#I had one pair last summer that like did turn into tissue paper before I accepted they were dead

[curiosity-killed]

Every time I order pointe shoes from the UK (inexplicably it is cheaper to order Freeds secondhand internationally than to buy new ones from the city 4 hr from me), they ship to the east coast and down to me which, yknow, makes sense geographically but for some reason, this time, they decided to ship them through LA?? And I have Questions

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Not your average summer romance

Chapter One - Here goes nothing

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word count: 2k ish

Warnings: 18+ themes, fluff, kissing.

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

Monday

It was the mother of Mondays as you hurried out of your apartment, your pot of coffee left forgotten on the kitchen counter simply because you were running super late. You were heading to a coffee shop for your meeting with the publisher anyway.

Your last meeting had been promising, so you had your hopes up about this one. The problem was, you were late. And your publisher, Sarah, was particular about time. Praying and hoping she would forgive you just this once, you dodged foot traffic that was perpetual on the streets of New York and stumbled into the equally busy cafe.

No sign of her.

Damn it.

Did she leave?

A part of you was hopeful that she was late too. That thought was shut up rather quickly when your phone buzzed with an email from Sarah.

Hi Y/N,

I hope you’re well. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet today, you know how I am with time.

I should have done this face to face but, unfortunately the team has decided against continuing the contract. I really did try my best but you know the decision isn’t all up to me. You can call me if you want to discuss anything.

I’m really very sorry. Stay in touch and keep writing.

Regards,

Sarah Waddington

A bunch of emotions went through you as you read and re-read the email. There had been rejections in your life in the past, but none of them stung or made you mad as this.

Who does this over an email?

You shoved your phone inside your purse angrily and looked around. You were in severe need of coffee, the only pick-me-up that could work.

Making a beeline for the counter, you pushed past people and stood behind a man wearing a black suit who was furiously whispering over his comms to someone.

Your phone buzzed again. This time it was your best friend calling you, the line was moving rather slow and you needed to vent.

The man in front must have changed his order at least three times adding to your frustration which you didn’t hide. You wondered who the person on the other line was who was unable to decide on a simple coffee order.

As your friend went on about her weekend, you moved ahead to order yourself a large Americano, this day called for nothing else but a strong cup of joe; the man in the suit grabbed his coffees and a bag of muffin and turned the opposite way, straight into you.

Iced coffee spilled down your blouse and some of it on his crisp white shirt, the paper bag turning soggy wet as both of you cursed out loud. Some of your piping hot americano managed to spill down your hand in the process too.

“Are you fucking kidding me??” You yelled, part in fury, part in pain as your hand stung.

Happy Hogan profusely apologized as he tried to grab as many tissues he could to help you. The commotion had gathered enough attention in the cafe already to add to your embarrassment.

“I am really sorry, I have a spare shirt in my car if you’d like. Please ma’am.”

He kept insisting, both of you staring at your blouse that was stained beyond saving point. Uttering a small ‘fine’ you followed him out to a rather sleek Tesla Roadster.

A man sitting at the back rolled the windows down as you two approached, a pair of brown eyes peeking through expensive looking sunglasses taking in your appearance with an amused smirk.

“Boss, would you mind passing me that shirt at the back please?”

The man continued to gaze at you for a few more seconds before paying heed to his, you assumed drivers’ request. You stared back, taking in the man’s sharp suit, a rather well maintained anchor beard and eyes that checked you out shamelessly.

“Tony?”

The other guy said more forcefully this time, breaking up your little staring match. ‘Tony’ fumbled around a bit before throwing a large white t-shirt that said ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ towards the guy you found who was named Happy Hogan as they exchanged a conversation.

“Honestly Happy, I don’t feel so secure around you and by the looks of it, neither does this lady or coffee for that matter. Why did I promote you to head of security again?”

“Because I’m the only one you trust and the only one who unfortunately can put up with your tantrums.”

“What tantrums? And will I get my coffee today?”

Tony huffed, making you hide your grin behind your hand as you accepted the t-shirt from Happy.

“Here. I’ve got all the caffeine I need for the day. Stains and burns included.” You held out your cup for him, frowning when he looked at Happy instead.

“Yeah, I’ll take that. Boss doesn’t like being handed things.” Happy gratefully took the coffee you offered and gave it to Tony.

What an entitled prick! You thought.

“What address should I send this back to?” You held the t-shirt up, Tony waving his hand in dismissal.

“Oh keep it. Mr. Hogan has a closet full of cheesy, oversized graphic tees. You can send the dry cleaning bill over to Stark Industries.”

He added with a small smirk, giving your blouse one more thorough glance.

“Oh no. I have plenty of pristine white blouses that haven’t had coffee spilled over. But thank you for your generosity, Mr. Stark I presume?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“The one and only.”

Happy watched the two of you interact like a tennis match, clearing his throat audibly to break off your staring contest yet again.

“See you around, Miss..?”

“Y/N.” I really hope not, you thought to yourself, giving them a polite smile.

Taking your leave, the two men sped off, leaving you with an amused grin and Tony Stark’s unforgettable gaze that seemed to still linger.

…

That evening the doorbell rang, it was nobody but a large package with a little note.

Another pristine white blouse to add to your collection. Though this is more dinner worthy, I feel. What do you say, Ms. Wordsmith?

Tony Stark

Inside the box sat a satin white top, your size, surprisingly, and a lovely bouquet of beautiful white hydrangeas.

It was an awfully bold yet sweet gesture from someone you encountered for less than ten minutes. By the handwritten note, Tony had researched you in advance, now, it was your turn.

…

Tony’s POV

“I’ll be honest with you Ms. Wordsmith, the thing is, ever since I saw you at the coffee shop, drenched in coffee, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

Okay, what? Did those words actually leave my mouth? That wasn’t supposed to be uttered in front of her. Sure, the statements were true, but, whatever happened to the smooth-talker, unapologetic womanizer Tony! He was back at the lab probably judging the shit outta this guy.

The air conditioning was faulty in this place, I think, feeling sweat beads trickle down my back. The fanciest restaurants in New York with the most beguiling lady sitting across and all my mind focuses on is the goddamn AC?

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about you too, Mr. Stark. I think you’re possibly the most spoiled bratty billionaire I’ve met.”

Her words stirred something in me, my cock twitched curiously at them as I smirked, cleverly hiding my shock at the honesty. No woman was ever this frank before, this was new, intriguing.

I could tell she was interested, just by the way all of her focus was on me, her body angled towards mine, her gorgeous eyes taking in every movement, as if memorizing it.

I hadn’t been subtle either, her personality, her curves, her aura were all too inviting for me to back down. Ever since I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to meet her again, keep meeting her for reasons unknown.

Other girls I’d met were pretty much cut from the same cloth, pretty things wearing tight dresses that accentuated their boobs enough to skip dessert and take them home. That usually ended in Pepper kicking them out in the morning before any of them had a chance to say ‘we should do this again sometime’.

Not Y/N though.

I wanted to listen to her, speak to about absolutely nothing, bring her home, explore every bit of that smart mouth, run my hands all over her soft skin, and claim her as mine…

Whoa there! Some boundaries, Stark. It’s only the first date.

“Earth to Tony?”

I snapped back to reality with her hand waving in front of my face, dear God, I wasn’t on my best game tonight.

“Did you say something I missed?”

Damn it. Obviously she had. What a question even?!

“I just wanted to know if you’d like to split a chocolate cake with me?” Her eyebrows raised in wonder as the waitress patiently stood next to the table, waiting for me to give some sort of reply.

Geez. Was this woman for real? I could’ve kissed her senseless right there. I don’t think any of my previous dates had even uttered the word cake before, let alone chocolate.

“Right uh, sure. Yes.” I cleared my throat and croaked, downing the rest of my drink, giving myself a mental shake.

“Are you alright?” She asked, leaning forward, concern filled in her eyes.

“Perfect. I was just preoccupied with something, I’m sorry. Tell me about where you grew up.”

The whiskey provided some liquid courage for me to get up from my seat and join her on her side of the booth. There was plenty of space but I had to make sure our knees touched, I couldn’t sit too far away, not now.

Angling my body toward her, I laid my arm against the backrest as she spoke, willing my eyes not to slip down to her tempting lips or the way her gesturing moved her blouse slightly to reveal her cleavage.

As her lips moved, a part of my brain registered the words while the other hornier part focused on the way her lips formed the perfect O, the way her tongue danced along making me wonder how it would feel wrapped around my length. The sounds that would leave her as I fucked that pretty little mouth, then her, and make her mine.

“Honestly, the whole thing was such a shitshow, I would not mind a sugar daddy at this point!” She laughed, making something flutter inside my chest cavity.

“A sugar daddy huh? How about an eccentric, genius billionaire?”

I smirked, letting my fingers skim the soft skin of her shoulders, pleased at the effect I had on her as she blushed.

Something changed in her eyes as she shifted closer to me, curiosity replaced by something darker, more carnal.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I murmured, looking down at her lips that screamed to be kissed.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re begging me to devour you until you scream my name.”

That very moment, both of us shifted closer until our lips finally met. That very moment, I knew I was in trouble.

The kiss was everything I had imagined and everything I hadn’t. She tasted like a dream, a mix of chocolate and berries mixed with a bit of wine she’d been drinking. I couldn’t get enough.

My lips glided over hers smoothly, tongue peeking out testing the waters at first but as her hands found their way up my chest, I knew she wanted more.

I could’ve been more drunk on her than the whiskey as we kissed, the restaurant had faded away into oblivion long ago.

Her tongue skimmed along my lower lip shyly, making me smirk against her mouth and card my fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

“Mind if we get out of here?” I breathed, momentarily halting the kissing to look into her eyes.

She nodded, unable to form words as she bit her bottom lip to stifle a grin, her eyes swimming with the same want and desire that was probably reflecting in mine.

“Do your worst, Stark.”

A/N: Here we go! Chapter 1. Feedback is love, as always.

[fictionfunshop]

Wake up call - One Shot

Inspired by this gif-set by @reidgifs.

Him resting his leg on the chair does stuff to me.

18+ / smut!

You didn't even need to open your eyes to know that he wasn't next to you. You shimmed your hand across the bed to find his side cold and let out a whine. You knew some cases took their toll on him, and you could hear it in his voice when he called you from the plane earlier inviting you over. It was times like this you wondered why he does this job at all, why put yourself through all that horror without even a good outcome. Your eyelids flutter open and look around the room as best as you could, noticing a slither of light coming from the bedroom door.

You stretch over to his side of his bed and cuddle into his pillow, hoping that his smell will get you back to sleep. For someone who spends most of his time in motels and sleeping in chairs, the fact that Spencer had a comfortable bed didn't surprise you; nothing about his apartment did. After months of dating and sleepovers being exclusively at yours, he finally let you come over, spluttering on about how dirty it was, but you didn't care. Building his trust had been the most important thing. The fact that he let you through the door made your heart burst and fall more in love with him than you thought possible. It also signalled a change in him; you noticed his shoulders relaxed a little when you cuddled into him on the couch and how much lighter his laugh was bouncing off his dark green walls in his safe space. You glanced to the door, hoping to see any sign that he was joining you again, but after a few silent moments, you decided to try to find him. You slipped out of the sheets, draped one of his shirts over your body and tip-toed out into the light.

That's where you found him. He’s sitting by his desk, surrounded by books and case files, wearing a t-shirt, his boxers, and a guilty look on his face.

"Did I wake you?" the guilt amplified on his features. You shook your head before you join him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders nuzzling into his neck.

"Just missed you," You can feel him smile as he rubs your arm. "What has you awake?"

"This last case…I. think I missed something, so I've been looking through some books I was reading last summer," You knew he was on a roll and not to say anything until he calmed down a little, so you sat down on the corner of his desk, you let a small smile escape when his hand finds you thigh, and his thumb rubs circles.

"Spencer," You take his hand to your chest, which grabs his attention. "I know I'm probably out of line when I say this, but it's over. You did everything you could; you all did."

"Sometimes I feel like I didn't do enough… I'm the genius. I'm meant to know everything..." He says the last part in a whisper as he looks up at you with his wide brown eyes, and your heart breaks a little.

You take his face into your hands, your fingers tangling into his hair. You know he didn't want an answer to the question. He just wanted someone to listen to him. It worried you to think of a time before when he would probably sit here in darkness for hours, pouring over files with no sound other than pages turning. He buries his head into your chest and wraps his arms around your waist. You twist random strands of his hair between your fingers, noticing that there's an auburn fleck when it catches the light. He lifts his head from your chest; his eyes glance at your attire. You keep your fingers in his hair, moving it away from his eyes.

"Is that my shirt?" You nod your head, "Looks good on you…" his hands move underneath to your bare skin and just like that, the files and books around him are forgotten, his eyes are starting to cloud over.

He stands up from his chair and moves between your legs, and you shift your position on his desk so you are perched in place. He leans down and captures your lips in his; the minute your tongues meet, he lets out a groan, and his large hands find the small buttons of his shirt; you shrug it from your shoulders, leaving you on his desk in your lacy underwear. He breaks away from the kiss, his gaze trailing all over your body.

"You are so beautiful like this…" his hands' ghost your ribcage before finding your hard nipples, "You know I'll think of this every time I sit here from now on…" he bends his head down and flicks his tongue over your nipple, his nimble fingers working the one, not in his mouth. You let out a gasp, your nails finding his shoulders as he switches, his teeth now grazing the sensitive bud. You can feel a wet patch being left on the wood underneath you.

"Spence…" you whine.

You know he's smirking because he knows you so well. His free hand travels down to your underwear where he cups you; you let out a whine when his hand connects with you. He breaks away from your chest, and you both lock eyes.

"Fuck me, you're soaked…" he dips his fingers beyond the lace and circles your entrance, your hips snap forward to try and get some relief.

He smiles as he gathers your juices and circles your clit lightly, your name cursing from his lips now. You whine as he removes his fingers before he tugs your underwear down your legs. He opens the top drawer of the desk and drops them in.

"You could've asked; I would've given you a clean pair."

"But I want these ones", he winks at you.

You let out a chuckle before he grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge. He kneels between your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he dives in, his tongue dipping between your folds.

"Jesus Christ!" You can feel him trace shapes with his tongue on your clit, and you're in heaven; one of your hands is tangled in his hair again, your other hand keeping you in place on the desk.

You can feel your orgasm building quickly in the pit of your stomach when his fingers start pumping you.

"So close – fuck Spencer!" he moans against your clit as you feel your orgasm wash over you, your legs shaking as he continues his assault while you come down from your high.

He pulls back from between your thighs, his lips and chin glistening and a massive smile on his face.

"Did I do well baby?" You nod your head as he takes off his t-shirt and slips down his boxers.

