#// I write one every three months and it's always a reply to Mirth

[dayplays]

My Goddess is out here shilling for me when I've spent more time staring at decade old games than I have writing this year.

[sunjaesol]

My BFB is the one for me!

juke | human!au + brother!reggie | title from BFB // victorious

If someone had to ask her who the one constant in her life was, she would have to say Luke Patterson. Which was depressing, cause the guy went through life pretending to be a 90s heartthrob and, even worse, that list didn't even include her own mother. 

Julie met Luke when she was five and he was six. Her brother Reggie befriended him on the first day of school and the rest was history. "Soul-brothers" they called themselves, which would be cute if they weren't so obnoxious together. Separate, they were somewhat manageable. Put those two in the same room? Chaos would ensue. 

He was there for it all. Weekly play dates, birthdays, the occasional holiday, her mom's funeral, band rehearsals. And when Luke had a month-long falling out with his parents, he stayed with them. 

Realistically, that should make him seem like a brother to Julie. But neither Carlos or Reggie were as infuriating as Luke was! With the stupid band tees and the stupid smile and the stupid, relentless teasing he lovingly bestowed upon her. She lost count how many times he "poisoned" her soda with salt or woke her with a heart attack by playing his electric guitar. At least she had some grip on her brothers, being their only sister, but Luke… 

Luke and her had this interesting, little relationship that she couldn't quite put her finger on and it unnerved her. Like it was an itch she couldn't scratch. (Or maybe he was just an annoying mosquito buzzing around her and should leave her the fuck alone. Probably.)

Hopping down the stairs for her midnight snack, it was no surprise to her to find the idiot gaping into the fridge like a goon. With a nudge of the hip, she pushed him aside. 

'Hey!' 

'Either pick something or save power,' she retorted, grabbing a bowl of grapes. 

He snorted. 'I don't think my indecisiveness is gonna kill the planet.'

She shot him a look, an amused smile tugging on her lips. 'You wanna say that in the cute face of a polar bear?' 

Luke stared at her for a beat, a smile crawling on his own face and shaking his head with a chuckle. The fridge fell shut with the pride of a won argument swelling in her chest. 

'So why're you still up?', he asked as she flitted around him for the bread and peanut butter. Maybe she could sneak up a butterscotch cookie too - her dad won't notice one missing, right? 

Unscrewing the lid, she sighed. 'Mendoza's class is murdering me. I really don't get why we need to learn calculus. We're an arts school, not like any of us are going to use formulas on the set of a movie.'

When she passed him to get the orange juice from the fridge, he took hold of the jar, sliding it between his hands thoughtfully. 

'Just don't overthink it,' he shrugged. 

She rolled her eyes. 'Easy for you, obviously.'

His mouth fell slack, offended, as Julie put the bottle on the island with mirth glimmering in her expression. After years of sparring with Luke, she knew how to press his buttons and took great joy in doing so. 

Suddenly leaning into her personal bubble, he sputtered. 'Are you… calling me dumb?' 

Her hand pushed his face back with a scoff. 'Don't breathe on me. All I'm saying is that you look like you have elevator music playing up there 24/7.'

When she went to grab the jar from his hand, he moved it away. 

'Uh, I think you're mistaking me for your brother.'

'No-' Tried again, moved away. '-I don't think I do.'

'You do.'

She crossed her arms, resolute. 'He's part of the gifted program.'

It unfazed him. 'Yeah. And it means shit.'

She held her palm up, exasperated. 'Just give me the peanut butter, Luke.'

Raising it over his head with an infuriating smirk, the other tugged on a curl. 'No.'

Gah! He was so dead! Did he forget she lived with three men in this house?!

Without a second of hesitation, Julie barrelled into him and jumped to catch it. Luke snatched her wrist before she could with a laugh, a hitched puff coming right after as her elbow jabbed his ribs. 

He set the jar down at lightning speed and grabbed her other wrist. Both their arms were outstretched as her foot kicked his calf, hard. When he yelped, her left hand loosened and dove for the jar. Right as her fingertips grazed the glass, a strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back. An "oof!" left her lips, the breath kicked out of her lungs. 

Luke guffawed in her ear victoriously, whooping the house together. Curse words rolled off her tongue as she repeatedly slapped his forearm to let go. She felt embarrassingly small with her feet hovering above the floor and this power dynamic was not doing it for her confidence. 

'The fuck are you doing?' 

Julie smacked to the floor before the last words were uttered, a flabbergasted Reggie staring at the pair. 

Luke stammered. 'Uh…' 

'Your bestie held the peanut butter hostage,' Julie replied sardonically. 'Did dad wake up?' 

He shook his head, a peculiar expression fixed on Luke. Her gaze shot between the two. Were they having… a silent conversation? With the way their brows quirked an lips twitched, it seemed like some "bro-talk" Julie wouldn't even like to understand. 

'Don't break your head too much over Mendoza, okay?' Reggie added, smiling at her this time. 'Just relax.'

She sighed. Relax. Because the fear of failure got eradicated with the snap of a finger if she just relaxed. 'Yeah. Sure.'

The boys finally left, silence descended, and Julie made her sandwich. For some reason, the quietude made her uncomfortable. 

***

Though Luke was annoying at times, the band he was in - Sunset Curve - definitely wasn't. Reggie, Alex and Luke created it when they were thirteen and overzealous. Reggie and Luke met Alex the same year and bullied him into a friendship, all bonding over cliché lyrics and overused chord progressions. They quickly got better though, earning a small following and a hopeful future in the LA scene. Julie was very proud of her brother. All those hours practicing the bass until his fingers bled was finally paying off with each new gig they rocked. 

And as the Molina's were raised to appreciate good music, Julie often found herself sprawled on the leather couch as they rehearsed. Reggie used to hate it, saying she was being "sticky" and "distracting", but eventually found her useful whenever they needed someone to bounce ideas with. She has co-written many of their songs. It was then that Luke was the least annoying, when he was so entranced and passionate about music that he had no time to pester her. 

(If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that song-writing with Luke was when she felt like herself the most, enjoyed life the most. But Luke was stupid and she definitely didn't feel a vibe when they wrote, so honesty was obsolete.)

'Or else you'll get,' Luke growled in the mic, music crashing together in their signature punk-rock sound. 'Crooked teeth!' 

They shot into an electrifying interlude. Alex headbanging the sweat of his forehead from his fast-paced drumming, Reggie bouncing in his heels as he heightened the bassline and Luke… was being Luke. Julie looked up from her laptop as his strumming came closer, that signature grin fixed on her as his fingers expertly glided across the neck. Her typing paused, amused. 

Why was he so adamant about "impressing" her with a riff? He knew she liked their music (and has caught her looking at his hands… ugh, fourteen year old Julie had bad judgement), he didn't have to prove himself or something. 

She smiled. 'You're going to miss your cue, idiot!' 

Ignoring her exclaim, he bobbed his head to the melody and wiggled his brows. Her eyes drifted to Alex, the blonde staring at Reggie and Reggie staring at the back of Luke's head. This has been happening a lot, Julie realised. There was this weird energy whenever they were all in the same room. For a bit, she thought it was her that was the problem, but if she was, Reggie would've told her by now. 

Now Luke was really in her face, pushing her laptop shut with his knee and making those stupid expressions he pulled whenever Grace talked to him in the hallway. Never one to back down, Julie abruptly stood up and pushed him back with a challenging smirk. The boy was seventeen; he was in serious trouble if he lacked the spatial awareness and common sense. 

‘Sing with us?!’, he pleaded over the crash of the cymbal. Behind him, Alex’ brows went so far up it disappeared into his snapback. A nervous tug knotted in her stomach at his request, like she was afraid to disappoint him, and shook her head. Keeping up the attitude she nodded at the laptop he so valiantly closed for her. 

Pulling it against her chest, she pointed at his bandmates. ‘Go sing about some fucked up teeth more!’

‘Crooked teeth!’, they all yelled in annoyance. Proud to have executed her role an irritating, little sister, she hopped out the studio. If she felt someone’s gaze burning in her back, she must’ve imagined it.  

***

There was something to be said about Grace and Luke. Though it wasn’t Julie’s business (or anyone’s, for that matter), the coupling has always intrigued her. Or lack of coupling, really. Every few months they’d find themselves at each other’s lockers flirting up a storm for everyone to see to then ghost each other again. This vicious cycle has been on loop since sophomore year. Julie felt bad for Grace, the pretty senior girl deserved far better than Luke. 

Last night, Julie couldn’t sleep. “Crooked Teeth” was blaring in her mind and haunted her dreams (and Luke’s stupid face) until she woke up in a sweat. Something was off. Like solving a math question and knowing the result is wrong but unsure where it all went wrong. Around four in the morning, it hit her. The bridge! It was all jumbled and clunky and she had far better ideas on how to craft it! She sat at her keyboard until seven in the morning, only to stop when a frustrated Carlos barged in, threw a pillow at her and yelled to “zip it!” Reggie and dad, naturally, slept through all of it. 

Now, a sleep-deprived, caffeinated and kind of manic Julie was bustling through the hallways trying (and failing) to find Luke. Sure, they butted heads a lot, but music has always been the glue. Temporary glue, but the fact remained that she and Luke were cut from the same cloth when it came to composition and lyrical prowess. (Not that she’d ever admit that. Ew. His ego was large enough as is.) 

And then she saw him. At Grace’s locker. Her breath lodged in her throat at the sight. It shouldn’t. God, it truly shouldn’t. But it did. Because Grace was pretty and Luke had one of those faces and they looked good together and it annoyed the fuck out of her. Like, who decided who went through puberty better. Julie knew she wasn’t unattractive, but she wasn’t Grace either. Tall and lithe and glossy black hair and a perfect nose. The ugly, green monster in the back of her head snarled about how her personality was probably off-putting, though Julie knew that to be untrue. Grace was, well, graceful. Genuinely kind. Gah! Since when did Julie hate on other girls? Pushing the voice down, she mustered back the previous excitement (the! bridge!) and paraded towards the pair. Luke saw her before Grace did.       

She rushed the last few steps and hastily grabbed the papers from the side pocket of her backpack. 'Luke! Hi, Grace. Okay, I know "Crooked Teeth" is finished, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and I had this amazing idea for the bridge.'

When he didn't react for a beat, stunned by her giddy attitude, her smile mellowed awkwardly. 'I mean… it's your song. You don't have to-' 

'No!', he shouted, frantic. Her brows raised in surprise. 'No, uh-' His hand flew to the back of his head, raking the ends of his hair. 'Yeah. D'you wanna go to the music room? To show me?'

Julie’s eyes flitted to a confused Grace. ‘Um…’

Luke caught on and shot the girl an easy grin. ‘Talk to you later, yeah?’ 

She shrugged. ‘I guess?’

Before she could say anything more, Luke snatched Julie by the wrist and dragged her to the nearest, open music room. The arts school was littered with them, though most had a reserved schedule. Luckily, one was empty. 

‘Okay,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ears as she slid down in front of the piano. Luke sat next to her, expectant. ‘The bridge right now? It’s fine, but it’s not “wow”, you know? I was thinking about how the verses and chorus sound so visceral and loud, so the bridge should have something guttural. Like, primal. That’s a weird word to use, but, I don’t know, have it sound dangerous? Like - why’re you looking at me like that?’

A strange expression was plastered on Luke’s face. A half-grin and wide eyes, like he was scared he’d miss something, like he’d blink and she’d disappear. In other words: he looked insane. Then again, her exhaustion mustn’t look too appealing either. 

He shook his head, that smile falling away for something more timid. All the bravado he oozed while talking to Grace just moments before, was gone for shy eyes and fingers gripping the chain around his jeans. 

‘Nothing.’ He nudged her. ‘You kinda ambushed me here, Molina.’

Her words stuttered out. ‘I- I was just-’ Zeroing back on the keys with a frown, she said: ‘I’ll just play you the bridge.’

As she did, her mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t weird, right? They’ve done this before. Collaborated, gone to music rooms to bounce ideas back and forth, played until dusk. She knew it wasn’t weird. It was always just a matter of time before the next “ambush” came, as he put it. Soon, he’d barge into her room with half a melody and forced her to finish it. This was normal.

Then why did her skin ripple with anticipation from his intense gaze directed on her temple? 

When she finished, she kept her eyes on the keys. Suddenly, his hand appeared in her vision and softly patted her knuckles, urging her to look at him anyway. He had that strange look again, the sight letting the most peculiar feeling rush through her veins.   

Luke smiled. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Wanna play it for the boys during next rehearsal?’ His brows raised with hope, head leaning her way as if he wasn’t already close enough. And he wasn’t close enough. 

Julie went on autopilot at this point, too enthralled by her emotions running wild. ‘Yeah.’ It came out breathy and foolish and if she had half a brain cell right now, she’d kick herself in the face for how dumb she sounded.  

His hand squeezed hers and then let go, that smile turning nervous. Oh God, did he notice how weird she abruptly got? ‘Cool. Sweet. Perfect. Your- this was perfect. I’ll see you, uh, -’

‘Yeah,’ she squeaked. ‘Whenever.’

When he left the room in a hurry, her face planted itself on the keys and erupted a harsh sound. Fitting, she believed. Her mind was a mess too. 

***

Then stuff began piling on and each time it did, Julie’s heart fluttered like the traitorous bitch it was. 

Like when Luke told her to tell calculus to “bite her” as a joke, but then she actually did during a test and somehow didn’t get a black out. She knew it was likely just a placebo, but the grin she earned later on when she showed him the B+ and he gave her the tightest hug was worth the pseudo-science. 

Or he found her in the hallway whenever they both had a free period and casual small talk turned to slamming each other into lockers or, more recently, pulled her outside to get boba from the place right across the street. Their boba hangouts were probably the strangest development of all, but it was… nice. Pleasant. If she ever secretly thought it was a date, then it must’ve been a sun stroke hitting her. 

Or she’d be doing her homework and he’d waltz into her room (because he was always at their house and that never changed) and randomly help her with a task or question. It was small and it usually slowed her down, but she hasn’t had the guts to turn him away either. She blamed his stupid smile. 

Or just yesterday they were all in the kitchen and she was peering over Reggie’s shoulder as he tried and failed to properly text his crush Kayla, when she said: 

‘Isn’t that weird? That you’re talking to a junior?’

Luke, who was looking over his other shoulder, scoffed. ‘Why would that be weird?’

Pointing at the emoji he should be using (the purple heart - duh!), she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You just don’t see a lot of people date outside of their year. It’s, like, an unspoken rule.’

Reggie pouted. ‘Not helping, Jules.’

‘I am! Use the purple heart!’

Luke snorted. ‘Please, if you were asked out by some senior boy, you’d say no?’

The Molina’s looked up from the phone to shoot him a weird look. The boy shrunk under their stare, fingers nervously drumming island. 

Caution tinged her voice. ‘I don’t know… should I?’

The boys stared at each other for a beat. That “bro-talk” again, Julie presumed with a roll of the eye. Typical.

‘Yes,’ Luke trailed, unsure. ‘You should say no.’

A ball of disappointment dropped to the pit of her stomach at his words - hard. Oh. So he didn’t mean himself then. Julie froze. Why would she even want that? She was not returning to her fourteen year old self that gawked at Luke like an idiot. Nope. Not happening. Just because she felt flushed and ecstatic every Wednesday afternoon when they schedules lined up, that didn’t mean her crush has resurfaced. Totally. 

But then something even more maddening happened. It was Thursday afternoon, right before lunch, when Nick approached her by her locker. She’d been fervently texting a sick Flynn to get better when he started asking about dance class and how on earth he was supposed to master a calypso by Monday next week. He was clearly stressed and Julie gave him a hug. Just as she was going to offer her help (or redirect him to Kayla, as she was an actual dance goddess), a familiar arm draped around her shoulder and pulled her back. 

Julie was fuming. Luke decided to start acting like some jovial prick as he intimidated Nick with all these terror stories about his own dance assignments from last year and that “a calypso was just the beginning.” The poor guy was practically passed out from anxiety by the time his spiel was over. She couldn’t even yell an apology as he sped off and spun around the corner at lightning speed.        

The arm fell away, Luke stared at her ridden with guilt, muttered some half-assed “sorry” and rushed off in the opposite direction. A baffled, angry Julie was left standing there. 

If Luke thought he could be some white knight, he was dead wrong. 

***

She got lucky. Reggie mentioned beforehand Luke was coming over and knew that he, inevitably, would ascend the stairs. A pent-up Julie paced in her room, feeling that fever pitch come to a boiling point. Argh! Why was he so… infuriating?! (And attractive?! And charismatic?! Argh!) 

Then she heard it. His tentative steps up the steps. Like he knew. The fact that she was seemingly predictable left her cold this time, slamming her door open at just the right moment to snatch his wrist and roughly yank him inside. 

Before he could react, she yelled: 'What the hell, Luke?! Why did you do that?' 

Luke was a stammering, embarrassed mess. Good. 'Uh- I- I-' 

'You can't just act all overprotective or possessive like that! What's your problem with Nick? He's super nice and, you know, my friend. I already have two brothers, I don’t need one more!’

'I-'

'You don't get to decide who I talk with! Or save me or whatever fantasy you were living in! And-!' 

'I like you, Jules,' he blurted. 

Julie was blazing though. 'So? That doesn't mean that-' Until the words dried on her tongue, stunned. All else she had prepared to say flew out the window. The constant fluttering in her heart hitched. Did she… hear him correctly? 'W-what?' 

A beat went by, like he couldn’t believe he actually said that, but then word vomit spewed out. 'I- I like you? Like, on and off since I was eleven and I tried to not like you - I really tried - but you're just incredible and pretty and an amazing singer and you keep doing that thing with your lips when you have a thought and it's been killing me seeing Nick shoot his shot and-' 

Julie dove forward and pressed a kiss on his rambling mouth. Stretched on her tippy toes, she saw him freeze and stare at her in wonder. Slowly, her poor heart began to beat again, fast and fond and for him and oh my God, what was happening? 

'Did you just-', he croaked. 

Shit. Should she have asked to kiss him first? Her hands didn't leave his shoulders, alarmed. 'Uh… you just kept talking and-' She swallowed back her nerves and mustered a smile. 'If you wanted to be my boyfriend, you could've just asked.'

Luke blinked, completely in awe by her words. 'What?' 

Alright. Time to take life by the balls, Molina. 

'You didn't think I might like you back?' 

An incredulous laugh puffed from his lips, looking from her hands on his shoulders and then grabbed onto her waist. Jitters burst in her stomach at the sudden touch. This was actually happening. Holy shit. But God, how could she deny that bright smile and his warm smile and that giddy feeling that rippled her skin each time they hung out? 

'Can we try that again?', he breathed. 

His grin captured hers before she could fully nod, his hands slipping to her lower back and jaw without hesitation. Her arms slung around his neck, finally getting a feel for his soft locks of hair. Heat grew from her chest to her toes, curling from bliss. She felt deliciously empty and full of glee all at once. 

Her back fell against the door with a giggle. Just as he went back in, she pressed a finger on his lips. 

'Still doesn't make it right what you did.' 

'Yeah.' He kissed her again. 'Sorry.'

She tried saying more, but each word was muffled by another warm kiss of his intoxicating lips and all she could do was melt against him. The odd lyric that “heaven was his lips and larger than paradise” passed her by, hopefully reminding her of its existence in an hour or two. 

His fingers slipped under her shirt and dug into her heated skin. They became lazier, the kisses open-mouthed and smiling and already so amazing at first try. Julie has kissed a handful of boys before, but this? Unmatched. 

Two sudden knocks against wood. ‘Julie?’

They froze, Julie slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his inevitable snicker. 

‘Have you seen Luke?’, Reggie continued, confusion lacing his voice. 

‘No!’, her voice squeaked, still affected by their make-out. Cringing, she tried to level it. ‘Uh, maybe he’s gone to the, uh-’ His lips grazed her neck, teasingly. She pinched his arm, but he didn’t lean back. Asshole. ‘-uh…’

‘Julie? Everything okay?’

‘Yeah! Yeah! I’m fine!’ Julie pushed Luke back again, this time the boy giving her some space. The wolfish smirk he was sporting was one she either wanted to slap or kiss away. ‘Maybe he’s in the bathroom? Annoying Carlos? The studio?’ Not my room!  

They held in their breaths as they waited for a reply. Her mind was failing to catch up to what she’s just done. Here she was, with flushed lips and tingling skin from Luke’s actions as her brother was meandering on the other side of the door. How did she end up here? 

He blew a raspberry. ‘Okay…’ They sighed. ‘When you’re done making out, can you force Luke to start our project? Kind of an important assignment.’

