hisses. She doesn’t even give him a greeting; she just stands there in front of him silently fuming. Behind her stands Eren’s father. As expected, he says nothing to defend his son’s tardiness. The man just stands there, uncomfortable as he quietly observes.

“Sorry, Dina,” Eren says, squeezing past his stepmother who makes an indignant noise. He dangles the food he brought in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she snatches the bag from him only to wrinkle her nose in disgust when she sees the potato salad. “I brought dessert, too. Do you want me to put it somewhere …?”

Dina snatches the bag of desserts from him too, still huffing. “We have a guest tonight too. Do you know how rude you’re being?” she says, continuing to nag at him even though Eren has stopped listening to her years ago.

Eren’s father gently grabs Eren by the elbow, subtly ushering him inside to avoid any more conflict but Eren yanks his arm away.

“Well, maybe if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have showed up on time,” Eren snaps. He sounds angry as he says it, but he really does mean it. It’s one thing to be rude to his stepmother, but it’s another thing entirely to be rude to a guest he doesn’t know. He’d at least wait for introductions before deciding whether or not to show any manners.

Before his stepmother can say anything more, Eren stomps off into the dining room where Zeke and the guest are waiting. He keeps his head down, cheeks burning, as he pulls out his chair - the one furthest from everyone - and slumps down into it. “Sorry, I’m late,” Eren mumbles, still looking down.

“Eren,” says a deep voice that Eren recognizes as Zeke’s. Hearing the voice of someone other than his stepmother’s makes Eren relax a bit and he rests with his back against his chair, a little more at ease now. He can hear Zeke’s small smile as his half-brother asks, “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke who sits across from him, and then at the guest. He looks so quickly at first that he doesn’t register exactly who he’s seeing until he does a double-take, his green eyes widening as they take in the woman sitting there. It’s someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again, much less sitting at his family’s dining table, and he’s so surprised that he almost chokes. For a moment, he thinks it might just be a doppelganger, but there’s no mistaking the soft dimples that appear in her cheeks as her lips curl in a smile. “...Petra?”

“Hi, Eren.” Petra’s voice is still as gentle and soothing as Eren remembers, the sound of it so honey-sweet that he feels his cheeks bloom a soft pink. There’s so much about her that’s different, but there’s so much more that’s the same. Her hair is shorter now, no longer falling right at her shoulder, but curling right under her chin in a short bob. It’s the same shade of ginger it was when he was a kid. If it’s under the right light, it would probably burn a fiery gold. Her doe eyes are the same pretty amber, sweet and dangerously entrancing at the same time. She’s even dressed differently, her button-up blouse and slick gray trousers such a departure from the casual jeans and t-shirts she wore ten years ago when Eren was still in high school. Eren feels horribly underdressed - his ratty university sweatshirt over a thin cotton tee and his ripped jeans are so shabby in comparison - but a glimmer of silver on Petra’s wrist attracts Eren’s attention to the charm bracelet she wears, jangling with charms that Eren remembers her collecting in her high school days, and he feels a little less like he’s meeting a stranger and more like he’s reuniting with an old friend.

“How are you?” Eren asks shyly, his smile bashful.

“I’m well,” she answers, and Eren feels himself melting into her voice the same way he did when he was thirteen. When she smiles, her head tilts ever so slightly to the right just the way it did when he first met her and her dimples deepen into her cheeks. “How are you?”

“Good,” Eren answers because he doesn’t trust himself to string together more than a word or two at a time. He wonders if she realizes how he’s unraveling at the sound of her voice or if she’s as oblivious as she was the last time.

“I’m glad,” Petra says, and the warm look Petra gives Eren reignites a flame in the pit of his belly that he had thought he extinguished long ago. Her head tilts a little bit more to the side, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you,” Petra tells him, and Eren finds himself in love once more.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There are rules to dealing with your ex-boyfriend after you’ve broken up, Petra knows, but it’s been ten years and she figures that these rules can be bent. So what if the last time she saw Zeke she was broken-hearted, crying in the rain as he turned his back on her? She was younger then, her feelings out of control for someone who didn’t care for her nearly as much as she cared for him. And, sure, maybe it’s terrible that she never received the closure that she deserves, but she can’t hold a grudge against him forever. They work in the same university and cowering behind the nearest trashcan every time they meet doesn’t seem to be a viable option. Petra’s older now and so is Zeke. They’re mature. They can be friends like adults are after they’ve broken up, so the universe should be able to understand her accepting Zeke’s dinner request that evening even if her friends couldn’t.

She only started to regret her decision when Zeke offered to drive her there after his classes ended - saving gas and the planet, he explained - and she agreed. Although Petra repeatedly told herself that it was a simple family dinner and that such an invitation was extended to Zeke’s other friends on occasion, she found herself sitting impatiently in her office, biting her nails down so close to the quick that her fingers started to bleed. Having to bandage her fingers as she waited did absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves.

“I don’t see why you’re so nervous,” Levi tells her over the phone. He taught in the mathematics department, but they had met after Petra had nervously stumbled into the wrong building and into his office on her first day at the university. The man has a perpetual scowl on his face, and that very same expression had nearly sent Petra running until she weakly explained that she must have gotten lost and he kindly redirected her to the building her office was located in. She thought that was going to be the end of their interaction until he emailed her shortly after asking if she had gotten to her office alright. Finding him a kindred spirit, he had become her first (and sadly only) companion at the university aside from Zeke. “If you’re friends with him, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t really seen him since we, you know, broke up,” Petra explains, but she doubts that Levi understands. She had told him her history with Zeke a few weeks ago after he asked her why she was so jittery at the faculty luncheon, but he didn’t have much of a reaction. It was sort of nice having someone to talk to that wasn’t as hyperbolically reactive as the rest of her friends, but it was also painfully difficult when Levi didn’t show her any sympathy.

“You saw him last week when you were at the library to look for reference books,” he reminds her as if it were the same thing. “I don’t know why this dinner has you in a panic. You left me nearly a hundred messages while I was teaching class.” He hadn’t even replied to her texts, the bastard. He had simply left her on read until midnight before sending her a thumbs-up emoji to let her know that he had read her messages, which was not exactly the response Petra was waiting for.

“This is different!” Petra insists, but she knows Levi will never see it that way.

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be,” Levi says. She can hear him scribbling something on the other end, probably correcting exams for his differential equations classes and marking a poor student’s paper in an abundance of red. “Either cancel or just go to dinner with him. You’ve had family dinners with him even before you guys got together right?”

“Yeah, but that was back when we were kids,” Petra mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Then you’ll be fine,” he tells her.

“You’re horribly unsympathetic sometimes,” she sighs.

“If you wanted sympathy, you shouldn’t have called me,” Levi says with a cluck of his tongue, but he chuckles when he hears her groan on the other end. “Really, it’ll be fine. You’re just overthinking it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you said the kid will be there, right? His brother, so it’s not as if you’ll be alone with Zeke and his parents.”

Petra lays with her head on her desk, her phone pressed against her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles, but her lower lip still sticks out in a pout. The thought of Eren being there, sweet little Eren with his eager puppy eyes and wide smile, does make her feel better if only a little. She probably hasn’t seen him since she broke up with Zeke. She wonders if he’s changed very much. He’d be in college now? Or maybe he graduated. “I haven’t seen him in awhile though. What if he hates me now?”

“You’re overthinking again,” Levi says. He sighs on the other end. If Petra didn’t know him very well, she would think she was bothering him, but he’s always like this. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Petra sniffs. She looks sadly at her bandaged fingers and picks at the ends of one of them. “Should I just cancel? Maybe I can tell him I fell down the stairs and had to go to the hospital or something -” Someone knocks at the door and Petra lets out a startled yelp, nearly falling out of her chair because she’s so surprised. When she looks at the door, she sees Zeke’s silhouette against the frosted glass pane. The sight of it makes her want to hide behind her desk. “God, he’s here already!”

“Too late for you to run then,” Levi says, not even bothering to hide his snickering. He’s such a sadist that Petra doesn’t even know why she’s friends with him sometimes. “Have fun at your absolutely normal dinner with your friend and his family.” Click!

“Asshole,” Petra mutters under her breath before shoving her phone in her bag. There’s another knock at the door — the same long, slow knocks that are a signature of Zeke’s — and she hastily shouts, “I’ll be right there!” before shoving her papers in her bag and stumbling out of the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She must look like a mess because Zeke raises an eyebrow at her when she emerges from her office. Petra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and winces at her frumpled shirt and the hair falling out of her bun. She mumbles an apology as she pulls the hair ties out of her bun, her hair falling in loose curls around her face.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zeke asks.

“No! God, no,” Petra says, inwardly cringing at every word that comes out of her mouth. Even she can tell how awkward her responses sound, a little too quick and desperate. What is she being so anxious for? It’s just dinner with a friend — an ex-boyfriend, but a friend nonetheless. Petra clears her throat and asks as casually as she can manage, “How are your parents?”

“Hmm? They’re well, I suppose,” he answers. Everything about him is familiar. He’s grown just a bit taller since Petra last saw him, his shoulders a bit broader and his jawline a bit sharper, but he still wears the same double-bridge glasses and the right corner of his mouth still quirks upward just the slightest bit when he speaks. He even walks the same way, his strides a little too long and quick, and Petra finds that she still has to struggle a bit to keep up. If Zeke notices the same thing about her - how she still wears the same shade of lipstick, how she still has that habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she’s nervous like she’s doing now, how she bites her lip when she’s not sure what to say next - he doesn’t mention it. “My father’s still working at the hospital with my grandfather. He’s been promoted to director of the orthopedics department.”

“Oh, congrats!”

“And you know my mother has been at the hospital now that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” Zeke says. It’s strange how casually he says this, as if he doesn’t remember that the last time he spoke about his mother to Petra was when they were still together. “She really missed being in the OR. Says she’d rather be doing surgeries all day than taking care of me.”

“It’s nice that she can go back to it.” She nearly stumbles over a step but catches the railing before she can. When she looks up again, Zeke is already on the sidewalk and she hurries after him, a little breathless. “And Eren?”

“Eren?” Zeke seems a little surprised by the question although Petra doesn’t know why. He leads her to a car - a slick Mercedes with a shining blue exterior and tinted windows that don’t quite match Zeke’s academic profession — and opens the car doors with a click.

“Your brother,” she clarifies as Zeke walks over to the driver’s side and slips into the car. She opens the passenger car and slides into the seat beside Zeke, setting her bag down next to her feet. The door swings shut behind her. “He’s coming to the dinner too, right?”

Zeke turns on the engine and the car comes to life with a pleasant hum. “Most likely,” Zeke says as he checks the side and rearview mirrors before pulling out of the parking space. He even drives the same way, his arm resting on the side with his hand tapping against the door while one hand is on the wheel. Just watching him makes Petra’s chest feel tight.

“Ah, that’s good. I haven’t seen him in so long,” Petra says. For some reason, knowing that Eren will also be there makes her feel a little more relaxed about the dinner. “Is he still in college? I think he should have graduated by now.”

“He graduated a little while ago. He’s teaching now. Still on probation, but he says his colleagues like him so he’s not too worried about getting tenure after the probationary period is over.” He slows the car to a stop at an intersection and leans over, fiddling with the radio dial. He sets it to the jazz station and the sound of smooth brass and relaxed percussion fills the car.

Somehow, driving down the streets with Zeke is far more nostalgic than it ever was when Petra drove on her own. Some nights Petra drove home by herself, and all it ever felt was lonely. Maybe it’s the familiarity of having Zeke beside her like when they were teenagers, driving back home after watching a movie downtown or returning from a basketball game at their high school.

Petra doesn’t ask any more questions about Zeke’s family. She figures she can catch up with the rest of the Jaegers when she sees them at dinner. Instead, she asks Zeke about his classes and finds that conversation with him comes more easily after she stops stumbling over her words. He tells her a little bit about teaching anthropology (“Far less painful than you think it would be, at least when the kids aren’t just taking it to fulfill their core classes,” he says), his plans for the upcoming week (“It’s midterms, but the students should be fine if they actually look at the study guide.”), and the butterfly exhibit opening up at the museum downtown (“I’m thinking of putting it up as extra credit. Who knows, they might actually look at the other exhibits while they’re wandering around.”). Petra also fills him in on her own life, mumbling about how she still has to make the answer key to her own midterm and expressing interest in the butterfly exhibit Zeke mentions.

They pull up next to Zeke’s house, the very same one he grew up with. Not much has changed from the outside. The white picket fence is a little worn and the rose bushes have been replaced with peonies. The house is still the same shade of cream, but Petra is sure that the Jaegers had it repainted over the summer like they usually do. She looks up at the second-story window where Zeke’s room should be and vaguely wonders if it’s still his room or if he’s moved out and hasn’t mentioned it yet.

Walking up the brick steps to the door is a bit surreal. Petra doesn’t realize just how silent she’s been until the chime of the doorbell startles her and Mrs. Jaeger opens the door. As with most of Zeke’s family members, Petra hasn’t seen Mrs. Jaeger since she broke up with Zeke, but she had an amicable relationship with her. She can’t recall Mrs. Jaeger ever being angry, so she’s surprised when Zeke’s mother opens the door with a terrible scowl on her face.

“Mom, you remember Petra,” Zeke says, moving aside so that Petra can enter first.

The scowl quickly slips from Mrs. Jaeger’s face, replaced with a smile that Petra is more familiar with. “Petra, of course! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her voice strained. She waves Petra and Zeke in, shutting the door gently behind them. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Petra mumbles. She looks at the kitchen doorway where Zeke’s father leans and gives him an awkward wave. The man, just as silent as he was when Petra was young, gives her a polite smile and a nod in acknowledgment.