That’s when you see how hard he is. Your hand reaches out to touch him as you slowly pump him in your hand, his pre-cum leaking into your palm with every movement.

"I need you inside me", you croak out; you both hear the needy tone in your voice.

He replaces your hand with his own, lining himself at your entrance before he slides in slowly. You let out a cry when he snaps his hips forward; he steadies himself with one of his arms on the desk, the other holds your hip in place as he fucks you so slow and deep you can feel the tears prick the corner of your eye.

"You feel so good baby," he moves the hand on your hip to your jaw, smashing your lips together.

His encouragement made you tug on his hair and bit his lip as he starts to pick up the pace a little; it makes you wonder if he was made for your pleasure. He feels that good inside you, hitting your cervix with every stroke, stretching you to your limit in the most delicious way possible. He pulls away from you, and you can see the concentration on his face, the vein on his forehead now visible as he tries to keep himself together. You dip your hand between your bodies and circle to bundle of nerves between your legs, and a loud moan escapes your lips as you tighten even further around him.

"So close…so fucking good…" you mumble, almost giving yourself permission to fall apart, your nails digging into his supporting arm as you collapse back on top of the papers on his desk.

Through your haze, you can feel him pull out, and he coats your tummy and chest with his orgasm; he catches himself from falling on top of you with his steady hand. He must notice the look on hour face.

"I don't think Hotch would appreciate my cum all over the files" you let out a giggle as he pecks your lips, "Stay here, and I'll clean you up."

You close your eyes, and you hear his feet patter to his kitchen and grabbing some tissue and a damp cloth. You snap your eyes open when you feel him wipe himself from you, him gazing at you with complete adoration in his eyes.

You always hope that he can see the same in yours.

"C'mon, sleeping beauty, we can pass out for a few hours before we have to get up again." He pulls you from his desk and back to bed.

[sky-berrie]

Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood. 

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –” he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.  

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.  

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

[gukyi]

in the frosty air | a jjk drabble

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

{college!au, roommates!au}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook sighs. “I’m not sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to--”

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

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

“Oh my God, I--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

“I don’t regret that night.”

The words feel like biting wind. 

“What?” You turn to him. 

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

“Jungkook, what happened that night--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper back. 

It feels a lot more like Christmas now. 

“Then I’ll stay.”

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

[sabraeal]

All Pain Will Turn to Medicine, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

Written for @fashun-able for my 500 Followers raffle which I ran...nearly four years ago XD The goal now is to finish making good on these promises before I get 1000 Followers, which may be a tight deadline! Back when this was first requested, I had thought this would be 8 chapters total, and this fill would take be right up to the end of this timepoint...but now we’re definitely looking at quite a few more chapters to go. FUNNY HOW TIME CHANGES THINGS

Gen’s illness merely marks the first sleepless night of many. Mira Schuster comes for her after dinner for her father, then Daizo Weber-- one of Gen’s old friends-- causes a ruckus by passing clean out in the middle of the market square. Still, the quarter goes about its day as if it were the same as any other; as if only Shiryuki can feel the undercurrent of panic that eddies beneath it, making them eyeball every dizzy spell and hearty cough with wariness.

“People always worry,” Anda grouses, grinding the koko grass with more feeling than Shirayuki’s certain is needed. “The less they understand it, the more they do, and suddenly you’ve got a whole field full of chickens with heads clean off their shoulders, mucking up the place.”

Her own hands shake where she measures out the milk thistle. “You think they shouldn’t, then? Worry, that is.”

“I didn’t say that.” He grunts, tapping pestle against mortar to knock the leaves loose. “They just need to do it without causing trouble for us. And if I know people-- which I do-- they won’t.”

Frau Koch comes over all dizzy two days after, spilling hot stew all over herself and one of the Kruger’s patrons. That’s the first time she reads of it in the paper-- the guest came from another quarter, one with connections all the way up to the palace, and suddenly the streets seem clearer than they did all summer. The only faces she sees now are the ones she knows as well as her own, and every one of them is grim, eyes pinched with concern-- no, with fear.

It’s Herr Schmitt after than, Frau Weber, the little Fischer girl-- the first child to fall ill, delirious and shivering when her father brings her to Anda’s doorstep. Even still it doesn’t seem real, like some terrible dream brought on but the last dead heat of summer, until, until--

Until it’s Pavo at her door.

Frau Kruger lays on her bed, her usual sheaf of gold hair faded to gray. Her eyes clench when Shirayuki settles at her bedside, but they don’t so much as flutter when she orders the windows opened, nor when someone shatters an ewer downstairs. All she offers is a groan when one of the the stablehands moves her, rolling her up on her side so that Shirayuki can take a glimpse at what’s under the sweat soaked muslin on her back.

Scratches is the answer. Red, angry ones, paired with ones worn white with age. The same kind that crisscross her belly and her chest, tearing up skin so dry it’s like tissue paper beneath her touch. With Herr Bauer, she’d assumed it was simply a side effect of being out in the fields, the logical outcome of seeing so much sun that the skin turned as burnished as a pastry in Shou’s ovens.

But Frau Kruger wasn’t that sort. No, Pavo’s mother might have been born to the quarter, but her aspirations set her sights higher. Rumor had it that she bathes in milk once a fortnight to keep her skin young and supple, and that she bought creams from as far as Wati to wage war against the wrinkles time left on her. Shirayuki had never held much with gossip, much to Oma’s disappointment, but five summers ago, when the whole quarter though her and Pavo were a sure thing, Frau Krugar had pulled her aside to offer her a small bottle, as tall as he finger was high.

It’s a wash, she’d told her, beaming the way Oma would when she served a slice of pie. To help with those pesky freckles.

She’d never used it; Anda caught a glimpse when she opened her satchel after their rounds, and he’d thrown it into straight into the bin. Where the rubbish belongs, he told her, and thought she could never prove he’d spoken to Frau Kruger, that had been the last bit of help she’d ever offered on that front, even if she always looked as if she were on the cusp of it.

It’s a symptom then: itching, not localized. There’s a strange color to it too; not so strange she’d notice at first glance, but the difference between vellum and parchment. Just a hint more hue than she’s used to seeing on Frau Kruger’s carefully kept skin. Swelling too, down by her ankles, though at her age, that could simply be the heat. Shirayuki wipes a wrist across her forehead, grimacing when it comes away not just damp but wet.

“Pavo.” She wipes the sweat on her skirt, even more mortified to find it leaves a stain. “Do you mind opening the other window as well?”

Floorboards creak as he shuffles across the threshold, hovering uncertainly at the door. “Are you sure? Ma always said that sea air would--”

“Please,” she presses, his mother’s pulse thready against her fingers. “If I’m sweating like this now, it can’t be comfortable for her while she’s...” Her mouth works, but there’s no way to sooth the sting, not even for him. “...Ill.”

This should be where she turns to him, where she tells him it’ll all be all right, just like it was with his sister that one winter when she took a chill. Or when his father got bucked from the stallion he’d bought from those scraggly looking mountain men, the ones who said they’d come from just over the border. But instead Shirayuki waits, counting beats, hoping it might tell her something, anything.

His heavy heels clomp across the floor, boots dragging like every step is a marathon. He skirts around the edge of the bed, and when Pavo opens the window, it’s the first time she’s seen him in the sunlight since that day in the barn, not nearly a week ago. Impossible to believe, when it feels like she’s lived an entire lifetime in this room alone.

Sunken eyes stare out it, making his eyes even darker, deeper-set, turning him into a stranger. Only days ago she’d been worried he’d open his mouth, that he’d say something to someone and turn her back into Pavo’s girl once again. That she’d be made into someone who had no future besides what her husband planned of it, all her work, all her reputation rendered useless because of a moment’s decision. It’d been foolish to go to him-- he, the boy so full of love he can’t help but find it in all the wrong places. Stupid to give him the hope that she might be the sort of girl who changed her mind.

But watching him now, his head bowed in the sun’s unrelenting light, shimmering like some gilded statue in Fountain Square, it’s...silly. The worries of a girl so much younger than she is today.

And yet, if Obi hadn’t scared him off all those years ago, maybe she would have been standing by his side instead of sitting here, worried and frustrated both. How would it have been to watch Anda sitting here with his trembling hands, doing all the things she longed to? Doing all the things she knew she could, if only her hands hadn’t been tied to keep her from them?

Ah, but it’s foolish to be thinking of what-ifs, of paths she didn’t take. No need to borrow trouble when she’s got plenty of her own in front of her.

Frau Kruger is a tall woman, broad-shouldered and wide-hipped, but she’s light as a feather when Shirayuki rolls her onto her back, no help from stablehands needed. “Has she been eating?”

He blinks, distress carving new lines into the face she knows as well as her own. “Ma? As well as always. Leastwise, so I think. Nothing I noticed.”

Shirayuki nods, hardly reassured. Pavo was a good boy, brighter than Anda liked to give him credit for, but still-- he didn’t often see past his own nose. Frau Kruger could have been dancing a Port City reel these past few weeks, and he might not notice unless it was his foot she trod on.

“Then we best get down to Herr Anda.” She stands, palms brushing over her skirts. There’s not a speck of dust on them, but it’s something to do, something to keep her from having to look into Pavo’s hopeful eyes. “He should be just about done with talking to your father.”

It’s not Herr Kruger she finds Anda in conversation with when she descends the stairs; no, the innkeep is already busy, telling boys to sweep the floors and clean the tables, even though he knows custom is thin on the ground. Instead she finds him outside, both hands resting on his cane as Suki rubs a handkerchief-- his handkerchief-- over her eyes.

“I don’t understand.” Stifled sobs turn Suki’s steady shores into rough seas. “He’d been fine until a few days ago, nothing like his father. Giving Shirayuki all kinds of guff like he’d never run out! And now...”

Her breath catches, and the cloth comes up over her eyes again.

“I don’t doubt it.” It’s strange to hear him so soft, so comforting. “Young men don’t like to show when things are wrong. Thinks it makes them weak.”

“But if I’d known--”

“Then we’d still be standing here, with just as much worry between us.” Anda reaches out, his ruddy hand gripping her shoulder with a rare gentleness. “Don’t go blaming yourself, girl. I might not look it, but I was as young as your man was once. Take it from me, a little orneriness and no one gives you a second look.”

Suki nods, but that cloth doesn’t budge, not an inch. Her fingers only knot more tightly in it, knuckles blanching white to match. “But what am I going to do, Herr? I’m just...I’m one woman. The farm, the house, the girls...”

His breath whistles through his teeth, the way it always does when Anda’s gnawing on some knotty thoughts, trying to tease on the best course.

“Go call down at the pub,” he says, firm as when he’s giving out his tinctures and teas. “They’re a bit short handed down there of late, but I’m sure Frau Barkellner wouldn’t mind having two girls underfoot in the kitchen. The house down there’s been quiet the past few days, now that Shirayuki can’t be spared.”

“I couldn’t--”

“You could, Suki Bauer, and you’re going to, because I told you to.” Anda draws himself up to his full height, legs straight and shoulders un-stooped. Even with the gray overtaking his wild thatch of hair, he looks younger, more like the man he must have been at court. “We’ve all had a trying few days, and it’ll be a few more before we can have better ones. Give yourself a little relief from being the only one in that house on your feet. And give Frau Barkellner something to do besides worry herself over her granddaughter.”

Finally the cloth falls; one inch, then two, until Suki’s whole red-stained face is revealed, swollen eyes and all. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry, I know so.” His hand releases her, giving her a firm pat. “Now why don’t you hurry along now, girl. You’ll feel better once you’ve got you and yours settled.”

Purpose straightens Suki’s spine, and she nods. “Thank you, Herr.”

“Don’t mention it.” Anda’s mouth may pull flat, forbidding as he is behind the apothecary’s desk, but Shirayuki can see even from where she lurks that there’s a twitch at the corner. “Really, I’d hate for it to get around that I’ve gone soft in my old age.”

Suki scurries down the path as quick as if he’d put a switch to her, and the moment she’s out of sight, Anda sags, bones going bent like some sway-backed mule. “All right then,” he grouses. “What’s your thoughts, girl?”

Shirayuki blinks, shuffling out from behind the jamb. “You knew I was here?”

“Were you really hiding it?” His nose wrinkles. “All those years with that troublesome stray cat of yours and they haven’t done you a lick of good. Well, let’s have it then. How deep’s the water in this kettle we’re about to boil in?”

“I...I don’t know.” Her fingers knit, knuckles squeeze long bones until the pain steadies her. “It looks just like all the others. Itching, dryness, water about the ankles. A little yellow to the skin, too, just like Herr Bauer. The fatigue, the fitful sleep, it’s all...”

Anda’s eyes clench shut beneath the hand he raises, fingers pressing to his temples. “Not some family ailment then, not unless this quarter is made up of closer cousins than I dared to think. But it’s not the sort of sickness that spreads, not at fast as this. No coughs, no sneezes, just one day they’re walking fine, the next they-- woah now.”

His hand grips her elbow, bracing her where she sways. “Stay on your feet there, girl. You’re a little too old for me to carry home.”

“I’m fine,” she lies, fatigue breaking over her like a wave. She needs to sit, she needs to sleep, but she can’t, not when the whole quarter needs her on her feet, bright and bushy tailed as she’s ever been. “Just...tired. I keep thinking about how if I’d know what Herr Bauer had, if I hadn’t waited--”

That grip on her elbow claws tight, giving her a shake that nearly knocks her from her feet. “None of that, now,” Anda growls, brows knitted tight. “You can’t go around blaming yourself. Listen to me, Shirayuki. You can’t do it.”

There’s a voice too much like Obi’s that says, you’d be surprised how much I can. “But if I’d just paid more attention, maybe--”

“There’s always something that we could have done better once we’ve seen the other side of it.” Anda scowls out toward the street, cane tapping on the cobbles. “But that’s the thing of it. None of us can divine the future, no more than we can change the past. It’s tempting to play these games, trying to figure out what we could have done if we’d only known, but you’ll drive yourself mad doing it.”

“Still--”

“Take the evening off.”

She blinks. “Herr--?”

“Get some rest.” He sighs, squinting toward the market. “You and I both know what this could turn into.”

“But Frau Kruger--”

“I can handle pouring powder into a pouch, girl.” His glare fixes on some point in the distance, harsh enough she wouldn’t want to be on the other end of it. “Go on. Get your time now, when you don’t feel as though you’re stealing it.”

For hours, Shirayuki walks. Not far as the crow flies; whenever she reaches the gates, she turns, heading down another road. She sees the mill pond from both sides, passing by the wainwright and the potter enough to have them call out, asking if she’s gotten herself turned around for once. Each time she smiles, giving the shrug Obi taught her, the one that says, too busy to talk while also saying, but I’d love to stay. They just laugh, waving her off, promising they’ll have a word with her master if he keeps riding her as hard as an apprentice.