Luke’s face crashed into pure horror, mouth falling agape and skin pale as a ghost. Julie snorted despite herself, dropping her head on his shoulder in an attempt to muffle her giggles but failing horribly. Of course, Reggie knew. His dreamy nature made anyone forget how observant he actually was, yet here he instantly he had his pulse on the facts. Or he’s always known about Luke’s crush on her. Probably both. 

Her smile stretched against the fabric of his shirt. Luke had a crush on her. Luke liked her. 

Reggie’s footsteps faded away, his bedroom door falling shut. Their gazes met again. 

Luke gulped, green eyes wide and oh so adorable. ‘He took that surprisingly well.’

Her chin raised, haughty. She hasn’t forgotten about that infuriating face of his just one minute before. ‘You kissed my neck.’

That look returned as he hummed, edging closer. ‘I did.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

His face brightened at her words, weaving a hand through her and making her sigh just like that. She was gone and she didn’t even know it. ‘And you’re-’ he murmured, softly kissing her lips, ‘-into that.’

How desperately she wanted to keep this going, she has heard what Reggie said. An important project due. She shouldn’t trouble her brother like that, even if making out with his best friend was far more appealing than anything else in the world right now.

The measly words puffed out. ‘You have-’ kiss ‘-a project-’ kiss ‘-with Reggie.’ kiss.  

‘Hmm…’ Letting her stand between his legs to be even closer and consequently shutting down any rationale, Luke mumbled against her lips: ‘One more minute.’

In the end, Luke stayed for another thirty minutes before Reggie barged in, dragged the boy from Julie’s bed by the collar and wordlessly trucked back out the room. When later that night she received a text saying goodnight jules 💙 she knew she hadn’t been dreaming.

And when Luke kissed her square on the lips the next day for everyone to see, Julie had inkling this interesting, little relationship of theirs was the just the beginning.  

@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @sophiphi @ourstarscollided

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan​ and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers​ for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you. 

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members. 

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him. 

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear.  Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.  

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking  about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight. 

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively. 

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane. 

“If you think so, go confess or something then.” 

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain.  Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs. 

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody. 

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself. 

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable. 

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be. 

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down. 

--

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you. 

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way. 

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection. 

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add. 

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.” 

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

--

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you,  you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head. 

Liar. 

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face. 

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened. 

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you. 

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy. 

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder. 

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise. 

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching. 

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you. 

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out. 

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away. 

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones. 

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head. 

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad. 

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them. 

--

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you. 

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after. 

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less. 

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly. 

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately. 

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.” 

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence. 

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena. 

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai​​  @babythotshq​​ 

[lockedstuck]

moving your mouth to pull out all your miracles

April 2021 - Gamzee Makara

You don’t like the way your thoughts proceed on halo, helldog, or haloperidol, or whatever Karbro calls it. After you take it, the world feels blunt, impersonal, and grayscale, like you’re a motherfucking puppet with a head full of straw. Your brother used to love a poem about that, about some guys with straw heads, but mostly about the world ending.

Kurloz liked a lot of motherfucking things before he did nine months in Rikers for cocaine distribution. Originally it was only supposed to be six months, but he got into a fight and got three months added on. When he got out, he was thoughtful and quiet, even a word of acknowledgment seemingly beyond him. You’ll be damned if that ever happens to you, if you let the system hollow you out until you can’t express the simplest serendipity.

Right now you’re sketching your friends, quick sketches with the charcoal set Dr. Levin brought you. One of Karkat having a rare smile for June, one of Sollux and Roxy talking about programming, one of Dr. V addressing the group about healthy coping mechanisms, and one of Porrim braiding Calliope’s hair. You always feel more like yourself when you’re sketching or painting. Fewer thoughts in your head to get jangle-tangled together and create nonsense. You can keep your miracles straight this way.

You’re cool. You’re easy. You’re loose. No snapped strings, heads full of straw, or blasphemies here, no motherfucking way. The ativan caravan marches through your head, sings your sharp edges to sleep. Nurse Dolores knows what’s up, she only makes you take the medications you want to take. Your cognition flies free, like birds in a breeze, a calm going on between your ears.

Roxy turns and grins at you, her face pale as the moon against her dark hoodie and darker lipstick. She has a smile all her own, a knowing smile like the two of you are in on the greatest secret in the world. You wish you knew precisely what that was about, but everyone has their own internal workings. You can’t know and fix everything about everyone all the time. That’s what you were trying to explain to Sollux last night.

He’s a good guy, but he takes too much on. Same for Karkat. They take on everyone’s issues and make them their own. Only the mirthful messiahs should be able to do so much; humans like trying that hard is a minor sacrilege. If the pair of them would just stick to themselves, maybe they wouldn’t be so sick. You’ll fold more flowers for them - paper flowers that banish repetitive, ruminating thoughts.

You like Roxy a lot, though. She dances through each emotion in its totality, riding the waves of her feelings without fear. Okay, maybe not fearlessly, but with more abandon than you would expect. When she looks at you, you feel warmth all the way to your core, the way you are when you’re about to fall asleep all curled up in your sheets.

Speaking of sleep, Dr. V says that if you keep sleeping through the night, and keep what he calls “disruptive outbursts” about the Dark Carnival to a minimum, maybe you’ll get discharged in a couple of weeks. You’re not exactly in any rush to go home. Home means having to fend for yourself, and fewer friends to keep you in good spirits. Besides, Kurloz is home, and for all that he may be your brother, he gives off bad motherfucking vibes. You wish he’d be easy, like old times, but those days are a long way off.

You remember when you used to be able to relax at home. Relax, smoke a joint, sell an eighth or two, and have dinner without having to fend off your brother’s brooding.

Karkat takes the seat next to you, and you clap him on the back. Physical contact may be discouraged here, but there’re no narcs around to encourage law and order at the moment. You think a support team got dispatched to address Feferi wandering around with no clothes on again.

“What’s up?” Karkat asks.

He nevertheless looks preoccupied and far away. That’s unfortunate.

You take another folded flower out of your pocket and hand it to him.

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts,” you recall from a play you had to read in AP English a couple years ago. You can’t exactly remember what the play’s about, but stray lines here and there stick out to you like a sore thumb. Except neither of your actual thumbs are sore.

“That’s from Hamlet, isn’t it?” Karkat asks, shaking his head at you. “What’re you, the bard of 3 East?”

Now you’re not certain about that, but you’ll take it.

“Someone’s gotta be, ain’t they? I got more poetry if you want it.”

Karkat sighs. “Yeah, lay it on me, Makara. Dr. Vandayar told me I’m not getting discharged next week so I’m not feeling great at the moment.”

Poor Karbro looks like he’s full of thunderstorms. Maybe a calm vista will quiet him down. You pull a few lines of poetry free from your memory.

“I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk upon the beach... I have heard the mermaids singing each to each... I do not think that they will sing to me.”

“Go on,” Karkat says, looking all at once pensive and a little sad.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves... Combing the white hair of the waves blown back... When the wind blows the water white and black,” you recite. Now, Roxy, Calliope, and Porrim have stopped to listen to you. You go on, establishing a proper rhythm.

“We have lingered in the chambers of the sea... by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown... ‘till human voices wake us, and we drown.” When no one says anything, you interject, “That’s the end of the fuckin’ poem, y’all.”

“It’s beautiful,” Porrim whispers. “Did you write that?”

You shake your head in the negative. “Naw, that’s some other motherfucker’s ideas outta my mouth. I wrote a couple of my own lines last night if you wanna hear ‘em, though.”

“Sure,” Calliope says, smiling and clapping her hands once.

“My muse distills my melancholy, pins it to the corkboard with a tack. She presses down upon the pigments, bleeds my blues into the boldest black.”

Even Karkat looks surprised. He narrows his eyes at you.

“If you don’t go study art or literature, or something along that line, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Ain’t no need to resort to murder, brother,” you reply. “And while I’d like to go sit in a motherfucking college somewhere, I ain’t got shit for tuition.”

“If I have to take up a goddamn collection, I am sending your ass to college. Tout-suite.”

You guess now is not the time to inform him that you straight up flunked outta college after you kept forgetting to go to class. You sat in the grass memorizing poetry and sketching the first dandelions of March, which got in the way of your learning anything or taking your exams, or any of the shit college students are supposed to do. You didn’t mean to forget, but you’ve never been great at any routine shit.

And you’ve always had a knack for going where your thoughts take you. When you were a kid, you would leave the house and walk up and down the streets of Harlem unattended. Your grandmother used to read you the riot act for doing something so reckless and nonsensical. Later, during your hospitalizations, you learned that the way your thoughts stuttered and tangled was called schizophrenia, and doctors medicated you accordingly. They called your prophecies delusion, and you beg(ged) to differ.

The medications ground your thought process to a stuttering halt. You hated it. You hated being cut off from yourself. So you stopped taking your meds. And here you are again, with your strange thoughts and remembrances.

“Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio,” Karkat murmurs.

You grin at him. He understands more than he lets on.

June winks at you, and then walks away to the women’s side of the unit, presumably to call her father. She calls him every day at 8 am and 3 pm, like clockwork. Karkat gazes at her as she walks away, the back of her short dress fluttering behind her.

“June looks nice today,” you say to him.

 He stops staring and glances at you for a moment.

“Yeah, um, she looks nice every day,” he replies. “Not that I make it my business to notice.”

You point to the delicate paper flower he has in his hand. “Sometimes the most miraculous thing you can fuckin’ do is give another person a taste of serendipity.”

Roxy smiles her cheshire cat smile from her seat by the television.

“That’s right, Crabby. Dontcha think June deserves her very own miracle?”

Karkat reddens, looks at the flower in his hand, and takes off for the women’s side.

“Hey, Egbert!” he shouts. “I have something for you.”

By the time you see June again, she’s wearing the small red flower in her hair. Roxy gives you a satisfied little nod, then asks you if you’d like her to put your hair in braids.

“I’m not as good as Pomary with hair, but I’m alright, I guess. Your hair looks like some birds took up residence in it, dude.”

“Why, thank you,” you reply. You take a seat at her feet, after she grabs her comb, brush, hair grease, and spray bottle out of sharps.

She’s right. She’s not a thing like Pomary when it comes to braiding. You’re used to the gentle motions of Porrim’s hands as she manipulates flowers into your hair, but Roxy tugs great fistfuls of your hair into twists. It feels nice, like she’s tethering you to the present, to the here and now.

You tell her that, thank her for bringing you back, and she blushes crimson.

“Aw, I’m not tryna do all of that,” she responds. “Just tryna work through my anxiety. Dolores gave me an ativan an hour ago, and I don’t feel it yet.”

Roxy bends low, and plants a kiss on your forehead, right where your skin meets your greasepaint. Her lips are the softest thing you’ve ever felt.

She keeps braiding, manipulating your hair into cornrows. With Roxy near you, you don’t necessarily have to be a prophet or an apostate of the mirthful messiahs. You don’t have to deliver special messages to special people. You can just be Gamzee Motherfucking Makara, doing you as per usual.

[juyeoniemyhoney]

things she’ll never know

When you love someone, the most important thing that you should not do is introduce them to their crush and help them get along. Yoongi knows this because he has learned the hard way. Because truly, introducing you to Jungkook has got to be his biggest mistake ever and once things for you and Jungkook start to escalate into more than a friendship, Yoongi knows he fucked up. 

-pairing: min yoongi x reader (feat. jungkook)

-genre: angst yo 

-warnings: none really, this may be a little stupid

-word count: 2408 words

-A/N: what upppp. back with a little yoongi angst. i hope you guys like it! don’t be shy to request some ideas you’d like me to write! i like live to please people and coming up with plots or scenarios are like super hard for me for some reason. also don’t be afraid to tell me your thoughts on this one! it really, really helps me to improve and write better! 

--------

It is without a doubt that everything you do has no reason. Like literally everything you are pursuing has in some way or another been forced onto you. You did not sign up for school, no. Your mother had just dressed you up in a school uniform one day when you were six and left you in a school full of strangers and other tiny people. So naturally, after being forced into things your whole life, you have developed a hate for almost everything. 

But nothing you have gone through can quite prepare you for the shit that you have to endure today. 

Today, instead of having an engaging discussion about life during homeroom like you usually do, your classmates are scattered around the classroom, cleaning every single nook and cranny until it is basically shining. All the while, the teacher screams at a group of friends who childishly throw rubbish and spray water at each other as a means to make this laborious task at least a little bit more fun than it actually is. 

After every semester, your school deems it necessary for the students to conduct a “spring cleaning” activity. As a result, your fun homeroom sessions are replaced with an hour of cleaning; beneficial for the janitors who work at your school, but nonetheless a drab and boring activity. 

“This is so boring,” you sigh, verbalising your thoughts to Yoongi, who is silently wiping a window pane beside you. Yoongi remains silent and just nods, lips set in a firm line but expression gentle. At his silent response, you cannot help but allow a smile to bloom on your lips at his extremely Yoongi-esque answer. 

Yoongi, your best friend, is an attractive, raven haired boy of little words. He has been by your side for as long as you can remember; since you had moved in beside him. He had come up to you, shy, tiny and chubby, asking you to help him tie his shoelaces. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable and you basically tell him everything. And because Yoongi is such a good friend, the moment you told him that you found Jungkook, a fellow classmate, attractive, Yoongi had taken it upon himself to — unlike his introverted nature — befriend him. 

Which brings us to today, almost a year after Jungkook was included into your list of friends. The three of you had grown quite close in the past year. But don’t be mistaken, it took you almost three months to warm up to him, far too shy to even look him in the eyes. But with insistent prompting from Yoongi and an insane amount of coincidental occurrences, obviously articulately orchestrated by Yoongi, you eventually came round and began to talk comfortably with Jungkook. 

“Yoongi,” you call him, reaching up to his sleeve to tug on it gently. The action causes Yoongi’s heart to swell and his chest strains painfully with the inability to house the sheer amount of adoration he feels for you. Yoongi hums in response, too lost at the sight of you to process words.

“Make this more fun,” you command, frown drawing your brows together, lips turned down at the corners in a pout. Yoongi’s heart falters at the sight. 

Years ago, when you and Yoongi were four years old, only a few days after he met you, he already knew that he was going to marry you. You had run up to him in the playground, attacking him with a bear hug, surprising him by muttering a soft and shy, I love you as you tucked your face into his neck. Yoongi has never been the same since.

That moment has been replaying itself in his head, a constant reminder that his immediate thought after you had embraced him was that he never wanted you to let go. He has only fallen harder for you since; for your magnetic personality and your laugh and your smile that seems to shine so brightly that it is as if the sun had decided to bury itself in your very being. 

His unadulterated attraction to even just the thought of you only seemed to strengthen that fateful night, consisting of powerful torrents of rain and a sole umbrella. That night, (despite being under the legal drinking age) you were drunk out of your mind, arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulder and legs tripping over each other clumsily. The two of you had awkwardly, yet silently, stumbled into your room, Yoongi groaning with exertion and exhaustion after having to haul you all the way back to your house from the party that celebrated your school’s volleyball team’s win. As soon as your head had hit your pillow, lightning flashed as if the sky was snapping a picture of that moment, granting Yoongi sight of you. Love surged through him at the sight, your eyes barely open and glazed over in exhaustion. 

“It’s raining,” you had observed from the window behind Yoongi. Yoongi, too distracted by the look of pure merriment swirling in your brown eyes that shone like the moon, could only a whisper an aloof answer. You’ve always liked rain. 

He was spiralling down a tangent of doubtful supposition, trying to decide if he should just kiss you right then and there, if it would still ruin your friendship even if there was a high possibility that the whole night would excuse itself from your memory in the morning. Yoongi immediately dispelled the horrifying thought from his brain, barely registering that you had gotten up and had started to rummage about your things. 

“You should take this umbrella,” you slurred, turning back around to look at Yoongi. You stumbled clumsily towards him, as if you were a baby learning to walk. Just as you were about to hand Yoongi the umbrella, a wire had caught your foot, pulling taut and tripping you. You had stumbled forward in an attempt to find your balance, but once you realised that it would not be possible, you had tried to catch yourself on Yoongi instead, but your lack of sobriety had also meant the deduction of your depth perception, causing you to completely miss his shoulders. 

All too suddenly, Yoongi found himself on your bed, on his back, tasting alcohol on your lips. Yoongi’s brain had ceased regular function at that point and instead of pulling away, instead of pushing you off him, instead of something, he found himself kissing you. And for the shortest of seconds, you were kissing him back. He seemed to have fallen from reality and landed in an alternate universe; where you are his, and you are okay with being his. Your lips felt surreal and warm, so, so warm and he didn’t want to ever stop kissing you. But then Yoongi felt your tongue at the seam of his lips, and he was dragged out of his trance by the ankles and jolting away from you as if you were a live wire. 

“Why...?” you had questioned, earnest eyes gazing down at him, searching for eye contact but Yoongi had refused it, eyes landing on everything except yours. And too fast for Yoongi to even process himself, he was snatching the umbrella from your hands, pushing you off him as gently as he could in his haste, and practically sprinting out of your bedroom, in search of refuge that only his own could offer.

When Yoongi thinks back to that incident, he always beats himself up for dashing out of there before ensuring that you were okay first. He had let his feelings control him and didn’t even stop to think that he should have probably sobered you up first before leaving. But it is far too late to regret and that incident now serves as one of Yoongi’s milestones, the one that had caused his feelings for you to grow exponentially, the kiss that you cannot even remember. 

“How about we play tag? If I touch you with this rag, I win. If you manage to evade me for the rest of the period, you win. Winner gets a whole tub of ice cream,” Yoongi suggests, finally snapping out of his trance. 

“That hardly seems far,” you complain with a slap to his bicep. It causes Yoongi to flinch and you let out a melodious chuckle at his reaction. Yoongi’s heart dances to the tune. 

“Fine then, be bored,” is Yoongi’s snarky reply. He lets out a sigh in faux disappointment and turns back to the window to continue his interrupted wiping. Though, his expression immediately brightens when you protest to your teasing gone wrong. Flowers bloom in Yoongi’s chest and he feels a strong urge to hug you; to wrap you up in his arms, hidden away from the world in his warmth. Yoongi has to quite literally hold himself back to not act on the urge.

And so begins the game of tag. If Yoongi were to be entirely honest, he hates physical activity, of every and any sort. Which is why he has no idea why he had suggested to play tag in the first place. If he were to be even more honest, even if he hates running, he is sure that if he were playing seriously, the game would end in the matter of seconds. So, he chases you with restraint and pretends to take breaks in between the chasing. And if he ever came close to tagging you, he would shorten his reach so that the rag would miss you by a hair. It is just, Yoongi is high on the sound of your mirthful giggling, not wanting it to stop for even just a second. Not when the sound makes him so happy that he feels as if his whole body is levitating. 

Yoongi chases you all around the classroom, the two of you blatantly ignoring your teacher’s nagging. As the period comes to an end, Yoongi quickens his speed, just refusing to lose to you after realising how much you would tease him if he did. Now at the front of the classroom, Yoongi finds himself far behind you, struggling to catch up. 

Everything that happens next seems to happen in slow-motion for Yoongi.

As you glance over your shoulder to gauge where Yoongi is, you accidentally ram into someone. More specifically, you run right into Jungkook. You let out a surprised squeal when your head hits his chest and Jungkook wraps his arms around you in instinct, letting out his own sound of surprise. Yoongi’s heart, at the sight, sinks right into his gut, as if it were in quicksand. Jungkook’s expression of surprise morphs into an endearing smile and he relaxes and hugs you comfortably, arms around your shoulders and chin resting gingerly on top of your head. 

Jungkook’s scent and warmth send you into a state of delirium. Your cheeks burn red in embarrassment when he starts stroking your hair, gently combing his fingers through the thick locks. Your classmates do not care, in fact you do not think they even notice the intimate moment the two fo you are having now. It is as if the world has vanished and it is just you and Jungkook, and no one else to disturb you. In Jungkook’s arms, everything feels right, like not a thing in the world is wrong, and maybe, it is here, in his arms, that you belong. As cringe-worthy as it sounds, your ears tune out all of your surroundings and only seem to be able to focus on the rhythmic beating of Jungkook’s heart. And when your arms come up around him to circle around his waist, the pace of his heart increases and you finally know that you are not the only one who is feeling things. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, is absolutely livid, irises flaring red as he looks at the two of you hugging so dearly, so natural that it is as if you two have been hugging for years. One side of Yoongi, the selfish side, wants to rip you from Jungkook’s arms and claim you as his, as if he is the hound of hades, guarding the gates of the world the two of you have built together, preventing Jungkook from ever entering your world and snatching you away. But the other side of Yoongi, the one that grounds himself to reality should his love for you cause him to do utterly idiotic things, tells him to come to terms with the fact that you will never be involved with him romantically, tells him to just let you go, tells him to deal with his own idiotic actions. Because truly, introducing you to Jungkook is, and will forever be his biggest regret. But at the same time, how could he not? When you had gazed up at him with mirth-filled eyes, smile shining brighter than any star to exist in the cosmos. How could he not when he could basically feel your voice worm its way into his chest, festering something so captivating that he could not help but do something, anything to hear that tone in your voice again and feel the flowers bloom in his heart, a sweet, summer warmth melting him like candle wax. How could he rob you, the one person he has loved with all his heart, mind and soul of your happiness?