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Zeke apologizes as he shrugs off his coat. He walks over to the dining room, Petra and his mother trailing behind him. “A student wanted to talk to me and it took a bit longer than I thought it would.”

“No need to apologize! Eren hasn’t arrived yet anyway. He’ll probably be late. Again.” There’s a harsh tone in Mrs. Jaeger’s voice that Petra hasn't heard before. When she looks up, she sees Zeke’s mother hovering around the table and arranging dishes, the same polite smile on her face as she does so. “Your brother, of course, didn’t bother to send a text to notify us that he’d be late.”

Petra wonders if Mrs. Jaeger usually speaks about Eren with such disappointment in her voice. Maybe she had always spoken about Eren like this and Petra had never been around to witness it or maybe it’s something that developed while Petra was away. Whatever it is, Zeke and his father seem used to it. Zeke merely shrugs, pulling out his phone to flip through his phone while his mother continues to mutter about how disrespectful her stepson is. Mr. Jaeger continues to stand at the doorway, not bothering to join them at the dining table, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t bother to defend his son.

“Maybe he’s busy,” Petra says, interrupting Mrs. Jaeger mid-rant. She feels rude for speaking while Mrs. Jaeger is talking, but sitting in silence while Zeke’s mother speaks ill of Eren doesn’t feel right either. All eyes are on her now - Mrs. Jaeger a little surprised, Zeke with an eyebrow quirked upward as if in amusement, and his father with a look that’s almost relieved. Petra clears her throat and continues. “He’s a teacher, right? It must be difficult teaching so many children every day — making the lesson plan and everything. Maybe texting slipped his mind. He’ll probably be here soon.”

God, she hopes Eren will be here soon. Her cheeks are starting to burn bright red and she’s thinking that perhaps speaking up might not have been the best decision.

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Mrs. Jaeger seems a little more composed now, perhaps remembering that they have company over. She settles down in the chair across from Zeke and flashes a pleasant smile at Petra. “He can be quite forgetful of these things. Of course, you’d never worry your father like this. You’ve always been so responsible.”

Has talking with Zeke’s mother always been this difficult? Petra’s head is starting to spin, unsure of what response would be appropriate. She feels as if she should defend Eren, but she doesn’t want to make things awkward either. In the end, she smiles awkwardly at Mrs. Jaeger as if accepting the woman’s compliment and reaches out for the glass of water in front of her, raising it to her lips before she can say anything else that she might regret.

“Dear, come sit next to me,” Mrs. Jaeger calls. She gestures for her husband to join them at the table and Mr. Jaeger stiffly walks over from the doorway before taking a seat at the head of the table. Mrs. Jaeger folds her hands on the table, her gaze still on Petra. “How have you been, Petra? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How long have you been back?”

The series of questions leave Petra tongue-tied and unsure of how to answer. It’s so strange how casual the Jaegers can be about asking after her, like she hadn’t been such a large part of their lives — or at least Zeke’s life — ten years ago before disappearing completely. As if they didn’t know the real reason she hadn’t kept in touch. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to act as oblivious as them.

“Er, I’ve been back for a while now,” she replies. She bites her lip when she sees the look of surprise on Mrs. Jaeger’s face. When she glances over at Zeke, he doesn’t look back at her. He’s returned his gaze to his phone screen, ignoring her. Nervously, she laughs. “I guess Zeke didn’t tell you, but I’m teaching at the same university he is. A few undergraduate English classes and then a graduate course on nature and romantic poetry.” Petra doesn’t know why she feels a lump at the back of her throat or the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She nibbles at her lip again, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to look at Zeke or his family. She doesn’t have a reason to feel hurt or upset. Maybe Zeke was busy and didn’t have the chance to mention it to his parents or maybe it just slipped his mind. It isn’t a big deal.

“Oh, that must be nice! Who knew you two would be working together after all these years?” Mrs. Jaeger says. She subtly pushes the cheese plate on the table towards Petra, gesturing for her to take one.

“Mmm,” Petra says, nodding as if she agrees with Mrs. Jaeger. It’s not as if she’s wrong. Petra certainly didn’t know any of this would happen. She knew some of it would — getting her degree, teaching at a university, eating dinner with Zeke’s parents — she just hadn’t predicted other things like Zeke breaking up with her, not speaking with him for ten years after knowing him her entire life, or having to pretend that she’s okay.

Petra reaches for a cracker and a spread of raspberry goat cheese and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, hoping that she won’t have to answer any more questions.

“The university is nice,” Zeke’s father murmurs. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. The sound of his voice startles Petra, but the other Jaegers don’t seem too surprised. “It’s near the museum too. Very convenient.”

“Ah, the museum!” Mrs. Jaeger clasps her hands together and looks at Petra expectantly. Petra nearly chokes on her cracker out of nervousness. “Have you been there yet?”

“Er, not yet,” Petra says hastily, wincing at the pain in her throat. She takes a quick sip of her water to relieve it. “I haven’t really found the time, I guess.”

“Oh, you should absolutely go!” says Mrs. Jaeger brightly. Petra had never thought Mrs. Jaeger was one to love museums, but there’s probably a lot about the woman that Petra doesn’t know now. All Petra really remembers about the woman is that she stayed at home during the daytime and worked at the hospital at night. She’s bound to have found other ways to occupy her time now that she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke anymore.

“You sound as if you really enjoy it.” Petra nibbles at another cracker. She feels as if she should smile right now, but she’s not sure if she’s able to. “Are there any exhibits you would recommend?”

“Oh, they’re all good! The staff especially …,” Mrs. Jaeger gushes, but her voice begins to trail off. Her eyes flicker over to Zeke as if waiting for a sign to proceed, but her son pays no attention to her. He simply reaches over for an almond on the cheese plate and pops it into his mouth. His mother’s smile tightens and she continues, “The butterfly exhibit that’s opening soon should be exquisite!”

Petra looks from Zeke to Mrs. Jaeger. Aside from Mrs. Jaeger’s forced smile, Petra really can’t tell what’s wrong, so she puts on a false smile of her own and nods. “I know. Zeke was telling me about it on the ride here.”

There’s a long and awkward silence. Zeke puts no effort in speaking and neither does his father, who still sits and stares at his lap. Only Mrs. Jaeger and Petra seem to be putting in any effort to pick up the conversation, both trying to appear calm as they search for some common ground to work with. Instead, the doorbell rings and Petra swears she hears a sigh of relief escape Mrs. Jaeger’s lips.

“It seems Eren has finally arrived,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her chair scraping across the floor as she gets up from the table. As she turns to leave, she flashes Petra an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long.” Petra is about to tell her that it wasn’t a problem, that she didn’t mind waiting (even if it was a lie), but Zeke’s mother has already disappeared into the next room with Zeke’s father following silently behind her.

For a moment, Petra wonders if she should try to talk to Zeke so more. It’s not that the quiet bothers her, but she’s never felt comfortable sitting silently next to others unless she was completely comfortable with them. Ten years ago this would have been fine, but now sitting with Zeke beside her without saying a word is making her skin crawl and her throat dry. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his interest.

Zeke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the silence at all. He’s still scrolling through his phone, occasionally reaching out to pluck a cracker or another almond from the cheese plate. If he’s fine without any conversation, Petra figures she shouldn’t bother him. She settles down with her back against her chair rather unhappily and tries to occupy herself another way.

Petra tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the other room. First, she stares down at the lace tablecloth, gazing at the delicate pattern until the floral designs are burned into her corneas. Mrs. Jaeger’s voice begins to drift into the dining room, her tone just as cold and harsh as it was when she spoke about Eren earlier this evening. Another voice floats into the room as well, a voice like Eren’s but a bit deeper and rougher than Petra remembers. As the two continue to talk, Petra finds herself straining to listen to the conversation, but she can’t quite make out the words. The words exchanged don’t sound incredibly pleasant though.

“...if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have shown up on time,” Eren hisses as he walks into the room. He’s taller than he was when Petra had seen him last — probably as tall as his brother if not taller — but he walks with his head down and doesn’t seem to notice Petra seated at the table even as he pulls out a chair to sit down. Without looking up, Eren mumbles, “Sorry, I’m late.”

Zeke looks up, his expression amused. “Eren,” he says, setting down his phone for once. He rests his chin in his hand, mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says, mumbling into his lap. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke and then Petra, but he doesn’t really register who Petra is until he takes another glance. His eyes are huge like a doe’s. He’s always had big eyes even when he was a child, large and green like gemstones. He’s grown into them more since the last time Petra has seen him, but they’re still enormous, growing wider as he recognizes her. His mouth falls open in surprise. “... Petra?”

She can feel her lips curling in a smile. “Hi, Eren.”

Eren smiles back at her, a little nervous but a lot more relaxed than he was when he first arrived. He’s still shy when he smiles, looking up at her before glancing down at his lap again. “How are you?” He sits up straighter in his seat, no longer slouching.

“I’m well. How are you?”

“Good,” Eren answers.

“I’m glad. I missed you,” Petra tells him, and she means it.

His smile is a little wider now and Petra feels the most relaxed than she’s been the entire night. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, at least Eren hasn’t changed and she feels less awkward being at a Jaeger family dinner after ten years of estrangement.

Mrs. Jaeger puts down a tub of what looks like a potato salad on the table, opening the container with a frown. “At least you didn’t come empty-handed,” she comments wryly.

Eren winces but doesn’t say anything.

Petra sits up. “It looks, um, delicious.” It doesn’t. It looks like a pile of mush and not at all like anything edible, but Petra begins to spoon some on her plate anyway out of politeness despite the look of alarm on Eren’s face. “Eren, your brother told me you started teaching recently. Where do you teach?”

“Just, um, down the street. Not really elementary … it’s a daycare,” he says distractedly as he watches her help herself to his potato salad. Eren hesitates for a moment before taking the spoon from Petra and switching their plates. He does it absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he notices everyone looking at him peculiarly. Flustered, he explains, “It’s not, ah, I don’t think it’s very good. So.” As if to prove his point, he puts a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth, gagging on it as he swallows it down, and scrunches his face up in disgust.

Mrs. Jaeger looks rather smug as Eren chokes. “I’ll just put this away then,” she says, removing the tub of potato salad from the table. She gestures for Petra to help herself to the other food on the table. “Help yourself to everything else, Petra.”

“Er, thank you,” Petra says. She does feel bad about not eating the potato salad, but Eren looks pretty relieved. Because she’s talked Zeke’s ear off in the car and doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation with the Jaeger parents, she decides to continue her conversation with Eren. “Daycare seems like it would suit you. I bet you’re great with kids.”

“I’m alright,” Eren mumbles as he pushes the potatoes back and forth on his plate, but he’s hiding a smile on his face, secretly pleased. He’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, which Petra thinks is an endearing trait. “Teaching at a university is probably harder.” He freezes for a moment and then hurriedly adds, “Your dad told me you work as a professor now. I ran into him before coming here. He mentioned that you taught English …?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, casting a side glance at Zeke. She thought Zeke would have mentioned that they were working at the same university, but maybe it never came up in conversation between the brothers or they just weren’t as close as they were before. Forcing a smile on her face, she nods, “Yeah, I teach English, but I wouldn’t say teaching university is more or less difficult than handling a daycare. They have their own challenges, right?”

“Yeah,” Eren replies, voice soft. His smile grows wider and, after Petra asks him about what it’s like teaching at the daycare, starts animatedly talking about his students. He seems very endeared towards a young girl named Gabi, a very mischievous but sweet troublemaker, and her companion Falco, a young boy that often has no choice but to be dragged into all of Gabi’s shenanigans.

Talking to Eren makes the rest of the dinner go by easily. He’s always been easy to talk to even when they were teenagers and she was dating Zeke. Sometimes she would wait at the Jaeger house and talk with Eren while they waited for Zeke to come back from baseball practice. Eren was always so animated when he talked, using his hands and sometimes bouncing up and down his seat when he got excited. He still does that now as he talks about his work at the daycare, listening intently whenever Petra or even Zeke exchange their own stories about teaching. It makes her feel as if the past ten years hadn’t really happened, like Zeke and Eren had been a part of her life the entire time.

“Oh, I brought dessert,” Eren says brightly. Before Mrs. Jaeger can say anything, he gets up to collect the paper bag on the kitchen counter and plops it on the dining table. He pushes it closer to Petra. “Your dad gave me some while he was closing up his shop.”

She laughs. “I eat too many of these as it is,” Petra says, but she plucks an almond cookie from the bag. Her teeth sink into the cookie, savoring its subtle nutty flavor on her tongue, and sighs. “Don’t tell my dad. He won’t let me eat anymore when I get home.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Eren grins.

Petra peers into the bag. “Did he give you any chocolate croissants?” She looks over at Eren. “Those are still your favorites, right?”

Eren looks surprised. “Ah, yeah,” he replies, blinking. “You remember?”

“Of course, I remember,” she snorts. She manages to find a pain au chocolat and places it delicately on Eren’s plate. It’s a little smooshed from the ride here, chocolate spilling out of its side, but Eren still looks at it hungrily. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Zeke leans forward. “I like the lemon bars. Let me know if there are any in there.”

She laughs and actually does manage to find one, but it’s a lemon-lavender bar. Zeke assures her it’s fine, picking off the little bits of lavender that are on the top of the bar. They eat like that for a moment and Petra feels an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It’s probably unhealthy to yearn for the past, but Petra wouldn’t mind if things somehow ended up the way they were before.