She’s careful after that, taking the less used alleys and crossing herself at as few points as possible. There’s no reason for it-- she has plenty of time to catch up, to maybe sit a spell and hear what complaints the quarter has that she isn’t required to fix. And yet, she can’t. Instead her feet move with an urgency, as if she has to see as much of her streets as she can. That she has to see them now, before they can change.

Because she knows they will, the same way she can tell a wound’s about to fester, or that a cold’s taken a turn for the worse. She’s got that touch, just the way Anda hates to admit, and every bit of it is telling her that they’ll be in for a long winter.

The night has settled comfortably in the bakery’s eaves by the time her feet carry her to its door, stretched out like a stay cat. Only the ovens light its windows; a warm glow that has her pressed against the glass despite the heat. If there’s a part of her that longs to go in, there’s a larger part that wants to scurry away, to hide herself beneath her covers before she could possibly be perceived. If Obi were to catch her--

Her shoulders hovering at her ears. It’s not that they’re arguing-- no, after that talk on the bridge, they’d been right as rain, the way they’d always been. And Pavo’s showed no signs of wagging his tongue about what happened at the barn, quelling any concerns from that corner. It’s only...

It’s different now, somehow. Her mind wanders as he kneads the morning’s dough, and instead of tumbling through her mental stockroom, taking notes of herbs and scribbling formulae, she’s in that barn again. Only the sweat tastes sweeter against her tongue, the scent of flour and butter soothing her at the same time it excites, and when she lifts her head--

Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Especially not when Obi’s so quick to tease. See anything you like? he might purr. I’ll let you sample anything that catches your fancy, Little Miss. Even now she wants the cobbles to swallow her up, and he’s not even around to witness her shame.

And yet, it’s not away that her feet carry her. Instead it is around the side of the building, following that well-worn path to the back. The door’s propped open, the ovens’ heat radiating out into the yard, and she takes the invitation, slipping through to the flour scattered floor.

It’s only her footprints that mar it; oh there are swirls and swivels, large boots leaving their mark as clean as if it were snow. But they’re old ones, the flour scattered by the draft. If Obi had been in here, it was hours ago, and the room is already cooling from the lack of attention.

Strange, that. Shou likes to keep the shop open until late, handing out the last of his bread to any poor soul who wanders through the door. And it’s Obi who keeps those hours when Seyha’s home, letting husband and wife keep their own company while he sees to the closing up.

Obi might step out with whoever he liked, but he’d never keep the ovens lit without someone in the shop to watch them. That leaves only a few places he could be. Shirayuki furrows her brow, boots scuffing over the floorboards--

“You were talking,” a voice rumbles from the shopfront, deep as a bell and twice as slow. “‘Bout how you wanted to take a trip. Down to the Port City.”

“Before the baby came, yes.” Seyha is so much louder, clear even back where Shirayuki stands. “But that’s before I knew what a hassle it would be to move around with this thing hunkered down in my belly.”

It’s only when he grunts that Shirayuki realizes: it’s Shou. Speaking more words than she’s ever heard him string together all at once. “You should do that. Get out of the city.”

“Now?” Seyha doesn’t shrill with Shou, doesn’t raise her voice, but still that word resounds like a plucked string, filling the shop. “What’s brought this on?”

“Nothing.” She can’t see Shou, not standing here in the hall, but she knows he shrugs by the space his voice leaves. And the way Seyha snorts, unconvinced. “Just though it’d be nice to get out before the baby--”

“Don’t make this about the baby.” It’s that firm tone that reminds that her this is a private conversation between husband and wife, made for only their ears. And Shirayuki-- she’s just standing here not a room away, eavesdropping. “You know I can hardly get out of a chair by myself, let alone sit on a cart with my belly jostling the whole way.”

Shirayuki turns, shuffling a foot towards the door. A serious talk like this is hardly her business, she should really-- “Bring Obi, then.”

Her hands brace against the walls, holding her steady. Shou can’t possibly mean-- “And just how would you run this shop without him?”

“I did before,” Shou grumbles, “could do it again just fine if I had to.”

“Hardly.” Seyha is the only woman who could make a snort sound elegant, and now she makes it eloquent too. “I’ve seen your books. This place has grown twice over since you took my dear boy on. You’d run yourself ragged to keep this place afloat.”

“I can spare him for a few days.” There’s a meaty slap; a hand on Shou’s neck, if she’s not mistaken, rubbing at the red that never quite leaves it. “A week or two, maybe.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“But I can.” There’s a creak, one close enough to the door to send Shirayuki stumbling for the pantry. Her foot nearly catches on a sack, but she rights herself before she gets more than a spray of flour over her skirts. “You keep saying he should see some place other than the city. You could--”

“Shou-hal,” Seyha sighs, so soft. “I know you talked to him today.”

His breath huffs from his nose like a bull’s from its snout, agitated and ready to buck. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Did Anda tell you do this?” Shou snorts, but Seyha’s quick to cluck at him, disappointed. “Don’t lie to me, anka-ya. We promised we wouldn’t, not about the important things.”

The air is tense with silence, split only by Shou’s sigh. “It’s not safe for you here. Not you and the baby. Not if...the gates...”

Her heart stills in her chest, tied up in what’s left of her breath. The gates. He can’t mean-- Anda couldn’t have said--

“I’m not going to just leave you here.” There’s a soft sound, like a pencil has fallen to the floor, and it’s only when she hears Seyha’s soft sobs that she knows it was her knees. “You are my husband. I can’t just leave you to-- to--”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” he rumbles, so tender. “And if it does...you’ll be taken care of.”

Seyha hardly sounds like herself when she whispers, “Don’t talk that way. Anka-ya, please. I can’t...”

“Don’t think about that,” Shou tells her. “Take Obi. I’ll be here.”

“No, no.” There’s history in the way Seyha pleads, sobs muffled by Shou’s heavy apron. Years that peel away as layers, stories that have never seen the sunlight. Not the way she used to speak of her home, of the city of cities, a riddle within a story within a mystery. “I won’t. I can’t. Don’t make me, not again.”

He sighs, the floorboard creaking as he too comes to kneel beside her. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Seyha stills. “What’s going to change, later?”

This time, Shou stays silent.

It’s impossible to know how long she stays there in the dark, crouched among the sugar and flour. She might have counted by breaths, but each one comes too quick and leaves her with so little relief. Over and over she tries to will herself to stand, to stride to the door and forget, and yet, yet--

She’s still here, eyes squeezed tight to ward off the thoughts that threaten to take her. If she moves more than a muscle, they’ll pull her under, as sure and certain as a riptide tumbles out to sea. And she can’t let that happen, can’t contemplate what might be if all this is true, if all Shou’s fears come to pass. If Obi really and truly has to, to...

Her eyes dare to open, taking in the way the shelves sit crooked against the walls. Shou built them himself, sanded and smoothed from the salvage Obi gathered him his first weeks here, to replace the ones he broke by climbing. It’s old, the big man had said over the wreckage, brushing that scrawny stray off. Make some new ones.

She’d only been there to patch him up-- I don’t treat stupidity, Anda grunted when Shou had rushed over, pale as a sheet, but I have an apprentice who’s made it her specialty-- but even then, when she’d hardly liked him at all, she’d seen the way his eyes went wide, rounding with something close to love. Devotion, she knew now, the way a child couldn’t. If Shou asked, Obi would go. Right now, he might not even look back.

A boot clomps out in the hall, right next to the pantry, and Shirayuki startles. Shou won’t take her to task, not the way Seyha would, but he’ll hang his head, disappointed, and she--

She sees gold eyes instead, winking in the moonlight. “Hey, you get locked in here or something?”

“O-Obi!” She scrambles to her feat, desperate to eat away at his high ground. Oh, she might have feared Shou, but this-- this is infinitely worse. “You’re...here.”

One narrow brow hikes up toward his hairline. “Sure am. You know, Shou changed that lock right? Should've been able to sprint yourself out no problem. Unless it jammed.”

He turns back with a thoughtful frown, settling on his knees in the flour dust. Plumes go up, tiny sand storms wherever he slides, and it’s-- it’s too much to be in here with him like this. He’d been so much smaller then, his shoulders taking up half the space, and even though there’s a room between them, take Obi fills up the air, tumbling around with, don’t do anything with anyone who wouldn’t treat you right, until he-- she--

“I need to go,” she blurts out, fingernails digging crescents into her palms. “Please.”

Obi looks back at her, face all screwed up like she’s some puzzle to solve too. “Miss...?”

He’s on his feet now, closing the space between them with a step, his thumb sweeping over her cheek. “Have you been crying?”

You’re going to leave me, she doesn’t say. And the worst part is I think you should.

“I-- I have to--” her voice catches, nearly choking her as she pushes past--

“Shirayuki--”

He reaches out for her, long fingers wrapping around her wrist, too strong a grip for her to break. Not like this.

“Please,” she breathes, tugging uselessly against him. “Let me go.”

His eyes shine like coins, wide enough for her to see gold stretch from rim to rim, and he-- he--

He does.

Anda is still awake when Shirayuki drags herself through the door, hobbling out of the stockroom as if it were the bell that brought him, not his own concern. As if he weren’t up far past his usual tuck in, hair wilder than when she last left him.

“Shirayuki,” he calls out, too innocent, too eager. Chipper, almost, the way he only is when he’s been watching for her from the windows. “You’re coming in late! You’ll be staying here tonight, I suppose, no point in--”

“Shou is sending Seyha out of the city.”

The words fall between them like pebbles in the mill pond, barely leaving a ripple behind. Anda strolls to a stop in the silence, leaning his cane against the counter.

“Is he now?” he says as if it weren’t any concern of his at all. “Good. I’ve always thought Herr Beck was a smarter man than he looked, but you can never tell which ears will be deaf when sense is being spoken.”

“So it was you.” The room sways, but Shirayuki stands steady, unmoving. “You told him to do it.”

Anda's wild brows draw tight, like a storm brewing over the city’s skyline. “Is that what he told you?”

“No.” There’s no need to explain that she hadn’t been told so much as overheard. Not when that would only muddy the waters, letting this moment slip between her hands. “But he said...he only thought about it after he talked to you. That it wasn’t safe for the baby, if the gates...”

She can’t bring herself to say it, to even think it, but she doesn’t need to.

“You mean if those fools at the palace finally listen to me and close them?” Only the street sits outside their windows, but Anda glares anyway, as if he could see the king and his councilors through wood and stone. “One can only hope. But it could be weeks before they’ll move their over-kissed asses to do anything at my request. Never was much beloved by those puffed-up pricks, let me tell you. Not even when...”

He quiets then, the way he always does when he speaks of the time before he came to the quarter. It would be easy to fall into her usual rhythm, to merely smile and ask, is it because you called them that, perhaps? He would grumble, he would grouse, but he’d hide a smile when he thought she wasn’t looking, and whatever dark thoughts clung to him would dispel like a stain in cold water.

Instead, she barely manages to breathe, “You-- you asked them to...to us?”

Anda’s reputation has always been flinty glares and steely scowls, but the look he gives her now is so much softer, so much more weary. There is regret in the shadows of his eyes, but also resolve, of a man who knows how far he must go to do what must be done. “How could I not, my girl?”

She understands, she does; he’s the one who taught her after all, the one who first explained triage, or why gangrene must be severed at the joint. But it’s different being the limb to be cut, being the patient left to die on the hospital floor. “But if they close us in, they could...”

His breath hisses between his teeth. “You have never see a plague, girl. They spread faster than wildfire and leave more than burning in their wake. I’ve seen armies felled by flux alone, and entire village simply gone because...” His lips purse over the words, eyes distant. “It is not a pretty thing.”

When she closes her eyes, she can see the flare of fire, can see red tile roofs burning in the night. It had happened before, hundreds of years ago, before doctors discovered how such things moved between bodies.

And it could happen again, if fear overtook sense. “Are we a lost cause then? Should they just...lock us in here to die?”

“Of course not,” he grumbles, taking his cane from the counter to hobble out from behind it. “But if we’re going to control the spread, we need fewer people in the quarter. Right now we’re the only ones struggling, and it’s best for everyone if it stays that way.”

He’s right, she knows he is, but that doesn’t make her hate it any less. “But there are plenty here who are healthy.”

“And they’ll stay that way.” His cane taps impatiently on the floor. “Herr Kruger’s insisted that we take the inn. Wants us to use it for the sick. I think he just doesn’t want that wife of his to wake up on some musty warehouse floor and make him hear about it, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“A hospital,” she murmurs. “We’ll have a hospital for them.”

Anda nods, brusque. “We can’t make the city close the gates tomorrow, but we can do our part to keep the quarter on its feet. Now I suggest you get back into one of those beds.” His mouth quirks, a dark humor glinting in his eyes. “We’ll have plenty to do when the sun comes up.”

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Number Nine

Chapter Three: With You Beside Me

AO3 author’s note/info one two three four five six seven eight epilogue extra

All my work is 18+.

So cut the headlights, summer’s a knife. I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone. Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes, and if I bleed, you’ll be the last to know.- Taylor Swift, Cruel Summer

It was the beginning of April, and Lea was eating breakfast Tim had made her one morning when he stuck his head around the corner from where he’d been doing something on his laptop in the main downstairs living room.

“Hey, you have a passport, right?” he asked out of nowhere. “It’s not expired or anything?”

She stared at him. “Uh… I have a non-expired passport, yeah. Why?”

He grinned at her. “No particular reason.” With that, he went back to whatever it was he’d been doing.

“Well, that was a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” she muttered under her breath.

Two weeks later, she found out why.

“Okay,” Tim said as he strolled into his bedroom, “I may have gotten you an early birthday present. But you won’t be uhh… using it, I guess, until your actual birthday.”

“What is it?”

He smiled down at her before going into his closet for a moment and coming back out. He was carrying six boxes of varying size, and she rushed over to help, taking the top three from him. 

They put the boxes on his bed, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, bent down to press a swift kiss into her hair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Lea smiled up at him adoringly, leaning into him. “You don’t have to get me so much stuff, y’know,” she murmured, fiddling with the hem of the off-white Ciao Lucia dress where it fell to the middle of her thighs.

He kissed the top of her head again. “First of all,” he started, “I like getting you things. Second, you haven’t even seen what it is yet.”

Giggling a little with excitement, Lea took the lid off a thin white box with MELISSA ODABASH printed on the top and removed the tissue paper. Inside was a loose white dress with blue trim that looked like it would be short on her, but very flowy and soft. 