The answer is that he cannot. 

So, instead of socking Jungkook in the face, instead of tearing you from Jungkook’s arms and kissing you with passionate ferocity, Yoongi circles your hugging bodies so that you can see him, gently tapping you to get your attention. Your head pops out from Jungkook’s chest and you look at Yoongi over his shoulder. When your eyes lock, your arms still around Jungkook and Jungkook’s arms still around you, he whispers as softly as he can so that you cannot hear the cracking of his heart in his voice. And despite the excruciating amount of pain he is feeling in this moment, Yoongi manages to proffer you a small smile. 

“You win.”

His words refer to a plethora of things; his heart, his life, this one-sided game he has been playing. And then, before you can question anything, he leaves you to deliberate what on earth those two words should signify other than that game of tag that just decided Yoongi’s and your destiny. 

Because did you actually win or did you just lose everything?

[afandommultiverse]

The Gift - Leopold Vermillion

Words - 2006 Request - TreueHyuga

A/n - I hope you enjoy it! I had a really fun time writing this one! Leopold is aged up to 18! So, so are you lol.

Y/n POV

"Come to think of it, your birthday is coming up, isn't it, Y/n?" Leopold grinned wolfishly at his girlfriend, pumped with excitement and happiness due to the celebration around them, the celebration for him! His birthday, his coming of age day.

"It is, Leo, why are you gonna plan a surprise party for me too?" You lured him close giving him a smooch on the cheek. It was you who planned the whole thing for Leopold tonight, the director of the whole galant party. It was a great surprise party, Leopold hadn't suspected a thing, some can choose whether that's a good or bad thing.

"No. Maybe. We'll see, won't we, my dear?" Leopold's arms wrapped around you, pulling tight and leaning in closely. His hand skimmed up your waist and back down your arm, pulling your arm out and whisking you to the dance floor.

"Another dance? We just got done with five!" You shrieked, pulling your exhausted legs after him. Pure adrenaline and euphoria powered your body, swinging it around and following his steps. Laughing and tripping some, maybe even almost running into a few people too.

"Never my dear, I never want to stop dancing with you. I promise this is my last selfish birthday wish." He smiled, twirling you in and dipping you to the music. You smirked and leaned in, mirth and tease swimming in your eyes.

"I wouldn't mind a few more selfish wishes." You whispered as he pulled you up, hand slithering across his chest and resting at his heart. Your voice practically poured incentive, selfish questions, and desires Leopold had wanted to ask you for years poured into his mind as he stared into your eyes, completely suggestive and seductive in their e/c shaded wake. He pulled you up fast, pulling to hold your hand against his racing heartbeat.

"Y/n, you ha-

"Leopold!" A fiery hand came to rest on Leopold's shoulder, stopping the much-anticipated words that would have left Leo's mouth. He turned, almost giving his brother the stinky eye but couldn't help but to smile. His brother had been gone for a few months, having to go on a long expedition. Giving you a quick apologetic look and a kiss on the palm of your hand, once laying against his chest, he let you go.

You were immediately cold, already missing his insufferable heat you just learned to live with, and heat you learned to love. You watched on as he chatted with his older brother, not blaming him for being so excited, it had been months. You pulled at his jacket coat twice to let him know you were leaving and he nodded, grabbing you're pinky and rubbing at it before letting you go.

"So, finally eighteen, huh?" Fuegoleon smiled at his younger brother, who now stood as tall and as prideful as the rest of his lion clan. Fuegoleon knew he was ready, and knew he would make a fine captain one day, maybe sooner than later.

"It seems so." Leopold grinned, he was jittery and bouncing with excitement, how couldn't he be?

"You might be trying to play it off but I know exactly what you're up to." Fuegoleon looked at Leo, completely aware of his little game.

"Your right brother,  only 59423 hours and 45 seconds left to beat you in becoming the captain of the Crimson lions. I think I can't get there before 25!" He grinned like a cat, eyes glinting with just as much point and mischievousness. He loved wagering with his brother, especially when it came to how powerful he could get. It meant more training!

"You are crazy... I'd like to see you try!" Fuegoleon huffed, shaking his head and walking away a smile hidden behind his back as he walked towards other guests. Leopold would make it alright, Fuegoleon was sure of that.

Leopold turned to look around for you, his looking over every person before they found him, draped across a wall and staring at him playfully, pointing a doorway. He grinned and looked around, before practically running towards you, picking you up and running to his room for nightly festivities.

***

Your birthday was in three days. Seventy-two hours. Four thousand and twenty minutes. Two hundred and fifty-nine thousand and two hundred seconds- WHAT WAS HE GOING TO DO? He had been going back and forth for two days, thinking of what he should get you. Leopold had already finished with the planning, he knew he couldn't do a surprise party, because not only had you done one for him, you were too smart and Leopold couldn't keep anything away from you.

"Maybe Fuego or Leona could help." He muttered to himself, staring at the same paperwork he had been staring at for the last two hours.

"Could help with what?" Leopold practically jumped out of his skin, completely endorsed what to get you, he did expect you to be right behind him.

"Y/n? Oh! Uh, maybe they could help with this- this uh, work here, something about...  uh- blown up houses or something- uh what are you doing here, dear?" He pushed the pages away and turned to face you, smiling almost too widely. You stared at him weirdly.

"You okay?" You asked, coming to put a hand on his head, feeling to see if he was warmer than usual. He wasn't, only flushed and a little sweaty. You wiped your hand off on him and walked up, coming to sit on his lap sideways.

"Our mothers took me out dress shopping for my birthday gala, it was incredibly boring and so tedious!" You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and relaxing as he lifted his hand to comb through the beginnings of your hair, his fingers tickling the skin on the side of your face now and then when he repeated the motion.

"Luckily I found a gorgeous dress though." You turned your head to look up at him. His smile was as bright as usual as he smiled down at you, hand coming to rest against your cheek as he spoke.

"That's good. I'm sure It'll look gorgeous as I'm taking it off you." He whispered cheekily leaning in for a blazing kiss. You slapped at his chest jokingly, meeting his kiss with just as fevore and love as him.

Pulling apart, you two wanted nothing more than to continue, but Leopold still had decisions to make, and your mother still wanted to go jewelry shopping with you. So with one last craving kiss, you got up and left, leaving Leopold to go searching for his brother and sister.

***

"What should I get Y/n for her birthday?" Fuegoleon and Mereoleona stared down at Leopold with little interest.

"This is what you pulled us away for?" Mereoleona growled, staring at her little brother with anger but happy that he had come to her for advice. He never does, always opting for stupid Fuegoleon- who by the way, is the second born.

"This is serious! I can't think of a single thing! I've already gotten her everything before, and I sure as hell am not going to get some boring gifts, it's gotta be perfect!" Leopold crying looked at his older sibling with pleading eyes. Mereoleona sighed and rolled her eyes while Fugoleon simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, what do they like?"

***30 Minutes Later***

"And they also-"

"Okay! Leo, we got it! Let's move on!" Meroleona stopped Leopold from splurging any more useless information, already sick of his lovesick stories of you. Meroleona sat back and thought hard, she too stuck on what Leopold should get, if he hadn't already of gotten it for you, it was simply too stupid enough to get then. Finally, though, Fuegoleon spoke up.

"Leo, do you love Y/n?" Fuegoleon held Leopold's eyes, ready for a slipping leak of deceit, but found none when he strongly replied.

"Are you serious? Of course, I love them! Hell, I've loved them my entire life it feels! They are always there for me, always have been! Without them, I wouldn't be nearly as powerful as I am today. Without them, I don't think I would have ever made it this far. I can't even begin to think of what my life would be like without them." Leopold spoke with such ferocity it left him almost breathless, his chest burning with the love for you. Fuegoleon only looked on in amusement.

"Well brother, I think you know what to do."

***

The party was beautiful, walls draped in f/c silks, your favorite. Flowers of all kinds filling every vase dotted across tables and window seals, some even hanging from the ceiling. Entertainers performed around you, showing off for the guests and patrons. Music filling the gigantic halls of the ballroom, sending magical melodies swirling around the room. It had been a night of dancing and drinking, good food, and sweet desserts. Laughs and jokes were shared with good friends and guild members.

As the night grew colder and fatigue slipped into everyone's exhausted bodies, [pulling them to leave and seeking sleep in their beds and homes. Leopold had swooped you up and carried you out of the ballroom, pushing past departing guests and banquet wanderers with genuine goodbyes and courtesies, hoping to see each other again.

"Where are we going, Leo?" You asked, confused and he walked out in the night air of the castle, finding a special mage standing near, opening a portal and nodding us in, a warm smile on his face.

"To you're last birthday present, my dear." Fuegoleon smiled and walked through the portal, walking out into a forested area. You looked around, taking in the change of environment. A wooden cabin layout in front of you two, covered in vines and foliage. Fireflies lit up the entrance, buzzing around a small bridge passing over a little creek in front of the little cabin. As we walked across you watched as the fireflies buzzed around brightly, spooked and startled by the walking of Leopold's steps. You giggled as they flew around you and Leopold, some even going to the water and lighting it up, making out the shapes of fish and lily pads dotting the water's surface.

"Leo, this is beautiful." You whisper, looking up at the spiraling trees, watching the stars shine and twinkle down on you. Leopold only smiled at your astonished face, quick to get you inside and show you your final gift.

Leopold opened the door, walked in, and set you down. As you walked around the warm cabin, taking in the decorations and personal trinkets Leopold had brought, to what he would hopefully like to call your new home. Leopold watched as you took in everything, reaching in his pocket and grabbing your gift, getting down to rest on one knee. He waited for you to turn back around, looked at him questioningly, and watched the slow realization dawn on your face as he lifted the little box and showed you what lay inside.

A gorgeous ring, detailed to a royals perfection, with the stunning vermillion house sigil carved on the outside. A vermillion diamond rests between the golden prongs holding it in place.

"Leo." A hand covers your mouth as you look at him in shock and astound. "Do you mean it?" You asked, walking over quickly and staring down at the man you love holding your next step in his hands.

"I would never lie or joke about something like this, Y/n. I love you, and I know I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I can't live without you." Leopold spoke, eyes staring up at her with honest truth.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!! Of course, I'll marry you!" Leopold jumped up quickly and wrapped you in a breathless kiss, bringing you in tightly and finally letting go of all his anxiety of you saying no, no it was too early or something, but he needn't worry now.

You said yes.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

Mrs. Klinefelter’s perfume smelled as if a bouquet of roses had been dipped in mead and left to rot, and every second she spoke, she leaned closer and closer to Harry, making him feel faint. He thought he might throw up.

“–and I said, you won’t believe this, I said, Mr. Sullivan, you must forgive my daring, but last year’s donation was much heftier!” She laughed, a chirping noise that left Harry’s ears ringing. “Of course, the Sullivan vault could hardly match the Potter vault, and heavens, even those two combined couldn’t come close to the Black vaults! You are indeed a very wealthy man, Mr. Potter. Have I mentioned that the Discreet Ladies Society’s building is falling apart? A tragedy, a right tragedy! Whatever shall we do?”

Her chest was unbearably warm where it pressed against Harry’s arm. He was doing his best not to breathe, not to bring it even closer as he tried to figure out what she wanted from him. She seemed to be expecting him to say something, or to laugh, or to donate his entire fortune to her frivolous cause, or all three.

“Well,” he attempted, “that is– I am very sorry, Mrs. Klinefelter, have you asked the Department of Civil Associations for help? They’re a very nice sort, people at the DeCA, I have a couple friends there I could ask–”

“Oh no, no, no, Mr. Potter, I wouldn’t want to bother. If we could only get a few private donations then we could restore the building and it would be as good as new!”

Harry clenched his fits and almost dropped the fake smile. He was doing this for Kingsley, he couldn’t let himself forget that. “Yes, I see. Okay. Mrs. Greengrass is holding a raffle to decide the cause her family will be donating to this year, if you just write the name of your association on a piece of parchment and put it in a–,” Mrs. Klinefelter’s face shifted, her smile turned a little too wide, a little too sharp. Harry blinked. He had the distinct feeling that he was being threatened.

“Of course,” she said, pointedly, “thank you ever so much for your help, Mr. Potter, really, I don’t know what I would have done without you,” and left with her nose stuck up in the air, the horrible cloud of perfume following her.

“My god,” he breathed once she was out of earshot. It was truly overwhelming, sometimes, how annoying the old families could get; his designer robes felt heavy and stuffy around his shoulders, after hours of mingling and dealing with them. Harry pulled on the neckline, trying to give himself more room to breathe.

This was the third Ministry gala he’d been forced to attend in a week, and it was only Wednesday, which meant he probably had at least three more to go before he could lock himself at home on Sunday, away from idiot politicians and stuck up old ladies.

“No, Luna,” he muttered to himself, “hiking through the Andes looking for mythical creatures with you sounds like a great time, but Kingsley offered me a position in his reelection campaign and I’d rather stay here. What the fuck was I thinking. Idiot, frigging idiot, my god, my god what was I–” He trailed off. A waiter was approaching him, tray full of drinks.

“A cup of wine, sir?”

Harry frowned. “Do I look that bad?”

The waiter didn’t reply. Harry supposed he probably did make a pitiful sight, sweating and cursing and talking to himself, but he couldn’t help it. These parties reeked of misuse of power and too much money and managed to suck the life out of him.

Not five years ago they’d been at war, and these people’s priorities once again lay in being the hottest thing, the richest thing. It made Harry’s skin itch, made him hate the whole lot of them.

“Guess I’d better get back to it, then. Thanks.” He nicked a cup out of the tray, fixed his robes, looked inside himself for another fake smile and set out to find the next asshole he needed to sweet talk into funding the campaign.

Two hours later, after having talked to everyone on Kingsley’s list, he leant against the wall in the back of the ballroom, the neck of his robes unlaced. His job now was to pretend to be having a grand time, but he was still far too sober for that, and so here he was, a new cup of wine in his hands.

He was considering running away, wondering if Kingsley might even notice at this point of the night, when Draco found him.

“My, my, don’t you make a sight for sore eyes in those robes,” the drawl was so unmistakable that the corners of Harry’s lips pulled up even before he turned around to see him. “Who dressed you, I wonder. Whoever it is, they have impeccable taste.”

“That would be you, darling” he grabbed his hand, and Draco let him pull him into his arms. His grey eyes were full of mirth, lips pulled into the cheeky smile Harry adored, and his heart thumped so hard in his chest that he thought it might fall out if he wasn’t careful. Finally, he was here. “What took you so long?”

“Some idiot broke a vial of Dragon’s Breath in Spell Damage and six patients went into shock. I had to pull them out of it one by one. Almost didn’t make it,” and now that he mentioned it, Harry saw it, the strain around his eyes, the weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders. Even through that, he was arresting in his dark green cloak. He kissed his cheek tenderly, and Draco sighed. “Why? Missed me too much?”

“You know I always do.”

“Mmm, was it too bad today?”

“You have no idea. No idea. Mrs. Klinefelter nearly poisoned me with her perfume, a minute more and you would’ve had one more patient to pull out of shock.”

Draco laughed. “Good thing I know just the right way to do that for you, don’t I?” He leaned in to steal a kiss that was too short for Harry’s liking and pulled out of his embrace to examine the room. Harry followed his gaze, sweeping through the expensively decorated tables all the way to the dance floor, full of the youngest people in the room, dancing along to a catchy popular song.

“It doesn’t look terribly boring,” he observed, and Harry frowned.

“Well, not now, but you should’ve seen it earlier, it was all old money and— and, smelly old ladies”

Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry’s frown deepened. It made Draco laugh, hard. “Calm down, idiot. I believe you, alright? It was terrible, how did you even make it out alive? But I’m here now, and it’s time for fun,” he took Harry’s cup from his hand, drank the wine in one go and put it away before lacing their fingers. “Come on, then, shall we dance?”

And just like that, looking into the smile Draco carried in his eyes, the music sounded a bit better to Harry’s ears. Just like that, as he smelled Draco’s lovely, familiar cologne, he managed to forget Mrs. Klinefelter’s perfume. The gala didn’t seem so bad anymore, and instead the night lay promising in front of him, full of secret smiles and blissful stolen kisses.

He squeezed Draco’s hand, the corners of his lips beginning to hurt from the smile he was fighting.

“We shall.”

-

I wrote this a while ago, and it’s been sitting, completed, in my drafts for months. For a while I’ve felt like I have no voice, I’ve been struggling, trying to find it, walking away from writing because it seemed easier than to keep trying, and that’s kept me from posting anything for a very long time. I’m doing this thing now where I’m not allowed to say anything I write sucks anymore, trying to cut myself a little slack, and so I’m bringing it to the light now, even if I’m not sure it’s me. I think it doesn’t have to be perfect to be just... nice. Hope you enjoyed ❤️ 

[nerdyfangirl67]

Out of Reach - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Spencer x reader (past, future?), DiNozzo x reader (current, future?)

Warnings: some angsty moments

Word count: 1460

Request by: anonymous

“i absolutely love how you wrote "supposed to be easy" and wondered if you would consider writing another part or making it into a mini series? i also love where you ended it so if that is where you wanna leave it i completely understand!!”

A/N: This is another continuation of my Everywhere But On and Supposed to Be Easy one-shots. (A side note - I did move these two one-shots from where they had been in my masterlist to the mini-series page.) And Y/N/N stands for your nickname. As always, requests are open! :)

You woke up to a warm hand tracing circles on your back. You didn’t move for a while, instead, you just relished in the feeling of his hands tracing along the lines and contours of your back. 

“I can tell when you are awake, you know.” His voice catches you off guard but causes you to smile nonetheless. You turn around and take him in. Even though the two of you had been together for a few years now, he still left you breathless. His eyes, sparking with mirth, gaze deep into yours, causing you to blush slightly. 

“What?” You ask, subconsciously running a hand over your face and then bringing it to your hair, smoothing down the wild bedhead you surely had.

He let out a laugh, placing a calming hand on the one you had currently tamping down your hair. “No, its not anything on your face, or your hair.” He said, pulling your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. “I was just wondering what I did to have you become a part of my life? How did I get so lucky?”

You smile softly, leaning forward and giving him a deep kiss in return. “And I wonder the same thing.” You murmur against his lips, dropping a soft peck on his lips before you say, “But then I remember how amazing I am and I realize you truly are the lucky one.” You say, a light smugness in your voice. 

You start to crawl out of bed and a hand shoots out, pulling you back to the bed and into his chest. You let out a wild laugh as his hands start tickling your sides. You try to fend them off as he continues to mercilessly tickle you. It isn’t long before you are calling “Give, I give.” He stops, a smirk growing on his face. “That’s what I thought.” He says as he sits up against the headrest and pulls you into his side. “Don’t get up yet Y/N/N. Stay in bed a while longer.” His face takes on a pleading kind of pout. You give him a knowing smile, ready to tell him “no” despite his desperate look. He knows it too, because he reaches down, giving you a series of pecks on the lips, followed by a deep, long kiss. 

His affection has you momentarily forgetting about the appointment you had to be at this morning. You had just started to convince yourself that it would be okay to stay in bed with him for the rest of the morning, when you remembered the appointment, and why you had scheduled it in the first place. “I’ve got an appointment I’ve got to keep good lookin’.” You state as you climb out of his hold. You hear him let out a deep sigh, followed by the groan of the mattress springs. A short moment later and one of his hands snakes around your waist. “Alright, but at least let me shower with you.” He whispers in your ear as he leads the way to the bathroom, knowing you’d want a shower to get your day started. 

A few hours later and you were on your way home from your doctor’s appointment. You drove in a haze, your mind oddly blank. The news you had received, that you were pregnant (eight weeks pregnant) had left you stunned. You hadn’t even thought your nagging suspicion had been correct. Sure, you had noticed that over the past few weeks you had felt extremely tired, incredibly bloated, and even nauseous, but you had thought that it might have been due to all the holiday sweets you had been eating recently.