When their dishes are scraped clean and the conversations begin to fade away, Zeke pats down the corner of his mouth with a napkin before announcing that they should stop for the night. He has papers to grade tonight, he explains to his parents who nod understandingly. The wooden legs of his chair scrape against the carpet as he gets up from the table and Petra slides out of her own seat, ready to follow him.

“Ah, Petra,” Zeke says, pausing like he’s just remembered. He looks at her, head tilting slightly. He’s stopped by the door to the living room, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Do you mind calling an Uber to pick you up? I’d drive you home myself but …”

“I …” Petra blinks, feeling like a deer in headlights. If she looked around, she would see that the rest of the Jaeger family has a similar expression. She’s not sure why she feels so surprised. Maybe it’s because she had expected him to drive her home, but maybe that was too much to ask of him after he had taken the trouble to drive her here in the first place. It’s not even that far of a drive to her house, but it’s probably too cumbersome for Zeke, who’s busy with grading papers and preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. There’s an awful lump in her throat like she had swallowed an egg whole, but Petra forces a smile on her face as she begins, “Sure, let me just call my dad -”

“I’ll take you home,” a voice says suddenly. Everyone turns to see Eren standing up from his chair. At first glance he looks angry, but Petra blinks again and there’s only concern on his face as he collects his jacket and walks over to Petra. He shrugs it on and smiles down at her, his expression a little apologetic. “Er, you don’t mind riding on a bike, do you?”

Petra has to lift her head to look at Eren and she wonders when he had gotten so tall. It must have been after she left for college. “No, that’s fine,” she replies numbly, too shocked to really think about it. She shuffles silently after Eren, mumbling a brief “thank you” when he helps her into her coat.

“It was lovely having you over again, dear,” Mrs. Jaeger says to Petra, a smile pasted on the woman’s face as she saw the two out. She doesn’t say anything about Zeke not offering Petra a ride back. “Do come again sometime.”

“Of course,” Petra says, although the promise feels empty. She’s not sure if Mrs. Jaeger notices or even cares because the woman shuts the door in her face before Eren and Petra are even out in the driveway. It’s not a cold gesture, but it’s a change from the days when Mrs. Jaeger would wait until Petra was almost out of sight before shutting the door and disappearing into the house.

Petra shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and follows Eren down the driveway, watching as he runs to the bike he had carelessly discarded on the ground before entering the house earlier. Embarrassed, Eren hastily picks up the bike, brushing it off and mumbling something about how he had been in too much of a hurry earlier to properly lock up his bike. Petra assures him it’s fine. She’s only half-listening anyway.

“You can just sit here,” Eren says, patting a padded seat on the back of his bike. He throws a leg over his bike easily and looks at Petra, waiting expectantly.

She hadn’t objected to the ride home before, but now she looks at Eren’s vehicle of choice skeptically. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pedal with me on it? I’m a whole other person.” Petra hovers beside the bike, but she doesn’t get on.

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was fine when my boyfriends were riding in the back, and they’re a lot heavier than you,” Eren replies. It takes him a moment to register what he just said and then his face begins to color, cheeks glowing pink even in the dim moonlight. “I mean my ex-boyfriends. I rode around with my ex-girlfriend too, but she was really tiny too. She was …” He probably would have babbled on and on if Petra hadn’t sat down.

“Your exes?” Petra asks, eyebrow raised. She hadn’t really thought about Eren dating, but it’s funny to think about now. She doesn’t remember if he ever dated anyone when he was in high school. She probably shouldn’t tease, but she can’t resist grinning at the boy and saying, “It looks like you were busy in college.”

“Not that busy. Just … probably as busy as your average college student,” Eren mumbles under his breath, face still flushed. He gestures at Petra’s hands and then makes a motion around his waist. “You can … around me if, you know, you’re comfortable with it.”

“Oh, right.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around Eren’s waist and wonders briefly how someone so tall can have such a thin waist. “Do you remember the way to my house?” she asks.

“Of course,” Eren says. “It’s not that far from here.”

For some reason, the way Eren answers makes Petra feel warm. Maybe it’s just the heat transfer from resting her cheek on his back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind rush around her as Eren bikes her back home.

It feels so comfortable, clinging onto someone so familiar and breathing in Eren’s scent, something like pinewood and a little bit of peppermint. He feels strong too, sturdy like a redwood tree. Petra doesn’t know why she doubted his ability to bike with her additional weight. He’d probably be fine having someone twice her weight in tow. She experimentally gives Eren’s waist a little squeeze. It must have been too sudden of a squeeze because they come to a screeching stop, Petra’s face slamming against Eren’s back and the two of them nearly go flying.

“Oh, ouch,” Petra says. One arm is still wrapped around Eren’s lithe waist, but she raises a hand to rub her stinging face. “That hurts.”

“S-sorry!” Eren stammers. He twists around to get a good look at Petra, forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly I was just … surprised.” He brings his hand down to where Petra’s arm is hooked around his waist, but he snatches his hand away as soon as their skin brushes as if he’s been burned. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Petra assures him. Her nose is throbbing dully, but it’s not bleeding. “It’s my fault anyway. I was just surprised. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright,” Eren says with a shy laugh. He pushes off on the bike and starts for home again, pedaling easily despite Petra’s weight. He doesn’t startle when Petra leans against him again, her cheek rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie. His breath hitches a little when Petra wraps her arms a little tighter around his waist, but it goes unnoticed by her.

“Were they nice?” she asks. Eren makes a confused noise, and she can’t help but smile. Clarifying, she says, “Your exes. Were they nice?”

Eren pedals in silence for a while before responding. “Yeah. They were nice.”

“That’s good.” Petra sighs against his back, not noticing the way he shivers as if he can feel her breath on his skin. “You deserve to date nice people.”

Petra might have imagined it, but she thinks she hears Eren say something in reply. He says it quietly, though, and the wind carries it away too quickly for her to hear. She straightens her back, lifting her head from where it rests against Eren’s back, but he doesn’t repeat himself and she doesn’t ask. Maybe it’s just one of those things that are meant to be spoken aloud but not heard by anyone.

They don’t speak much the rest of the way home. Petra figures Eren is having enough trouble biking with two people and holding a conversation would only tire him out more. She just lets herself rest against him, watching as they pass streetlight after streetlight. It probably would have been more convenient to call a Lyft or an Uber, but Petra thinks accepting Eren’s bike ride isn’t bad either. It saved her from having to wait awkwardly for her driver to find the house while Zeke’s parents waited for her to leave.

She wonders if she should have gone to dinner in the first place. Maybe Zeke had only invited her out of politeness, but she had taken it to mean more than it did. She’s stupid to think that arriving at the Jaeger house meant that things could go back to the way things were. It was noticeably tense in the house. At first, Petra thought it was because of the strained relationship between Mrs. Jaeger and Eren, but now she’s not so sure. It’s not as if Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger had met her with open arms. They hadn’t been hostile, but they were polite in the way that people were polite to house guests and not in the way they would be to a childhood friend of their son. God, she’s so stupid. She should have just declined Zeke’s offer politely and never spoken to him again since he was obviously content with not speaking with her for ten years.

Burying her face in Eren’s hoodie, Petra gives him another squeeze. Eren doesn’t brake this time. He just lets out a surprised “oh!” and falters for a bit, bike slowing, before picking his pace back up and continuing on their way.

“We’re almost there,” Eren tells her. As he approaches Petra’s house, the bike begins to slow before stopping completely in front of the driveway. When Petra lifts her head, Eren is looking at her, smiling. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Petra nods. She gets off the bike and pats down her windswept hair, brushing some stray locks out of her face. She manages to smile back at Eren. “Thanks for the ride back. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.”

“It’s fine.” Eren sits at his bike, his smile a little lopsided. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. It’s only when Petra turns around towards her house that he opens his mouth. “Hey, Petra?”

Petra’s hand rests on the gate of her wooden fence, just about to open it. She looks at Eren, watching as he fidgets with the handle of his bike. “Yeah?”

“Did Zeke …?” His voice trails off and Eren’s looking everywhere except at her face. He nibbles on his bottom lip and Petra wonders what he’s so nervous about. His expression looks pained as if he’s scared whatever he has to say will hurt her, but Petra’s not sure why it would. After a moment, Eren swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Did Zeke tell you that … I work near your university?”

“You do?”

Eren nods. He looks a lot less nervous now, his shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not that far by bike.”

“Really?” Petra hums. “I should come visit you some time then.”

“Oh, you don’t have to -”

“Or you could visit me?” she suggests.

He blinks. “I can?” Eren asks. “Is that really okay?”

Petra almost laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You should just let me know beforehand if you’re coming,” she tells him. She walks over, pulling her phone out of her purse and handing it to him so he can add his number. “Text me or call me. I might not respond right away because I might have a faculty meeting or a lecture, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Oh, alright then,” Eren says. He types away on her phone, handing it back to her as soon as he’s finished. He watches with wide green eyes as Petra sends him an emoji — a simple “Hi, Eren! It’s Petra 😊” — and looks back at her with a grin. “I’ll come visit sometime.”

“That’d be great,” Petra says, and she really means it. “Thanks again for the ride, Eren. I really appreciate it.”

“It was no problem,” Eren tells her. He waves as walks through the gate and up the steps of her porch. He’s still waving when she opens the door and turns around, his smile a little goofy but cute at the same time. “Have a good night!”

“You too,” Petra says before shutting the door gently behind her. She takes a peek out the window and sees Eren still on the sidewalk with the bike. He stands there with a pensive look on his face before pushing off his bike and riding off into the night. Petra watches until he’s a tiny speck down the road. When she blinks, he’s gone.

Petra finds her dad waiting for her in the living room, sleeping because he can’t stay awake for very long after dinner. In his lap sits a half-finished crossword puzzle. Petra smiles affectionately at her father before pressing a soft kiss on the old man’s brow.

“I’m home,” she whispers as her father begins to stir.

“Ah, Petra,” says her father. He looks at her, eyes still bleary with sleep, and gives her a drowsy smile. With a hand, he pushes up the glasses that were slipping off his nose during sleep. “Did Zeke drive you home?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “No. He was busy,” Petra replies, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Eren took me home instead.”

“Eren?” her father repeats, not seeming to remember the name.

“Zeke’s younger brother,” Petra reminds him. She leans against the back of her father’s armchair as she tries to describe the half-brother. “He was a few years younger than me. Brown hair, big green eyes, kind of gangly.”

“Oh, Eren,” her father says, nodding. Petra’s not sure if he actually remembers or if he’s just being polite, but then he suddenly says, “I saw him earlier this evening before I was closing up shop. He’s very polite. He’s a nice boy.”

Petra leans over to rest her head on her father’s shoulder while her arms lay folded on the back of the armchair. She thinks about her ride home, how it could have been cold and miserable and lonely. And maybe her thoughts were all of those things, but the ride wasn’t. She can still feel the warmth Eren emanated from underneath his hoodie, how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” Petra says softly.

#eretra #petra ral #eren jaeger #zeke jaeger #big au #ilyitros #i'll love you in the rain or shine series #modern au #snk #damn i love food so much!!!

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Sweet as Sugar (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: Vanessa is a cafe owner who finds herself instantly crushing on the new bakery owner across the street.

A/N: Bakery au is finally here! Every time I was about to get this finished and ready for posting, I got distracted by another fic I wanted to write. It’s finally here, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to Writ for betaing and encouraging me to finally finish!

Read on AO3.

It’s raining the day the new bakery owner arrives across the street, and Vanessa watches it all through the rain-splattered glass of her cafe windows. It’s cozy and warm in here, the customers chatting while they munch on their sandwiches, and Vanessa’s glad to be safe behind the counter instead of out in that mess.

She can’t ignore the little twinge in her chest as she watches the owner–a tall blonde woman–emerge into the pouring rain and sort through stuff in her trunk. She must be freezing, Vanessa thinks, watching the woman finish with her car and move to fiddling with the bakery door’s lock and a box she’s carrying, before finally setting the box down and using both hands to play with the lock. A minute later, the keys slip out of her hand and into a puddle, and Vanessa bites her lip.

“Someone needs to help that woman,” she says to A’keria, who’s busy stocking the case of to-go sandwiches. “She can’t even get her damn door open.”

A’keria blinks and looks down at herself. “You better not mean me,” she says. “You know how much I hate rain. Have Kameron do it. She has muscles.”

“I’m pretty sure her and Asia are up to something since they mysteriously went on break together.” Vanessa sighs, just hoping those two are back before the lunch rush. “I’ll just do it myself.” She grabs her raincoat and stomps to the door. Vanessa’s a helper, and she’s volunteered at too many church functions with her mom to just leave this woman struggling, even if she has to get rained on.

Vanessa’s boots squelch as she reaches the sidewalk. “Hey there,” she says to the woman, who jumps about a foot in the air.

“Sorry, just–you scared me,” the woman says, grabbing at her heart. Her sweater is soaked through with rain and she’s shivering, blonde hair damp and messy, but she’s still beautiful, with soft green eyes and wide lips that look like they might quirk up mischievously sometimes. Vanessa spends a few seconds just taking her in, heart racing.

“You look like you could use some help,” Vanessa says, remembering why she came here.

“Me? I’m fine.” The woman waves her off.

Vanessa puts her hands on her hips. “I could see you struggling from across the dang street.”

“I guess I was.” The blonde sighs. “I just can’t get this key to work,” she says, holding up a key ring soaked with dirty puddle water.

“Let me try,” Vanessa offers. The blonde’s hands are baker’s hands, their slight roughness smoothed over with lotion, a still-healing burn mark near her wrist likely from pulling a hot pan out of the oven, an injury Vanessa knows too well. They’re also shaking from the cold as she passes Vanessa the key, and Vanessa’s heart softens in sympathy. No wonder she couldn’t get her door open.