“This is cute,” she observed, holding the garment up to examine it. When she saw the lace-up style of the bodice portion, however, she winced and said, “I’ll have to double knot it so my boobs don’t pop out, though.”

Tim chuckled softly, moving to wrap his arms around waist from behind and rest his chin on the top of her head. “Open that one next, then.” He pointed to another slim white box, this one with AGUA BY AGUA BENDITA printed on it. She did, revealing a bikini with wired cups, ruffled straps, and high-waisted bottoms covered in a dark blue floral print against white fabric.

“I’m supposed to wear these together, I take it?” Lea guessed.

“If you want,” he told her. “This is just one set; I got you quite a few. Open the others. Smallest one last, though.”

She hummed in acknowledgement before reaching for what was very obviously a shoebox. It had Gianvito Rossi printed in cursive, and inside were a pair of sandals with light brown soles and woven straps made of white leather. “Also cute,” she pointed out, putting the lid back on the box. 

Tim nuzzled her hair as she reached for a box labeled EUGENIA KIM. Inside was a white sun hat with a dark blue ribbon.

“This is gonna make a really awesome outfit,” Lea observed as she reached for the second smallest box, this one slender and about the length of her hand. The top was printed with TOM FORD, a designer that Lea knew Tim favored. Inside was a really nice pair of cat eye tortoiseshell sunglasses with lenses that looked like a sunrise.

“These are gorgeous,” she told him, turning her head to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“No,” Tim insisted, “you’re gorgeous. I just want the things you wear to align with your perfection.”

Lea giggled, nestling herself back against his chest. “You do realize who you are, right?”

He waved her off. “Never mind that. Which set are you wearing right now?”

He asked her that sometimes, when he wanted to know what her undergarments situation was. And he always wanted to know what her undergarments situation was.

“The light pink ones,” she told him. “With all the hearts.”

He groaned, burying his face in her hair, presumably at the image she’d put in his mind. “Please open the box so I can get you out of this dress. The way your tits are bulging out of it is driving me crazy.”

Lea rolled her eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Chalamet.”

“No can do, I’m a permanent resident there,” he told her nonchalantly.

She laughed, reaching for the final box. “Okay, fair enough. After this.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing her neck and trailing his hands up from her waist to squeeze her breasts.

She ignored this, instead choosing to open the box. Inside was a key. She picked it up, examining it. “This is… cool, I suppose. What’s it for?”

“Your birthday,” he said happily. “I borrowed my friend’s jet so I can take you to Thirasia.”

Lea’s heart stopped, and the key fell onto the bed with the clothes he’d gotten her. “Take me where?” she squeaked out.

“Thirasia,” he repeated. “It’s an island in the Greek Cyclades, right next to Santorini. Very similar to Santorini, except it’s smaller and much less populated. Thought we could both use the extra privacy. I know I’m going to.” 

With that, he reached into the white fabric of her dress with one hand, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric of her bra and squeezing her breast, his other hand trailing up her thigh to grip her ass through her panties.

“But— but a private jet, Tim?!” she exclaimed in a stutter.

“Well… yeah,” he said, his hands pausing their ministrations. “It’s got a private bathroom, complete with a shower.”

Lea froze. “Does… does it have a bedroom?”

She felt him smirk against her neck. “With a nice big bed.” His hands resumed roaming, and he lifted the shirt of her dress, smacking her ass lightly over her panties. “So I can do this.”

She yelped in surprise when he grabbed her and tossed her on the bed amongst the boxes, which he shoved off onto the floor. “Tim!” she scolded. “Those are nice things!”

He shrugged a shoulder. “They’re in the way of me eating your pussy, so.” He grabbed her ankle and yanked her towards him. “Now,” he sighed, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor, “if you don’t want that dress ripped off of you, I’d suggest removing it.”

Lea hastened to undo the small tortoiseshell buttons down the front of her dress, shrugging the fabric off her shoulders.

He groaned when he saw the bra and panties she had on: a pale pink set—she had never bothered to wear sets before he started buying them for her front, left, and center—that looked like it was made of hearts rather than printed with them, and bent over her, trailing his fingertips from where the bottom of her bra met her skin to where the hem of her panties began.

Slipping his fingers beneath the hem to tease her just a little, he breathed, “Take them off,” in her ear. She immediately started rushing to slide the smooth fabric down her hips, but he gripped her jaw firmly. “Nuh uh. Slowly.” With that, he stood back up, towering over her. “Let me watch you.”

Feeling her heartbeat in her ears, Lea slid her panties down slowly, watching his face to make sure she was doing it the way he wanted. God, all she wanted was to please him, to make him happy.

“That’s it, angel,” Tim breathed as her panties hit the floor. “Spread those legs for me. Show me that pussy, c’mon.” He didn’t wait for her to process his words enough to obey them, instead falling to his knees and prying her thighs apart himself and running a finger up her folds, brushing lightly over her clit. “You’re already soaked,” he chuckled softly.

“Like I don’t know that,” she grumbled in embarrassment.

Tim smacked her inner thigh lightly. “Don’t act like you don’t want my mouth on you, licking you until you scream.”

She gulped. She could use their safe word, she knew, but she didn’t want to. All she wanted was everything he was going to give her— that deliciously sweet bliss of existing only for him, to please him.

Instead of responding to his command directly, she very softly asked, “Do you want me to take my bra off?”

He stared at the garment in question for a moment, considering. Finally, he decided, “No. No, don’t take it off. I wanna see your tits bounce right out of it from how hard I’m gonna make you ride me.”

She whimpered at the image, and then he dove in, lapping at her clit like his life depended on it. Lea gasped, lifting her pelvis and digging her hands into his curls so as to hold him against her.

Tim stopped abruptly, however, pulling back slightly and biting her inner thigh just enough to sting. “Bad girl,” he scolded. “If you want to touch, ask first.”

She whined, her core throbbing with need for him, but pulled her hands away nonetheless. “May I touch you, please?” she requested timidly.

He smirked. “No.” His tone was firm, but his eyes were affectionate, sweet. “Hands above your head.”

Lea nodded shakily, hoping her compliance would get him to continue.

Thankfully, it did, and he was back between her thighs, his tongue flicking over her clit as he plunged two fingers inside her and started to curl them.

He was occasionally gentle the same way he’d been when he’d taken her those first few times, but usually he seemed to want to fuck her so hard and so fast she couldn’t so much as move afterwards, generally opting to fall asleep in his arms instead. This suited her just fine; she had very quickly discovered that she quite liked to be turned into a boneless heap of orgasm-induced mindlessness, all non-Tim thoughts fucked out of her.

Currently, he seemed to be of the latter mindset, and even as he lapped away at her, driving her closer and closer to orgasm, she was giddy with excitement for what was to come.

“I want you,” she whined, clenching needily around his fingers as he curled them within her. “Please, Timothée, I want you inside me, please—“

He pulled back slightly so his lips brushed against her throbbing, sensitive clit when he spoke. “You’re going to take what I give you, angel,” Tim said lowly. “You get my cock when I say so, not before.” He kissed her clit, making her whine, her hands gripping her hair so she wouldn’t grab his. “And I say you’re going to cum from my tongue before I fuck you. Understand?”

He stared at her, and he looked so deliciously lewd there between her legs. Still, he was waiting for an answer. “I— I understand,” she stuttered out, anxious to have his mouth on her again.

Tim smirked against her clit, and her hips twitched. “Good girl.”

With that, he resumed his attentions to her clit, and she very quickly discovered that the stimulation of him speaking directly against her the way he’d done had been stimulating her the entire time, because she was already getting close.

“Oh,” he chuckled into her heat when he felt her walls fluttering around his fingers, “you’re already about to cum, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she begged. “Yes, Tim, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck—“

He was so good at making her cum, at making her spasm. He could make her cum even faster than she could manage on her own. It was like he knew her body better than she did herself. He could play her like a finely tuned instrument, his fingers and tongue expertly bringing her hurtling towards release at a speed she’d never considered possible before.

Just when she thought she’d die if he didn’t finish her off, he took her clit between his lips and sucked on it gently, still managing to flick the tip of his tongue over it, and she came with a desperate moan, her hands yanking her hair as her back arched off the bed.

“Fuck,” Tim groaned as he stood back up to pull his pants down and kick them off to the side. “I love making you cum. It’s the sexiest thing on the face of the earth.”

Lea was hardly listening, though. She couldn’t do much but stare at his cock. Long and thick and pink— perfect, really. She hadn’t ever considered that she could find a guy’s junk pretty, but his absolutely was.

He plopped down on one of the chaises (the bastard had two in his bedroom alone) and crooked his finger at her, beckoning her closer.

Lea stood, legs trembling a bit, and he propped himself up on his elbows to watch her move towards him, smirking as he observed that she wasn’t very steady on her feet due to the orgasm he’d given her.

“You could’ve asked for help, y’know,” he told her, that sly grin still on his stupidly perfect face. “I’d have carried you.”

Blanching, she firmly insisted, “Absolutely not. I can walk just fine on my own, thank you.”

He hummed, sitting up the rest of the way and wrapping an arm around her waist to yank her towards him the rest of the way.

“C’mon,” he murmured, reaching up to tug lightly on one of the curls hanging in front of her face. “Unless… you don’t want to?”

Lea’s eyes widened, and she shook her head rapidly. “No!” she insisted, her voice almost urgent. “No, I want to!” Then she remembered herself and flushed at overeagerness.

Tim laughed softly. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.” He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close, pressing gentle kisses to her stomach. “I want you, too, y’know.”

She did know that. It was really quite evident. There was visual proof that he wanted her.

He kissed her stomach again, right above her belly button, and then he looked up at her through his curls. “Lea,” he said softly, “can I tell you something?”

She frowned, concerned. When he saw this, he tightened his arms around her. “What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“Nothing,” Tim assured her hurriedly, sounding somewhat nervous as he returned to staring at her stomach. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Okay…” she said hesitantly, not sure whether she’d freak out or not. 

“I just…” He paused. “I was just thinking about how sexy you’d look pregnant.”

Lea froze. “W— what?”

“I don’t mean right away,” he assured her hurriedly, then paused. “Well, okay, I’m not going to lie and say I wouldn’t love it if you were ready for that right away, but I’m not asking for that.”

Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she breathed, “What’re you asking for, Tim?”

“Do you think you would ever want that with me?” he asked gently, gazing up at her. 

Images of what her children with him might look like flashed into her mind. 

“I think I’ve always wanted that with you,” she confessed quietly.

He pressed his face to her stomach, his hands trailing down her lower back to squeeze her ass. “You should finish school first,” he sighed against her skin, sounding disappointed. “Which is unfortunate because I’d do just about anything to fuck a baby into you right now.”

She shuddered with delight, closing her eyes at the image; him filling her with his cum, fingering her after they’d finished so it all stayed inside her, putting his baby inside of her— god, Tim’s baby, fuck—

“Would you do that for me, angel?” he asked gently, still squeezing her ass. “Would you let me get you pregnant? I’d keep your pussy nice and full, suck on your tits so they don’t get sore from having too much milk. I’d take such good care of you, I promise.”

“S— suck on my—“ she stuttered out.

“Mhm,” Tim hummed, reaching up to squeeze her breast and angle it towards his mouth so he could suck softly on her nipple. “And I’m the only one who’d get to,” he breathed against her skin. “If I fuck you good enough to get your tits full of milk, it’s all for me.” He paused. “But you didn’t answer my question. Would you do that for me? Would you have my baby?”

Lea whimpered at the images he put in her mind, her core clenching even though she’d just orgasmed. “Yes,” she exhaled. “Of course I would.”

He kissed her stomach again. “That’s my girl.” He laid back down, taking her hand in his and threading their fingers together. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you? Give me anything?”

She couldn’t breathe properly as she nodded down at him. Her lungs wouldn’t fill completely no matter how hard she tried.

Tim smiled at her adoringly. “We’ll have it someday, y’know,” he told her. “I’ve never wanted this with someone so badly before. I really want it with you.”

A small smile graced her lips. “I want it with you, too,” she admitted bashfully.

He squeezed her hand. “My sweet girl.” Then, “Now, sit on my cock.” When she squeaked in surprise at the sudden change of tone, he tugged her closer so her knees were against the soft black fabric of the chaise. Flushing bright red, she straddled his waist. “C’mon, Lea. Gimme that pussy,” he breathed, staring at where she was just above his length. She must not have obeyed fast enough because his gaze snapped up to hers abruptly. “I said give it to me.”

Lea hastened to do as she’d been told, lowering herself onto him with a moan. “You’re so big,” she whined.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Or it could be that you’re so tight.” She was still adjusting, but he got impatient rather quickly. “Ride me, baby. I know you know how ‘cause I taught you myself.”

Lea rolled her hips forward, resting her hands on his stomach. He’d gotten so muscular lately; he had a fucking six pack now, for god’s sake, and it was warm under her hands, like there was a fire inside him burning for her, only for her.

“That’s it,” Tim encouraged lowly. “Show me how good I make you feel, how much you want me.”

“Feels so good, Tim,” she whimpered, continuing to roll her hips. “God, you feel—“

It felt like he was impaling her, but in the best possible way. He was so big that logically, it probably should’ve hurt her, she’d always thought, but it didn’t. Once she got used to the stretch, it was delicious.

“D’you wanna cum again?” he asked gently, trailing a hand up her torso to grip her breast.

“Yes, please,” she breathed, rocking her hips forward and watching his face closely.

He hummed in delight—he loved making her cum, said there was nothing sexier than the sounds she made when he took her apart with his fingers and tongue, nothing more beautiful than the expression on her face when he brought her pleasure—and reached to where they were joined, rubbing his thumb over her clit. Lea threw her head back with a moan, moving her hips faster.

“Nuh uh,” Tim snapped sharply, pressing on her clit hard enough to make her yelp, the sensation was so intense. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off me, Lea. You get my dick, but you have to watch me give it to you.”

She gazed into his eyes, and he resumed rubbing her clit in gentler circles. She watched him—the way his eyes darkened when she touched his lower stomach or ran her fingers over his ribs, the way his jaw tensed as he focused on not cumming yet (he could hold out for a pretty long time, she had discovered).

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned when she started to spasm around him, still moving her hips as fast as she was able. “Feel so fuckin’ good when you’re about to cum. C’mon baby, give it to me, you can do it.” 

When Lea came, she moaned so loudly that she half wondered how likely they were to get a noise complaint as she collapsed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair softly, letting her body calm down somewhat.

“Can you sit back up for me, angel?”

“Why?” she grumbled in annoyance.

Tim chuckled. “So I can watch you bounce on my cock.”