You pull into one of the empty parking spots in your apartment building’s lot, not entirely sure how you got there, but you nonetheless take the stairs back up to your apartment. You foggily open the door, dropping your keys and wallet on the door side table upon stepping through the threshold. You feel yourself drop your jacket somewhere near the door, but can’t bring yourself to pick it up as you walk slowly back to the bedroom.

You notice the bedroom is empty, and quiet, as you crawl into his side of the bed, seeking as much comfort from his smell as you could. As you lay there, an odd feeling of excitement wells up in your chest. A picture of a future, filled with images of a curly-haired little boy in the strong arms of your husband. The more you think about this future, the more you realize, it is something you want, need, yearn for. 

----

You don’t consciously make the decision to take a nap, but you realize it happens anyway when you open your eyes and sleepily blink your surroundings into focus. It is clear that you were still in bed, the darkened atmosphere of the room letting you know it was much later in the day. The warmth radiating out beside you told you that you were no longer alone in bed. You turn back towards the blanket-covered figure, wondering why he hadn’t awoken you when he had come into the bedroom. 

You watch him for a bit before you snake up a hand and run it through his soft dark hair. You debate waking him up to tell him the news now but ultimately decide against it as you watch him sleep. You knew how hard it was for him to get any uninterrupted sleep, especially during long cases and you couldn’t bring yourself to wake him up, even if it was to tell him that he would be a father. Instead, you curl into his back, soaking up the warmth he was giving off on this cold, winter night and falling back into the dark cloud of sleep.

It isn’t an alarm that wakes you the next morning, rather it’s the feeling that someone is watching you. You blink rapidly as you open your eyes to bright light and a face looking down at you. After your eyes adjust, the face comes into focus. “Tony?”

“Who else would it be doll?” He asks, humor coloring his tone as he gives you a short kiss on the lips before crawling out of bed. 

You lay there, your mind racing. The dream had felt so real. You had heard his voice, felt his hands, tasted his lips. Yet here you were, in bed with Tony, the same man you had been dating for months, and yet, you were wishing you had been awakened to Spencer’s face looking at you. You get out of bed, grab your phone and walk out onto the small balcony that was attached to the bedroom.

You had typed in Spencer’s number, which you knew by heart, before you even knew what you were doing. You stare at the number, thoughts of doubt fighting with the need to hear his voice, and not just the voice you had created in your dream. The need to hear him won out and you pressed call. 

It rang three times before a groggy “Hello” sounded on the other side. An insane sense of relief filled your chest upon hearing his voice. “Hi Spencer.” You whisper.

“Y/N. I’ve missed hearing your voice.” He answers. “I’ve missed you.”

In a moment of weakness you reply, “I’ve missed you too.” Hearing his voice brought all those thoughts of the future rushing back. Not a future with Tony, but a future with Spencer and your curly haired little boy. 

“I just...I don’t know what to do Spencer. I can’t lose Tony. He brought me back from the edge. The edge you pushed me to, by the way. I just can’t up and leave him, leave the life we built together because you come back into my life and tell me that you love me.” You say quietly. 

“You have every right to never talk to me again Y/N, but I had to tell you. And I’ll be here when you have an answer. I’ll always be there for you.” He replies. His words cause tears to spring to your eyes and you choke out a teary good-bye before hanging up. 

 You realize that you truly had to chose now. You couldn’t keep living with Spencer in your dreams and have Tony in your reality. You couldn’t keep sneaking calls and visits with Spencer, while telling Tony that you truly loved him. You had to chose between the man that had slowly stolen your heart and the man that had mended your heart and put you back together. And the scariest part was that you had no idea who to chose. You had no idea who held your future.

[hunnybadgerv]

@theoriginalladya Okay. So I dug this out of the vault, the dusty corners of the very first OneNote files I used to compile all my fic in back in THE DAY. And I know it is rough. The POV is all over the place. It has not been touched in more than 9 years, maybe more, because I think the date on this file is when I moved it into OneDrive for backup purposes.

But I found it. It does not include the actually dating part of their relationship, just the pause and the end of it. If I recall, there is a "we meet again" moment later, but I could be wrong.

There was a quick little moment where she got to meet the whole Donnelly clan and kept a promise Kevin had made to Kenneth, though that was only ever in the outline. Never fleshed that bit out much. The reason it didn't click in Ken's head was he thought that girl was named Nicky because her brother always called her Nyxy (though I abhor that spelling).

Here's the thing. And it is longer than I ever imagined it could be so I'm dropping a cut in here:

Nyx Shepard had never been anyone's definition of normal, though despite that she'd always fit the definition of by the book even before she'd joined the Alliance Military. On her eighteenth birthday, with her best and (admittedly) only friend in tow Shepard went into the family business. Both her parents had served on Alliance vessels since she before she was born. They were her only family and more often than not, she'd been right there with them through shore leave and transfers, base postings and the like. Her life wasn't measured in the typical human female milestones: she had qualified as a marksman before most girls went on their first date, she was an accomplished hand-to-hand/knife combatant by the time most girls where blushing at getting their first kiss, and when other girls were planning for proms and other frilly dances, Nyx Shepard was learning to manipulate the biotic power exposure to Element Zero had given her with an actual Asari commando.

She always knew what she wanted, knew where she was headed, and had spent her entire life focused on one goal. And one happy morning at 0800 station time, Shepard and the girl she'd been best friends with since the age of ten, Lin Apraxin, walked the quarter mile from the little apartment they'd shared for the last three months while they waited for this day--Induction Day.

The two of them had lived spartanly for the last several months on their own--relatively. Both their parents were financing the little pre-enlistment period the girls spent on Arcturus. But that was all over. They had each come to the Alliance Systems station with one duffel bag full of the necessities and they carried those same bags as they strolled through the station just prior to six a.m. Earth Standard Time. The station was relatively quiet, and likely would be for another hour or two. So the rapid footfalls drew their attention and Nyx rolled her eyes after a quick glance back. "Really?" she asked her friend quietly with more than a hint of exasperation.

Lin laughed brightly. "Looks like you made an impression on him."

"Obviously, the wrong one," Shepard replied tersely.

"Nyxy, baby, wait up." At the word baby she stopped and spun on her heels and glared at him. He smiled. "I know you hate it, but I knew it'd make you stop," Kevin explained as he caught up to her. He set his hands on her shoulders. "Look, I just wanted to say goodbye and remind you to write." He shrugged at her as his thumbs grazed the soft skin at the base of her neck.

"Really?" This was not the behavior she'd expected of him when she found out he was a weapons specialist she had been hoping for detached and entertaining. Instead Kevin Donnelly turned out to be bit of a teddy bear with a romantic streak longer than her leg. She had been hoping for a quick fling that would be comfortable enough for her to be able to jump that last hurdle of adolescence. She hadn't expected his attachment, or her own--which she didn't admit to anyone, especially herself.

"I have no illusions, Nyx." He touched her cheek softly, letting his thumb move along her cheekbone as he gazed into her eyes with a tenderness she didn't want to see. "I know you're going and nothing I can say will change this plan. It's been in the works longer than you've known me. I just want you to know that I'm here for… whatever."

All she could do was smile. He certainly is endearing. She touched his arm and gave him a quick peck. As she took a step back he pulled her toward him. Sliding his hand around her waist, he pressed her body to his as he kissed her--trying to show her all the things he had no idea how to say. Eventually, he ended the slow, deep kiss much sooner than he would have liked and he remained completely aloof to Lin's stifled giggles; he took three steps backward before he turned and walked back up the street in the direction he'd come from. More than once though, he'd glanced back over his shoulder at the sleek blonde he'd just kissed hoping it wouldn't be the last time he saw her.

"Wow," Lin whispered from behind her hand which was covering her mouth. The fringe of her ebony bob danced below her earlobes as she giggled brightly, her grey eyes brimming with mirth. "That was … quite the send off."

Shepard laughed and rolled her blue eyes at her tall friend. If you think that was something, you should have been there last night. She glanced over her shoulder once more and saw him looking back at her. Her smile widened a little. Maybe writing him once and a while wouldn't be too bad.

The girls had met with the recruiter a week earlier, the paperwork was all squared away. They just couldn't ship for boot until April 11th. Nyx felt she was rather blessed that a new training cycle was starting on the say of her 18th birthday. For her, it felt like a galactic confirmation of her lifelong dreams. As she pulled open the front door of the recruitment depot she smiled more widely than she'd anticipated. It was best birthday ever. Her parents were standing across the desk from her recruiting officer, and next to them was Lin's father.

"Daddy," Lin squealed as she darted across the room and jumped into his arms.

Her parents just smiled at her as she quietly crossed toward them. She hugged them both, one arm around each of their necks. Shepard didn't notice it at first, but when she looked at her mother Hannah there were tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm proud of you," she said softly holding Nyx's forehead to her own as she'd done since Nyx was an infant.

"We both are," her father broke in, squeezing her shoulder. Nyx looked at her dad as her mother held her close for just a little longer. "You know I've always been so proud of you."

"I know, Da. And so you know, I'm not doing this for you." Shepard was referring to the fight they'd had several times over the past few years. He would try to convince her she didn't need to do this just because of their family; both his and Hannah's families had long histories of military service and their daughter seemed hell bent from an early age to follow in the footsteps of those who came before. She'd told him she couldn't think of a better purpose for her life than to follow her father's fine example, to which he'd responded that she needed to cut her own path not follow someone else's. Though he'd known her direction since Nyx was a girl, a part of him always hoped that maybe she'd find a career outside the service.

"I know," he nodded. "Write while you're gone, or you mother is going to drive me up the wall, even from across the galaxy."

Hannah smacked him on the shoulder playfully. Nyx laughed, in part in amazement of how her parents had managed to make their family work despite the near-constant separation. "I will."

"And the occasional vid will go a long way in easing your mother's mind, as well," Hannah added. Her daughter nodded and she hugged her tightly one more time.

The Marine across the desk cleared his throat and drew the attention of five pairs of eyes. Lin traded words and hugs with the Shepard's and Nyx traded a handshake with Captain Apraxin. He had been surprised, to say the least, when his daughter announced she was joining the Alliance. He'd been proud, but he had never expected this to be Lin's path. Lin and Nyx had always been incredibly close, often the only two children on the ship at the time. Part of him wondered if his daughter wasn't doing this just to please her best friend. The other part of him wondered if Lin was doing it to appease the ghost of her mother who'd given her life in service to the Alliance. He didn't know which impetus for this action to blame, but it was a lot easier to blame it on Nyx. And the Shepard girl knew it, but chose to ignore it, for her friend's sake.

In the ten weeks of Basic Combat Training, she'd written five letters--two to each of her parents and one to Kevin, though she wasn't sure why she'd sent the latter. After that, her letters were more infrequent, but there was an additional correspondent among them. She and Lin were in the same unit up through zero-gravity certification, but they knew that after they enlisted they'd only have about three months on the same training cycle. Lin found herself back on Arcturus Station, for combat medical training, while Nyx bounced around the Sol system every few months for combat training. Her final phase in assault training landed her an invitation to another nine months of training, Special Operations.

Lin responded to her friend's news with the fully expected glee which she knew Nyx was experiencing. This was the wildest, most out of reach, dream come true and Lin was fully aware of what it meant to her closest friend. The Shepards knew what the chance meant to their daughter, and for the plans she had for herself; they knew it was what she wanted, but had reservations. She was a Marine, and at nineteen, that was all she needed. Kevin, however, was the least understanding, he couldn't fathom her elation.

When she'd arrived on the station he was at the docking bay waiting for her. He detoured her with whispers of range time, which was one of the reasons she'd gone out with him the third time. And that perk of the relationship had paid off for her in training. She'd qualified as marksman on every weapon but a sniper rifle, and that was only because she lacked much experience with that class of weapon. After the range he took her to dinner and then they finally made their way back to his place. Nyx had opted to tell him the news in person, rather than in a letter or a vid. But she hadn't found the right time to tell him.

In his last letter Kevin had extended an open invitation and a desire to see her again. She's found herself open to the idea and agreed. But deep down a part of her knew that whatever they were to one another wasn't likely to withstand her drive to achieve what she desired. Once they arrived at his apartment, they fell back into the pattern they'd developed about five weeks before she left for Basic. She found herself surprised that Kevin still looked at her the same way. Shepard also discovered that she couldn't look at him the same way; he was still the same sweet romantic that he had been but she could see something else when she looked at him--expectations. Not any expectations, but what he wanted or needed from her, and she wasn't sure how to respond. She felt it as she laid there in his arms, listening to his heart beat. She wasn't the same person anymore. He asked her about training and told her what he'd been up to. When she returned to the bedroom with a glass of water she also handed him her acceptance letter, in lue of having to find the words she opted to try this method. Despite the disconnection she was feeling, part of her wanted him to surprise her, accept it, be happy for her. But another part of her knew that wouldn't happen. It was a poignant lesson.

Why did I even come here? She'd asked herself over and over as she watched him pacing at the foot of the bed. The outline of his lean muscles clearly visible in the bluish light that permeated the small one room apartment. He'd slipped his jeans back on though not buttoned them, guess he doesn't feel comfortable pacing in the nude. "Kevin," she said studying him closely.

He held up his hand as he finally stopped. He looked over at her. Nyx was sitting in the middle of his bed, leaning back against his headboard, his sheets loosely draped over her. God, she's distracting. "Why?" it was all he could manage. He wanted her here with him, and he'd told himself when he invited her that it wasn't anything more than a chance to see her and spend a few days with her. He'd just wanted to see her again, see if there was more for them. But then she'd laid there against his chest, smiling at him as she handed him that letter then gleefully told him she was shipping out to train in a specialty with one of the highest mortality rates in the service. All the hopes he didn't even realize he had crashed around them.

She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned forward on them. "It's what I want. What I've always wanted," she admitted. He just stared at her. "Some girls liked dolls. I like guns. Some took dance lessons, I was learning knife technique. Prom," she shook her head, "private biotic training. I told you from the get go who I was, where I was going."

Nyx hadn't expected the movement or the quickness; she found herself in the pillows, looking up at him. The warmth of his body permeating the thin layer between them. Kevin just stared down into her eyes. He knew she was right. By their third date he'd found out why she was on Arcturus and before the first time he brought her back to his place he'd known she was destined for a combat specialty. And the night before she left he'd asked her about her dreams and she'd said SpecOps. Part of him had thought she was kidding, or maybe he just hoped she was kidding.

She didn't dare touch him, not until she knew what he was thinking. The kiss was fevered if a bit unexpected. He'd been hovering over her, but when she touched his back he let his body touch hers again. In the back of her mind she knew it, this would be the last time she'd see him. The hurt in his eyes when she finally looked up at him after he'd finished reading the letter had been damning. But it had to be hard hear a woman to tell you she wanted her training more than she wanted you. Kevin was more understanding than most would be, but he still thought of her as something more than she was.

Three days later she was on a transport back to the Sol system. Special Operations Designation. Nyx read the words over and over on her omnitool. She couldn't know that it was just the first step in a journey that would earn her a coveted commission to N-School after a little more than two years of stellar active duty service.

[deadlysansa]

Your prompt is: it’s Christmas season and I’m pulling out my fake Christmas tree only to find a giant ass spider living in it, I scream, and you (my flat neighbor) come running to my rescue

Thank you for the prompt! It was a challenge writing Christmas going into a crazy hot weekend but an attempt was made lmfao. Nobody proofed this for me I’m just trying to distract myself from the world like everyone else atm! I hope you can enjoy

Read on AO3.

Christmas in Flip Flops

James loved Christmas. He was a straight up Christmas fiend.

That being said, he didn’t own many Christmas decorations. Every year, he packed his bags and drove to his parents’ house for the holidays with his childhood friend Marlene in tow. It was a lot nicer than his one bedroom flat in central London where she often crashed on the sofa.

“ Ow, shit, shit, shit, shit,” James groaned to himself as a pile of junk slid off the shelf and into his shoulder.

It was 6.30pm on a Saturday night two weeks before Christmas and he was standing fully in his small storage cupboard which had become a bit of a dumping ground. Unfortunately, it was also the home to his forgotten plastic Christmas tree, so here he was, pulling it from the wreckage.

James had been renting alone for two years now, ever since his two best mates had fallen madly in love and decided James was definitely cramping their romantic bliss. That didn’t stop Sirius and Remus from demanding he host a Christmas party at his place and advising he ‘spruce it up a little’. They claimed it was because James lived closest to their favourite pubs, but he had a sneaking suspicion they were dying to get a look at the neighbour that he had maybe, possibly mentioned a couple of times since she’d moved in six months and twelve days ago. He’d also told them about her boyfriend and the heated argument four months and twenty-three days ago which turned him into an ex-boyfriend. It didn’t matter. His mates had had enough of hearing about how Lily Evans in Flat 5A was making it quite clear she wasn’t ready to move on. 

Thoughts of a certain intoxicating redhead who liked to hang out in her doorway sipping coffee and rolling her eyes at him made him distracted enough to be almost taken out by an old baseball bat making a break from the top shelf.

James’ hands finally landed upon the box in which the tree was kept and tugged it free of the dusty confines of the cupboard. Grinning at his success, James carried the tree to his small living area. He hoped it looked better than he remembered, because he only had a few strings of tinsel and the sprig of mistletoe he’d hung above his head which looked slightly pathetic. James pulled a face at the hanging berries. At Christmases gone by, he didn’t even need mistletoe for a cheeky snog but now he’d turned into someone who lingered in the lobby of his building if he knew Lily was due home.

His saving grace for this party might have to be the festive cocktails he’d made (and sampled) earlier. James’ version of a cocktail was actually a catastrophic mixing of any alcohol he had on the shelf, but fuck it, it was red.

“Hey, Mr Flitwick, how are you?”

He heard the familiar melodic voice in the hall thanks to the criminally thin walls and James stopped his assault on the cardboard box. He looked up at his closed front door, as though he could see Lily on the other side rooting through her bag for her keys. Every single day without fail, she took two minutes to find them. Every single day, James wondered how much crap she had in her bag and whether she was over her stupid ex yet.

He heard a door click close and with a sigh James turned back to the tree. Maybe he should have invited her tonight, but he’d stopped asking when she turned down his first ten invitations to the pub. Even he didn’t fancy being snubbed at Christmas.

Freeing the tree, James saw that it did look very sad and —

“AAGH! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” James shouted as a giant black house spider darted from its hiding place in his ugly fake Christmas tree. Leaping onto the couch, he was horrified to see the spider scuttle in the same direction.

“NOT TODAY, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!” He was practically screaming at the eight legged nightmare, not aware of how loud he was being or at how he looked as a 25 year old man fleeing from a glorified bug.

James lobbed a cushion and shouted again, as though a spider could be yelled into submission. He didn’t notice the door bang open and Lily Evans flying into his flat with the determination of an FBI agent in pursuit, flip flop poised, until she was two feet away from him.

She skidded to a stop, breathing heavily. James was frozen, fear completely forgotten as he stared at Lily in his flat. She had never even crossed the doormat.

A frown was forming on her face, “What the hell , Potter?” She stared at the spider, now still on the carpet. “Are you screaming at this spider?”

James composed himself, hand instantly going to his hair, realising it would be tricky to jump down from the sofa with any shred of masculine dignity.

“Um, no?” James replied lamely.

Lily looked up at him, smirking now. “You were.” Laughing, she dropped the hand holding her flip flop. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Bertha in 4C that tough guy James Potter nearly cried over a spider.”

She was practically gleeful, and James had to work hard not to just pull her up for a kiss. The only thing that stopped him confessing how much he liked her every time he opened his mouth was his emotionally buffering confidence. James refused to let his embarrassment show, and zoned in on the shoe she held.

“All right, Evans, easy on the tears talk,” James protested. “Were you planning on defending my honour with a flip flop?”

Face turning pink, Lily hid it behind her back. “Oh, shut it.”

“Tell me, what are the statistics on flip flops and self defence?” He teased, spurred on by her blush.

Scowling, Lily picked up a nearby glass and trapped the spider where it was with a pointed slam. Oh, shit. His dream woman.

Stepping off the couch, James grinned down at her.

“Thanks for saving me.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re the one in my flat, Evans.”

“Your door was unlocked! Which I’ve told you a million times is crazy, by the way.”

“I leave it unlocked in the hope you’ll come barging in armed with a flip flop,” He said with a mocking seriousness.

It was at that moment he realised he was standing very close to her, and she smelled so bloody nice and looked unnervingly good in a thick knitted jumper bearing Santa’s face and soft blue jeans.

Lily’s mouth twitched then, “Is that right?”

“You never come over when I’ve asked you, I figured I’d trick you into rescuing me,” He answered smoothly, not being able to conceal a smile at their awareness of his bullshit.