Vanessa plunges the key in the lock and twists and turns until it clicks, pulling the door open with a whoop of joy.

“I loosened it for you,” the woman says.

Vanessa shakes her head. “That’s for jars, not doors!” She laughs, scooping up the woman’s box and ushering her inside.

Vanessa’s eyes widen when she sees the inside of the place. This little building has been home to dog grooming businesses and then to pizza businesses that did nothing to mask the wet dog smell and then to shoe stores that not only did nothing to mask the wet dog and tomato smell, but also added feet to the mix. Vanessa watched moving trucks drive up and pull away through her cafe windows, wondering if the next person would stick around.

It seems this woman wants to, and she’s completely transformed the place. Gone are the muddled dog/tomato/feet smells, as are the cracks in the wall Vanessa remembers from when she went shoe shopping. Instead, everything’s been painted a soothing lavender, with black silhouettes of baked goods–cupcakes and cookies and donuts–framing the top part of the wall. There’s a big counter with a glass case waiting to be filled, and tables and chairs stacked along the walls.

“It’s beautiful in here,” Vanessa says.

The blonde blushes. “Thanks. And thank you for your help, um…”

“Vanessa,” Vanessa says quickly. “I’m Vanessa.”

“Brooke.” She takes the box from Vanessa and sets it on the counter, eyes roaming around the room and a grin breaking out on her face. Vanessa recognizes the feeling–it’s the same one she had three years ago, when she couldn’t believe her cafe was really hers.

“When do you open?” Vanessa asks.

“Two weeks, if everything goes to plan. Just need to get the rest of the equipment in and finish everything up.”

Vanessa nods, hovering by the door awkwardly. There’s no reason for her to stay, but she can’t quite make herself leave. She wants to keep talking to Brooke, find out more about her. She watches Brooke blow on her hands to thaw them and an idea pops into her head.

“Hey, why don’t you come to my cafe and have coffee or something and warm up?” Vanessa offers.

Brooke smiles. “Lead the way.”

—

Vanessa sits with Brooke at the corner table right below the heat vent, watching her sip coffee and eat Vanessa’s famous grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.

“This is really good, Vanessa,” Brooke says, and Vanessa beams. She can’t help it. Even after three years of having her little cafe, watching people enjoy her food still warms her heart like the first time she made her mom pancakes and watched her devour them all. Everything Vanessa knows about cooking comes from dragging a chair over to the counter and watching her mom make dinner, and now she gets to be the one cooking.

“Thanks,” Vanessa says. “So, how’d you get into baking?”

Brooke finishes the last bite of her sandwich. “I always liked it. My grandma and I would make something whenever she babysat for me.” She pauses, sips her coffee. “I never went to culinary school or anything, but I’d make stuff for my friends a lot. Somehow they convinced me to start a little home business, and it kind of exploded. I started saving to have my own bakery, and now I do.” She gives a shy little smile that makes Vanessa melt.

“What about you?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa grins. “I basically ran a sandwich shop out of my dorm in college. The dining hall food was disgusting, so my mom got me a little panini press, and I started making grilled cheese and stuff for me and my roommates. Word got around and suddenly I was cooking for the whole building!”

Those had been some of her best days in college—people lined up and down the hall waiting for their sandwiches, bopping to the beat of the radio she had blasting and talking to her as she worked, even bringing their own ingredients for custom orders. And the best part of all: watching them bite into their sandwiches, closing their eyes and groaning about how good it was, like they were in a fancy restaurant and not a cinder block college dorm.

Brooke laughs, and Vanessa would do anything to hear that sound again.

“Somewhere in all that, I realized I loved cooking. It was exciting and relaxing at the same time, you know? So I did a bunch of restaurant jobs until I could finally open this place.”

Brooke nods. “It’s really nice here. Did you do all the decorating yourself?”

Vanessa glances around at the wall of framed posters bearing her favorite movies and singers, the fairy lights lining the walls, the fuzzy pom-pom banner draped in front of the counter, and nods proudly. “And the menu too. All the sandwiches are stuff I came up with myself.”

Brooke whistles. “That’s a lot of sandwiches.”

“Tell me about it. Took me months to come up with them all.” Vanessa must have tested hundreds of sandwiches in those months, adding and taking away and re-adding ingredients so many times her friends and family would run the other way when they saw her coming with samples. But after hours remixing and experimenting, her kitchen transformed into a science lab, Vanessa finally had her menu.

“I like it though,” Vanessa continues. “Trying new things and testing them out. Doing my own thing, you know? You can’t really do that with baking. Tried to do my own thing making a cake once and the thing exploded. I was cleaning my oven for days.”

Brooke laughs. “I get it. I think I like baking because of the rules. There’s certain things you have to follow, yeah, but such good stuff comes from it. And it’s–it’s kinda amazing how some of the techniques haven’t changed in hundreds of years.”

“You’re right,” Vanessa says. “I never thought of it like that. Making stuff’s always been special to me. It’s like making someone food is—“

“It’s like saying I love you.” Brooke blushes at what she’s just said and Vanessa does too.

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat so silent Vanessa hears A’keria muttering to herself about Vanessa’s extra-long break while she wrestles with a pile of spoons. Brooke looks at her empty plate and stands.

“I, uh, I should go. Got a lot of work to do.”

“Right.”

Brooke pulls out her wallet. “How much for–”

Vanessa waves her off. “On the house.” She smiles. “I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate cupcake once you open, though.”

Brooke grins. “You got it.”

She heads out, and Vanessa does more staring out the window than working for the rest of the day.

—

The next two weeks fly by. A’Keria takes over Vanessa’s spot in the window when a muscled moving crew hauls in Brooke’s equipment. Vanessa chases A’keria away for the rest, watching Brooke pace around inside her bakery, rearranging chairs and tables more times than Vanessa thought possible, sweeping with the ferocity of a hockey player, and talking to two girls Vanessa assumes are her assistants. Vanessa imagines Brooke’s delicate hands carefully piping frosting onto cupcakes or icing intricate designs on sugar cookies and has to smile.

Brooke’s been so busy that Vanessa hasn’t seen much of her, and she tells herself the little ache in her chest is just two weeks’ worth of heartburn. Brooke does stop in and asks Vanessa if she can put business cards and flyers on her community bulletin board, and Vanessa barely breathes as she and Brooke tack them up between advertisements for dance classes and library events, their shoulders brushing all the while.

It seems that all the flyers and advertising worked—the day Brooke opens, there’s a line of people stretched down the sidewalk, and Vanessa beams with pride for her. She knows how hard it can be to have a cafe, knows how amazing and necessary the customers are. She wants Brooke to succeed just as much as she has.

She watches all day as the line moves and people come out with bright white boxes and even brighter smiles.

Vanessa is closing up for the day when there’s a knock at the door. Lord help her if these are people ignoring the clear-as-day Closed sign to demand that she serves them.

But it’s not a pushy customer—it’s Brooke, with a tiny box in her hand and a huge smile on her face.

Vanessa grins too, her heart leaping in her chest.

“Big day for you, huh,” Vanessa says, guiding her into the cafe.

“Yeah.” Brooke sighs, rubbing at tired eyes. “I’m exhausted, but in the best way, you know?”

“I do.”

Brooke smiles again, and she offers the box to Vanessa.

“Is this—“

“I keep my promises.”

Vanessa opens the box to see a huge chocolate cupcake with swirled chocolate frosting dotted with tiny buttercream roses. There’s a little fondant tag on top, with something written in impeccably neat red icing. It’s a phone number, and Vanessa looks up at Brooke in wonder.

“If you want it, I mean,” Brooke clarifies, pointing to the number.

“Oh, I do.”

Brooke’s grin reaches her ears.

“Wanna go out for dinner this weekend?” Vanessa asks hopefully.

Brooke can’t nod fast enough. “I’ve got dessert covered.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #akeria davenport #branjie #lesbian au #bakery au #fluff #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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meow-bebe · 4 years

Text

stellatus

Pairing: Lee Felix x artist!reader

Genre: fluffffff

Warnings: literally nothing. this is so sweet asghk we’re channeling the cute here. like honestly not even my usual cussing

Word count: 3614 (!!!)