She hummed, pleased at the thought of how he reacted when he saw himself entering her; the best word for it was probably ‘feral’, if she were honest. That was fine, though. It was better than fine, actually. It was awesome.

Lea lifted her head, cupping his cheek. It was just a little bit rough from his barely-there stubble, and leaned in to kiss him. He kissed her back hungrily, his hands finding her hair as he thrust up into her a bit.

“I’d do anything for you,” she murmured against his lips. This only served to make him kiss her harder, which she had expected. 

What she did not expect was for him to bite her lip before suddenly shoving her upright and demanding, “Then bounce.”

Lea pushed herself up onto her knees again and used what little thigh muscle she possessed to lift herself off of him before lowering again with a soft moan. “You feel so good,” she whined, repeating the motion. 

“Yeah?” he breathed, reaching up to cup her breasts and tweak her nipples before trailing one hand down to grip the flesh of her stomach. “You said you’d do anything for me,” he reminded her. “You said you’d let me get you pregnant.”

She rose off of him again, moaning, “Yes,” as she did.

“You want that?” Tim wanted to know. “If you want that, I swear I’ll put my baby inside of you the second you graduate.”

“Yes, please,” she told him, lifting off him again, her hands on his stomach to help give her leverage. “I want you to. I want you to get me pregnant, Tim, I want it, I want it—“

“I’ll give it to you, angel. I promise,” Tim assured her. “God, you take my dick so well,” he groaned, gripping her hips to help lift her body off of him. “No one makes me feel the way you do, baby.”

“Fuck,” she moaned, bouncing outright now, his hands gripping her ass, fingertips digging into her skin as he guided her up and down his length, watching himself disappear inside her. “So good, please—“

“Please what, Lea? What do you want?”

Her thigh muscles had long since started burning, but she didn’t care. As long as she could have this, as long as she could have him inside her, she didn’t care.

“More,” she begged. “I want more. Please, just don’t stop, I want more of you, please—“

“I’m not gonna stop, baby,” Tim swore, watching her breasts bounce in her bra. “Not ever, okay? My sweet girl can have my cock any time she wants. You’re never gonna be empty, I promise.” One of his hands migrated to her stomach to squeeze it, even as she continued to impale herself on him. “Can’t wait to knock you up, fill you with my cum.” She nodded vigorously, but he continued.

She bit her lip, leaning forward to run her hands over his chest and choosing to rock her hips instead of bouncing on him. “I want your cum,” she told him. “I want your baby.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re gonna get my cum now if you keep talking to me like that.” She smiled down at him, continuing to rock her hips. “Your tits would get even bigger, heavy and swollen and full of—“

“Milk?” she cut him off softly, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra and let it fall to the floor.

“Yes,” Tim growled, reaching up with one hand to squeeze her breast roughly. “Who gets it, angel?”

“You,” she whimpered, clenching around him.

“Anybody else?”

“No,” Lea insisted.

“Good girl.” She rocked her hips faster and faster at the words, the sounds of skin against skin bouncing off the high walls of his bedroom.

“Get me pregnant,” she pleaded. “I want it, I want it so bad, please, Timothée, want your cock, want it—“

“God, how are you such a slut for it now?” he demanded, smacking her ass sharply and guided her up and down him so she was bouncing again. “Is this what I’ve turned you into?”

“Only for you,” she moaned, her need to cum again rapidly increasing. “Only for you, Tim.”

“Fuck,” he grunted. “I really get this pussy all to myself?“

“You own me,” Lea promised. “Every part of me is yours.”

“Lea,” he groaned, clenching his jaw. “Wanna cum, wanna fill you up.”

“Yes,” she gasped out in delight as he reached between them to rub her clit furiously. “Get me pregnant, Timothée, give me your baby, give it to me—“

As soon as he wrung her orgasm from her, he allowed himself to follow, pulling her down to kiss her hungrily as he flooded her.

Tim carded his fingers through her hair as they came down, kissing lazily. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her lips.

She hummed contentedly against him, propping herself up on her elbows. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted kids with me?”

He paused his movements. “Yes. Is that okay? Do you want that?”

Lea flushed, and he smiled softly, brushing her curls from her eyes. “Yeah.”

He kissed her again. “Good.”

She noticed the boxes on the floor in her peripheral, and suddenly recalled what they were for. “Tim,” she started softly, “are you serious about the whole… Greece thing?”

He cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” she mumbled, nestling herself against his neck. “Guess I just think it sounds like an awful lot of money to throw away just for me.”

“Hey,” Tim said firmly, lifting her chin up. “You deserve the world.”

She giggled at that. “I dunno about the world.”

“Yes,” he insisted, picking her up and depositing her on the floor, reaching over to slide his fingers into her so his cum wouldn’t slip out. “The world. The universe.” He sat up, the sunlight from his tall bedroom windows glinting off his body, his skin pale against the black fabric of the chaise. He wrapped his arms around her waist, gazing up at her adoringly, a sleepy grin on his lips. “My favorite girlfriend deserves every single thing her heart desires.”

She froze. “Your— your what?” 

Tim frowned, his lips forming an adorable pout. “My favorite girlfriend. Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of it.”

Lea tensed, stumbling awkwardly into the bathroom to grab a washcloth from under his fancy black-and-white marble sink. She turned the faucet on and wet the washcloth. By the time she was wringing it out and cleaning herself between her legs, he was behind her, and Lea discovered this when she jolted slightly upon glancing up at her reflection in the mirror only to find him standing behind her, still naked and frowning with hands on his hips. 

“You’re being evasive,” Tim observed. “Why?”

She shrugged, rinsing the washcloth out and hanging it over the faucet. “I just. I didn’t know you saw me like that.”

“Like what? My favorite?”

“Well…” Lea sighed. “I guess I didn’t think about how you saw me,” she admitted. “I definitely didn’t think you saw me as your girlfriend.”

He sputtered out a surprised laugh. “Seriously?”

She pursed her lips at him.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, holding up both hands in surrender. “Sorry, I forget you’ve never…” he trailed off. “Okay, c’mere.”

With that, he took her hand and led her to sit beside him on his bed. He didn’t let go of her hand, stroking the back of it idly with his thumb.

“Look,” Tim started, “I’ll admit maybe I’ve never said it explicitly before, which is odd, but you are definitely my girlfriend in my eyes. I’ve considered you my girlfriend since our first night together.”

“Really?” she asked, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

He squeezed her hand. “Yeah.”

“You said I was your favorite,” she reminded him, strangely timid despite the fact that she was so comfortable being naked around him by this point.

He smiled down at her, brushing her hair from her eyes. “You are,” he told her with a nod. “It’s strange, because I’ve been with you the least amount of time, but I’m more attached to you than I am anybody else. I’ve never felt this level of a connection with anyone before.” She must’ve been staring at him in awe, because he hastily added, “Please don’t tell me the feeling isn’t mutual.”

She shook her head. “No, I… I feel that way about you, too.”

Tim grinned, pulling her under the covers with him. “Honestly,” he told her as he settled his arms around her, “I think we’re probably soulmates or something.”

Lea nestled in close to him, fully prepared to have a nap. “You think?”

He tightened his arms around her. “Yeah, I think so.”

She smiled, nuzzling his jaw affectionately. “Me, too.”

Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @vampire-reanimator

To be added, please ask 💗

[waitimcomingtoo]

Simple Addition

Pairing: Shy!Peter Parker x Reader

Request by @satanswitchings : reader asks a very shy Peter to help her with her math homework. They become close, but Peters feelings get hurt when reader won’t admit they’re friends in school

Masterlist

“Hey, wait up.”

Peter stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice from behind him in the hallway. He turned around slowly just as you caught up to him. You gave him your million dollar smile and ran your fingers through your hair, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“It’s Peter, right?” You asked, but you knew the answer. He’d sat in front of you in math half the year and though he never raised his Ahmed or participated in class, he aced every test. The same, however, could not be said for you.

Peter gulped and nodded rapidly, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

“Cool.” You smiled. “So, I have no idea what we just learned. I paid attention and took notes but it still doesn’t make sense to me. I um, I saw you got a 100 on the test. Are you good at math?”

It took Peter a minute to process what you had even said. He was focusing so hard on listening that he didn’t listen at all. He blinked a few times and forced himself to nod, internally kicking himself for being too shy to speak.

“Well, I’m not. Like, at all.” You sighed and shifted your books in your arms. Peter’s eyes clocked the math test on top of your notebook with a failing grade. “I was wondering if you could help me out with the homework? Logarithms for right over my head.”

Peter made sure to listen this time and wordlessly took off his backpack. He went into his red math folder, because math is red, and handing you his completed homework. Your eyes widened in surprise at how easy it was to get it as you looked over the sheet.

“Oh, thanks. I’ll see you-“ You looked up to thank him but he was already gone.

“-later. What a little weirdo.” You chuckled to yourself and put his homework in your folder.

“Who was that?” Your friend Gwen came up to you to ask as she squinted her eyes in Peters direction.

“I don’t know. Some boy in my math class.” You lied. “He gave me his homework though.”

“Nice. I love getting nerds to help me.” She nudged you teasingly with her elbow.

“You’re such a bitch. I love it.” You teased her back as you walked to your next class.

You were walking by the library the next morning when you spotted Peter inside, sitting alone at a table. You went in and took the seat across from him, chuckling a little as he slowly looked up at you in disbelief. A blush spread from the bridge of his nose all the way down his neck as you smiled at him.

“Hey. Thanks for letting me copy it.” You greeted him as you gave him back his math work.

“N-no problem.” He stammered, not looking at you as he put in back in his folder.

“Ahh. So you do speak.” You commented, pleasantly surprised to hear his voice for the first time. He gave you a weak smile and quickly looked away, eyes going back to his Spanish homework. You noticed what he was doing and furrowed your eyebrows. His homework was barely done and it was due later that day. You knew because you were in the same class and breezed through it the night before.

“Is that for Señor Kuhn’s class?” You nodded towards his paper. He looked at you quickly and nodded as he toyed with the cap of his pen.

“You know it’s due today, right?” You asked just to make sure he knew.

“Spanish isn’t my speciality.” He said softly as he brushed some hair out of his eyes.

“Really?” You wondered. “I thought everything was your specialty.”

You knew Peter was a smart kid, some might even call him one of the schools nerds. It surprised you to hear he also struggled with schoolwork.

“I, um, can’t really figure things out without an equation.” He was barely audible but you still heard him. He was painfully shy, and that made him all the more endearing to you.

“Well, Spanish is kinda like an equation.” You told him. “You add the subject to the verb to get the conjugate. Like, this is your homework and you didn’t do it. No hiciste la tarea. I did do the homework. Hice la tarea. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” He smiled a little. “Kinda.”

“Here.” You took out your Spanish homework and handed it to him. “You can copy mine. I owe you one for the math homework.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look at you as he accepted the paper, but his tone told you he was grateful.

“You can look at me, you know.” You chuckled. “You won’t turn to stone or anything.”

Peter’s face flamed red again as you acknowledged his shyness. As much as he wanted to talk to you, he didn’t know how. The words came to mind but died in his throat, leaving him speechless.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” You asked softly, but not meanly. Peter shook his head as he slowly looked at you, a sheepish look on his face.

“Not really.” He mumbled.

“Thats okay.” You shrugged. Talkings overrated. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around?”

Peter nodded eagerly at you as you stood up from the chair. You waved at him, and he weakly waved back. As soon as you were out of sight, he banged his head on the desk a few times out of embarrassment. The girl he’s been crushing on since third grade had finally noticed him and he couldn’t hold it together long enough to speak to her. He picked his head up and sighed, eyes flickering over to your Spanish homework. He smiled a little at your unmistakable handwriting before picking up the paper and copying the answers down.

This was the first of my many homework trade offs. He’d give you the math homework and you’d give him the Spanish, an arrangement that benefited the both of you.

“Peter.” You came up to him the following week. “Did you happen to do the math homework last night? I got up to number 7 and my mind shut down. It was totally lost on me.”

Peter silently handed it to you, already having it ready since he knew he’d run into you between classes.

“Thank you so much.” You sighed in relief. “I have the spanish, if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Peter mumbled as he took the Spanish from you. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You called after him, but he had already run away.

He came to your locker the next morning with the math homework in his hand, wordlessly holding it out to you.

“Oh my God, thanks.” You took it and slipped it into your folder. “Stay here, I’ll get the Spanish.”

Peter stood there in silence as you began to rummage through your locker. He peered inside, smiling to himself at all the pictures of you and your many friends you had hanging up. Your lives couldn’t be more different, but this single thread tied you together.

“Are you on the Decathlon team?” You asked suddenly as you took out your Spanish folder. Peters face flushed as he nodded, too shy to speak. You got the homework out but didn’t give it to him just yet, knowing he’d run away once you did.

“Is it fun?” You asked. “I almost signed up freshman year until I found out you have to take a bus all the way to Washington DC every year. I get crazy motion sickness.”

“It’s fun. I- I like it.” He stammered, surprised at you making small talk with him. Though you’d never admit it to your friends, you liked Peter. You liked him a lot, in fact. He was far better than the jocks you had pinning after you. You appreciated his help with homework, but you wanted more from him. Despite his obvious shyness, you were determined to get a conversation out of him.

“That’s cool. Do you do any other clubs?” You kept the conversation going just to keep him there.

“Marching band and robotics.” He told you, speaking a little louder now.

“Wow. So you’re like a total nerd, huh?” You joked as you shut your locker. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His ears turned pink as he struggled to talk to you.

“Relax. I’m just teasing.” You assured him as you squeezed his arm. “I think robotics are cool. Have you built one yet?”

“I’ve built a few.” He nodded. “It’s probably not the kind of robots you’re thinking of, though. It’s mostly machines that can complete basic tasks.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak at once.” You smiled happily. “Here’s the Spanish.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled through a smile as he took it. “Uh, I’ll see you later. Bye.”

And with that, Peter bolted away without another word. You laughed to yourself at his odd behavior before one of your friends came up to you.

“Hey girl.” She greeted. “Who was that?”

“No one.” You lied again, wondering briefly why you even did it. “Let’s go to homeroom.”

In a slight change of events, Peter was the one to approach you the following week. He spotted you in the library and had every intention of minding his own business when he realized you were crying. He couldn’t be totally sure because you had your hands over your face, but your body language told him you were very upset. He took a deep breath and smacked himself on the cheek before walking up to your table.

“Hey.” He said softly, startling you a little as you looked up. You quickly wiped your face free of tears and gave a weak smile, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Hi.” You nodded, averting your eyes so he couldn’t tell how glassy they were.

“You okay?” He asked as he slid a packet of tissues towards you. You laughed sadly as you accepted the packet, quickly taking one out to dry your eyes.