Lily’s emerald eyes glittered with mirth until she looked up and suddenly leapt away from James like she’d been electrocuted. He missed her instantly and she was a metre away. ‘In trouble’ was an understatement.

“Sorry,” She mumbled, tucking her hair behind both ears. “Mistletoe.” Lily pointed a delicate finger toward the ceiling. James followed her gaze and tried not to let his heart sink all the way down to his knees.

He raised his brows, “Sorry? It’s just mistletoe.”

“How’s Marlene?” Lily asked abruptly. Seemingly unable to meet his eye all of a sudden, she stared at the trapped spider that James was diligently ignoring.

Now the poster boy for bafflement, he shrugged, “She’s fine,” James said quickly. “Are you friends?”

Lily’s face was turning steadily pink and she laughed nervously, “Not really. Don’t worry, I’m not spying on you for your girlfriend or anything.”

The sentence was so funny to James that he burst out laughing. He didn’t know why Lily looked so scandalised, it was a good joke.

Lily’s embarrassment was morphing into annoyance and she folded her arms, “Why are you laughing?”

That’s when it hit him. His laughter died and he fixed her with an incredulous stare.

“Do you think Marlene is my girlfriend? Marlene?”

Lily’s eyes flickered, “It’s a very logical assumption to make. She always sleeps here! She goes to your parents’ house with you!” .

James guffawed, his mind racing to wrap around this new predicament. “Yeah, we grew up together! Mar’s parents live next door to mine. She sleeps on the couch after a night out so she doesn’t have to drive home.”

Lily opened her mouth to retort, but the truth struck her and she closed it.

“Oh,” She bit her lip and James took a measured breath. She was relieved. He couldn’t believe he was about to ask what he did until he heard the words.

“Wait, does my relationship status… matter to you?”

Lily covered her face with both hands. “Shut up, 5B,” she said through her fingers, voice muffled.

James grinned, gently prizing her hands apart. Her skin was warm and soft as he slowly slid his fingers between hers, giving her the option to pull free.

“I asked you out multiple times. You should have said yes,” James said, not caring that his voice sounded practically yearning.

Lily watched their interlocked fingers, “I thought you were in a relationship and felt sorry for me for being freshly single in a new area.”

James huffed a laugh, “I definitely did not feel bad. Evans, I’m ashamed to say I was bloody ecstatic when you got dumped.”

Emerald eyes finally met his in indignation, “Hey! I dumped him .” Lily chewed her tongue. “It was over as soon as I realised I fancied my neighbour more than my boyfriend.”

James’ grin was now positively shit-eating but he didn’t care. Lily Evans fancied him - apparently, she had for a while. His gorgeous, mad, funny neighbour who yelled when his shoelaces were undone in the post room and ran to defend him when he screamed like a child at a spider.

James stepped into her space so that the tip of their shoes were aligned. Lily inhaled swiftly, her mouth dropping open before she bit the inside of her cheek.

“James, why do you think I stand in front of my door so long everyday when I get home?”

James smirked, so close now that their shallow breaths mingled, “You can never find your keys in that giant bag.”

“I keep my keys in my pocket,” Lily said simply, gaze flickering to his lips in a way that made his blood hum. “I just mess around in case I catch you coming in or out. All so I could share thirty seconds with you.”

“Well, next time you want to mess around,” James said in low voice, tightening their linked fingers to pull her tantalisingly closer. “You can come straight to me.”

She smiled softly, her eyelids almost closed in a dreamlike state, “Only if you lock that bloody front door.”

Unable to resist any longer, James bent down to catch Lily’s lips with his own and she responded in kind, surging upwards into him with an urgency he could only have dreamed of. Unlocking their hands, she plunged hers into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that made him groan, and he wrapped both strong arms around her waist so she was lifted off the ground.

This was bliss. Happy fucking Christmas.

Suddenly, Lily pulled back just a fraction.

“James,” She whispered, her breath skating over his mouth. “I just kicked over the spider glass.”

Right, the spider that had wingmanned him here . He was still absolutely terrified of the thing.

James tightened his grip around Lily and pressed his forehead to hers, “Get the flip flop.”

[excindrela]

Can I request some vav make out or smut story that will be unfortunately interrupted by other members walk in in the middle of everything and don't stop teasing them about it. With ayno or baron.

Hello Anon!! OMG- so sweet of you to request something!! I never get requests!!  Thank you so much!!

Ok, you gave me a choice, and since I usually write Ayno, I decided to write BaRon! I don’t know if this was what you were looking for, but I hope you like it!! 

Pairing: BaRon (Chunghyeop) of VAV x female reader (with a cameo by the rest of VAV)

Word Count: 1496

Warnings: Cussing, making out

2020 had been hell on your relationship. First your boyfriend left on a 12 week tour right before Valentine’s Day – only to get stuck in South America and Puerto Rico before his group finally retreated home to shelter from the Corona virus. But then they had been locked up in quarantine for 2 weeks because they had been outside the country… and then the agency had them sheltering in place for another month. So, when the “no visitors” restriction was lifted, suffice to say you were desperate for some physical contact.

It wasn’t like Chunghyeop wasn’t desperate too. But they were staying secluded, and the boys were busy working on a comeback…and then the agency decided to move buildings. Getting alone time together was hard anyway: you had three roommates and he had six…but your boyfriend was a little devious.

Your sweet BaRon had it all figured out. “Ok! Here’s the plan: Jacob is taking everyone out for BBQ. I’m going to stay for the first course, and then I’m going to leave and come get you from work. We can go to the old building- no one will be there. Dinner will last at least another hour, and then the guys will go back to the dorm. We can get a couple hours before anyone starts looking for me.”

It went off without a hitch. He left the restaurant and picked you up in an Uber right as you finished work. His thumbprint passed you into the dark, silent, red brick building. You could still see the outline where the A-Team Entertainment letters and the banners with the boy’s pictures had hung on the wall. It seemed a little sad.

 You climbed the silent stairs and entered the still, shadowed practice room. BaRon connected his phone and suddenly the sound system sprang to life with Bruno Mars’ “Versace On the Floor”. He twirled you around before pulling you against him to sway in the darkness. Warm hands & strong arms pressed your body against his as he began leaving soft kisses on your neck.

“I missed you jagiya”, he whispered in your ear before he ghosted kisses all the way down to your shoulder. You sucked on his earlobe as you slid your hands down his well muscled back and on to his thicc ass. He moaned as he fit his mouth to yours. Your tongues fought for dominance with kisses so hot and desperate you almost didn’t feel him glide the zipper of your dress down and the fabric slither to the floor.

Now Camila Cabello was telling you that half of her heart was in Havana, but your whole heart was right here in this deserted dance studio pounding in time with the beautiful man who was very sensually cha-cha-ing you backwards toward the couch that sat in the corner of the studio, while he undid the clasp of your bra with one hand. You admired his coordination as he casually tossed your bra over his shoulder without missing a beat.

You had managed to get his shirt unbuttoned – but not off. You did manage to get his pants undone, and they fell to his ankles in a sudden rush causing you to fall backward onto the soft cushions with BaRon’s luscious body on top of you. No complaints: you’d always had a fantasy about fucking in the studio, and now here you were. Totally worth waiting for.

One of the advantages to dating a dancer was his incredible sense of rhythm. You were enjoying that skill immensely as Chunghyeop’s hardened body ground against your heat in time to Taemin’s “Want” blaring from the speakers. You moaned loudly; head clouded in a love-drunk fog…

Until you were blinded by every halogen light in the room snapping on and your ears assaulted by a high-pitched scream. You let out a matching high-pitched scream in response, as you took in Ziu’s wide eyed horrified expression. “It’s not what it looks like!” you yelled. “Yes, it is. It’s exactly what it looks like!” BaRon replied.

At that moment, alerted by the inhuman sound Ziu was still making, Van, Jacob, Ayno & Lou rushed through the door. They spent half a second looking around in confusion before spotting the two of you on the couch. You knew you should have done something, but you just laid there in your lacy underwear, trapped under BaRon, like a deer in headlights.

Van started laughing hysterically as he turned around and walked to the far corner of the room, holding his sides as he dropped to his knees and pounded the floor, unable to contain his mirth. You felt your face growing hot.

“AAAAHHH!!!”, Ayno cried, covering his eyes, “Chunghyeop-hyung…you should be doing this somewhere alone!!”

“We were alone until you idiots showed up!” BaRon retorted, “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be going back to the dorm after dinner!”

“I forgot my textbook and Ace wanted some sheet music he was working on.” Lou supplied.

As though summoned by the mention of his name, Ace finally strode through the door with the boys’ dog, Cash, hot on his heels. “What the-“ he began as he took in the situation and then spotted the two of you still laying immobile on the couch. “Oh fuck…” he said with a roll of his eyes as he turned and exited the room again.

“Almost…” BaRon mumbled.

Lou looked at the two of you in disgust. “What made you think this was a good place to go for it? We sit on that couch hyung!”

“Well, we used to,” Ace responded dryly as he re-entered the studio.

While everyone was distracted, Jacob had wandered to the middle of the studio and retrieved your discarded bra and examined it, a devilish smile creasing his lips when he had spotted the tag with your cup size. He was now surreptitiously peeking around Ayno trying to get a look at what filled them.

“Cobi! What the hell are you doing?? STOP STARING AT HER!”, Ace thundered, his voice tinged with exasperation as he reached up and smacked Jacob upside the head.

Jacob just grinned, but you turned eleven shades of red and tried to hide your face with your hands.

That seemed to trigger Ayno’s sense of propriety, and he unzipped his flame-sleeved Palm Angels hoodie (the one that cost more than you made in a month), and came over, head turned to the side and eyes averted, to wedge the jacket between you and BaRon and save some shred of your modesty. His chivalrous gesture was immediately ruined, however, as he whipped out his phone and leaned in for a selfie with the two of you. You laid there wide eyed & horrified as BaRon smiled and threw out a peace sign, and you heard the shutter click.

“Dammit Ayno!!” you shrieked as he somersaulted away from you, holding the phone you were desperately trying to snatch just out of your reach. “I swear- if that ends up on your Instagram, I will break both your ankles and you won’t dance for a year!!,” you threatened vainly against the sound of his laughter.

A low growl caused Ayno’s laughter to abate and BaRon to lift his torso and crane around slightly as you leaned out from underneath him to see Cash in the middle of the room…with your dress in her mouth. Van was slowly advancing on her- hence the growling. He reached out lightening quick to grab one end of the fabric, but Cash wasn’t letting go. “Cashie! Cashie! No! Give! Give!” he commanded as the Sharpei tugged and shook her head back and forth. Seeing Ziu start to sneak up on her, she gave a forceful yank while hopping backwards. There was a horrific ripping sound as the dress tore apart and the victorious canine darted between Ziu’s legs and bolted out of the practice room and down the stairs with her prize. “Cash! No! Sit!”, Van hollered as he ran out of the room to give chase, with Ziu right behind him.

You sighed. “I liked that dress. I wore it twice, and now it’s a dog toy.”

Lou shook his head. “That’s it. I’m out. Have fun.”, he said as he quit the room.

“C’mon pabo, let’s go”, Ace said looking unsurprised that both Jacob and Ayno responded to the insult by moving toward the door, “Let’s leave loverboy to it.”

“At least I have someone to make out with!” BaRon called.

Ace laughed, narrowed his eyes, and proceeded to yank his friend’s pants completely off, swinging them over his shoulder as he walked out the door with them.

You were suddenly alone again, and you both burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry”, he said.

“That’s ok. They’re never going to let us live this down, are they?” you said, still giggling.

Chunghyeop’s smile was still huge, his eyes little upside-down crescents, “Nope!” he said cheerfully, “This will live on forever! …but I think we should take our chances with your roommates from now on.”

[yesloverboy]

Is There Love on Mars? (Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x Reader)

Requested: Anon! 

“I have a request, could you please do reader drunkenly confessing to Mick and him taking care of her the rest of the night and them getting together after ❤️ I absolutely love Mick and I'd love to see your take on it if possible”

Note: The Mick request is finally here! Writing for Mick is honestly so much fun and I’m super thankful that you requested this. I hope this is what you had in mind!

word count: 3,399

 By the time you were finally able to arrive to the show’s afterparty, it was already in full swing. As a bartender from the venue, it wasn’t often that you got invited to hang with the bands who played while you worked. Mötley Crüe, however, was an exception. The boys were back in town after a long tour, and they’d be damned if they weren’t going to invite their favorite bartender out.  

 When you first met, the boys had been regulars just like everyone else– a group of scruffy punks looking to start a band that would take over the world. The usual L.A. stuff. Really you hadn’t thought much of them, and appreciated the fact that they would come around every so often just to see you. The three boys flirted relentlessly, always claiming that they would remember you when they finally got a guitarist and became big rock stars.

 Much to your amazement, they actually did. When the boys finally found a guitar player, the first thing they did was come to your bar to celebrate. Considering Tommy and Vince were still teenagers, and Nikki in his early twenties, you were surprised to see them dragging along a slightly older guy with shaggy black hair and a bored expression. Of all of the band guys and aspiring musicians you had met during your time behind the bar, you had never seen a guy quite like this one. Tommy introduced him to you as Mick Mars– a name that quickly rolls off the tongue. A name you wouldn’t mind saying over and over again.

 As the night went on, Tommy, Vince, and Nikki eventually ended up getting jerked out of the venue for causing a brawl in the middle of the dancefloor. You figured that Mick would end up leaving with them, but instead he took a seat in front of you at the bar. That was the night the two of you started talking. He had been reluctant to hold a conversation at first, but after realizing you had no interest in the mainstream trends, he quickly warmed up to you. The two of you had talked about everything from your favorite music to your most embarrassing childhood memories. You eventually learned that Mick wasn’t as cold as he seemed around the other guys, he just cared about his craft so much that the rockstar lifestyle didn’t interest him in the same way.

 Mick wasn’t like all the other wannabe rockstars that rolled in and out of the club every night, in fact, he was the opposite. He was all talent and no talk rather than the other way around. With Mick being the missing link, Mötley Crüe became a reality. Pretty soon the boys weren’t just visiting you at the bar, but playing the actual venue. Unlike everyone else, you weren’t shocked to find that Mötely Crüe was dramatically breaking the mold. The three younger members already had the drive to do something amazing, all they needed was a guy like Mick to balance them out.

 With Mötley Crüe becoming increasingly more popular, you ended up seeing the boys less and less. Although you missed their chaotic visits and flirtatious banter, you found yourself missing their shy guitarist most of all. Unfortunately, you didn’t realize your feelings for Mick were becoming more than platonic until it was too late. When you caught the news from Nikki that Mötely Crüe was embarking on a six month tour, it felt like an icy stab to your gut.

 That night, Mick had stayed with you long after all the leathered up punks had left, offering kindly to walk you home when you’d finished closing up shop. The walk home had been pleasant, and you did your best to pretend that this wasn’t going to be the last time you’d see him. Obviously he wouldn’t be gone forever, but it was difficult for you to believe that he’d actually remember you after seeing what the rest of the country had to offer someone with his level of talent.

 When it had been finally time to go inside, you noticed a softness in Mick’s eyes that he only seemed to reserve for your late nights and long conversations. You wanted to invite him inside, but felt it was too risky. Not only were you unsure if he felt the same way, but you felt as though he deserved better than to have a bartender holding him back.

 For the following six months, you deeply regretted not suggesting that Mick come inside. The longer he was away, the more you discovered that Mick was truly irreplaceable. When your boss had told you that the Crüe boys would be returning to L.A. to play a homecoming show after their tour, you were over the moon with excitement. You vowed that, no matter what happened, you would tell Mick about your feelings. The way you saw it, you pretty much had nothing to lose– he would reject you, go back on tour, and you could try to forget it ever happened. Simple as that.

 Except that, now, as you step onto the law of the house where the afterparty is being held, it feels a lot more complicated than that. You wade through the small crowd of partygoers gathering on the lawn and step tenatatively through the front entrance. The place is teeming with band groupies and musicians, each pining hopelessly for the attention of the Mötley Crüe boys.

 As you scan the living room’s smokey haze for a familiar face, a loud and enthusiastic voice calls to you from the kitchen.

 “Hey Y/N! We thought you’d never show!” Tommy beams from behind the kitchen counter, holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s up to the ceiling triumphantly.

 Nikki gives you a wry smile as you approach the terror twins, holding a glass of whiskey in your direction. “Straight up– just how you like it, boss,” he winks.

 “You’re too much,” you chuckle, feeling grateful that things still felt normal between you and the guys despite their newfound fame. “Where’s Vince?”

 “Oh you know, just getting to know some of the fans,” Nikki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 It was no secret that Vince had always been distracted by whatever was bright and shiny, especially if the glittering object of his obsession happened to be a pretty woman. Tommy and Nikki were no exception to going crazy over any girl with a pulse, but they liked to at least break in the evening a little more first.

 “Aren’t you gonna ask about someone else?” Tommy shoves your shoulder with a large hand, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

 Eyes wide, you nearly choke on a sip of neat whiskey. The alcohol burns almost as much as your face does at Tommy’s question. How the fuck does he know?

 “Oh, you mean Mick?” you ask, trying your best to play it as dumb as humanly possible. Nikki and Tommy exchange an incredulous look– apparently your acting isn’t as good as you initially hoped.

 “Yeah nice try, Y/N,” Nikki taunts, “we might be a bunch of morons, but we aren’t that stupid.”

 “Speak for yourself, Nik,” Tommy snorts, apparently not feeling too keen on being called a moron. Although, you’d argue he probably deserves that title the most.  

 Nikki bulldozes over Tommy’s concern and continues to grill you about Mick. “Anyways, we’d noticed that Mick had been a particularly mean bastard all tour–”

 “And we figured it’s because he misses you!” Tommy finishes, in true twin fashion.

 “Oh yeah? And what makes you think I missed him, huh?” you challenge, refusing to believe that it looked like anything had been going on between you and Mick. You certainly want there to be, but there’s no way he actually feels the same way, right?

 Tommy and Nikki instantly burst into a fit of laughter, holding each other like two schoolboys and gasping for air. You down the rest of the whiskey in your glass to keep from completely losing your fucking mind. If you don’t keep yourself occupied somehow, you just know you’ll end up punching on of them in the throat.

 “You’ve–you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Nikki pants, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

 Tommy refills your glass as a form of a peace offering. “Isn’t is obvious, Y/N? You two aliens are totally fucking in love. I know it when I see it.”

 You consider your options, reminding yourself that you had, in fact, made an internal promise that you would tell Mick how you felt– no matter what the outcome may be. There’s a possibility that if you tell Nikki and Tommy the truth, maybe they could help you. The prospect of Mick actually reciprocating your feelings becomes far too enticing, and you find yourself relenting before you can even give the matter a second thought.

 “Okay,” you begin, eyeing the boys carefully, “say I was, ya know, in love or whatever . . . how would I tell him?”

 “Yes!” Tommy exclaims, jumping into the air with both fists raised victoriously, “I knew it, I fucking knew it!

 Nikki high-fives Tommy and sticks his head around the corner and into the hallway. “Hey Vince! You owe us 100 bucks!”

 Your mouth falls open in complete and utter astonishment. “Vince, too?!”

 “Hell yeah, dude,” Tommy shrugs, “We’ve been betting on it since we brought Mick around to the bar. You’re both clearly Martians.”

 “You motherfuckers,” you hiss, “does Mick know?”

“Oh of course not,” Tommy raises his hands defensively, not really knowing how to handle your frustration, “Mick may be a smart guy, but he wouldn’t know a pretty girl flirting with him if it smacked him in the face.”

“He ignores us, mostly,” Nikki adds.

 “What the fuck am I going to do now?” you groan, truly believing that this may be one of the most humiliating nights of your adult life.

 “You have to tell him!” Tommy insists, practically shaking your shoulders with urgency. “If you don’t we will.”

 “You honestly can’t be sure he’s even interested in me! Like you said, he ignores you guys.”

 Nikki looks at you, his eyes sparkling with a deviousness that you’re all to familiar with. “I have an idea . . . how about you party with us tonight, and if you can keep up, we won’t say a word. It’ll be your choice.”

 Tommy opens his mouth to protest Nikki’s offer, but Nikki elbows him hard in the stomach. Keep up with Mötley Crüe? You’re a bartender, so it’s obvious that you can hold your liquor pretty well, but drinking with the boys felt like self-assured destruction. On the other hand, you wanted to be the one to tell Mick and you desperately didn’t want these loudmouths to jeopardize your chances even more.

 “Deal,” you say, not allowing yourself another moment to second-guess your decision.

 “Let’s get this party started,” Nikki proclaims, grinning wickedly.