A/n: remember that idea I posted a while ago? well heres the fic! Im suuuper proud of this one because its the longest thing ive written for this blog (3k! more than 3k! that makes me so happy ahhhh!) and also I just really love it! usually I don't particularly like my own writing but this one I feel like is my best work. also about half way through writing this I found this amazing drawing by @panini-byanyothername which gave me the encouragement to finish this and also deserves all of the love because its an amazing piece of art! it was drawn based on another fanfic but its super pretty and is very close to what my story is about so I thought it would be appropriate to include a link

~~~

stēllātus; first/second-declension adjective starry, stellate, starred

“I have an idea,” you announced, bouncing with excitement as you ran into the room where Felix was currently sat at your desk on his computer. Latching your arms around Felix’s neck from behind, you rested your chin gently on his shoulder.

“And what would that be?”he asked, spinning the office chair he sat in and successfully rotating within your arms.

“I want to paint on you!” you said brightly as Felix’s hands came to rest on your waist as you snuggled closer, plopping down into his lap.

“What?” Felix asked, slightly startled by your bold proposition.

“I want to paint on you,” you repeated, “like, kind of use you as a human canvas?” It came out more as a question than a statement, and you grinned awkwardly, the incredulous tone of his voice making you shy.

“I’m not opposed,” Felix mused, and you immediately brightened back up again. “Why though?”

“Well,” you said, fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, “first of all you’re the only person I have on hand at the moment.” You giggled, and Felix raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. “But I’ve always loved painting on skin. There’s some strange appeal that comes with turning another human being into art. Unfortunately, I’ve only ever done it on myself before, but I had this really amazing idea a while ago and have held onto it forever and you are absolutely perfect for it.” You finished by pressing a sweet kiss to his nose. “So?” you asked eagerly, “what do you say? Let me paint on you?”

Felix chuckled lightly, and you could feel the deep vibrations where your hands were set on his chest. “Aren’t you going to tell me what your amazing idea is?”

“Nope!” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ as you smiled happily, “You’ll just have to say yes and see what I do. It will be beautiful, I promise.”

Felix playfully narrowed his eyes at you. “You won’t do something stupid or make me look weird?”

“I would never,” you said, sticking out your littlest finger, “pinky swear. And anyway, nothing could ever make you look weird, pretty boy.” Felix’s eyes widened at your compliment, a light shade of red creeping across his cheeks as he wrapped his pinky around yours. No matter how often you complimented him he always had the sweetest flustered reactions.

“What are we waiting for then?” you practically vaulted out of his lap, tangling your fingers together and tugging on his hand to try and get him to follow you.

“What, now?” he asked, a bewildered look on his face.

“Yes, now,” you said, pulling on his hand again, “I can’t wait any longer, I’m dying to finally do this.”

“Alright,” Felix said, laughing as he stood up from the desk, whatever he was working on earlier abandoned as you enthusiastically pulled him along to the spare bedroom turned art studio.

“Here,” you said, tossing one of the already paint-stained cushions you often put to use out of the closet, “sit down while I find what I need.”

Felix grabbed the cushion and set it on the large, clear plastic mat you always kept set out over the hardwood floors. There were several places you had set up for painting, laying on the floor and the easel by the window being two of your favorites, and you rotated between them depending on how you were feeling that day. It seemed like today was a sprawled across the floor day, although that made sense, Felix reasoned, if you were going to be painting on him. He sat down and watched as you zipped back and forth across the room, picking through your jars of brushes and bins of paints to find the supplies you would be using.

Thrusting one of the mason jar mugs you used to wash out your brushes at Felix, you asked, “Could you go fill this up with water for me?” He nodded compliantly, pulling himself up off the floor and traipsing across the hall to the bathroom to fill the glass mug with water. When he came back into the room, you had set up a jar of brushes to pick through, tossed a few tubes of paint to the floor next to the two cushions, and were currently spread across a decent portion of the floor with one of the large folders you had labeled as “inspiration and references.” These were collections of anything you could possibly want to give you ideas or utilize in your art, ranging from newspaper clippings, old photographs, passages from books and poems scrawled on torn notebook paper (or on the more rare occasion, printed out), and absolutely filled to the brim with doodles and practice drawings. You were a firm believer in the idea that anything could be reused or help inspire you in the future, which ultimately lead to your large collection. Usually you tried to date the bits of paper you tucked away, but it didn’t help with your chronic lack of organization.

“What are you searching for?” Felix questioned, assuming that you wouldn’t answer but asking anyway.

“Can’t tell,” you said, eyes twinkling with a spark of mischief, “it’s supposed to be a surprise, remember?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking. What do you want me to do then?” he asked, looking around the room and wondering what you had planned for him.

“Just sit, I’ll find it in a moment.” Felix settled himself back down on the floor as you continued to rifle through the folder barely containing the papers inside it. He watched as you carefully separated a few glossy photos that had stuck together and shuffled through a stack of what appeared to be old school work. “Aha!” you shouted victoriously, startling Felix and holding a few taped together pieces of paper in the air.

“What’s that?” he asked, his curiosity over both the project itself and the haphazardly folded but carefully assembled papers in your grasp too much to handle.

To his surprise, you gave in this time. “Star chart!” you chirped, obviously too pleased with yourself to continue hiding your intentions. “I’ve always loved space, specifically stars, and I took an astronomy class in high school but never got rid of the papers that weren’t just worksheets. I always hoped that someday I would be able to use them for painting. And here we are!” Felix smiled at the happy grin lighting up your whole face, your excitement too endearing to not acknowledge.

“Cute.” Felix grinned happily as you shuffled over to where you had set up all of your supplies. All of a sudden his smile turned bashful, stammering slightly as he asked, “Should I like, take my shirt off or something then?”

You giggled, setting down the star chart and plucking a thin marker from amongst the plethora of materials. “Not this time. I want to do your face!”

“What?” Felix gasped, eyes widened in surprise.

“I want to paint on your face!” you repeated, excitement fading as you rolled the marker between your hands, suddenly nervous. “Your freckles, specifically. Only if you’ll let me though.” You fidgeted slightly, focused on the marker before looking up at Felix who still wore a slightly startled expression.

“My - my freckles?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Finding patterns that match my constellations-” you patted the papers sitting beside you - “and then turning your face into a little galaxy.”

“Y/n,” he said softly, and you braced yourself to be turned down, “I think that’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever come up with. Why would I ever say no?”

Your eyes shot up to find Felix’s, and you could see all of the adoration that he held for you in their depths. “Really?” you asked, pulling yourself into his lap and tucking your arms around his waist.

“Really,” he confirmed, sealing a gentle kiss against your mouth. “Now, how do you want to go about this?”

You clamored off of Felix, grabbing the marker from where you had dropped it at his side and snatching the star chart into your hands before thrusting it at Felix. “Pick a few that you like, and I’ll see if what I can do to weave them out of your freckles,” you said, placing the folded chart into his hands and backing off to begin rifling through the paint tubes you had chosen. “Try not to do anything too difficult, I think the simpler ones would look better for this.”

Leaving him to pour over the constellations, you realized that you had overlooked finding a palette earlier in your scramble to find paints, so you pulled yourself up off the floor to move to the closet once again. Shoving a few bins of paints and stacks of assorted canvases to the side, you finally found the collection of palettes stored near the back of the shelf. Just barely managing to get your finger under the one on the bottom (the shelf was slightly too high, not enough to really bother you, but it could be a minor inconvenience sometimes), you dragged the precariously balanced stack towards yourself.

“What about Lyra?” Felix called from behind you.

“That would work,” you mused, shuffling through the pile in search of one not too caked in dried paint.

“Or Aquila?”

“Also fine,” you responded, selecting a mostly clean palette. “I really want to try Draco, so we’ll do that one first and then fit the others on after that. Sound good?”

"Anything you want to do is good with me," he replied, and you turned to see the pretty blush staining his cheeks.

"But you're the one making this project come to life," you said, crossing the room in a few steps and settling down in front of him. "You should have some input."

"I'm merely the final product in this situation. You, y/n, are the one bringing it to life." Now it was your turn to grow flustered by his compliments.

"Oh hush," you said, searching on the floor for the marker you had set down.

Finding your marker, you uncapped it and scooted closer to Felix. "Ready?" you asked.

He looked at the marker warily. "I thought you were painting."

"I am painting, but I have to sketch it out first," you laughed. "I always do."

"Oh," he said, looking down shyly. He always loved to watch you paint, however paying attention to the process was something else entirely. "Well go on then."

Studying his face carefully, you placed a small dot on top of a freckle close to the top of his cheek. Glancing back at the star chart, you drew another right under it, and awkwardly angled your pen to try and reach better. Pulling the papers mapping out your reference closer, you shuffled to the side and drew another dot.

"This isn't working very well," you said, taking Felix's chin in your hand and tilting his head to the side to try and reach better. "I might move you again, so try not to move and tell me if it's too uncomfortable."

Felix nodded in response just as you set the tip of the marker against his cheek, leaving a small inky streak down his face. You sighed. "Next time just say you heard me. I'm going to get the rubbing alcohol.” You stood up and headed to the bathroom, opening the cabinet and rummaging around to find the necessary bottle. Finding what you needed, you stood up and crossed the hallway once again to rejoin Felix.

"Here." Felix held out a cotton ball that he had no doubt found in the depths of one of your many bins of random art supplies.

"Thanks," you said quietly, already flipping the top of the rubbing alcohol open and soaking the cotton in liquid before scrubbing it gently across Felix's cheek. He held still for the moment, letting you remove the ink from his face and watching your movements carefully.

"Done?" he asked as you tossed the now somewhat grey cotton ball to the floor.

"Yep." you picked up your marker again. "Good to go?" He nodded again, this time making sure that the marker was nowhere near his skin.

You set back to work, switching between analyzing the star chart and making small dots where you could connect the freckles strewn across Felix's face to resemble the constellation you had picked.

After readjusting Felix's face for the nth time, you sighed. “This isn’t working,” you complained, capping your marker and letting your hand fall into your lap.

“I can tell,” Felix mused. “Any ideas?”

You tilted your head, scanning over his face, and Felix could see the imaginary lightbulb pop up above your head as a grin spread across your face. “Maybe,” you said cheekily, crawling into his lap and once again uncapping your marker. Placing the non inky end into your mouth, you cupped your hands around Felix’s cheeks, gently moving his head around until you think you’ve found the perfect angle. “Don’t move.”

Finding that your new vantage point gave you perfect access to the soft skin of your boyfriend’s cheeks, you steadily set back to work, sketching light lines between the makeshift “stars” that quickly began to fill the freckles dotted across Felix’s face.

“Alright! I’m all done.” You leaned back a bit to admire your work, already extremely happy with the way that everything was turning out. “And now -” you clambered off Felix’s lap to let him stretch while you gathered the scattered supplies necessary for the next step of your project - “we paint!”

Felix giggled at the enthusiasm spreading a happy brightness across your face, bringing you closer for a chaste kiss as soon as you had settled yourself back across him. Clasping the brush you had picked up between your teeth as you seemed prone to do, you grabbed two of the few tubes of paint selected from a small box of metallics Felix wasn’t aware you had and unscrewed the one containing silver paint. Squeezing a small amount onto the palette in your other hand, you replaced the cap and set it to the side.

You pulled the paintbrush from your mouth, and said, “This is it. No going back after I start painting,” you warned, absolutely failing to hide the playful tone in your voice.

“I have sharpie all over my face,” Felix laughed, “I’m pretty sure we reached that point a while ago.”

“Right,” you said, ducking your face a little, trying to hide your embarrassed expression. “Well then, let the painting begin!” Placing a sweet kiss to the tip of Felix’s nose, you swirled your brush through the silver paint and hesitantly hovered over the inked lines connecting his freckles.

“You’re not going to mess this up,” Felix reassured, almost as if he could immediately pick up on your thoughts, “anything you paint is always beautiful and I have complete confidence in you.”

The compliments flustered you even more, and muttering a soft, “Oh, be quiet,” you set your brush down, dragging the bristles across the lines you had laid down earlier.

Felix shuddered under the cool touch of paint stroked across his face, and you backed off for a moment, letting him adjust to the foreign feeling. “Try not to move,” you said, setting down your palette and cupping his jaw sweetly.

You painted thin, careful lines over all of the drawn out constellations, painstakingly smoothing the edges and adding a second layer to those where the black ink was still visible. While you kept all of your focus on the paintbrush in your hand, Felix lost himself in the way that you concentrated on the task you had set yourself to. He loved to watch you paint, and the experience was ten times better when you were right up close. Felix watched your expressions as you immersed yourself in your work, noticing every little forehead scrunch, loving the cute way that you would chew on your lip or poke your tongue out when you got to a particularly tricky spot. There wasn’t enough focus left to be self conscious when you truly absorbed yourself in your art, and it was times like these that Felix thought you were most true to yourself, which lead to it also being when he found you most beautiful. Not that you weren’t other times, certainly, but there was something enchanting about your little expressions and the way your hair would stick up from running your fingers through it. You would always have paint all over your hands, no matter how careful you had been, and when it was still wet the pigment often transferred to your face or hair. Of course you never noticed, and so Felix would let you know you should probably look in a mirror, but only after silently appreciating the way that the smudged paint on your forehead somehow only enhanced the glow of beauty that truly being in your element brought out.

“There we go!” you suddenly exclaimed, startling Felix out of his reverie. “I’m finished with the lines,” you told him, dropping your paintbrush into the cup of water and swishing it around a little. “Now I just have to do the stars.”

You leaned to the side and reached around Felix to grab the other tube of paint you had taken out and added some of the gold to the palette before screwing the cap back on and tossing it next to you. Balancing the palette on your knee, you grabbed the cup containing your brush and dragged it toward you. Quickly and thoroughly rinsing the paint from the bristles, you wiped off the excess water and took Felix’s face into your hand once again, gently maneuvering him back into a position where you could easily paint.