“This is so embarrassing.” You sniffled. “I cannot understand this math for the life of me. You know I got a 67 on the last test? I’m gonna fail this class.”

“You won’t fail.” Peter assured you. “You just need to practice.”

“I try to but I get frustrated when I can’t understand the problem and then I stop. How is it so easy for you?” You asked desperately.

“The same way Spanish is easy for you.” He said. “Different people have different skills.”

“But math is a basic skill that we learned when we were five. The teacher told me if I fail one more test, I’m gonna go to summer school. I’m so stupid.” Yoh began to cry again, turning your face so he wouldn’t see. Peter felt a strong urge to walk away due to his inter hatred of awkward situations, but he felt a stronger urge to comfort you. He got out of his seat and took the one beside you instead, placing a gentle hand over yours. You turned your head sharply in his direction at the unexpected contact, eyes flickering from your hands to his face.

“You’re not stupid.” He said at the loudest you ever heard him.

“Then why can’t I get this?” You whispered.

“Um, I…I don’t…” Peter struggled to find the words to say to make you feel better. He frowned and shook his head, cursing himself for being shy.

“It’s okay, Peter.” You said suddenly. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. I’m sure you have your own things to deal with, you don’t need me to burden you with mine.”

“You’re not being a burden.” He found the words this time. “Doing the homework is what helps me remember how to solve the equations. Since you’re just copying my work, you’re not getting the extra practice.”

“You’re probably right. Actually, I bet you’re exactly right.” You sighed as you looked down at the math you’d been trying to figure out for the last hour. You chewed your bottom lip as you through about what he said and came up with a solution.

“Could I get your number?” You asked him. “Maybe it’ll help me if you explain the homework to me instead of just giving me the answers.”

“Oh, sure.” Peter gulped nervously as he took out his phone, handing it to you with shaking hands. You typed your number into it, smirking at his Lock Screen, a picture of him and Mr. Stark.

“Cute background.” You mumbled as you handed his phone back. “You can put your number into mine as well. I have a feeling you’re not one for texting first.”

“That’s, um, that’s true.” He laughed shyly as he put his number in your phone. “You may be struggling with math, but you’re excellent at reading people.”

“I do my best.” You shrugged. “I’ll talk to you later, Peter.”

Just as you promised, a text from you appeared on Peters screen later that evening.

“Hey Peter. It’s Y/n.”

Peter gulped nervously and picked up his phone, thumbs dancing over his keyboard as he thought of a response.

“Hi. Need help with math?” He texted back.

“Eager to get started I see. We could talk first, you know.” You teased him, hoping he would get your sarcasm through the text.

“About what?” He asked, having literally no idea what a girl like you would possibly want to talk about with a boy like him.

“Idk. Our days, the weather, the fictional character from our childhood that we projected on. Whatever you want to talk about.” You sent, making him laugh.

“I have nothing to say.” He wrote back. He knew it sounded lame, but he was being honest.

“Then I’ll start. What’s your favorite fruit?” You texted. The random quetsion made him chuckled as he rolled over and hugged his pillow.

“Strawberries.” He answered back.

“This is the part where you ask me what my favorite fruit is. That’s how a conversation works.” You wrote, poking fun at him once again.

“I’m not good at conversations.” He reminded you, a cheeky smile on his face.

“So I see. Come on, Peter. Let me pick that pretty little brain of yours.”

Peter rubbed his face as he grinned, blushing over you once again.

“I already told you I like strawberries. Idk what else I can say. That’s basically my whole personality right there.” He texted you, letting a little bit of his personally shine through.

“Hark! 😳Is that a sense of humor? You’re three dimensional after all” You wrote back.

“I have a glimmer of a personality every now and then” He laughed as his own joke as he texted you.

“I’m shocked. I thought you were just the token cute but shy background character that gets his arc in the third season” You sent. Peter let out a shaky breath when he read that you called him cute. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

“Oh I’m much more. I only think about the way I said “here” during attendance for HALF the day now. Used to be much longer 😏”

You laughed out loud when you read his text, loving that he was finally showing you his personality.

“Say less 🙈😍” You texted back.

“Sometimes I hold eye contact when I’m really feeling wild” He wrote you.

“BABY stop you’re turning me on”

“One time I coughed in class instead of holding it in even though I already coughed a few minutes before” Peter was feeling much more comfortable with you now, your reaction to his texts giving him the confidence to go on.

“You’re such a bad boy 🥵 Do you ever ask to go to the bathroom during class?”

“Never 😉” He sent, making you giggle.

“That’s so hot 🥴” You texted him, imagining the blush it would put on his face.

“I’m glad you think so. I’m just a little 👉👈”

You sat up in bed and laughed loudly, falling in love with him with every text. It’s always the people you don’t expect who make you smile the most.

“BAHHAA I cannot believe you. You should talk more!! You’re actually really funny” You texted him, hoping he would listen. If he had been this open in school, you would’ve noticed him years ago.

“You mean I’m not just a pretty face? 😔🥺” He stole your joke from before. It was a minute before you answered, his heart pounding as he waited.

“You’re that too” You finally said, making him smile.

“Don’t get used to this.” He told you. “It’s a lot easier to talk over text. It may be months before I make eye contact with you”

“Well lucky for you I’m a patient person”

“Are you ready to do the math now?” He asked, feeling his social better beginning to drain.

“Yes I’ve gotten my Peter fill. Can we FaceTime?” You asked and his heart skipped a beat. Not knowing what to say, he turned to humor.

“Sure but I’ll only show my ceiling and barely speak 🥰” He wrote. You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head at his antics.

“That’s okay.” You sent. “I’m calling you now”

Peter sat up in bed and swiped his hands through his hair to tame it before your contact lit up on his screen. He took a deep breath before clicking the answer button.

“Hey. What are you doing?” Your smile appeared on his screen. Your phone was propped up against something as you sat at your desk, homework all out in front of you. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips as he saw a glimpse into your room, and you think thinking the exact same thing. Your walls were full of pictures of friends and his were full of decathlon posters. They were different, but different was okay.

“I’m just laying in bed.” Peter told you. Only his eyes could be seen from his camera and as promised, you were looking at his ceiling.

“Aw. Without me?” You teased and shot him a wink. Peter’s face flamed red before he disappeared from your screen all together. You let out a laugh at the surprised squeak he made as he struggled to find words to say.

“Wait, come back.” You chuckled. “It’s so fun to flirt with you because of how red you get but I genuinely fear you’re gonna have a heart attack. Does your family have a history of heart problems?”

“No.” He answered your joke question seriously.

“Okay.” You nodded in satisfaction. “Then you looked really cute today.”

Peter’s face left the screen again but you heard him let out a flustered laugh, which made you laugh as well.

“Let me see your face.” You whined as you leaned your cheek on your hand.

“No.” Peter laughed. “Open your textbook to page 56. There’s a good practice test I want you to do.”

“Okay, I see it.” You found the page and looked over the question. “How do you do number one?”

Your face timing sessions became a nightly routine as you tutored each other in your respective subjects. Peter eventually worked up the courage to ask you to come over to study for midterms, which you gladly accepted. Even after you got an 81 on the midterm, you continued to go to his house twice a week for studying. Two months later, he had become one of your best friends, even if he was still a little shy around you.

“I think of it as BAE.” Peter explained, lying on his stomach beside you on his bed. “Base, answer, exponent. Do you want to try this one?”

“Okay.” You nodded and took the pencil from him. “The base is 2. The answer is 8. And the exponent is 3?”

“That’s right.” Peter smiled but didn’t look at you. “You got it.”

“Finally.” You sighed in relief. “Do you think I’ll be ready for the test on Friday?”

“I think so.” He nodded as he wrote down another problem.

“I think so?” I need to hear your confidence, Peter.” You urged as you nudged him with your elbow.

“Fine.” He spoke up. “You’re going to ace this test, I know it. You are going to ace this test because you are smart and capable and I’m so proud of you.”

A shocked smile lit up your face at Peter’s words of encouragement.

“Wow. That was almost a normal volume. I’m impressed.” You remarked.

“Shut up.” He mumbled through a laugh as he went back to his equation.

“Sorry. I’m just teasing.” You assured him. “You can speak at whatever volume you want.”

Peter looked up from his notebook and smiled softly at you, holding your gaze for a moment before returning to his work.

“Hey.” You smiled in realization.

“What?” He wondered.

“You looked at me.”

“I always look at you.”

“Yeah, but you held eye contact with me.” You gushed. “You don’t normally do that.”

“I guess I’m getting more comfortable around you.” He shrugged bashfully as he averted his eyes. You knew he was getting overwhelmed, so you didn’t push the subject. It still meant the world to you, though, as he was finally coming out of his shell.

“Good.” You mumbled. “Good, I’m glad.”

Peter looked at you again with a shy smile, and you looked back. As you stared at each other, you saw his eyes drop to your lips before returning to your eyes. You picked up his signal and leaned in a little, but he quickly looked down and away. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and cleared your throat to hide your disappointment from him.

“Um, so do you want to start Spanish?” You suggested, not wanting to spend another minute in that moment.

“Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Let’s start Spanish.”

You walked into school the next day with a heavy heart after Peter rejected you. Being in the popular crowd, you were usually the one doing the rejecting. You had always assumed Peter wasn’t making the first move because he was shy, but now you knew it was because he didn’t feel the same. Your friends were already waiting for you at your locker, so you painted on a smile and let it go.

Peter spotted you at your locker and could immediately tell something was off. He knew you well enough to know when your smile was forced and he was a sneaking suspicion that he was the reason why. He hadn’t meant to dodge your kiss the night before. He wasn’t even entirely sure you were leaning in for one, which is why he short circuited and pulled away. He’d been beating himself up over it but had an idea of how to make it right. You were always encouraging him to be bolder in school, and he couldn’t think of anything bolder than walking up to you while you were with the popular kids. Before he could lose his nerve, he walked up to you and cleared his throat.

“Hi, Y/n.” He said a little louder than he was used to, surprising the both of you.

“Uh, hi Peter.” You looked at him briefly and quickly looked back at your friends. You couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore because of the range of emotions you were going through. You were frankly a little pissed at Peter for pulling away from the kiss, but you were also proud of him for having the courage to come up to you at school. That pride was currently being overshadowed by embarrassment as your friends gave you strange looks for talking to him. On any other day, you would’ve been happy to talk to him in public. But him pulling away from your kiss and then talking to you was sending you mixed signals that frustrated you to the point where you didn’t even want to speak to him.

“Um, do you think we could meet an hour later that usual today?” He asked sheepishly. “I have a feeling band practice is gonna run late.”

Your friends looked at you in amusement and one of them made kissy faces in your direction. Your face heated up in embarrassment and you decided you needed to get rid of Peter as quickly as possible.

“Sure. Whatever, that’s fine.” You said quickly, hoping he’d get the message and leave.

“Did have any trouble with the practice problems I gave you?” He asked and your jaw almost dropped. Your friends raised their eyebrows at you, looking for answers you didn’t want to give them.

“No.” You stated bitterly.

“Practice problems?” Gwen snickered and looked at you questioningly.

“It’s nothing.” You assured her before looking at Peter. “Is there something else you needed?”

“No.” He said, shocked by your bitter tone. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” You nodded vaguely and turned back to your conversation. Peter took that as his cue to leave and began to wonder if the way he was feeling was how he had made you feel the night before. If it was, he understood why you didn’t want to talk to him.

“What was that?” Your friend laughed tauntingly, making the rest of the group laugh as well.

“Nothing.” You dismissed quickly. “Let’s just go to class.”

Peter was already waiting for you in your room when you got home, the sight of him making you let out an angry huff.

“What was that?” You demanded with your hands on your hips.

“What?” Peter asked curiously as he looked up from him his notebook.

“This morning. You totally embarrassed me in front of my friends.” You whined.

“How did I embarrass you? All I did was talk to you.” He pointed out, hurt evident in his voice.

“Yes, and that’s how you embarrassed me.” You stated. “They don’t need to know that you and I are hanging out all the time and they certainly didn’t need to know that you’re giving me practice problems. Now they’re gonna think I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid for needing help.” He said quietly.

“But they don’t get that. I never wanted them to know about this, or us, or any of it.” You explained. “What you and I do in private is between us. You can’t just come up to me and act like…”

“Like we’re friends?” He finished your sentence as he stood up from your bed. Your face fell when you realized how bad it sounded. The hurt look on your best friends face, a look you put there, made your anger evaporate. You realized almost immediately that you were in the wrong and shouldn’t be scolding him.

“Peter, please don’t do this. You know I care about you. Love you, even.” You walked to him and put your hands on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend within these four walls. But when we’re at school, people expect me to be friends with girls like Gwen and boys like Flash. People like you and me don’t really hang out, you know?”

“And I expect you to be kind.” He snapped as he pushed your hands off. “Should I not do that? Are you not capable of that?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” You stepped back from him, knowing he was getting overwhelmed. “I’ve never heard you raise your voice above a mumble.”

“I’m yelling because I’m hurt.” He yelled, voice cracking at the end. “Are we even friends? Do you regard me as that much or am I just a tutor to you?”

“What are you talking about? Of course we’re friends.” You reached for him again but he pulled away.

“Well you’re being a bad one.” Peter shot back. Your face twisted in pain as he stared at you, both of your chests heaving. Peter tore his eyes away from you and went into his backpack, quickly getting out his math folder.

“Here.” He took your practice test from his folder and held it out to you. “You got them all right.”

You took the test and looked at in in disbelief, momentarily forgetting about the fight. You’d never gotten all of the questions right before. You looked up in time to see Peter leaving with his backpack.

“Where are you going?” You grabbed his arm gently to stop him.

“Home.” He told you. “You don’t need tutoring anymore so I have no reason to stay.”

“We can still hang out. You’re not just my math tutor.” You made a desperate attempt for him to stay as the weight of your actions hit you. Peter laughed darkly before looking up at you, an amused look in his eyes.

“Would you ever admit that outside this room?” He asked.

“I…”

“Then I am just your tutor.” He spat. “Goodbye.

Peter managed to avoid you the next morning, dodging you all together until math class. You knew you had to focus on the test and not your fight, but all you wanted to do was make up with him. Once the tests were over and handed in, you took your shot.

“Hey.” You whispered as you poked him with your pencil. “How do you think you did?”

Peter didn’t turn around, which you partially expected.

“I bet you did really well.” You tried again. “I actually think I did well too, thanks to you.”

Again, silence.

“Peter, please talk to me. I’m sorry about our fight.” You rubbed his shoulder kindly but he still didn’t move.

“You are my friend.” You said a little louder. “You’re my best friend. What can I do to prove that to you?