 Looking back, deciding to drink alongside the two wildest members of Mötely Crüe was a bad idea. They say hindsight is 20/20, and now that you’re six drinks and two shots in, you’re really starting to feel the consequence of your stupidity manifesting in your sluggish movements and watery vision. Regardless of Nikki’s obvious scheme to sabotage your ability to make good choices, the boys seem to be happy having you out from behind the bar for once. You had been so used to seeing them at work that you nearly forgot that the Crüe boys had become actual friends.

 As a part of your penance for agreeing to drink with Nikki and Tommy, they had ended up dragging you out to backyard to build a makeshift bonfire with some other scrappy musicians from their tour. While the boys are occupied, you see it in your best interest to go inside and get some water. The night isn’t even close to being over, and if you are expected to hold your own against the terror twins you might as well try to increase your chances.

 The walk to the kitchen is treacherous, to say the least. Walking around on the verge of being absolutely wasted is definitely an activity you found yourself being deeply out of practice in. As you eventually round the corner to step into the hallway, your body rams into another person accidentally.

 “Oh my god, I am so sorry–” you start apologizing profusely, but are stopped dead by a familiar, glacial stare. Mick Mars is standing in front of you and, if you were being honest, he looked less than happy.

 “Mick I–I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean to,” you stumble over your words frantically, wanting to touch his arm but finding yourself afraid he might burn you.

 Suddenly, Mick’s eyes soften with recognition as he realizes who exactly almost knocked him over. “Y/N, what are you doing here? I thought you had to work.”

 You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and propped your unstable form up on the wall next to him, allowing all your weight to fall on your shoulder.

 “My, uh, boss let me close out early and, uh–uh I made a deal with Nikki that I would drink with him and Tommy. . .” you trail off, noticing that your drunken brain has already given away far too much.

 “A deal? A deal for what?” Mick raises an eyebrow inquisitively, clearly untrusting of his bandmates’ motives. “You know, you don’t have to do anything those idiots–”

 “No!” you practically shout, unable to control the volume of your voice, “It’s nothing, er, nothing like that– actually, I should probably get going now.”

 Against your better judgment, you turn to exit and end up spinning around far too quickly for your impaired motor skills to catch up with your brain. Stumbling forward, you fall to the carpet in a heap of regret and humiliation.

 “That’s it,” Mick sighs, “you’re coming with me.”

 Mick takes you by both of your wrists and hoists you up off the ground and onto your feet. You hiss under your breath as you notice the rugburns forming on the knobs of your knees, not remembering falling quite that hard. Mick pulls you to his side, throwing your right arm up over his shoulder so he can support you properly.

 In all the time the Crüe boys had visited your bar, you had never gotten this close to Mick. You try to remain calm, but your heartbeat thuds violently in your ears. Eventually, you and Mick end up in the empty bedroom that he’d apparently been hiding out in for the night.

 “Sit,” he says firmly, resting your unsteady body onto the bed. You comply, feeling far too embarrassed and nervous to attempt anything else in your current state of being. Mick mumbles something under his breath and ducks out of the room for a brief moment. Your head is swimming and your feels face is flushed from a night of heavy drinking and acting like a fool in front of, quite possibly, the loveliest man in the world.

 God I am so fucking stupid, you chastise yourself, burying your face in your hands. Your pity party is soon interrupted by the sound of Mick coming back into the room, the music and commotion from the ongoing party leaking in for a brief moment before being shut out once again.

 Mick holds out a glass of water and painkillers for you to take. “For you,” he says, attempting to give you a reassuring smile.

 You accept, feeling more than grateful that Mick isn’t actually mad at you for completely disrupting his night. “M’ sorry,” you mutter, popping the pills into your mouth and gulping down some water.

 “It’s okay,” Mick’s words are sincere and your heart nearly skips a beat as he plops down next to you on the edge of the bed. “But, you have to tell me why Nikki and Tommy were making you do this.”

 You cringe at the hint of hostility that returns to Mick’s voice at the mention of Nikki and Tommy. Sighing, you set the glass of water down on the nightstand beside you and flop backward onto the bed. The springs bounce in protest under your dead weight, and for a moment you hope that they may launch your body through the ceiling and into outer space.

 “If I tell you . . . you’re not gonna be happy.”

 Mick lays down next to you, his movements gentle and calculated. “Try me,” he finally replies, turning his head in your direction.

 “Well, they wanted to tell you something about me but I uh . . .” try as you may, you can’t quite make the words come out like you want them to.

 At last, you turn and face Mick, becoming instantly mesmerized by the man before you. From where you are lying, it seems as though he holds the entire galaxy in his eyes; their depth and beauty equally unfathomable. It could be the alcohol racing anxiously through your bloodstream, but something about the tenderness in Mick’s face tells you that everything is fine. It’s always been fine.

 “I–uh. . .” you try again, still feeling as if you heart might jump right out of your throat and run out the door. “I think I love you.”  

 Mick suddenly gives you a broad smile that you didn’t know he was even capable of, and you find yourself wishing you had the opportunity to put it there every day.

 “I know,” Mick pokes your stomach playfully, sending you into a fit of giggles.

 “Oh come on!” you laugh, “Did everyone know but me?”

 Mick just rolls his eyes affectionately and pulls you to his side. You snuggle into him and rest your head on his chest, taking in a deep breath. His scent is sweet and comforting, like a warm wind at the beginning of autumn.

 “I know I love you,” Mick says, kissing the top of your head.  

 That morning, you awake to the feeling on Mick’s fingers combing gently through your hair. Letting out a hum of satisfaction, you bury your head into the crook of his shoulder, not ready to come back down to earth. You aren’t sure when exactly you’d fallen asleep last night, but felt thankful that Mick had stayed at your side regardless of your drunken behavior.

 “Good morning, you,” Mick continues to pet your head subconsciously, holding you close.

 You are just about to reply, when a sharp pain in your head pierces right through your thoughts and digs directly into your brain. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you hiss, using your free arm to grab at the side of your head protectively.

 “Not quite, but your close,” Mick chuckles, unable to resist the opportunity to tease you after the stunt you pulled the night before.

 You roll your body on top of Mick’s in protest, doing you best to crush him beneath your weight. “You’re so much hotter when you don’t talk,” you bite back, recalling all the times you and Mick would tease each other during your long nights at the bar.

 Rolling atop of Mick put you only a few inches away from his face, making your heart stop as your eyes made contact with his. As you stare at Mick, you notice the way that his eyes begin to wander towards your lips as a subtle flush of pink colors his pale cheeks.

 Realizing this is your moment, you gingerly lean in and allow your lips to meet his. Mick kisses you back, the movements of his mouth hesitant and shy as both your hearts pound audibly against one another. You can help but smile into the kiss, feeling delighted in the fact that you could make Mick just as nervous as he makes you.

 When the both of you finally separate, Mick is gazing up at you as if you were the one responsible for the sunrise that morning.

 “So, what happens now?” you ask, already having a pretty good idea of what the both of you want.

 Mick smiles wistfully, “I guess we fly off to Mars.”

 Grinning back, you pull Mick into another kiss, feeling the happiest you had ever been in your life. If you and Mick ever end up leaving this bedroom– you’d have to thank Nikki.

Masterlist

[kmomof4]

Time and Again A new fic by @kmomof4

It’s HERE y’all!!! I’ve been working on this fic since May and I am soooo excited to share it with all of you!! This was inspired by a romance novel I read in high school called Time After Time, by Billie Green. Canon dialog and the characters, of course, belong to Adam and Eddy. Much love and all the hugs to my besties and brainstorm/beta/encourager team of @hollyethecurious​ and @winterbaby89​. Extra special shout out to the CSSNS discord ladies for repeatedly bailing me out when I got stuck, listening to me whine, a LOT, and constantly encouraging me not to give up! I hope you all enjoy my next foray into writing CS fanfiction. There are two types of line breaks contained in the fic. The ones that go all the way across are scene changes, while the short ones signify a change of POV or a time jump within the same scene. The story is complete and I’ll be updating on Sundays and Thursdays for the next five weeks. 

ao3 link Rated M for violence and smut. There will be trigger warnings for the appropriate chapters.

Tagging my crew: Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ 

Emma Swan stepped off the elevator and walked into the busy foyer of Jones Brothers Advertising. Waving to Belle at the front desk and wishing her a good morning, she started toward her office before she heard Belle calling her name.

“Emma.” Belle waved her back over to the desk.

“Hey, Belle,” she replied. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to remind you about lunch today with Mary Margaret, Ruby, and the new girl, Tina Bell,” the brunette said. “Just to welcome her to the office.”

“Oh, right,” she responded. “I forgot she was starting today. Okay,” she said, glancing at her watch, “I have a meeting with Mr. Jones at nine about the Neverland campaign. We’ll be done before twelve, because I know he has a lunch meeting with their CEO today.”

“That’s great. I’ll let the others know and we’ll see you then.”

Emma continued on her way to her office to get ready for the meeting with her boss. The Neverland Cruises campaign was finally winding down after almost nine months of revamping their advertising strategy. The launch date of their new campaign was less than a month away now, and it was crunch time. Emma, as a Senior Executive of Marketing, reported directly to the younger of the Jones brothers, Killian, and she found herself in almost daily meetings with the man going over the numbers that her team had gathered as the launch date loomed. Very particular in his tastes and in his expectations of his employees, Emma knew that she needed to be ready for anything he threw at her.

Greeting her secretary, Ariel, Emma grabbed her appointment schedule for the day and pushed her way into her office, secretly thrilled with the fact that she had her own secretary, even if she did share her with the two other Senior Executives. After looking over her schedule, her eyes landed on her desk and the pile of papers that spoke to the fact of her late night at the office last night, and the late night she’d have tonight as well. Not here, she thought. Everything’s coming home with me tonight. At least I can have a glass of wine with my dinner. Satisfied with her plans, she sat down and started one last review before she was expected in Mr. Jones’s office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian Jones finished replying to an email and looked up at the vintage nautical clock hanging on the wall across from his desk. Emma Swan was expected in his office soon to go over the final results of all the research that her team was responsible for in the Neverland Cruises ad campaign. She was always exactly on time, so he knew that he had a few minutes to indulge in thinking about the golden haired goddess who so often haunted his dreams. Only a few minutes though, so I’d better not get too carried away, lest she finds me in a… he cleared his throat, less than professional situation, he thought as his pants already started to tighten. It was a good thing he was at his desk. I’ll just have to stay here until things calm down. He looked around his office, at the wooden and nautical accents throughout, trying to bring his libido under control before she graced him with her presence.

It wasn’t always this bad. He had become well practiced in hiding his attraction to his beautiful employee over the years. Burying his desire underneath strict professionalism at all times. Never letting go of his iron control when it came to his subordinate. Given the situation they were in as boss and employee, he couldn’t afford to try to pursue something with her that might end with her no longer working at Jones Brothers Advertising and him never seeing her again. Not to mention the fact that she was the leading candidate for the Vice-President of Marketing position for the new Los Angeles branch that would be opening after the new year. It was that thought that finally did the trick in bringing his ardor under control just as she entered his office.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she greeted him as she strode confidently into the room. Her lithe figure was adorned with a black check printed ruffled top with black pencil skirt that ended just above her knee. With her long blonde curls loose over her shoulders and her three inch heels, Killian had to remind himself that she wasn’t his, had never been his, and never would be his as he struggled to not stride over to her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her senseless. Fitting his professional mask in place, hopefully before she got a good look at him, he answered her.

“Good morning, Miss Swan. Are we ready with everything?”

“I have it all right here, sir,” she replied, setting the papers before him on his desk. As she did, the scent of vanilla reached him and he had to fight to keep from staring into her beautiful green eyes. Looking down at the first document of a rather large pile they would need to get through this morning, he resigned himself to his lot of being around the, thankfully oblivious, object of his affection.

*~*~*~*

Emma thought back to when she first entered Mr. Jones office. After greeting him, she thought she saw a flash of… something, in his eyes before his countenance settled into the professionalism she was used to.

His appearance was as professional as ever, but she still had to suppress a shiver of awareness as she took him in. His black hair was artfully mussed with just a few strands falling down over his forehead. Black scruff with just a hint of ginger lined his strong jaw. His suit jacket was missing, but the gray waistcoat and candy striped dress shirt, whose sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off muscular forearms, accentuated his trim physique. Even hours later, she still couldn’t help but wonder what those arms would feel like wrapped around her, or what that scruff would feel like in certain places on her body.

She mentally gave herself a shake, mind out of the gutter Swan, and got back to the business at hand, determined to put aside her unprofessional musings. There was never any chance anyway. He only saw her as a work machine. And if she messed up, she was a broken machine in need of replacement. If she got the promotion to the new LA branch, she’d still be answering to him, but she wouldn’t be in the office with him every day, battling and hiding her attraction day in and day out. She stuffed the inappropriate thoughts down into that area of her heart and mind where all of her illicit thoughts of him resided. Hopefully, never to see the light of day again.

*~*~*

“What is this?” His bark brought Emma back to the present and made her jump just a little. Looking up from where she had been perusing the final numbers tracing the demographics they were targeting for the campaign, she took in the stormy visage of his brow simply known as The Frown.

Yes, it actually had a title.

That’s because it was the one that completely transformed his normally serious, but still handsome face into one that had earned him the nickname Vulcan, behind his back, of course, after the Roman god of fire. It was the look that left the Senior Executives shaking in their boots and scrambling to find and fix whatever it was that had displeased the Senior Vice President of Marketing and sent the underlings scurrying to get out of his way.

“What is what?” she responded. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she rose and joined him on the other side of the conference table. Leaning over his shoulder, she could immediately see what the problem was. She shook her head as her eyes widened then sent a chagrined smile his way. “Walter couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a flashlight,” she murmured before looking back down at the document measuring the rating for the campaign.

The loud laugh that made its way out of her boss’s mouth had Emma looking back at him, completely startled. His head was thrown back, jaw open, the chords on his neck standing out, eyes shut as his body shook from unhindered mirth. In that instant, all the attraction that she had felt from the very first day of her employment that she buried deep down, came roaring back to the front of her mind. She stood there, dumbstruck, as her boss, Vulcan, the always professional, reserved, never ruffled man, the one that she had worked under for closing in on a decade, that never smiled, much less laughed, howled as if his sides would split. When he finally got his mirth under control, he opened his eyes which were now sparkling a dazzling blue. Dear Lord, she thought, the man isn’t just handsome, he is gorgeous! She continued to stare at him after that startling revelation until his still unusually bright eyes landed on her.

“What is it, Miss Swan?” he asked, forehead beginning to furrow in prelude to The Frown.

“N- nothing, sir…” she stammered. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard or seen you laugh before.” She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the stray thoughts his amusement had generated. Not to mention, the arousal.

“Well, considering that I’ve never heard you say something funny before, we can call it even,” he quipped.

Flustered, she picked up the document from the table as she checked the time on her watch. It was nearly time to meet the others for lunch. “I’ll take this home with me tonight, and have the correct figures on your desk first thing in the morning, sir.”

“See that you do,” he responded. “I’m meeting Peter in twenty minutes for a business lunch. I’ll just have to skim over this portion of the update. I’ll expect your report before 9am. That will be all, Miss Swan.” It was a dismissal if she ever heard one, and she knew she had her work cut out for her this afternoon and evening.

“Yes, sir.” Gathering her other documents, she put them all in her case and hurried out.

Making her way back into her office, Emma found Ruby Lucas sitting in front of her desk tapping on her phone with her blood red manicure.

“Emma,” she exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. “We’re ready! Let’s go to lunch!” Her friend looped her arm through Emma’s and started to drag her to the door.

“What! Am I late?” she questioned. She glanced at her watch. “I’m not late, it’s only 11:45. Let me at least put my stuff down and make a couple of notes on what I’ll be working on this afternoon, then I’ll be ready.”

“Ugh, fine,” the woman huffed, sitting herself down again. “I’m just ready to get out of here for a long lunch. I’ll be so glad when this campaign is launched and over. Even Granny is starting to feel the pressure. She’s been on a terror this morning.” Emma smiled with affection at the thought of “Granny” Lucas. Not actually related to Ruby, she was a matronly figure that insisted everyone call her Granny. She had raised the Jones brothers after their parents were killed in a car accident and had been in charge of HR, Ruby’s department, since the office opened.

“There. Done. Now I’m ready,” she declared, straightening up and coming around her desk. “Where are we going? Where are M’s and Tina? I saw Belle was still at her desk.”

“They went on ahead to get a table at that new bistro that opened up, Down the Street Cafe,” Ruby replied. “If the rumors are to be believed, if they hadn’t gotten there by 11:15, we wouldn’t get a table until after 1.”

“I see,” she murmured, as Ruby looped her arm through hers again, leading her toward the door. “Well, lead the way, my friend. Can’t leave them waiting any longer than we already have. M’s will dish all the gossip before we get there.”

Ruby threw back her head laughing as they made their way over to Belle waiting for them at the elevator.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally entering the crowded restaurant, Emma could see Mary Margaret waving frantically at them to join them at the table. Taking their seats, Emma reached out to shake Tina’s hand as Mary Margaret made introductions. Once their orders were taken, Ruby drawled, “So, now that we’re all here, we can get down to business.” Her green eyes danced. “Gossip.” The others all laughed at Ruby’s wolfish grin, as she looked affronted with their glee. “What? We all know that’s why we’re here,” she asserted, “besides welcoming Tina to the office, of course. And what better way to welcome her than letting her in on all the office goings on?”

“Did you see Frederick and his new girl?” Mary Margaret asked. “I think her name’s Abigail, from Accounting.”

“Oh, yes,” Ruby replied enthusiastically. “She’s pretty, but very standoffish. They were locked in his office for two hours yesterday!”

“And guess who found her,” Belle nodded toward Ruby, “with her ear against the door?”

“No!” Emma squealed as the other ladies dissolved into hysterical laughter while Ruby dramatically faceplanted onto the table.

“Yes,” Ruby groaned, her voice muffled by the table. Looking up, she turned to Emma and grabbed her wrist. “He gave me The Frown Emma, and I froze. I literally couldn’t move. I found myself hoping there was a history of heart attacks in my family so I’d at least have a chance of dying on the spot. And do you know what he said?”

“What?” Emma was still having trouble bringing her giggles under control.

“‘When you’re done praying, Miss Lucas’ you know in that deep silky voice of his, ‘I need Tina Bell’s personnel file on my desk.’ I thought I would die,” she finished with her usual flair.

“Oh, tell me about Mr. Jones,” the young blonde sighed. “He’s so dreamy.” She had a far away look in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips as Emma rolled her eyes at the swooning of the young woman.

“Which one?” she asked, “There are two of them you know, but one’s taken,” she continued, cutting her eyes to Belle as the woman blushed furiously.

Understanding dawned in Tina’s eyes as she caught sight of the blushing woman who was looking everywhere except at her companions. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. “I meant Killian. Is Liam yours, Belle?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him mine, exactly,” Belle protested, as her companions made various sounds of laughter and disbelief, “We haven’t been dating that long and we’re not calling it anything, I mean.”

“Oh, honey,” Mary Margaret said, placing her hand on Belle’s arm, “That man is so head over heels for you, you don’t have to call it anything for all of us to see exactly what it is. Soulmates.” The dreamy expression on Mary Margaret’s face had Emma rolling her eyes again.

Emma snorted. “Soulmates, huh?” She could almost hear her mother telling her that her eyes were going to get stuck like that if she rolled them any harder. “There’s no such thing.”

More sounds of laughter and disbelief erupted from around the table, with poor Tina absolutely indignant at Emma’s assertion. “Of course there’s such a thing as soulmates,” she exclaimed. “My parents have been together for thirty years. And they are as happy today as on their wedding day. If that’s not soulmates, I don’t know what is.”

Ruby cackled with a wide grin. “Ohhhh Tina. You just waved a red flag in front of our Destined True Love Destruction Bull, also known as Emma, over there.”

“Listen to what I’m saying,” Emma responded. “I’m not saying that love doesn’t exist. Or that there are not good, happy, long lasting marriages. What I’m saying is that the whole idea of soulmates or fated by the stars or destined doesn’t exist.” The contempt dripped from her lips as she put air quotes around the cliched phrases. “Love and marriage are hard work,” she continued, “and it takes two to make it work. It’s a matter of choosing someone every day. Of choosing that relationship above all else. For the rest of your life.” A cloud of melancholy settled on Emma’s brow as she remembered her own heartache. Her own experience of not being chosen every day.