Now used to the feeling, Felix didn’t startle when you began painting again, the cool touch of the paint to his cheek calming. You worked steadily, crossing tiny strokes to form the stars connecting the constellations created by his freckles. Every now and then you would shift in his lap, or make sure that the angle his head was at wasn’t making his neck ache, but for the most part you worked silent and still.

You smoothed tiny lines into shapes, keeping them tidy and occasionally layering more paint on where it had smudged or the first coat had been too thin. After finishing one of the stars higher on his cheek, you leaned back to admire your work.

“I think I’m done,” you said softly, wiping a bit of golden paint off Felix’s forehead.

“Can I see?” he asked, plucking the paint brush out of your fingers and placing it in the paint water.

You nodded, climbing out of his lap and gesturing towards the messy desk in the corner of the room. “There should be a mirror up there. I’m going to go get my Polaroid camera.” You loved that camera, it had been a gift from a friend years ago, and you only pulled it out for special occasions. Felix knew how much it meant to you, and the fact that you wanted to capture this moment with it warmed his heart.

When you returned to the room, Felix was sitting back on the cushions you had pulled out, the small hand mirror next to him on the floor. “It’s beautiful, y/n,” he said, and you smiled at the compliment, whispering a quiet “Thanks.”

“Where do you want me?” Felix asked, nodding towards the camera in your hands.

“By the window, probably,” you said, “I think backlighting would look good for this.” It was reaching late afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to sink to the horizon quickly. The golden light would shine through his hair beautifully, and Felix always glowed in the sunlight.

The two of you moved to the other side of the room, and Felix quickly set himself up in front of the window.

“Should I pose or something?” Felix asked, and you shook your head in response.

“Just do what feels natural,” you said, squinting at him through the viewfinder on your Polaroid before lowering it to watch him adjust for the photo. He seemed to relax under your gaze, and turned his head to the side so he was looking straight into the lens as the light washed over the paint trailed across his face, illuminating the shine of the metallics you used. He stilled after a moment, and after you were sure he wasn’t going to move, you pressed the shutter. The camera began printing your photo, and after a moment you plucked it from the slot, pressing it between your lips and bringing the camera back up to your eye.

“I want to take one more,” you mumbled around the developing photo in your mouth, “close your eyes for me?” Felix complied, letting his lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks as a small smile settled across his face. You snapped your second photo, bringing the camera down and tucking the earlier in between your fingers as you waited for the second to print. Felix came to stand next to you, taking the second photo and looking over your shoulder to see how the first one turned out.

As you watched the color seep onto the glossy paper you knew that the stars across his cheeks, no matter how pretty they were, could never compare to the stars that shone in his eyes. He was truly beautiful, and standing there with your camera in hand, his hair brushing against your cheek, you were never more aware.

#lee felix #felix #felix stray kids #stray kids #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #stray kids x reader #felix fluff #lee felix fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #felix imagines #stray kids fanfiction #felix fanfiction #maybe ill have to start a masterlist soon this is exciting

179 notes · View notes

eeveedel · 4 years

Text

chubby actor louis (pt 2)

What up SINNERS. So sorry I missed last week, I hope you still enjoy this lil baby that’s a coutinuation of my very questionable and self indulgent new series. I’m hoping to do at least two more installments a little later.

please note this fic deal with weight gain kink/fetish. it is heavy on food and weight talk. if any of that content bothers or triggers you, this will not be the story for you. also contains some sexual content!

very unedited bc words are fake anyways.

part 1 here

“Do I have to? This is the worst part.”

Louis was standing in the bathroom in just his briefs, Harry standing patiently next to him. And while he had taken his clothes off in front of Harry countless times, including when he started this whole thing, he somehow felt more naked now. He was acutely aware of his body, how his belly was doughy and swelled forward, how his legs had softened, and how his ass had grown, making his underwear tight. And he was just getting started.

“Come on, love, hop on,” Harry said gently, “I just wanna see where we’re starting, that’s all.”

One of the first things Harry had requested when he agreed to help Louis was that they were going to start weighing Louis every two days, rather than at the end of every week like Louis had been doing. He said it was important to keep track of this kind of thing so they could set goals for every day, and while Louis knew he had a point, he hated doing it in front of Harry. It was one thing to see the numbers rise on his own, but to do it in front of his boyfriend felt too personal and a little embarrassing. He wasn’t sure if Harry being into it made the situation better or worse.

Louis sighed and finally stepped onto the scale. He tried to relax his posture, letting his spine slouch a little and his arms swing loosely, like it would make a difference. The machine under his feet worked quickly, the display only blinking for a few seconds before it settled on one number.

“163,” Harry read out.

“Yes, I can read,” Louis said.

Harry laughed weakly, and out of the corner of his eye Louis saw him getting his phone out. He was opening his notes app, typing something in.

“So, by shooting time, you need to be at 178,” Harry said, “We can do that.”

Louis’s stomach fluttered a bit at “we,” the sign of Harry’s unquestioning presence on this weird project.

Harry had been around for plenty of Louis’s odd roles. He had helped Louis memorize a fake sci fi language for an outer space thriller, taken him to the air and space museum for hours while Louis took notes prepping to play an astronaut. and once had indulged Louis in a month of candlelit rooms and no Internet while he got ready for a drama set in Amish country. Harry had proved time and time again he was willing to help with whatever Louis’s very weird job required. But this felt different. Not least of all because Harry had never exactly been turned on by Louis’s role prep before.

“You can step off, baby,” Harry said gently.

Louis blinked, realizing he must have been there for away, and then stepped off the scale, watching it go back down to zero.

He stared at it for a long moment, and then felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze.

“I can put lunch on,” Harry said, “Would that be okay? To eat something right now?”

Louis looked down at his stomach and put a cautious hand on it, squeezing the softness underneath his skin.

“I mean,” he said, “I guess we have to get there at some point.”

Louis really wished he had taken Harry up on his offer to cook for him earlier.

He was well aware Harry was an amazing cook – he made roasted vegetables and salmon three days a week taste incredible – but it was so different to see Harry cooking when he was not prohibited by a strict diet code.

New kitchen contraptions started appearing at their first door in express shipping packages – a breakfast maker, waffle makers, a panini press, an air fryer and then an actual deep fryer. Harry always told Louis to not worry about planning anything, he would take care of it, and Louis could just tell if he was craving anything. Louis was grateful for the relief – he had to memorize his lines by the end of the month and was already had enough to think about.

So he sat at the couch, or at his office upstairs, and Harry’s new creations kept arriving in front of him. Full English breakfasts with fried eggs and gravy-soaked sausages, mashed potatoes swimming in a small sea of butter, bacon and four-cheese grilled cheeses, mint chocolate chip milkshakes with chocolate and caramel syrup drizzled over a little hill of whipped cream. Harry presented each of them with a smile and a kiss to the top of Louis’s head or his cheek, and gave Louis the most brilliant grin when Louis brought down his empty dishes an hour later.

“Did you like it?” he asked, and would nod eagerly as Louis offered his thoughts.

Long lists of new recipes appeared on their fridge door, and Louis woke up a lot of days to see a slice of cheesecake wrapped in plastic in their fridge, or some waffle cut fries in tin foil, with a note on it telling him to eat it whenever he felt hungry.

And Louis did. It made him happy to eat Harry’s food, to see him smile, and also, it was just damn delicious.

By the end of his first week of Harry feeding him, he had gained another three pounds, something that made Harry grin and reward Louis with a plate of nachos, covered in melted cheddar and mozzarella, crumbled beef, and salsa.

“We still have awhile to go,” Louis said, squinting at Harry as he brought another cheese-soaked chip to his mouth, “Don’t be too proud of yourself.”

Harry sat across from him at the counter and he just smiled again, his eyes flicking between the plate in front of Louis and his mouth.

“I think we can manage,” Harry said, “I’ll provide the food, you just put in the effort.”

“I am putting in effort, you dick,” Louis huffed, picking up another chip. He took extra care to dare it through a pool of cheese at the edge of the plate, “You think I’m not?”

Harry shrugged, and Louis recognized the little glint behind his eyes. He was angling for Louis’s competitive side, and fuck if he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Louis picked up two chips, once again trying to drag them in the toppings so he had as much as possible balanced on them before he shoved them into his mouth.

“Don’t choke,” Harry said mildly.

“Don’t be an ass and just get me some soda,” Louis huffed.

Harry smiled and went to their fridge, getting out a two-liter of Coke. Regular-ass, non-diet Coke. He didn’t even pour it into a glass. Louis just unscrewed the top and sipped.

“I’m going to finish this,” Louis said firmly, “Just so you know.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and his mouth twitched at the corner.

Louis put his head down and focused on putting chips and cheese into his mouth. It was greasy as hell, and salty, and he felt his head going a little fuzzy from the combination of all of it alongside the liquid sugar he had already sucked down.

He kept eating until his fingers were shiny and his slick felt slick with grease, and he reached down to move the elastic of his sweatpants under the curve of his belly, giving it more room.

“You okay?” Harry said, and Louis thought he detected interest in his voice.

“I’m great,” Louis answered, picking up the soda again. He hiccupped weakly as he swallowed it down.

“These are good,” Louis said as he picked up more food. The chips at the bottom were nearly soaked through in grease, and he eagerly shoved them into his mouth. “You should make these more often.”

“I will,” Harry said. Louis could hear his voice was getting a little thin at the edges.

Louis picked up two more chips, eating them at the same time.

“If you eat all of that I’ll eat you out for half an hour,” Harry blurted out.

Louis arched his brow and put another chip in his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, “My belly’s kind of full. I probably can’t lay down flat. You’re going to have to roll me onto my side.”

He rubbed his stomach as he said it, and he felt the grease on his fingers rub off on his shirt as he did.

Harry stared down and then back up, and he folded his arms and leaned forward.

“Louis,” Harry drawled, “Honey. You better eat those fucking nachos or I will lose my mind.”

Louis just smiled in return, and scooped up a chip entirely covered in cheese, taking his time biting into it.

He finished the nachos.

Louis understood that eventually it was going to happen. He knew the consequences of gaining what was now officially twenty-two pounds.

Still, after two weeks of Harry’s cooking, he was not exactly happy when he was trying to put on what used to be his affectionally named “fat jeans” and they couldn’t go over his ass.

He stood in their room, jumping feebly on his toes and tugging, but they wouldn’t go up. The denim hugged too tightly against his thighs, the skin of his legs bulging out just a bit, and the edge of the waistband kept cuffing his ass. It didn’t help his underwear were also a bit tight, and they kept wanting to move inward and get trapped between his cheeks.

“Harry!” he shouted, because what the hell else was he going to do.

Harry arrived in the doorway of their room a few minutes later, and he just stared, his mouth wide.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, yeah, oh my god,” Louis huffed, “I swear to god these just fit. But you had to go and put heavy cream in my coffee like a psychopath.”

“You liked it. A lot,” Harry said passively, “So. You want to go to the mall, get some new clothes?”

Louis looked up at him, his eyes wide and his hands still gripped on the useless flaps of his pants.

“You want me to go out in public right now?”

“We’ll go in the back way,” Harry shrugged, “And you can wear sunglasses. And a hat.”

“Oh, brilliant disguise ideas from my fashion designer boyfriend here.”

He ducked his head again and pulled on his jeans again, but it wasn’t doing anything. If anything the edge of the denim was chafing his ass.

“Can’t you just fix these for me? Isn’t letting things out part of your job?” Louis asked, gesturing to his jeans.

“I could,” Harry allowed, “But if you’re going to lose the weight later you’ll want your old clothes.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Louis said. He yanked his pants off, kicking them hard to get the blasted things off his ankles. Then he huffed angrily, dragging a hand through his hair. “Shit, I just – I really don’t want to go out in public right now, that’s all.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry said, “No one is going to recognize you.”

“I’m insulted,” Louis said, “Do you know how famous I am? Do you know how many Teen’s Choice awards are in our spare room?”

“Yes, I know,” Harry chuckled, “But babe…you don’t exactly look like yourself right now.”

Louis frowned, and lifted his head. He shuffled forward to the big mirror on the inside of his closet door and looked up.

And fuck, Harry was right. He didn’t really look like himself. He hadn’t shaved in a while, for one, and his hair was a little longer. But his face was puffy, his cheekbones covered with round cheeks that pushed up, making his eyes look smaller. His thighs were wide and soft, only a little bit of his old muscles visible. When he turned he could see his ass had grown and widened, and while it used to be round and firm from his tireless squat routine, it was just…soft now. And he had a proper belly, not the tiny bit of bloating he used to get sometimes, but a proper one that puffed out and felt heavy on his core.

The man everyone was expecting when Louis went out in public wasn’t here now.

“You’re right,” he sighed, and put his hands on his hips. “Let’s go shopping.”

They went to a mall a little outside of the city limits, which was pretty empty for the time being.

Louis hadn’t been clothes shopping in a while, but luckily Harry was always out and about, picking up new things to cut up and sew back together, so he immediately picked some stores to go to.

They went to a men’s’ clothing shop, and Harry looked through the racks with great focus, picking up some jeans and shirts and slinging them over his arm.

“I’ll get you a few sizes,” Harry said, “Remember, you don’t want them too tight. You need a little room to grow.”

The expression coming from Harry’s mouth made Louis’s face burn, and he just followed his boyfriend wordlessly as he plucked up different garments.

They spent a little too long for Louis’s liking in the dressing room, but it went okay, all things considered. He got a few new pairs of jeans, several new t-shirts, a new flannel shirt and a new sweater. Harry encouraged through all of it, giving him kisses and telling him how well the clothes showed off his curves, but after awhile, Louis grew tired of wriggling in and out of new pants and asked if they could stop. Harry just nodded. whipped out his credit card, and told Louis he would pay for both the clothes and their lunch.

Of course, it went without saying that Harry was also going to pick the location, which was how they ended up in an All-American buffet.

Louis was sitting in a darker, more secluded corner of the dining area, in a sticky fake leather booth. The walls around him were painted with scenes of the wild west, cowboys and horses. He had a huge tumbler of orange soda in front of him, which he kept picking up and sipping at as he waited for Harry to return from picking out his meal. He was admittedly a little hungry, so he was kind of looking forward for whatever Harry was getting him.

What he did expect was Harry nearly skipping back to the table, two plates in his hands and two perfectly balanced on his forearms, all of them loaded down with food.

He set them all down in front of Louis with a smile, and Louis just stared at him, his mouth gaping.

“How – “ Louis sputtered, “How did you even carry all of that?”

“I was a waiter before you met me. You know this,” Harry said, “Now dig in, I’m going to get myself.”