Peter was tempted to say something to you, but the bell rang before he could. He grabbed his books and hastily got out of his seat before you had a chance to to speak to him again. You grabbed your backpack and ran after him, determined to make this right.

“Excuse me, sorry.” You pushed past people to catch up to Peter. “Hey, Peter!”

When he didn’t answer, you called out again.

“Peter! Wait up.”

Still no answer, and you were starting to get frustrated.

“Hey! I’m talking to you.” You caught up to him and grabbed his hand. He looked at your hands before looking you in the eyes and dropping your hands harshly. You stood there stunned for a moment as he began to walk away until you decided you had enough.

“PETER PARKER.” You screamed, making everyone look at you. Every pair of eyes in the hallway was looking in your direction, but you were only looked at Peter.

Peter, who was about to pass away from the attention, by the way.

He looked around sheepishly as people cranes their necks to see who you were yelling at and felt his face turn redder than it ever had.

“You don’t talk much, and that’s fine.” You continued, loud enough for everyone to hear you. “I just need you to listen.”

Peter blinked a few times before nodded slowly, signaling that he would listen. You smiled in relief before digging in your backpack and pulling out your math test from earlier that day. You held it up over your head and turned in a circle so everyone could see it.

“I got an 92 on my math test last week.” You announced. “That’s the highest I’ve gotten since middle school and I couldn’t have done it without Peter tutoring me. I came to him for help with homework but I ended up with a best friend whom I love very dearly.” You were only looking at him now. “I will admit that behind closed doors and I will admit that here. But I also have to admit that I have not been a good friend and for that I am truly sorry.”

Peter smiled a little as the shocked looks of the crowd faded to nothing when he looked at you.

“You don’t have to do this here.” He whispered, but you weren’t finished yet.

“I haven’t even done it yet.” You half smiled as you shoved your test into your bag.

“Done what?” He asked as you walked up to him. You got to him and gave him an apologetic smile in advance for the attention you were about to draw to him.

“What I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now.” You told him. Peter barely had time to react before you put your hands on his face and pulled him into a kiss. You could feel his body tense up momentarily, so you pulled away just enough to whisper…

“Relax.”

Peter’s body did a better job at listening than he did as he slowly loosened his muscles. A hesitant hand found your waist and rested there as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel the heat of his skin against your face and pulled away before he could get too overwhelmed.

“I.…just…heh…um - wow - uh…” He stumbled over his words as he looked at you with a shy smile.

“Don’t speak.” You laughed and shook your head. “Just kiss me.”

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[chocominnie]

One Last Time 03  —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Previous : 00  01 02

⇢ Word Count : 4.2k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

Being  a model isn’t as always what people view it as. It’s not all just fun and prancing around in clothing that’s either revealing or not. It’s about business and fun but you mustn’t mix pleasure in. Every model knows that. But you, you took advantage of that. You decided you wanted to know what would happen if you had did that. And that is how everything went wrong.

You had actually met Jimin through Jungkook. But, BigHit staff did a casting call for one of their music videos. You had gotten chosen and while at the shoot Namjoon had sparked in interest for you. He spoke fluent english that glided of his tongue ever so breathlessly. But his adorable, cheeky dimple smile had put the icing on the cake for you. You two had been friends ever since.

They needed two girls, the protagonist and the antagonist. You were the protagonist while another was the antagonist but the role did fit you well. You aren’t the type to cause trouble and when your manager explained the script and concept to you, she thought it was a perfect match to your real life personality.

You and Jimin had hit it off right then and there. You loved his smile, his way of talking, and his cute little English phrases he would slip in then and there to you on set. It was the most adorable thing ever. He was a smooth talker too. Then Bam! You didn’t know what had gotten into him. Well.. the acting was for the concept music video, but you’ve never seen someone go from adorable to to a dominant personality so quickly. The entire switch up from the persona had fooled you good. Way.. too good.

That was how it hit you. You knew that he had to be yours.

But then yours.. became shared.

Then sharing became permanent.

Now you are single and heartbroken.

“ Long time no see! How have you been?”

You smile and take in his huge bear hug. He smelled so divine. Namjoon has always carried himself like a mature man, but in the inside you knew he’s a child at heart.

‘‘ Im fine. How are you? I’ve been on a little hiatus.” You nervously chuckle, assuming he already knows why. Namjoon nods his head and guides you further into the set.

It’s the inside of an apartment. They’ve set it up so pretty for it to seem like it’s a  real apartment. The LED lights are beaming but not enough for it to be too bright. Just perfect. You take a glance at all around the set you would be soon using.

The bed is a modern day king size in the colour schemes of black, white and grey along with a matching dresser and nightstands. White Jasmine flowers, sit on top of the nightstand along with the book milk and honey sitting next to it.

‘‘ I seen your pictures when they had dropped yesterday.” He pauses, glancing up at you to see your reaction. The way your breath hitches for a moment humored him. “ You looked very good. You did a great job. Welcome back to the business!”

Only if the business was so welcoming at all. Pictures of you had been posted on all your platforms and the comments came rushing in. Some good, but majority bad, only because the people of the world thought your comeback was revenge for Jimin’s comeback. Turns out, he had a comeback three days before you. You didn’t know, because you don’t keep up with him anymore. His fanbase was actually the ones commenting to the bad comments to leave you alone and that you moved on.

If only you made it that far to move on. 

Namjoon leads you to the hair and makeup station that’s been set up for the both of you. Each of you greet them and take a seat in the two black director’s chair with your name on it. As you sat in your chair you let the stylists and make-up artist do your thing while you read the concept script of the music video.

It’s going to be Namjoon rapping about his first love and how she broke his heart repeatedly. The hazy white flashbacks are of you and him symbolizing a couple doing things of what he had did with her.

“ So you and um.. Jimin did you guys sort things out yet?’’

You lift your head from the script instantly biting your lip. You most definitely don’t want to be reminded of him at the moment.

“ No. I like the way things are now. We shouldn’t see each other anymore.’’ You roll your eyes and look back down at the white sheets of stapled paper that holds your acting skills.

“ Im sorry if I offended. I didn’t mean to it’s just that. It’s been a year and a couple of months since-’’

He means no harm at all, and you know that because its Kim Namjoon you’re talking to. This right now though, isn’t a conversation to be held right before rhe video-shoot. You shake your head letting him know not to continue on. The last thing you want is for the makeup and hairstylists gossiping. Also for your emotions to spiral all the way down again.

The hair, makeup, and clothing stylists does a very good job on you. The make up stylists did a sort of natural look to your face which made your skin look light and dewy. The natural makeup complements the oversize, long t-shirt that is supposed to symbolize Namjoon’s.

The first scene you are going to shoot is the bed scene where you will be straddling a sleepy Namjoon’s lap wearing nothing but his t-shirt and your underwear underneath. Which really isn’t your underwear but just some black shorts that you put underneath the shirt.

You spot Namjoon and the director conversing so you decide to make your way over to the bed by them. As you walk over, his manager glances and goes back to talking. You pay no mind to it but then, he does a double take with his eyes wide looking at your outfit and beauty. You cant lie, you do feel a little more confident than usual with this bedroom look. 

‘‘ My goodness she looks stunning!’‘ His manager smiles, holding his hand out to greet you. You take his hand and do a courtesy greet due to the fact he’s older than you.

Namjoon eyes you up and down, smiling showing his deep dimples and pearly whites. Since when is he all flirty? Where is all this coming from? What’s getting into him?

‘‘ Yes she does. Are you ready?’‘

You nod your head, glancing at the properly messy bed. The director gives you guys one last look before heading over to his place right next to the cameras. Namjoon grasps your wrists as you both make your way to the bed, letting your ears listen to the instructions.

Namjoon gets into the bed first and then motions for you to sit on his waist. You bite your lip subtlety with your eyes not leaving his as you climb carefully over onto his lap. Your core almost inches away from him member, you don’t mean to brush a little too hard against him like that. The way he hisses and stifles his groan makes you feel apologetic.

Oh Namjoon, what is going on with you?

‘‘ I need you to try waking him up with little kisses on his cheek then down his chest.’’

Glancing down at his bare chest, you almost gasp at the muscles he has. Your mind completely had ignored it when you two were chatting with the director.  Namjoon isn’t the kind to work out as much but he definitely prepared for this music video.

You nod your head just before Namjoon closes his eyes to fake his slumber. Leaning down after the director gave you two the green light, you smell his cologne which smells pretty good to say the least. The butterflies in your stomach flutter like no other when you start to leave butterfly kisses on his cheeks, making sure to kiss his dimples then trailing over to his neck.. then chest.

‘‘ Namjoon wake up smiling… right about now.’‘

His eyes flutter open with a smile landing onto yours which makes you smile right back at him.

‘‘ Interlock your hands and hold them up high.’‘

Both of you smile ear to ear and giggle at the awkwardness almost nearly as a real couple except you guys aren’t, and this isn’t real.

It was easy for you to act like you were in love with Namjoon due to the friendship you have with him. Ever since the boys were together in a group, you had connected easily with Namjoon. He has this friendly yet funny aura about him. He’s the sweetest guy you ever met, just before Hoseok. Namjoon was the one who made you feel welcomed and comfortable upon meeting the members for the first time, while you had dated Jimin. 

His eyes roam over your body intimidated by the lack of proper clothing you have on. Soon his hands take over and start to roam your body from shoulders to waist. Namjoon often bit his lip as if was thinking of saying something, but doesn’t.  At this point you didn’t know if the acting was real or not.

A day’s worth of shooting and this was it. You’ve moved locations just for this scene which is supposed to be in the middle of a vacant two way road surrounded by nothing but dust and a few trees. The last major scene. You had seen Namjoon rap his part repeatedly in different sets for him that did not include you. The dark clothing and light colored hair suited him just right.

The closing scene is the one left and ironically, it’s the make-out scene.

To your left, someone had started a bonfire to keep the staff warm as they converse about the scene and read through the scripts. You huff lightly as you get out of the chair instantly regretting it as the cold air hits your nearly exposed legs.

They’ve dressed you into a maroon skirt and a grey knit sweater that is fairly itchy paired with a knit infinity scarf. Your hair was let down to compliment your face.

‘‘ Yn!’’

You turn your head immediately over towards the direction of that voice. To your luck it’s Jungkook holding a big brown bag and two canisters of god knows what. But who trails after him makes your smile drop.

Jungkook smiles jogging towards you, almost slipping from being excited too see you. You open your arms fully to embrace his figure in which in return he provides.

“ Are you still mad at me?’’

You inhale the scent of him with a smile making sure to make eye contact with the one standing further away from him, “ No Jungkook.”

He lets go of your intertwined bodies and gives you one of his bunny smiles making you giggle at his excitement. “ I bought Namjoon and you some hot chocolate and plenty of rice-cake dumpling soup since you are working hard.”

‘‘ Thank you we will eat after this last scene okay?”

The cameras and lights are beaming down on you and Namjoon. It’s all or nothing at this point. The camera crew and director murmur a bit just before calling out that word. Action.

Namjoon looks slightly down at you with his glossy eyes. You challenge him back while not saying a word at all.

“ Are you comfortable with this?” He whispers. No, truth is you aren’t and have no desire in kissing him. To you, you feel like the kiss would make things a bit awkward for the both of you.

He’d been subtly flirting all day with you and of course you pick up on it everytime. It’s not like yourself to do such things with people you don’t have feelings for in a romantic way. Let alone, flirt with your ex’s band brother.

“ Yes.” It’s not like you have a choice to say no to it. You signed the contract, so you have to complete the entire scenes. Just your luck, Namjoon’s song begins to play in the background.

 He leans in for a kiss with your face inches apart from each other. So close that you can feel his eyelashes brush against yours. He’s stalling you, making you try to be the one to start the kiss. A small smirk on his face when you oblige taking him into the kiss. Your lips move in sync with his with his hand on your face caressing your cheek. He thinks your lips taste like strawberry chapstick, but you think his tastes like mint. 

Soon his tongue slips into your mouth to deepen the kiss. You can’t help but to let out a small whimper on accident resulting in Namjoon’s hand traveling to your waist and pushing you closer to him gently.  Excitment takes over you, you haven’t felt like this in a long time. Maybe it’s the lack of dating or all the couple like things you did today, but you feel loved.

And cut! That’s a wrap everyone, please pack and get home safely.

You break away from Namjoon’s lips and chuckle at the sight of him with his eyes still closed and waiting for something to happen again.

“ Joonie we are done shooting.”

Namjoon’s eyes pop open with a smile, cheeks turning coloured from embarrassment. “ Ah really? Im sorry it’s just that i was too into the moment.”

The both of you thank all the staff for their hard work of day. While bowing to another staff, you make sure to look directly in the eyes of the friend that tailed along with Jungkook. Just as expected he looked pissed off. The sight of him biting the inside of his jaw gave you satisfaction. He fucking deserves it.

“ Can we all eat now? I brought thermal blankets and the bonfire the staff lit is still going..’’ Jungkook says, sitting onto one of the logs and placing the bag onto the ground.

“ We need to speak first.”  You say, firmness taking over your tone. You aren’t going to let this slide. Why would he bring him here? After all that happened that night, you’re sure he told Jungkook. 

He sighs and motions for Namjoon to start serving while he’s going to be gone. Namjoon gently smiles and approves just before going to sit next to Jungkook’s friend and starting a conversation.

The two of you, Jungkook and you, start walking away from the small gathering slowly. The moon shines bright down upon the both of you creating black silhouettes from behind.

‘’ I didn’t invite him. You know I wouldn’t do that after that whole situation-’’

You purse your lips and stop walking, “ So he just magically came? I didn’t tell him and I doubt that Namjoon told him.’’

‘‘ He found out Namjoon was having his video shoot and came to support him. He came late due to Isab-”

You shake your head, “ Don’t say anymore. Let’s just go back and not bring anything up. I don’t feel like speaking to him or causing drama Jungkook.”

Jungkook can tell that you’re disappointed but does not say a word all the way back. You keep eye contact away from Jimin as you sit next to Jungkook. The atmosphere is awkward for you but you know it isn’t for them.

You munch on a rice-cake dumpling not making a sound as the three boys talk amongst themselves.

You take this time to think. Why would Jimin come here if he possibly knew that you were the main girl? He just set himself up to be mad at this point. Why didn’t Isabel stop him from going, after all you are his ex.

“ Why aren’t you eating?’‘

You look towards that soft voice, plopping your dumpling down into your bowl of soup. The truth is, you actually aren’t supposed to be eating this at all. Seeing as though your modeling and appearance schedule is getting full you have to maintain a healthy figure once again.

‘’ I guess im not as hungry. I’ll make sure to take it with me if I don’t finish.’’