She met Neal her sophomore year in college and fell in love as only a nineteen year old could. She did Neal’s cooking, she did Neal’s cleaning, she did Neal’s laundry, she helped him write papers, she helped him study. She gave 150% to the budding relationship. Until she found out that the one who she thought was the one was sleeping with her roommate, and her lab partner, and the RA of her dorm.

Mary Margaret spoke up, bringing her back to the present, green eyes blazing with sincerity, “Yes, you’re right, Emma. Love and marriage are hard work, and it does take two, and you do have to choose that relationship every day, but when it’s with the person you are supposed to be with, it makes the effort and the fight that much easier and more rewarding.” She turned her eyes upon Tina then. “My David is absolutely my soulmate.. He is the one my soul loves. The one I would be lost without. To borrow a phrase from Forrest Gump, he completes me. And the fact that he’s gorgeous certainly doesn’t hurt,” the petite brunette finished with a smirk.

Belle snorted before replying, “That wasn’t Forrest Gump, M’s. That was Jerry Maguire.”

“Pfft,” she blew out, “Whatever. The point stands.”

“If she decides to wait for her destined soulmate, she may never find love. She needs to have realistic expectations when looking for a lover or spouse,” Emma interjected. “There will always be something wrong with the other person. Something that drives you crazy. Something that consistently irritates you, like leaving the toilet seat up. Throwing away a good relationship because of small issues that in the big picture don’t matter, is just stupid! ‘He can’t be my soulmate, because my soulmate would never…’ fill in the blank. And staying in a bad relationship because ‘Oh, he’s my soulmate’ is just as bad, if not worse.” Emma crossed her arms over her torso, thoughts of how close she came to doing just that sending a chill through her body. “By all means, Tina,” she continued, “fall in love. But be realistic about it. Be prepared to fight for it, even when the going gets tough, which it will. And don’t lose yourself in the process. Falling in love doesn’t mean that you are no longer your own person. It simply means that you are choosing to join yourself to another.”

“Well, of course there will be things about him that irritate you,” Mary Margaret responded. “But having that soulmate connection makes it easier and more worthwhile to fight through those tough times.”

“Having a soulmate does make the struggles more worthwhile in the end,” Belle argued. “I like to believe there is someone out there just for me, and maybe that’s Liam. I do care for him deeply,” she looked away again, blushing, “and I am starting to see a future with him. A happy one.” There was a collective “Awwwww” from around the table. Even Emma joined in.

“Well, anyone with eyes can see how much Liam adores you, Belle,” Ruby acknowledged. “And if anyone deserves love, it’s you.” Ruby pulled her friend in for a sideways hug.

Tina looked far away and dreamy again. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind waking up to Killian Jones’ face every morning. Anna in payroll said that he’d been married before, but that she died seven years ago and he hasn’t so much as looked at anyone since. I must have looked a little starry eyed when he walked me over there.” She looked at her tablemates a little sheepishly and sighed.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Ruby blurted out, eyes wide, “Crap, I hope he didn’t hear us,” she whispered to her companions.

Emma turned around and saw none other than Killian Jones approaching their table with the CEO of Neverland Cruises, Peter Pan, right in front of him. A quick gasp kept her laughter at bay at the sight of the CEO. He looked like he was about twenty years old and yes, his name really was Peter Pan. When the trust fund baby had inherited the family cruise line business at the age of twenty-two, he promptly renamed it Neverland Cruises to take advantage of the family name and literary notoriety. That was eight years ago and his former CEO had nearly run it into the ground before Peter took the reins, hiring his Rice University roommate Killian Jones to revamp his advertising campaign to turn the business around. As Killian passed their table, he smiled and nodded congenially to them as he spoke, “I hope this place is as good as I’ve heard. Enjoy your lunch ladies.”

A chorus of ‘goodbye’ and ‘you too’ followed the men as they continued on toward their table.

“Yep,” Tina sighed, turning back to her new coworkers, “I definitely wouldn’t mind waking up to his face everyday. Even if he did leave the toilet seat up.” The rest of the table erupted into laughter as their food was served.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma had ordered a large entree at lunch earlier fully expecting to finish it at home that evening. She didn’t like cooking for one, so when she knew she’d be working late, she either ordered a large lunch to bring home with her or raided her takeout menu drawer as soon as she walked in the door.

Tossing her briefcase on the sofa, she walked into the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of wine that was left over from the weekend girls night she had hosted last weekend. After pouring herself a glass and taking a sip, she made her way back into the living room, turned on the tv and pulled up her Netflix queue. On nights that she worked late, she didn’t even pay attention to what she was choosing, simply clicking on the first thing that came up. She never watched it. She only wanted the background noise, the sound of another human voice in the otherwise quiet apartment. She pulled her papers out of her briefcase and opened her leftovers, diving in to her dinner, her wine, and her work.

Hours later, Emma looked up and noticed that she was finished with season two of Black Sails. Well, she thought, I’ll have to go back and see what I missed. Stretching with a mighty yawn, she could feel her vertebrae realigning after so long looking down at her work. It was nearly midnight and she was ready to go to bed. I’ll definitely sleep well tonight, she thought.

Moments after her head hit the pillow, Emma blinked in the bright sunshine and realized that the reason for her blinking was the fact that she was above the clouds and there was nothing between her and the blinding rays of the sun beating down on her. She also became aware that she was holding onto something big and green, and that she couldn’t see the ground below her. She screamed and clutched at the vines before her for dear life, just before she heard a very familiar voice to her right.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” Emma turned toward the voice and found herself face to face with none other than Killian Jones. Her stomach did a little flip as his blue eyes met her terrified green ones, but whether it was from the scare or just being this close to him, she really couldn’t tell. “But honestly Swan, it’s only a dream, you’re not gonna fall, so there’s no reason for the theatrics.”

“Theatrics?!” she exclaimed, “You think my reaction is…” she shook her head, trying to clear it, “theatrics?” It was only then that she realized what her boss was wearing. A leather greatcoat that if he were standing, would fall below his knees, black, skin tight, leather pants, a black billowy shirt with most of the buttons undone underneath a red waistcoat. The guyliner surrounding his eyes, rings on his fingers, a dangly black earring, and artfully mussed black hair completed the picture of a rogue pirate captain. “And look at you! What are you wearing? And how do you know this is a dream?” she questioned.

“Well, as you so helpfully pointed out,” he smirked, “there is the matter of the way I’m dressed. I’m not aware of owning any such clothing, although these leather pants are quite comfortable, if I’m honest,” he said, shrugging. She looked over at him and perused the garment in question. They certainly fit him well. The pants hugged his hips and thighs and what she could see of his calves. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “There is also the matter of your appearance. I’ve dreamt of you before, you see, quite often actually, and you are usually… a little more bare than you are now,” he admitted, eyes roaming up and down her form. Emma tried very hard to ignore the shiver that ran through her at his assessing gaze.

At that very moment, Emma’s baby duck pajama bottoms and yellow camisole she wore to bed that night disappeared, giving her a very good idea of the kind of dreams Mr. Jones usually had of her. She was as naked as the day she was born, but she couldn’t let go of the vines in front of her to try and cover herself. “Put them back,” she screeched, “put my clothes back right now, Mr. Jones!”

“As you wish, Swan,” he replied. Her clothes were instantly back in place as he looked away with a bright flush to his cheeks that reached down past his ginger scruff onto his neck. “And third,” he continued, still looking away from her up the beanstalk, “there is the matter of our location. I have no idea how we got here or what we’re supposed to do now.”

“Let go,” she said, as an idea came to her. “Let’s let go, Jones. Then we’ll have to wake up.” Her eyes twinkled with her seemingly brilliant plan.

“Uh, no,” he argued, “People die in their sleep Swan, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to actually wake up from this dream. And given our circumstances, maybe you should call me Killian.” He looked away again, the flush back in full force as he looked up. “I think we should just keep climbing, see where we end up.”

Since he wasn’t willing to let go with her, and she definitely wasn’t going to do it by herself, she realized she didn’t have a choice but to follow him up the beanstalk. Because that is exactly what it was, a beanstalk. What even is my life? she thought as she started to climb.

Some time later, Killian looked over at her. “You know, most men might take your silence as off-putting, but, I love a challenge,” he commented, black eyebrows waggling.

“I’m concentrating,” Emma replied. “I’d really like to actually make it to the top and not fall to my death as you so helpfully pointed out,” she grumbled.

“No, you’re afraid to talk, to reveal yourself,” he pointed out. He was silent for a moment as he continued to climb. “Well, I don’t need you to share. You’re something of an open book.”

“Am I?” she asked.

“Quite,” he answered. “You have the same look in your eye that I have. The look of someone who’s been left alone.”

“What do you mean, ‘left alone?’” she asked, confusion and alarm furrowing her brow. “Weren’t you raised by Granny? And you have your brother, too.” I didn’t have anyone, she thought, not until Ingrid, anyway. And that was almost too late to count.

“Aye,” he replied, “but Granny didn’t take us in until after our mother and father died in a car accident.” Emma could see the pain of his revelation plainly written on his face. “So yes, I’ve been left alone by two of the people who are never supposed to leave. And while I do have my brother, an orphan’s an orphan. One recognizes another.” He looked away from her then, clearly uncomfortable with his revelation as he gazed upwards. “Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it?” he asked, looking back into her eyes. “Have you ever even been in love?”

“No,” she answered him, slightly breathless with exertion and the intensity of his gaze. “I have never been in love.” She turned away from him then and continued climbing. She’d be damned if she was going to let him know how much he affected her. And how close to the mark he really was.

They finally made it to the top of the monstrous plant. Emma’s arms and legs felt like jelly, as she let go and landed on concrete. As Killian joined her on the ground, he grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. “Come here,” he said, “Give me your hand. It’s cut.”

“What? No, no,” she argued, trying to pull back from him. “it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued right back. “Let me help you.” He pulled a flask out of one of the many pockets in his coat and uncorked it. “Ah.” He took a sniff. “I thought that’s what it might be,” he remarked. “Rum. Goes with the costume anyway.” He shrugged and started pouring the liquid over her hand as she screeched and tried to snatch it away from him.

“Ah, ah, AHHH!” she exclaimed, still trying to get her hand out of his. He held her firmly however as he pulled a large scarf she hadn’t noticed before from around his neck and started to wrap her hand with it. Holding her close with one arm, Emma felt the tingle of awareness trickle down her spine. She was also aware of the increase in her heart rate as she watched him work. When he finally finished wrapping the scarf, he was left with only one hand to secure it since his other was still occupied with holding her still. Arousal flooded her and she let out a small gasp of surprise as he finally took one end of the scarf in his mouth as he looked up at her through his dark lashes while he pulled it tight and tucked it into the wrap.

“See now,” he whispered, pulling back and patting her hand, “all better.” He looked deeply into her eyes, daring her to look away. She stood transfixed at what she read in the azure blue depths. Her mouth hung slightly open as she shook herself out of her stupor. Finally looking around at their surroundings, his penetrating gaze and her arousal were completely forgotten. They appeared to be in the courtyard of a gigantic castle. Much larger than anything down below on earth. The dimensions were mind boggling. The courtyard was the size of a football field. The parapets above were at least a hundred feet high, and the door, for lack of a better word, had to be at least seventy feet high, even from this distance. “Well,” her companion commented, wryly, “I guess that answers that question.”

“What question?” she asked.

“Where we are, darling,” he answered. “Given the size of the castle before us, not to mention the way we got here, I’d say we’re in a land of giants.”

At that moment, the concrete of the courtyard started to shake as evidence of Killian’s speculation became visible on the other side of the courtyard. It only took the giants moments to reach them as they struggled to keep their balance amid the shaking of the ground. “Halt! Who goes there?” the smallest of the giants asked.

Killian stepped forward and to the side as he reached out toward Emma trying to draw her behind him. “I’m Killian Jones, and my friend here is Emma Swan. We’re strangers here, and we’d like nothing more than to leave you and your land in peace.” Emma was no fool and she knew there was no way they could successfully fight their way out of the situation.

“Oh no!” The largest giant laughed. “We know who you are, pirate.”

“Pirate?” Killian exclaimed, “No, no, no. I’m no pirate.”

Emma spoke up behind him, “No! He’s my boss. He’s not really a pirate. This is a dream, you see-” But the giant cut her off.

“A dream?” he asked, incredulous. “No, this is no dream. He is a pirate, here to steal our magic beans. And I can only guess that you are here to be used as a distraction. So you both will be taken to the dungeon.” As the giant made to reach for Killian, he shoved her back towards the beanstalk they had been slowly and surreptitiously moving towards since the beginning of the encounter.

“Run, Swan!” he shouted, turning just fast enough to evade the giant’s grasp. They both made a running leap onto the beanstalk and started making their way down it as fast as they could. They could hear the giants up above them shouting and the entire beanstalk shook violently as two giants started climbing down after them.

“Well, it looks like we’ll have to try my idea after all,” Emma shouted, looking up towards their rapidly descending pursuers.

“Aye, that it does, love,” Killian replied, chagrin lacing his tone. He looked over at her, his blue eyes unusually bright as he reached his hand out to her. “On three?”

“On three,” she agreed, taking his hand in hers. “One. Two. Three.” They let go of the beanstalk simultaneously… And Emma woke up in her bed with her alarm blaring.

Damn, what the hell was that dream? Her foggy, sleep addled brain unhelpfully asked. And who in the world was that with me? Someone else with Jones’ face. Because there is no way that was my boss. He was forward, but a gentleman. He was open, perceptive, and protective too. Yep, definitely not my boss. She shook her head and, determined to put the dream out of her head, got out of bed and got herself ready for work. But not before noticing a scar on her palm that hadn’t been there when she went to bed the night before.

[everlarkficexchange]

Why Do I?

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 53: Everlark have been friends for a long time. Then this exchange happens. Person A: Why Do I even like your dumb ass? Person B: Huh? Person A: *panics* I SAID YOU HAVE A NICE ASS. [submitted by @iliveilaughiloveiread]

Rating: M

Summary: Peeta’s in love with his roommate Katniss. She thinks he has a really good set of buns. All puns intended.

Author’s note: Thanks for the prompt, @iliveilaughiloveiread. I had a lot of fun writing their banter.

“Peeta?”

“Kitchen!”

I hear Katniss throw her keys on the table in the entryway. It’s rare I know she’s there before she sneaks up on me. She’s so quiet I’ve lost track of the number of times she’s scared the shit out of me. I may have dropped a few trays of baked goods on the floor and jumped and screamed like a little girl when she’s tackled me with bear hugs and tickles. The squeals I make when her fingers slip under my shirt are so far from masculine it’s embarrassing, but I wouldn’t trade her hands on my skin for anything.

“What are you doing here, Mellark?” she asks in her throaty chuckle. “You’re not usually home on a Wednesday afternoon.”

“The kid cancelled again,” I answer, referring to the ten-year-old boy I typically tutor mid-week.

“Ah. So, it’s just us,” she replies before crossing to me and snuggling against my side. I lift both hands in the air and hug her with my elbow.

“Sorry. Cookie batter.”

She shrugs away, slumps onto a stool, and leans over the counter to observe. “Sugar?”

“Yes, Dumplin’?”

I grin at her laugh. I’m glad she’s finally rediscovered it. It’s been such a recent thing, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.

“Sugar cookies?”

“Ohhhh… You’re only interested in my baked goods. Maybe I can whip up some buns for you later.” I turn my back to her and clench my ass several times until she begs me to stop. When I turn, her gray eyes sparkle with mirth, and a rare smile graces her beautiful face. When she finally chokes back her laughter, she covers her mouth with her hand and murmurs something.

“Huh?” I can’t have heard her right. There’s no way, but it’s too tempting to let go. “Why do you like my dumb ass? Is that what you said?”

She freezes, and her eyes widen slightly. She gulps several times before blurting, “I didn’t say that! I said, ‘you have a nice ass!’”

“Oh, reeeeeeally?”

“Shut up!” she barks and sprints from the kitchen. A few seconds later, her bedroom door slams, and I sigh heavily.

Katniss Everdeen will be the death of me. I’ve loved her since Kindergarten, and I have no idea how I got so lucky to be her best friend. Well, technically, I do. She used to only talk to Madge Undersee, the daughter of a local politician, and Gale Hawthorne, brooding outdoorsmen who made all the girls in our high school swoon until he graduated and enlisted in the Marine Corps. When Gale left and Madge moved to the state capital after her father became a senator, Katniss drifted through the hallways between classes like a ghost. It only took me three months to work up the nerve to approach her in the lunchroom and ask if she’d like company. Another five weeks passed before she agreed to hang out with me outside of school. Three years later, she said yes when I asked her to be my roommate during college, and we haven’t lived apart in the seven years since. It’s been the best decade of my life.

Except for that pesky little being-in-love-with-her thing. She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Other than the hugs she gives me, we rarely touch. The most vulnerable she’s ever been with me was when her sister was in a car wreck a few years ago and went into the hospital. Katniss fell apart that night, and I did everything I knew how to do to comfort her. I wish I could do it every day.

I wish a lot of things I’m sure will never happen. Kissing her lips. Seeing her naked. Sinking into her and losing myself. Hearing her breathy moans when she comes. My ring on her finger. Marriage. Children. Grandchildren. Growing old together. Sharing a last name.

“Give it up, Bread Boy,” I mutter. “She’s never gonna love you that way.”

I turn my attention to the cookies. The timer dings, and I pull the first batch from the oven and let them cool while I mix several different colors of icing. Minutes turn into an hour as I decorate batch after batch. I’m just finishing the last few when I hear her behind me.

“I’m hungry. You want to grab dinner?”

I’m careful to keep my face blank when I turn and take in her beautiful face. She’s vulnerable and trying not to show it. Her gray eyes are haunted, and she’s wringing her hands. As much as I’d like to tease her, she doesn’t need that right now. She’s needs reassurance and understanding.

Sometimes it sucks to do the right thing instead of pushing for what I want.

“Always,” I answer quietly and wait for her to meet my eyes. “What sounds good?”

“Carbs.

“You want bread, huh? Maybe a little bun action?” I absolutely have to wiggle my ass. In fact, I have to back up to her and shake it some more. Her face floods with color, and I wink at her.

Sometimes it’s amazing to do what I want. Screw the right thing.

“You are the worst,” she grumbles, and I laugh at her discomfiture.

“I am, but I will feed you if you’ll help me clean up the kitchen.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot of work.” She crosses to me and bumps her shoulder against my arm. Without thinking, I tug her to my chest and nestle her head underneath my chin. She wraps her arms around me, and I kiss her on the crown of her head. When she relaxes, I squeeze her until she yelps.

“You’re a lot of work,” I joke and let her go. Beyond pleased, I hide my grin at the chagrined look on her face. Maybe, just maybe, she might like me a little more than I’d realized.

****

Two days later, I come home to her car in the driveway. She’s not expecting me, I’m sure, since I was supposed to have dinner with my older brother. I didn’t bother to text her when he bailed. Instead, I decided to surprise her, so I sneak inside the house and attempt to be as quiet as possible walking down the hall. I’m about as graceful as an elephant on roller blades, so I’m surprised she doesn’t call out to me.

Her door’s open, and I can hear rustling as I approach. I pause and try to figure out if she knows I’m out there when I hear her moan. Perplexed, I peek around the doorjamb and my mouth drops open. Her legs are splayed, and her eyes are closed. Her left hand grips the headboard, and her right is shoving a piece of plastic between her legs. It takes me a second to realize it’s vibrating. She moans louder, and my eyes widen.

Katniss Everdeen is masturbating. In our house. With her door open. And I can see her.

I jerk back into the hallway quickly and stand frozen to the spot. It feels terribly wrong to stay where I am, but I’m even more terrified to move and alert her to my presence. It’s a form of exquisite torture to listen to her as her breath quickens. She’s more vocal than I expected, and I’m horrified when my dick twitches in response. Every sound from her makes me stiffen, and my jeans tent higher the longer I listen.

She curses and groans for several more minutes, and I’m powerless in her spell. My dick throbs, and I allow myself a little bit of relief by rubbing myself through the denim. I absolutely cannot jack off in the hallway. It’s unacceptable to get off to her private act. Unforgivable.

I’m about to throw all my ethics to the wind when she releases a strangled moan. It’s obvious she’s climaxing, and I can’t stand it anymore. I turn and rush from the house, praying she’s too involved in coming to hear me.

I try to calm down, but I can’t. Stumbling to the side of the house, I duck behind the honeysuckle bush that’s big enough we’ve joked it could be a secret hideout for neighborhood kids. Thankfully, no one’s there, and I grunt as my hand fists my cock.