He turned, then, heading back to the lines of food, and Louis took in what Harry had picked for him.

On one plate there was a large cheeseburger, loaded with with several slices of bacon, and a generous serving of crinkle-cut fries. On the next there were ribs soaking in barbeque sauce and a side of mac and cheese, the cheese nearly orange and the pasta covered in golden breadcrumbs. Then there was a big plate of cheesy scrambled eggs and two sausages, and then the last was loaded with three big cinnamon rolls dripping with white icing.

Louis was still staring at it all when Harry came back to the table, carrying a bowl of salad and another bowl full of salad for himself.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, then his face fell, “Shit, I’m sorry is that too much for you? I’m sorry. I just got excited.”

“No, it’s okay,” Louis said quietly, “Um. Is it okay if I don’t finish all of it? It’s just so much.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said quickly, “I just wanted to get you plenty. Take your time.”

“Okay,” Louis nodded, then smiled, “This really does look so good, thank you.”

Harry gave him another warm look, and that was enough for Louis to get started. He picked up some ribs, holding them delicately, and took some bites. The meat was tender and came apart easily, and the sauce was delicious, sweet and thick. He nodded happily and took more bites, feeling some sauce collect on his lips.

“You’re so cute when you eat,” Harry said across the table, and Louis blushed.

He polished off his ribs, the weight of the food hot and pleasant in his belly. He wiped off his mouth and fingers as best he could, and then picked up a fork and went for the mac and cheese. It was rich, creamy and salty and tasting like sharp cheddar. He ate it embarrassingly fast, the pasta quickly disappearing into his mouth.

“That’s so good,” he said, and picked up his soda to shallow it down. He wasn’t hungry anymore, but he certainly wasn’t full. So he went for the eggs. It was a nice compliment to the mac and cheese, more cheese, more salt, a light, fluffy texture. He ate it in little bites, licking his lips at how salty it was.

“I’m gonna be so bloated after this,” Louis said as he picked up his soda and took a long drink. Harry didn’t say anything, but Louis did notice he had stopped picking up the fork for his salad, instead watching Louis.

The eggs were so good, soft on his tongue, and he felt himself going fuzzy from the salt and the weight in his stomach. Half the plate was still in front of him, and he was definitely getting full now, and he told Harry he didn’t have to finish all of it. He could throw up a white flag right now.

But the rest of the food looked so good, and Harry watching him intently. And…what was going to happen to him, really? He was going to get bigger? He needed to get bigger. It was fine.

So, with several more forkfuls lifted to his lips, he finished his eggs.

He set down the fork with a distinct little click, and Harry leaned forward.

“Hey, you did really good, thank you – “

But Louis was picking up his cheeseburger He took a big bite, keeping his eyes locked on Harry, who blinked at him.

“You – “ Harry swallowed, “I – “

Louis smirked as he as swallowed. His mouth tasted like salt and grease, and he went in for another bite. He moaned a little, and Harry didn’t move, didn’t even close his mouth.

He shouldn’t be doing this. His stomach was tight, and he could feel the elastic of his sweatpants pushing out, cutting in. Fuck, he was going to have to buy new sweatpants soon. His body wasn’t used to this, it was used to constant exercise and juice cleanses.

The mere thought of it made Louis eat another bite with more zeal, really tearing it and chewing hard. He didn’t realize how tired of that he was until now.

The burger was delicious, and he felt a wet bit of grease run down his chin. Jesus fuck, it was literally leaking with fat, and he was eating it happily.

He ate fast, so fast he couldn’t pay too much attention to his protesting stomach. He polished the burger off and didn’t even wipe his mouth as he picked at the fries, grabbing multiple at once.

“You know how in every fucking interview I do for movies, they ask me about my preparation?” Louis said to Harry, “Imagine this one. ‘Louis, you had to gain thirty pounds for this role. And we hear you didn’t even have that much time to do it. How did that happen?’ And I’ll get to say, ‘well, my boyfriend stuffed me every day for weeks at a time and got a boner doing it, so it was easy.’”

He shoved the fries in his mouth and was already picking up another handful and dunking it in ketchup as he chewed. He barely swallowed before he was eating more.

His stomach was aching now, and he groaned, pushing down the painful elastic on his pants, but it still felt tight around his hips.

“We – oof, we should go back for some new sweatpants, babe. Gonna fuckin’ bust these soon.”

He picked up more fries, and he was acutely aware of how Harry was staring him down, his food abandoned, his eyes dark.

Louis’s body was hot from head to toe, and he was sweating a little, but he couldn’t tell if that was from the effort his meal was taking out of him or from how Harry was looking at him.

But he felt something else shift as he polished off his fries and shoved the plate away, seeking out more of his soda.

He thought he was imagining it, but as he dragged the plate of cinnamon rolls closer to himself, the plate scraping loudly on the table, he knew he was right.

He was hard.

He was in a mall buffet and he was getting a hard on from stuffing his face.

He didn’t know how to handle that. So he picked up a cinnamon roll instead.

It was pure carbs, heavy, the icing sticky and all sugar, and it made his brain buzz and his eyes flutter closed. He shoved the pastry into his mouth hard, forcing himself to chew. His belly gave an unhappy little gurgle, but his cock was happy, and his boyfriend looked ready to pounce, so he kept chewing.

He finished one of the rolls with a pant, setting both hands on his stomach. He smeared grease and icing on the fabric of his hoodie, and he sighed. He rubbed his hands over his belly, round and hard, the fabric of his sweatshirt pulled tight over it. He pulled it up, over the hill of his stomach. His shirt had already ridden up, and there he was, his stomach hanging out in public, as he grabbed for another roll.

Harry was nearly foaming at the mouth, and Louis ate the cinnamon roll in small but eager bites. He felt icing smear on his mouth and he didn’t bother to fix it. He was sweating and blushing and his dick was hard in public and none of it mattered.

The roll was gone soon, and he stuck his fingers in his mouth, sucking off the icing. He slumped in the booth and then picked up the last roll, his white fucking whale. He tipped back his head and opened his mouth and shoved nearly half of it in. He focused hard on the taste of it. Fluffy bread, cinnamon, honey, pure sugar. His mouth was lazy as it chewed, as if even his tongue was sick of his ordeal, but he swallowed it down none the less. He had to keep shifting his hips, trying to keep his belly happy, but it was no use. It was pissed at him. But Louis had half a cinnamon roll left.

He shoved it in his mouth in one bite, his cheeks bulging as he chewed and chewed, squeezing his eyes tightly as his throat worked, trying to swallow it down.

Soon, it was done, and for his last stupid act, Louis reached for his soda, tipped the glass, and chugged until it was empty.

When it was done he slammed it on the table and panted, clutching his stomach and staring at Harry, who was already standing.

“Get me home right now and fuck me,” Louis said, his voice weak.

Harry nodded and reached down, guiding Louis up to his feet. He pulled his sweatshirt down and then stared at the obvious bulge in Louis’s pants, and then looked up with even wider eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, looks like you’re not the only one who’s into this,” Louis snapped, then wheezed again, setting a hand on his stomach, “Fuck, help me waddle the hell out of here, you bastard.”

Harry surged forward, kissing Louis hard, and then pulled back, wrapping a protective arm around him and helped Louis walk, slowly but surely, to the exit.

Somehow, as they got to the door, Louis found the energy to lean in and kiss under Harry’s ear, then whisper to him.

“Eight more pounds, baby.”

#drabbles #chubby actor #larry fanfiction #larry fan fic #larry fic

41 notes · View notes

babyleclerc · 5 years

Text

The Way You Look Tonight

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x Fem Reader

Style: One-Shot/Drabble

Request: Yes, by anon: Maybe the Reader taking Hiddleston to his favorite play for their anniversary?

Warnings: Pretty much none. SO MUCH FLUFF!!

Word Count: 2K

Summary: Tom has always been one to spoil you, but on your second wedding anniversary you want to be the one spoiling. So after a romantic evening dinner, you take Tom to the theatre to see his favorite play & ice cream afterwards.

A/N: I apologize if this is rusty, because it genuinely feels rusty. It’s been MONTHS since I’ve last written anything. so THANK YOU to the anon that requested this!!! I haven’t broken out of my writing stump literally in 2019 & this idea just kind of hit me in all the right ways. I so appreciate you & I hope you enjoy this/I did it justice. Also, full disclaimer that I have never seen Much Ado, I read the play back in HS but that was literally almost ten years ago so I did research/tried to make it as realistic as possible but pls forgive me if I wrote about it incorrectly.

Also, thank you to my angel, @deartomhardy who helped me get through my block with this. Your support, encouragement, and constant belief in me makes the happiest little panini head in all the land. I hope u like what I did with this to finish it up! (gif not mine!)

“Will you just tell me where we’re going, already?” Your husband was borderline whining, his voice laced with curiosity and intrigue. He had been patient throughout the entire evening – allowing you to wine and dine him at your favorite restaurant in the city, Clos Maggiore (he even let you pay, after you insisted adamantly that tonight would be his night, instead of the other way around, as it usually was).

But as you were getting closer to the surprise, his eagerness was getting the best of him. He was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, looking like a child on Christmas morning. This was another testament to Tom’s patience – he loved driving you around and being in the passenger seat always made him antsy. Just let me chauffer you around he’d say adamantly, as you were trying to steal the keys to the Jag from him. This would last for only a few minutes, and after endless pouting and whining, Tom was stubborn and would only ever give into you on special occasions, and your anniversary was one of them.

“What fun would that be?” You grinned back at him, glancing your eyes away from the road to meet your husband’s steel eyes. Traditionally, you’d be staring into ice cold blues, but this evening, the way they were catching the low sunlight, they almost looked a pale green.

You couldn’t help the small somersault that flipped in your stomach. Six years with the man (well, only two if you were counting marriage), and he still had the ability to make you feel like you were on your first date again.

You sighed happily, lifting his hand to press a soft kiss against his skin. These were the moments you never wanted to forget.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.” You teased after some time had passed. Nearly ten minutes until you were at your destination, and your husband had been surprisingly quiet throughout the car ride after his earlier badgering had gotten him no answer. “No guesses?”

“I have an inkling,” Tom said, shooting you a sly wink. “But I don’t want to make a fool of myself – I’d rather just be surprised.”

Once you’d parked, you turned to face Tom in his seat, who was already grinning from ear to ear. He knew your secret, or at least, one of them.

“You’re taking me to the theatre?” He asked, his features turning soft as he took is hand in yours. “Darling, you hate the theatre. We could have done anything else, something we both liked.”

“It had to be this.” You shook your head adamantly. “Plus, it’s not just anytheatre.”

“There’s more?” Tom asked eagerly, now unable to hide his excitement and swinging himself out of the car. He quickly strode in front to open the door for you, offering you his hand so you could exit. Always the gentleman.

“I don’t want you to get too excited.” You start cautiously, taking his hand and straightening your gorgeous silk navy dress as you stood. Even Tom soaked in the way your dress accentuated every curve, his breath hitching slightly in his throat.

“Have I told you how absolutely stunning you look tonight, Mrs. Hiddleston?” He breathed, tugging you towards him with the hand that was still enveloped in his. You grinned before being greeted with a sweet kiss, molding into him and letting a soft sigh escape your lips.

“Maybe once or twice,” You replied cheekily, nuzzling his nose gently. “But back to the surprise!”

“Ah yes, your beauty distracted me momentarily. Apologies,” He winked, giving your cheek a swift kiss. “What’s this surprise, beyond the majesty that is the theatre and your company?”

You shoved him gently, chuckling at the way his “British” showed when you were in these types of settings. It was obnoxiously adorable – though you’d never admit how charming you found it or you’d never hear the end of it.

“OK, so I know it won’t quite be the same as when you originally saw it at Shakespeare’s Globe, but it looked like this cast got good ratings, and, uhm, I know it’s your favorite, so…” You pulled out a pamphlet from inside your clutch, handing it to him.

Tom unfolded it curiously, the papers now bent slightly at the corners after sitting buried in your dresser the past few weeks, in an effort to hide the surprise from him. It had taken months of online research, discussion with friends, and innocent questions to your husband to try to figure out what the perfect anniversary present would be. What do you give to a man who, seemingly, has everything? But then there was this; the idea to take him to a smaller theatre, on the other side of town – away from the paparazzi and the constant questions. Going to a play at the Globe would have been more of a celebrity outing vs. an intimate date – and so the second you had found this; you knew it was perfect.

“You’re not serious.” Tom deadpanned, looking at the artwork on the pamphlet for his favorite Shakespearean play, Much Ado About Nothing. “This is playing? Out here?”

He looked shocked – exactly the kind of reaction you were going for. You grinned, unable to contain your excitement in how much he was about to enjoy your anniversary gift.

“Happy Anniversary, baby.” You say, leaning up on your tippy toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. He, too, was smiling from ear to ear.

“This is wonderful. Thank you, darling.” He pulled you in for a hug, giving you a tight squeeze, “I’m sorry that your first experience of my favorite play won’t be at the Globe, but this is going to be incredible. Any kind of live theatre is –“

“Is worth watching,” You interrupt, finishing his sentence and wrinkling your nose. “You’ve only said it about a thousand times.” You tease, shoving him with your hip gently as you both made your way towards the entrance theatre, hand in hand.

“Because it’s true!” Tom says through a laugh, allowing you to take the lead towards your seat, grinning happily along like a young schoolboy on the first day of summer.

---

You had to admit it; Tom was right. You had loved everything about the play. From sitting next to Tom, noticing how his mouth moved along with the dialogue during certain scenes. The way the theatre lights dimmed, so that it appeared you and he were the only ones enjoying the show even though there were hundreds seated next to you. The way he laughed with the audience at all the right parts (even if you were a little slow to get the Shakespearean joke), the way his lips pursed as he dissected every line. Attending the theatre with your husband was nothing short of a documentary on Tom itself, and half the time you didn’t know whether you should be paying attention to him or the play.

Afterwards, as the summer breeze descended upon the city, the towered buildings covered in a low pink haze as the sun said goodnight, you had both decided for a walk around the town, stopping at your favorite ice cream shop for a nightcap. You walked hand in hand, happily licking your coffee chocolate chip ice cream in a waffle cone, swinging your arm that held Tom’s hand gently.

“So, what’d ya think?” You ask him through a mouthful of ice cream. You knew the answer but wanted to hear that intelligent brain of his work at lightning speed. He regaled you all his favorite scenes, quoting his favorite lines very animatedly, and you grinned as he went on and on about his first true love: the theatre.

“…And did you see how that actor took that character’s role so fully into his own?” His monologue was coming to a close, and you recognized you needed to be tuning into your husband’s thoughts, instead of getting lost in his accent and gorgeous eyes that were shining just right against the ever-dimming sunlight. “Impressive, really.” He continued. “I’ve only ever seen Don Pedro played much cockier, that was such an interesting take on an otherwise quite elusive character… And what did you think, darling?”