Echoes of the erotic sounds Katniss made ping in my head, and I can’t erase the image of her fucking herself with silicone. Hunched and desperate to finish before she realizes my car’s in the driveway, I imagine her screaming my name as I tug and stroke. A stiff breeze rustles the bush shielding me from the rest of the world, and I bite my bottom lip as a thick rope shoots from me and stains the green leaves and white blossoms. The sickeningly sweet scent mingles with the smell of sex, and I shudder as I give one last squeeze and release. Quickly, I tuck back into my jeans and wipe my hand on the inside of my t-shirt. I’ve got to get back inside.

I’m frazzled when I stumble through the front door. Making as much noise as I possibly can, I call out her name and wash my hands in the kitchen sink.

“I didn’t hear you pull up,” she says from behind me, and I jump. She’s snuck up on me again.

“Huh,” I reply, desperate to appear normal. “I was out there for a while. Checking email and stuff. You know.”

“Yeah?” She arches her eyebrow and shrugs. “Slow at work, so I’m off tonight. Your plans fell through?” When I nod, she asks, “Want to watch basketball? Have dinner?”

“Sure.”

Watching sweaty men run up and down a court handling balls seems like the perfect remedy to forget how much I love the woman standing in front of me who was naked and writhing in her bed only a few minutes ago. Either that, or I’m in hell.

****

Five days later, I know I’ve entered another dimension that’s been created specifically for self-torture. I haven’t slept through the night since I saw her. I wake myself from erotic dreams and keep a roll of paper towels next to the bed to erase the evidence. I feel like I’m twelve again—unable to control what happens between my legs and experimenting every time I’m alone. I’m embarrassed by my constant state of arousal, and it’s getting harder to hide from Katniss—literally and figuratively.

I’m in the shower jerking myself with a soapy hand when she knocks on my bathroom door.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah!” My arm twitches with tension. I’m almost there.

“Hey, can you give me a ride home from work today? Getting that wheel replaced I messed up a few weeks ago.”

Her voice washes over me like velvet, and my hand moves of its own volition. I’m so close. So, so close.

“Peeta, you okay?”

She’s inside my bathroom. I can tell by the sound of her voice.

“Yeah,” I sputter. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I groan as heat rips through me. Two more strokes, and I come. I suck in my breath and choke. I can’t breathe as I cough and sputter, and her hand appears at the corner of the curtain.

“Peeta!” Alarm evident in her voice, she warns me of her intention, and I have a split second to cover my crotch with a washcloth before she peeks around the corner. Her eyes narrow as I continue to hack, and I raise my right hand to cover my mouth. I slip slightly and brace my left on the wall, leaving the washcloth draped over my very prominent erection, which she’s clearly just noticed.

“H-holy shit,” she stammers. “I’m so sorry. I—” She bolts from the bathroom, and I rip back the curtain, grab a towel, and stagger after her on shaky legs.

“Katniss! Wait!”

She’s wide-eyed and frozen in the hallway when I emerge from the steam-filled room. The towel still tents slightly, but the absurdity of the situation and my recent ejaculation has deflated my hard-on significantly. I’m as mortified as she is until I realize I’m dripping wet and only in a towel in the hallway with the love of my life.

“You were choking,” she blurts. “It sounded like you were dying.”

“I know. It’s fine.” I rush to assure her I understand.

She stares at my chest, and I almost cover myself before I realize she seems completely dazed. Water droplets run down my stomach, and her eyes follow them. I’m not sure what to say, so I remain quiet, hoping somehow things won’t get any more awkward than they already are.

“I shouldn’t have…I mean, I didn’t know you were… I, uh… Yeah.”

I reach for her shoulder, and my towel shifts. Her eyes widen as I grasp it closed. Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m struck at the wonder in them. Frozen for several seconds, I study her until she takes a step toward me. And then another. And another until she lifts her hand and grazes her fingertips across my stomach. I suck in air and hold it while she traces the curve of my torso.

I exhale in a rush when she toys with the edge of the towel and tugs it from my skin. I let go, and the damp cloth pools at my feet. Her eyes rake over me, and the hunger is raw when she finally meets my eyes.

“I…” The words get caught in her mouth, and I watch her for a sign before leaning down and brushing my lips against hers. I don’t dare open my eyes until I feel her arms slide around my back, and then I crush her to me and tilt my head to kiss her deeper.

I lose track of time as we stand there. My body sizzles as my skin warms and the water evaporates. Her body is pliant and firm against mine. Her hands tug at my neck and trail down my back to the top of my hip bones but don’t go any lower. Her clothes stick to me, and I have a vague recollection that she’s already dressed for work as I wind her thick braid around my palm. I don’t ever want to stop.

She releases a breathy moan, and I press her against the wall and push against her. My knee slides between her legs, and I can feel the heat at her center as her tongue slides over mine. I tug her shirt from the waistline of her pants and grunt when my palm hits her smooth skin.

I rip my mouth from hers and suck on the hollow below her ear. “You feel so good,” I mumble in a tortured whimper.

“Peeta,” she moans, and my hips jerk against her when her hands slide down and cup my ass. All those jokes about buns ripples in the shared sexual tension that increases steadily as she kneads and cups me. Not surprisingly, I’m turned on again, and my cock behaves like a heat-seeking missile. I rub against her groin, and she grinds into me.

A nagging voice tells me to stop, to pull back, but I don’t want to listen to reason—only what her body’s telling me. I don’t understand anything except the way we fit together. I maneuver her a few steps over until she stumbles backward into her room and onto her bed. I stretch over her and wrap her legs around my waist. She moans as I thrust my hips against hers until she moves in rhythm under me. A few seconds later we’re dry-humping like teenagers.

I can feel the seam of her pants against my dick, and she squirms until her breath catches. When it does, I press against her and watch in disbelief as she unravels underneath me.

“Right there,” she begs. “Don’t stop. Right there.”

I buck against her, pushing the material against her clit until she spasms and quakes in my arms. She pants and moans as her body trembles, and I realize I’ve just pushed the woman I love over the edge. I made her come, and I didn’t even have to get her naked.

When she stills under me, I’m suddenly aware of our situation. I’m naked on top of her, and she’s just climaxed inside her pants. Her work clothes are rumpled, soiled, and damp, and I’ve got my second raging boner of the morning. It’s so ridiculous, I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re laughing at me?!”

Before I can process her question, I’m flat on my back, and she’s glaring down at me from the side of her bed. Infuriated, her gray eyes flash, and her hands are clenched at her sides.

“No!” I protest and smirk when she looks down at my junk. It’s both incredibly embarrassing and equally thrilling that she’s seeing me naked (again) and seems to like it.

“Then what is it? I’m bad at this? I didn’t live up to expectations? What?” She spits her interrogation so fast, my head spins. I grab the sheet and cover myself. I’m starting to shrink, and that’s definitely not what I want her to see.

“Katniss, you are absolutely not bad at this. Not even close to bad. More like fucking amazing.”

“Really?” Her voice is so small I almost can’t hear it.

“Hell, yes! I just— I mean, that was not how I expected that to happen.”

“Expected what to happen?”

“Us!” I blurt and snap my mouth shut. I hadn’t intended to admit just how much I’d been wanting to kiss her.

She grins and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “You’ve been planning that?”

I nod and lean over to kiss her cheek. “For the past twenty years or so. You have no idea the effect you have.”

She blushes and ducks her head. “Well, I might have a little bit of an idea,” she says and nods toward my lap. “You going to take care of that?”

My face burns at her insinuation. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” I answer in a desperate attempt to regain some dignity.

“Who said anything about necessary?” she teases and attempts to pull the sheet back.

I want to so badly. I almost ache with it, but this is not the right time. I want hours with her. I want the rest of my life. I don’t want our first time to be a quickie on a weekday morning when we both have to be out the door in less than an hour.

“I can’t believe this, but we both need to go to work. You’re probably gonna want to change, and I’m going to try to save face and walk out of here without worrying about you watching my bare ass as I go away.” Before I can think about her ogling me, I stand and cross to her door. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure,” she agrees. “And Peeta?”

“Yeah?” I poke my head back in her room for her answer.

“I’m still not exactly sure why I like your dumb ass, but you really do have a nice one.”

[the-last-rat-standing]

Personal Pronouns

I remember replying to a post that mentioned this problem in writing, but I thought I’d make a separate post on my own blog. 

The main point I want to get across is this: there is no need to repeatedly name the characters in a scene. It’s particularly jarring when there are only two people in the scene. It can’t be any easier when it’s only two, especially when they’re male and female. Here’s an example from one of my fics where I substituted the majority of personal pronouns (’he/she, his/hers, him/her’) with their names. I know the repetition reads kind of funny, but this is a very, VERY common bad habit in fan fiction.

(As an aside,  Grammar Monster is pretty cool.)

The coffee was hot, the sugar was plentiful (Gibbs had kept her in stock despite his judgy arched eyebrow every time Jack put it in her drink), and the company was quietly poring over the sports page, glasses perched on his nose, his own coffee curled in his hand. While Jack waited for the sugar to hit her system, Jack glanced up at the Rorschach hanging in the alcove across the table and marveled at its presence. 

"Is it crooked?"

His voice pulled her attention away. "No. I'm just… surprised it's still there." Jack knew it sounded silly as soon as she heard her words, but there was no other way to admit her pleasant disbelief in how far they'd come in such a short time. 

"You want me to move it?"

"No. I like it there." 

And Jack knew Gibbs did, too, because Jack'd catch him looking at it every once in awhile, particularly when the case was a hard one. The first time Jack'd noticed it, Gibbs deflected the significance by saying it went with his coffee and paper in the morning, because he knew Jack didn't need to hear him say he liked keeping something of her close. The way Gibbs held her in bed, tight and always touching, told Jack as much.

"Good," was all Gibbs said before going back to his paper.

"Poker night's tomorrow."

"Yep. First Saturday of the month." When Jack didn't reply, Gibbs looked up again. He wasn't a stupid man. "What's on your mind, Jack?"

Jack knew her shrug wouldn't suffice, so she said, "It's a statement." Jack’s eyes went to the painting.

"Yep," Gibbs agreed. "It's a butterfly."

His dry delivery made her laugh and Jack lightly slapped his shoulder. 

"You know what I mean."

Gibbs tossed his glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes. Leaning back in his chair, Gibbs tilted his head in the Rorschach's direction. He knew just as much as Jack did that it wouldn’t take long for their friends to put two and two together. "Who's gonna be the first to say something?"

Jack pondered the question over the steam from her coffee. "Guess it depends who comes in first. Leon will just raise an eyebrow." Jack mimicked the expression so well, Gibbs chuckled. "Grace will give me a look. Then you a look. Then an obvious 'Ohhhh'." The impression got another laugh from Gibbs. “And then Grace’ll want time and dates.”

"Sounds about right. And Fornell?"

Jack narrowed her eyes at the possibilities. “Depends on how he’s doing at the table. If Fornell’s winning, he’ll be doing that little dance to the kitchen under the pretense of getting more drinks, but really, just to rub it in our faces. Which then gives him ample opportunity to notice it.” Gibbs grunted in agreement at her prediction. “But if Fornell’s losing, he’ll keep his head down and grumble into the cards all night.”

Though there was mirth in Jack’s voice, there must have been something more because his softened. “I can take it down. For the night. If you want.”

Jack pieced together what Gibbs was saying and why he was saying it. Jack reached out to trace his wrist with her fingertip. “No, it’s fine. Really.” A smile punctuated her assurance. “It’s just… we’re just so new, you know? Not sure I’m ready for the third degree we’ll be getting.”

“We get anything past the first degree and they’re out the door.”

Jack’s smile grew into a laugh. “Anyway, I should go. The team’s too good to not notice I wore these clothes yesterday.” 

As Jack got up to collect her cup, Gibbs casually said, “Could always start leavin’ some stuff here.” 

Jack looked down at him in amazement; Gibbs still had his head in the sports page, throwing out his suggestion like he was telling her the weather forecast. Though they had only taken the step towards something serious three weeks ago, Jack was glad to discover Jack wasn’t the only one who felt like it was long overdue. Jack’d spent more than one night with Gibbs over the last 23 days, (was gloriously woken up by him most of the time) yet it was the odd dichotomy of the newness of it all while feeling like they had been doing it forever that kept taking Jack by surprise. 

“Somethin’ to work in, anyway,” Gibbs continued. “You’ve already confiscated my clothes to sleep in.”

Jack was having none of his sass without handing him back some of her own. “You don’t let me stay in them long enough to sleep.” Jack kissed the tips of his ears and felt the red heat under her smile. “I’ll see you at work.”

Jack hadn’t even turned when Gibbs reached out for her hand and pulled her mouth to his. Satisfied that it was a proper goodbye, Gibbs let Jack go and answered with a simple, “Yep,” before returning to the football scores.

----------

We know the two characters. I established them in the very first sentence, and because of the setting (Gibbs’ house), the reader knows they are the only two in the scene. There’s no need to tell the reader over and over who they are. Sprinkle their names in every so often, sure. But don’t be afraid to use personal pronouns!

[anglaland]

count the change, and keep my heart

Fandom: Hetalia Relationship: USUK Rating: Teen Word Count: 1530 Summary:

Written for the @usuknetwork​ Secret Santa event. Happy Holidays @love-and-libertea-writes​! I went with your prompt, “Omegaverse pregnant Arthur and his mate Alfred going Christmas shopping”

AO3/FFN links will be the most recent post on my blog if you prefer reading on those platforms.

Arthur turns to look pointedly at his mate. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

Alfred smiles guilty, his scent betraying him. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, but Arthur lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “Maybe I am a little worried,” he admits. “But Dr. Oxenstierna said he was considering bed rest!”

“Yes, and then he said he would hold off on it,” Arthur replies. “I’m only six months along, love. You’ve got three more months to coddle me to your heart’s content.”

Alfred manages not to blurt out that he already has those months planned out. Instead, he pulls Arthur closer, wrapping his arm around the other to rest his hand against the side of Arthur’s swollen stomach.

The crowd around them is relentless, hundreds of others dashing to find gifts for their loved ones. Normally, Alfred & Arthur wouldn’t wait until the week before Christmas, Arthur preferring to carefully identify the best gifts for their friends and family, and Alfred tasked with finding the best deals for them (and Alfred was already planning to induct their unborn child into the art of extreme couponing). But between the toll the pregnancy had taken on Arthur and the last-minute project Alfred’s boss had assigned him to, they hadn’t had the chance.

Of all the years for this to happen…! Alfred cursed silently, before putting the thought away. For the last three months, the bond between him and Arthur had strengthened, the two of them almost frighteningly in sync. It had its benefits––Alfred was still living off the sweet sex the two of them had last week, when he had come home with the exact craving Arthur was thinking of. But other times, the two of them could sense even the slightest hint of discontentment the other had.

Or the baby could, even though Dr. Oxenstierna had said no one knew if that was true. Arthur could tease Alfred for being overdramatic all he wanted, but he wasn’t taking the chance with their first child.

“I can’t believe we had to park on the other side of this bloody mall,” Arthur grumbles, interrupting Alfred from his thoughts. “Doesn’t anyone shop in advance? Christmas is the same day every year!"

Alfred chuckles. “Not all of them have your finicky organizational skills, babe.” He discreetly elbows a beta who is getting a little too insistent at pushing their seven bag ensemble through his side. “Besides, we’ve never seen the mall look this Christmas-y!”

“Yes, we have. They put up these decorations before Thanksgiving this year,” Arthur says, without bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. “Honestly, it’s shameful...they get worse every year…”

“I’d play All I Want for Christmas is You from September if I could,” Alfred suggests with pure innocence. It’s worth the look of absolute horror that crosses Arthur’s face. In the next second, he’s regretting it, mind already jumping to the swaths of Facebook posts he’s read about “bad vibes” and “negative energy” or “my pregnant omega yelled at me once and my baby came out with no scent and the doctors won’t admit we’re right!”

Well, maybe not the latter. But there have been a lot of Facebook posts. Arthur called it all useless drivel, and Alfred always agreed...until it was 2 am and he was watching pregnant omega vlogs.

Too sharp for his own good, Arthur catches the thread of guilt immediately. “What are you worrying about now?” he sighs, curling closer to Alfred as they two of them make their way to their destined shop.

(Alfred was used to the translucency of his scent. Their first meeting wasn’t as smooth as he liked think––it went a little something more like: a younger him, star struck at the handsome omega sprawled across a classroom desk, the other snidely advising him to keep your scent low, or you’ll tell the whole school about how much you’d like to fuck me.)

“I just want to keep you safe,” he murmurs, almost shy to say it. No one around them cares, but Arthur looks at him with rapt attention––and some confusion.

“...Christmas music isn’t going to kill me,” Arthur says. A beat passes. “And neither will this pregnancy. I know you’re worried, but it’ll be okay.” Looking up at Alfred, Arthur grins wickedly, the look out of place in his unassuming maternity clothes. “I didn’t fight off all those omegas to die before giving you your first child.” His eyes flick over to Alfred’s mating mark, a mirror to the mark on his own neck. “I’m certain I get all my energy from imagining their sour looks once our child is born.”

Alfred bursts out laughing. “Our high school reunion is in six months too. I’ve totally got to RSVP yes."

“Hmmm...the look on Francis’ face would be perfect...and he said I wouldn’t be mated ‘til I was thirty!” Arthur’s eyes are bright, his pace quickening in excitement. The residual excitement infects Alfred and he follows, the two of them cackling over whatever petty work they’ll put into showing up.

In no time at all, they’ve arrived to the front of the woodworking store that holds the last gift on their list: an expensive feather board for Alfred’s brother, Matthew. Privately, Alfred wishes Mathew had stuck with hockey as primary hobby–– at least then he could understand what he was buying. He had no idea what this ‘feather board’ did, but he had it on good authority (and by that, he meant his coworker Ludwig had recommended it in a single sentence with no elaboration) that this was a premier (and expensive) item in the field.

He’d get a gift receipt just in case.

For such a niche shop, it is annoyingly busy. Alfred keeps Arthur close as they scan the shelves for the item.

“Is this it?” Arthur asks, gesturing to one board.

“No, the one in the picture is bigger,” Alfred replies. “What about this one?”

“Wrong shade of tan,” Arthur answers, already flicking his eyes back to the shelves. Alfred grumbles underneath his breath, putting the item away and crouching to check the names of the other boards on the price tags.

He doesn’t find it. Scowling, he stands up, already preparing to annoyingly hang around the cashier until some assistance could be rendered. As he turns, he catches a display off to the side behind Arthur––highlighting the exact item they need.

“Arthur!” Alfred exclaims, and the other man jumps at the shout in his ear. Alfred cringes, and lowers his voice. “I think it’s behind you!”

Arthur turns, and his eyes widen in recognition. “That’s it,” he confirms. “Only one left––we got lucky!”

As if a greater power conspires against them, they catch a pair of alphas also pointing at the table. In growing horror, one of them begins walking towards it.

“Arthur,” Alfred hisses. “You jinxed it!”

Arthur is already moving away from him. Just as the other alpha begins to reach for the feather board, Arthur body checks him, swiping the item from under the other’s nose. In one of the fakest looks of innocence Alfred has ever seen cross his mate’s face, Arthur says, “Oh, please excuse me.”

The alpha looks ready to snap, before catching the mark on Arthur’s neck and the swell of his stomach. Alfred comes up behind his mate, hand possessively placed in the small of the other’s back. “Is there a problem?” he asks, struggling to suppress his mirth.

Glaring, the alpha has no choice but to back down. “Keep your omega close,” he says, almost spitting the words out. Arthur looks at Alfred and smirks.

Alfred’s laughter is slipping through his teeth. “Why did I think pregnancy would make you calmer?“

Arthur raises his eyebrows, maintaining the picture of innocence. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve always been calm and proper.” He pauses for a second, struggling not to laugh as well. “Now if you’ll join me, we have a purchase to make.”

They walk out with their spoils of war. “Hope you paid close attention to that, poppet” Arthur says to his stomach, arms curving underneath.

“Oh god,” Alfred mutters. “If our child takes after you, we’ll be stuck in the principal’s office every single day.”

“I met you in detention,” Arthur reminds him. A few seconds later, “...maybe it’d be best if our first child was a little calmer.”

First child.

The words were almost impossible to comprehend. The two of them had been trying for so long, and Alfred had comforted his mate through too many sleepless nights, as Arthur confessed to feelings of inadequacy and self-blame. But they were here, at six months even with all the difficulty Arthur was having, and they were going to make it.

Alfred steals a glance at Arthur. The other man’s face is flush, and Alfred can detect the weariness seeping into his mate’s scent and body. But beyond that, a small yet triumphant grin coats his face, enthused at the conclusion to their Christmas shopping. Alfred ignores his worries, for once, not out of fear, but determination for the future, and kisses the head of the love of his life.