He stopped walking and turned to look at you, shoving a spoonful of snickerdoodle ice cream into his mouth, leaning easily against one of the sidewalk railings. You could just make out the shape of the Big Ben in the background, its’ large shadow just visible along the London skyline. You smiled happily at this life that had magically become yours – talking theatre and eating ice cream with Tom Hiddleston. Sometimes you couldn’t believe it.

“Uhmm,” You started, answering his question, “The sets were really gorgeous.” Tom began laughing and you scowled, smacking his arm. “Hey! I’m sophisticated enough to understand Shakespeare plays!”

He grinned, folding a long arm across your shoulders and sweeping you into his tall frame. His warm body felt comforting in the cool summer breeze. You leaned into him subconsciously, allowing your head to fall easily into the crook of his neck. “I know you are, darling. I wasn’t laughing at you,” He soothed, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, though his features were still playful.

You kept your brows knitted together, glaring at him playfully. “Well you sure weren’t laughing with me.”

“I’m laughing because you are the most adorable woman in the world.” He was placating you and you knew it, but when he talked in that low husky voice, it made you squirm and lose feelings in your legs. You tried to stand your ground and sound intelligent.

“I was really impressed with the portrayal of Beatrice in particular. I know Shakespeare wasn’t much into strong feminine characters, but she really shone through in this play as a strong, badass woman.” Tom’s initial silence made you feel self-conscious, and you felt your heart beating furiously as you craned your neck backwards to gaze up into your husband’s dreamy features.

Tom nodded, suddenly looking serious, “Well said, sweetheart. I always appreciated Much Ado over Shakespeare’s other work but never really put much thought into why. I think Beatrice plays a big part in why.”

You grinned, feeling proud of your answer. “See, I can talk shop about plays and Shakespeare just as much as I can about sports and shopping.”

“There’s no doubt about that.” Tom laughed, setting down his now empty ice cream dish just to your guys’ left side and drawing you into him. You easily shifted so that you were sandwiched against him, snuggling your arms just underneath his chest with his arms wrapped around you. You placed your chin on his chest, looking up into him.

“Thank you for a lovely evening.” He murmured into your ear, placing a gentle kiss along your temple. “The surprise was wonderful and well worth the wait. Happy second anniversary, love.”

You grinned, feeling a million butterflies start from your heart down to the tips of your toes.

“Here’s to many, many, many more.” You replied, leaning up on tip toes to pull him into a sweet, slow kiss. The kind that made you forget you were in public. That made you forget there were people walking around just a few feet away from you. That there was even a life outside of him.

You hoped it remained that way forever.

Fin.

---

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blackirisposts · 5 years

Text

Of Ghosts and Coffee Shop Whispers

This work is part of Spoopy October Writing Challenge 2019 (SOWC19) hosted by me, annnnnnd Happy Steve Bingo (HSB) by: @happystevebingo !!! ❤

Prompt: Day 6: Ghost for SOWC19 && Romance Novel for HSB ❤

Pairing: Darcy Lewis x Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes x OMC, Jane Foster x Thor ❤

Word Count: 2404

❤ Book Shop && Coffee Shop ❤

Reblog will include links and tags! ❤

Warnings: Swearing, Mild Crack and the occasional cameo ❤

A/N: Special thanks to @pegasusdragontiger and @heartbreaker6995 for both shocking my brain into actually working and cranking out this fic ❤

Darcy’s eyes follow the blond man across the room as he moves to wait for his coffee order.

“You’re staring.” Jane says, not looking up from the small wired contraption she was fiddling with.

“Yep.” Darcy pops the ‘p’ like the word’s made of bubble gum. “What a sight.”

Jane hums not fully paying attention to Darcy.

“Thor’s off world, your loss.” Darcy says with a slurp of her coffee.

“Thor?” Jane looks up and around in confusion.

Darcy pats her hand, “Off world, dear.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Darcy pushes a barely touched panini sandwich towards Jane.

“Eat, my scientific one. It shall give you strength!”

“Eat later. Science now.”

“Eat now. Science, well, also now?” Darcy sighed dragging her eyes back to Jane. “Don’t make me take whatever the hell that thing is away from you until after you’ve finished your no longer hot sandwich thingy.”

“I dare you.” Jane stares at Darcy.

“Jane.” Darcy arches a brow.

“Fine.”

“Love you too.”

Jane takes a few bites as she fiddles with her contraption.

“Still staring.”

“He’s still a sight to behold.”

“You stare at him whenever you see him here. Go talk to him. Dazzle him with your wit.”

“Yeah. That’s likely to happen.”

“Where else are you going to run into him? The lab?”

“No.” Darcy huffed, fixing her mass of curls. “Maybe a bookshop.”

Jane scoffs.

“You never know.” Darcy takes a drawn-out sip of her nearly empty coffee mug. “Okay, but if I ran into the glory of that in a bookshop, I’d die happy. . . oh, and then I could haunt the bookshop, too. . . okay, Jane. New plan!”

As Darcy dreams out loud, a half-asleep man in a stained purple shirt and black apron sidles up to her.

“It’s your lucky day then, Dee.”

Darcy squeaks in an undignified manner, startled by Clint’s sudden appearance at her side. She glares at him, her cheeks tinted pink. Clint’s an incorrigible gossip. And he will definitely tell Nat, another incorrigible gossip. This will not end well.

“Where’d you crawl out of?”

“I’m on break.” Clint shrugs and sips his coffee.

“You know something, Barton?”

“I could use more tips.” Clint arches a brow at Darcy.

“Ha! You’re lucky you make the best coffee in the city.”

Clint chuckles and takes the empty chair at their table, partially blocking Darcy of her glorious view.

“I might know a little something-something about a certain possibly haunted book shop on 66th street. If you’re planning on taking up an additional post to haunt it.”

“Possibly haunted?” Jane asks, suddenly interested in the conversation and not believing a word he says.

“Yeah. There’s like at least two ghosts. They’re—well they’re really annoying. Funny sometimes but mostly annoying.”

Darcy and Jane share a look and Darcy snorts turning back to Clint.

“So, what are you actually saying?”

“Maybe he’ll be there. Maybe he won’t be.”

“But?”

“But I’d check it out if I were you.” Clint grabs the empty cups and crumpled wrapper that once contained Darcy’s Danish. “You two check each other out far too much for you both to not have noticed yet. It’s driving everyone insane.”

“Whatever, dude.” Darcy rolls her eyes, biting her lip to keep her smile at bay. “If this bookshop is real, it’d be worth it to run into him there. Haunted or not.”

“Whatever you say, Dee.” Clint says walking back to the front counter.

“Okay, Jane, new plan. Same plan. Whatever.”

“Darcy. No.”

“Darcy. Yes.”

“Wait, what’s the address?” Darcy looks from Jane to Clint.

‘Look at your phone.’ Clint signs from behind the counter.

Darcy looks down to her phone to see the address and several emojis light up her phone.

“Who put this here?”

“You know who.” A tired voice replies, muffled by the rows of books.

“Dude. You can’t put this here.”

“I can. And I did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fix it!”

“There’s nothing to fix. It should go here.”

“No. No, it shouldn’t.”

“Guys.” The tired voice calls out.

“You cannot put Tolkien in the romance section.”

“Yeah. I can.”

“No.”

“It’s totally a romance novel. You’d know that if you ever learned to read.”

“Guys!” The voice calls out again.

“NO!”

“Yes! He goes in every section!”

“Tolkien. Does. Not.”

“Yep. Every one. That’s what everyone wants to read anyways.”

“Oh my god. It’s like arguing with a wall.”

“Guys. Knock it off.” The tired voice shouts.

A barely discernable pair of ‘sorry’s are uttered without feeling. Hushed arguing can still be heard throughout the book shop that finally stops when a book is thrown down aisle slamming into a wall with a harsh thud.

“You done yet?” Darcy asks, tapping the end of her pen against the table top.

“Does it look like I’m done?”

“No. You’re never done. Even when you are, in fact, done.”

“What?”

“You started spouting equations when you were asleep. Remember? I recorded it incase it was something import.”

“I don’t remember that.” Jane eyes Darcy. “There’s no way I did that.”

“You did.” Eric taps his head. “I remember. It was odd. All your equations where correct but they had nothing to do with each other.”

Jane huffs. “Typical.”

“Nah, just proof you need more sleep, Doc.”

“I need more sleep? Or you want to go ghost hunting?”

“Maybe both?” Darcy holds both hands up defensively. “Can’t we have both?”

“Take the rest of the day off, Darcy.” Eric chuckles grabbing the pen from her.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He gives her an incredulous look. “Go have fun with the—ghosts.”

“I don’t think they’re—”

“I don’t want to know. Just call us if you need help or are pulled into another dimension again.”

“Thanks, ma dude.” Darcy bounces on her toes and presses a quick kiss to Eric’s cheek. “And you’ll take care of Jane-y?”

“Yes. Now, go before you convince yourself not to.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t science too hard.”

Darcy bites her lip, checking her phone one more time for address to the bookshop. The entrance is warm and charming. Totally inviting. Not that there was a bookshop that hadn’t agreed with Darcy yet.

The door chimes softly as the smell of fresh coffee and paper flood her nose.

“Yeah. This is a place I could call my forever home.” Darcy mutters to herself.

Not a soul in sight. Only books and a mismatched pair of leather chairs and a purple velvet couch.

Mismatched fairy lights hang crisscrossing overhead, leading to a small stage. A framed chalkboard sign reads: Poetry reading, Tonight 8pm.

Darcy snaps a pic and sends it to Jane and Eric, found my happy place.

She wanders farther into the bookshop when she hears it.

“Was the fair palace door—”

First it sounds like a whisper.

“Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Now a little louder. The disembodied voice sounded pensive, annoyed even.

“Flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Darcy’s curiosity gets the better of her and she follows the voice, stifling a snort when she hears it curse in frustration.

She hears papers moving and an irritated sigh.

Rounding a corner, she sees the source of the voice. Not a ghost by any means, but definitely something that took her breath away. Before her perched precariously on a stool is a rather large man in a rust colored sweater, his dark hair tied messily in a bun.

“That was really beautiful.”

The man looks up and blushes. “Th-thanks. I’m trying to memorize it before tonight.”

“You’ll get it.”

“I better.” He sighs, his voice dropping low in embarrassment. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, for who?” Darcy beams a toothy grin at him as his blush darkens.

He hands her his book, an anthology of Poe, open to the poem that he’s struggling with.

“It’s for my boyfriend, it’s his favorite. If I can pull it off, I’m going to ask him to move in with me, too.”

Darcy squeaks out a noise that makes him chuckle.

“I’m Bucky by the way.”

“Darcy.” She replies. “And that is possibly the sweetest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I call bull, Bucko.”

“What the fuck now, Sam?” Bucky asks, features going neutral.

“No way.” The man referred to as Sam crosses his arms over his chest making himself look intimidating in the small book aisle. “You paid her to come in here and say that. Admit it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

Darcy snorts, drawing their attention. “You two don’t sound like ghosts.”

“What?” They ask in unison.

A low chuckle is heard an aisle or two over.

Darcy points in the direction of the laugh. “Now there’s your ghost.”

“Ghost?” Sam asks.

“A friend recommended this place, said it was haunted by at least two ghosts, annoying but sometimes funny. I imagine he was talking about you two. You’re not the boyfriend, are you?” Darcy asks Sam as she draws soft lines of graphite in his book.

“Oh, hell no. He wishes.” He chuckles, holding out a hand. “I’m Sam. I can only stand that man as far as I can throw him.”

Darcy takes his hand, offering her name in return.

“What the hell man? You know you can’t throw down like I can.”

“Knock it off, guys.”

“So, is he the ghost then?” Darcy snickers referring to the voice as both men roll their eyes at the phrase they’ve heard far too often.

“No.” Sam seems to pout. “You’d think so, but no.”

Darcy shrugs and hands Bucky the book back. “Here, try to memorize it in chunks, it has more rhythm that way, might be easier.”

“Thank you so much!” Bucky’s face brightens and he wraps Darcy in a quick hug, nearly crushing her. His movements startling her into laughter and cause Sam to roll his eyes.

“Why you gotta hug everyone, man. Some people don’t like it.”

“I don’t mind.” Darcy shrugs with a laugh. “Some people need kindness in physical platonic gestures.”

Sam hums, eyeing Darcy and then Bucky.

“What?” She asks confusion written across her face.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Buck?”

It takes Bucky a moment, but he gets there. “Oh. Stevie. Yeah.”

“Who?”

“They’d be perfect together.” Sam nods, giving Darcy his sweetest smile. “You’d really love him.”

“No, seriously, who’s Steve?”

“For us to know and you to fall in love with.” Sam arches his brows at her.

“Hey, maybe then he’ll spend less time here giving us a hard time.” Bucky says, nudging Sam.

“Give the lady some room otherwise she’ll never come back here, ya crazy mutts.” Says the voice again, this time closer.

“What?” Darcy asks while Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his book. She looks to Sam who throws his hands in the air in mock defeat.

“We try and we try, Steve.” Sam says, his smirk growing into a full smile. “But we can only do so much for you, old man.”

“This is why business is erratic.” Says the voice, who Darcy is now assuming to be the Steve formerly mentioned. “You two aren’t sharing shifts anymore if you keep this up.”

“Uh oh, looks like you’ve upset the man behind the curtain.” Darcy quips, earning a fist bump from Sam and a chuckle from Bucky.

“Yeah! Good one.” Scott cheers coming around the corner, bowl of orange slices in hand. “Who’s the new girl?” he asks, offering everyone to take from the dish.

“Scott, be cool, man.” Sam shakes his head, grabbing a handful of oranges before walking out of the aisle.

“When am I not cool? I’m cool right?” Scott looks to Darcy, like she’ll back him up.

Bucky chuckles and disappears around the corner before being dragged into it.

Darcy laughs and nods, her words caught in her throat as Steve rounds the corner, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the coolest Scott.” Steve confirms, eyes tired until they fall on Darcy and light up. “Can you finish inventory in the back?”

“Can do Cap!” Scott mock salutes, shoving the large bowl into Steve’s hands as he leaves.

“Sorry about him.” He shuffles his feet a bit, suddenly shy at finding the ‘cute coffee shop girl’ in his shop. “’Bout all of them, really.”

Darcy shakes her head “You must be Steve?” Darcy smiles at the flush starting to color his cheeks.

“Yeah,” He says softly, smile as bright as she knew it’d be. “And you’re—”

“Darcy. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“How’d you survive the minotaurs that work here?” He asks, putting the bowl on an empty shelf, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I know how to get around a maze with minimum casualties.” Darcy laughs, the sound feeling like a wave of sunshine rippling through his veins.

Steve can’t help but laugh with her. He should have listened to Clint and Nat and talked to her sooner.

“Would you—” He’s interrupted with a tap on the shoulder by a guy with a creepy yet happy smile holding three pizza boxes.

“We didn’t order anything.” Steve says with a confused look. “Wait. Guys? Did you order take out again?”

“No!” Come Bucky and Sam’s reply almost in unison, followed by a late and muffled ‘no’ from Scott.

“Sorry, man.”

“Smells good, though.” Darcy murmurs.

“Eh, thought I’d just say hi. This goes next door.”

“What?” Darcy takes a step closer to Steve.

“Hi. Wade Wilson.” The man says with a sigh of admiration. “Big fan.” And turns to leave.

The door hasn’t shut yet and they hear his voice again from the street.

“Fuck! I got distracted by those baby blues. What was my line? ‘Everything’s better with pizza?’ Fuck it, close enough! Can’t I do it again? Shit!”

“What the fuck was that?” Darcy asks, holding a hand over her mouth as she laughs.

“You keep the pizza, boss?” Bucky yells.

“Or are you two too busy making out already?” Sam sticks his head around the corner waggling his eyebrows.

“Why did I agree to hire you two?” Steve asks, giving Darcy an apologetic look.

“Wanna get out of here?” Darcy slips her hand into Steve’s.

“Yeah.”

“Buck!” Sam yells over his shoulder. “They’re holding hands!”

“Ha! Nat owes me twenty bucks!” Comes Bucky’s voice from behind the stacks of books.

“Coffee shop?”

“Coffee shop.” Steve agrees, his smile faulters. “Wait, do you know Clint?”

“Shit.”

#Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes/OMC #bipspoopy19 #happy steve bingo 2019

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