‘‘ Eat.’‘ Jimin says, not lifting his head up but voice firm.

You roll your eyes out of annoyance, “ Im not hungry Jimin.’’ You were, but you say it just to piss him off even more.

His chopsticks drop his dumpling into his bowl as he raises his head slowly. Anger is written all over his face but you over-power it by keeping a straight face. Part of you is mad that you said that but it’s the truth.

‘‘ Oppa. Im Oppa to you.” His eyes meet yours. You can’t help but notice that his are darker than average. You hated calling him that and he knows it. It’s cringey to you, but respectful in their culture.

He didn’t use to make you say it even while in a relationship, so you know he’s playing along with your little game.

Namjoon rubs the back of his head,‘‘ Hey guys let just eat okay? Yn you should eat more.’‘

‘‘ Rather not. My appetite is no longer here.”  You shrug as you place the lid onto the container of your food.

Jimin rolls his tongue in the inside of his cheek while keeping a death glare on you. You don’t bother to pay it any mind at all. Jungkook lets out a breathy sigh as you gather your belongings to leave.

‘‘ Im taking my leave.’‘

You give Namjoon a hug first then walk over to Jungkook who hugs you really tight. You smile and give a peck onto his cheek.

‘‘ Text me tonight.’ He whispers into your left ear before letting his grip go. You nod your head and glance at an angry Jimin.

“ I’ll take her home.”

That sentence makes you stop dead in your tracks. What the hell does he think he’s doing? 

“ I can get a taxi..”

Jimin finishes his food and throws it into the paper brown bag. Namjoon and Jungkook stare at him in disbelief. The veins on his neck are very noticeable as he makes his way over to you.

You watch in disbelief but angry with your eyebrows furrowed because they all seem to not be listening to you. “ I said I can get a tax-”

“ Yn just go with him. I will feel safer if you went with somebody you know.” Jungkook sighs, throwing him and Namjoon’s remaining trash into the bag.

“ Me and Jungkook have a lot of catching up to do. We’ll be at my house.” Namjoon catches onto Jungkook’s memo.

You roll your eyes as Jimin grabs your arm rougher than expected, dragging you along the vacant two way street to his parked Lamborghini.

You jerk away from him not wanting to be in his grip anymore. Jimin doesn’t say anything as he opens the car door for you. You stand there with your arms crossed refusing to go.

“ Yn you have until the count of three because honestly you are pissing me off. “

Your eyes land onto his with your eyebrows still furrowed in anger.

“ 1.”

You scoff at him. What are you a toddler?

“ 2.”

Yeah right. What could hap-

“ 3 ” Jimin grabs your arm tightly making sure to leave it red as he pushes you into the passengers seat. His cheeks turn a deep shade of red. slamming the car door behind you.

He doesn’t bother to put his seat-belt on before pulling off with Namjoon and Jungkook following behind him. You wince at the throbbing pain where he had marked you red. The soreness is already settling it’s way in.

“ Look..” He sighs, “I didn’t mean to.”

Tears fill the brim of your eyes. This isn’t the same Jimin you knew. He would never even think of hurting you like that.

“ Shut up just take me home.” Your voice cracks, tears slipping down your cheek as you try and massage the pain away.

You don’t say a word to him all the way there to your apartment building. The air is as thick as a slice of home-made cake yet neither of you decide to speak. That is until he decides to follow you out the car and up to your apartment, most likely to make sure you are safe getting in. You stop at the welcome mat that holds your home just beyond the door.

“ Jimin. Leave.” You whisper, audible enough for him to hear.

“ I don’t want to.”

“ I know you’re sorry. Just leave.”

You punch in your code, the date that you and him started dating.  You open it enough for just your body to slip in but that doesn’t work. Jimin pushes the door open wide, letting himself in right behind you.

You don’t say anything at all. You remove your shoes as well as he does to. Clara greets you by rubbing her body against you. You don’t bother to pet her you walk past her and into the kitchen.

Pulling out your phone, you text Jungkook letting him know you got home safely. He immediately responds with a selfie of him and Namjoon with Soju in their hands. You can’t even laugh at the two silly boys.

A harsh cold object is placed on your right arm. You quickly look down to see Jimin’s hand holding an ice-pack against the area he harmed.

“ You didn’t tell me you would be the lead girl in Namjoon’s video.”

‘‘ We aren’t together anymore. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

That’s the truth. You two shouldn’t even be in the same apartment, let alone yours, right about now. His business isn’t yours anymore. Yours isn’t his anymore.

Jimin scoffs, “ You know I will always look out for you and look after you. I’ll be there anytime for you.”

‘‘ I feel as though that’s inappropriate. You have a girlfriend don’t cheat on her like you did me.” You remove his hand and hop onto the white counter-top.

“ How many times are you going to say it huh? I was wrong I know that. But why remind me of it?”

You look him dead straight into the eyes, “ Until you suffer for a year and some months don’t say shit to me.’’

There was a silence for a couple of minutes. Your eyes wander around your fairly neat apartment until he says something again.

Jimin sighs, coming in-between your legs placing his head on your lap. ‘‘ I don’t like this.. us.”

“ Clearly you didn’t because you cheated.” You snap back, pushing his head away from you only for him to go right back. “ That’s not what I mean and you know that.” His voice is soft, just barely above a whisper.

So what does he mean?

‘‘ Im saying that.. I don’t like you being this way and distant from me. I don’t like when you kiss other people. I didn’t like when you had to make-out with Namjoon. I don’t like not being able to talk with you. I don’t like all this anger and tension between us.”

Your mind is telling you this is a red flag but your heart aches for him to go on and say what you want him to say. Could this really be it?

“ The truth is, I do miss you. I miss us. I miss everything about us. I fucked up bad and I have to pay the consequences.” His hands snake around your waist tightly. 

This is it. Finally.

You bite your lip and run your fingers through his hair softly. Small sobs can be heard from him and the wetness of your leg lets you know he finally broke down.

‘‘ Jimin stop that. Don’t cry.’‘

He shakes his head, ‘’ You don’t understand. She’s not like you but I like her. My heart is with you but my mind is with her. I don’t know what to do.’’

“ You can’t love two people at once. You know that. I refuse to get hurt again by you.” You keep your voice low making sure not to get angry with him. His head lifts up showing you his red face and puffy eyes.

You can’t help but to want to kiss the tears away. So thats what you do. You kiss all over his cheeks slowly one at a time. Yes you don’t want to get hurt again, but you want him to realize that what he did is still taking a toll on you all the while you crave him and his love more and more.

‘‘ Yn..” He whimpers, sniffling.

You shake your head to hush him up and move on to his lips. His sweet, soft lips connect with yours. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Both of your tongues fight for dominance making you hold your breath to stifle your groan. This is wrong. He has a girlfriend. You kissing him would make you a hypocrite, so you break away the kiss though you don’t want to.

You sigh, lifting his head up again. Those brown eyes stare back up at you full of tears and sadness. Yet you can’t be fooled by your own mind. “ Jimin go back to Isabel. She’s probably waiting for you.”

You take his arm and lead him towards the door. He slips his shoes on without taking his eyes off of you. It hurt. It hurts a lot seeing him leave out the door each time he comes over. But you still need to face the fact that this isn’t your man anymore, he’s someone elses.

“ What if I don’t want to go back.”

You unlock the door for him and hold it open. ‘’ You can’t love two people at once.’’

“ Baby, just one last time..’’ He says, referring to the kiss you’ve shared earlier.

You shake your head no. Another kiss would surely lead to something more of a messy situation. “ When you make up your mind, you know my apartment well enough.”

And with that you shut the door behind him as your back slides down the door. You bring your hands to your hair and slip them in.

Maybe, just maybe, there could be a one last time with him.

[coldsandfluff]

Friday Night Fever (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Wrote this little original F/M care-taking fluff fic inspired by something that happened to me when I was in college (basically, caught a cold, three friends came over unannounced and insisted on me coming with them to the bar until one of them noticed the thermometer on my nightstand and realized I really was too sick to go). I've changed all the characters personality/appearance (including myself) so that we are completely unrecognizable, and added more to the story of course 😚

So if you like group of friends, platonic to maybe romantic care-taking fluff and F/M illness, read on!

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Annabel left the sandwich shop at the end of her evening shift, feeling the cold autumn air seep through her jacket. Darkness had blanketed the town hours ago, and college students were already filling the streets on their way to the bars to celebrate the end of the week. Not that they’d really needed a reason to drink, of course.

As she launched the trash bags in the large dumpster in the back alley, Annabel felt an uncomfortable shiver running down her back. She’d been feeling under the weather for a couple of days, downing vitamin C fizzy drinks to stave it off. What she’d hoped would end up being a little annoying cold was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for. She could feel the icy tendrils of a fever crawling on her skin, and all she wanted to do was slip under the covers of her warm bed and sleep all weekend.

Her phone pinged as she started making her way back to her apartment.

Finn: We’ll be there in 40 minutes. Zack wants to pick up some pregame vodka from the store first.

Annabel sighed. She’d met Zack, Finn and Alex at her second job—a fancy new restaurant in the heart of town where she’d been waitressing part-time for the past two months. They’d hit it off on opening day, when Zack had accidentally broken a whole stack of plates. No one had seen what had happened but the four of them. Zack had gotten his dishwasher’s apron stuck on the door handle, and his hands had slipped at the sudden pull.

The crash had been deafening.

Right before the owner had rushed in to ask what had happened, Zack’s best friend, Finn, had kicked the wheel of the cart where the plates had been sitting a few moments ago, giving Alexander and Annabel a knowing look.

They’d all told the owner that the cart was broken and had tipped over without anyone touching it. Somehow, the owner had bought the lie. That night, Zack insisted on paying them a round of shots at the bar, and a tradition was born: The four of them. Every Friday. With lots of alcohol.

It was the only time Annabel let loose. With her two jobs and college, she was struggling to find free time, but Friday nights had become sacred. There was nothing like downing drinks and letting the buzz take over, following her three new friends wherever they wanted to go. It was always an adventure. Especially with Zack at the helm.

But tonight, there was no way she could make it.

Annabel: Actually, I can’t come tonight. Sorry.

She walked past a group of friends laughing and hollering, wishing she’d felt as good as they did. But the headache growing behind her eyes wasn’t going to let up, and adding alcohol to the mix would only make it worse. Not only that, but her nose had started running in the past two hours. She’d had to go blow it in the restroom every half hour, getting herself banished from the front of the store by the manager. She’d washed her hands so often that her skin was almost raw.

Just like her nose.

Finn: Nah, you’re coming. Nobody cancels Friday night. Come on.

Annabel couldn’t hold a smile. She typed back, sniffling. Her sinuses were prickling like crazy, as if she’d accidentally inhaled a cloud of tiny fireworks. She stifled a sneeze in the crook of her elbow, mid-word. “Ehh—Ehh’KSHHeeww!” Her eyes watered from the force of it. She wiped the tears away and resumed typing.

Annabel: I’ll make it up to you guys next weekend. Drinks on me.

She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and dabbed at her nose. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, beckoning her. As she crossed the last stretch of sidewalk to the entrance, she kept checking her phone.

No reply.

Shrugging, she unlocked the front door and took the stairs.

***

Back in her apartment, she made a beeline for the bathroom to the right and used toilet paper to blow her nose, finally free to make as much noise as she wanted. She winced from the roughness of it on her chapped nostrils, but it was all she had. She wasn’t exactly the planning type. Her idea of a grocery list was memorizing the first three items and hoping the rest would come to her as she walked through the aisles. Most often than not, she’d have to make a quick run at the convenience store down the street to get what she’d forgotten.

She gathered her thick curly hair into a bun and looked at herself in the mirror. It was enough to confirm that she’d made the right decision. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin was so pale that her freckles popped like they did in the summer. Except for that slight flush high on her cheeks, of course. She popped a thermometer under her tongue and removed her work clothes, leaving them in a pile in front of the bathtub.

Shivering from the sudden change in temperature, she covered her arms with her hands and ran to her dresser. Her warmest, softest sweater was the first thing she grabbed and put on, before throwing on a pair of comfy leggings and wool socks. The thermometer beeped.

100.8 °F. Figured.

She rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the “kitchen” of her studio apartment, which was the size of a matchbox and only contained a mini fridge, a microwave and an old sink. She poured herself some water and walked over to the bed, placing her glass and the thermometer on her nightstand. She would have brought over medicine as well, but she’d run out last semester after catching the flu going around campus, and had forgotten to replenish her stash. No matter. She could sleep this off. It was just a cold.

She suddenly sneezed twice in a row, as if her body wanted to protest her minimizing her illness, then got under the cover. Just as she was getting a little warmer, propping up her laptop to watch a movie, there was a knock at the door.

Annabel sat up, startled.

“Anna, open up!” a voice said behind the door.

Zack.

Annabel chuckled. Of course they wouldn’t give up that easily. She groaned, getting out of the warmth of her bed. She considered rushing to the dresser and putting on cuter clothes—they were her friends, but they were still boys, and she didn’t want to look like shit in front of them—but the thought of it was enough to drain her energy. Screw it. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Finn told us you don’t want to come,” said Zack as he walked in. It was her friends’ first time coming up to her apartment. They’d usually wait for her downstairs. “So we’re here to change your mind.” He didn’t look at her, too busy checking out her place. He was dressed for the night—a buttoned-up shirt, navy blazer, jeans and dress shoes. His casual chic style always stood out in the local bars filled with broke college students, but he liked it that way.

Finn walked in after him, a crooked grin on his lips. “See, I told you you can’t cancel Friday night.” His shaggy blond hair half-covered his eyes, as always. Finn and Zack had been best friends since high school, and couldn’t have been more different from each other. At least physically. Finn was tall and lanky, Zack was smaller and worked out a lot. But they were both party guys, always ready for a crazy night—even though Finn was a bit more mellow than Zack.

Finally, Alex came in, and Annabel closed the door behind him. He had a sheepish look on his face, as if apologizing for the other two. He was a lot more like Annabel. Quiet, chill, along for the ride—whatever it may be. His deep brown eyes held her gaze for a second too long, and Annabel noticed one of his eyebrow raise ever so slightly. She bit her lip, feeling self-conscious about her appearance. They’d never seen her in such a state before. Thank god she hadn’t had the energy to remove her makeup yet.

“So this is where you live, uh?” Zack said, sitting on her desk chair and spinning it around and around. “I like it. Dorms suck.”

Before she could reply, Finn tsked. “Wow. So no love for your roommate, uh?”

“Dude, I love you,” Zack said, “but between you and an apartment all to myself, the choice is obvious.” He stopped spinning and turned to Annabel, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s so important that you can’t come with us? Do you have a date?”

All three boys turned to her. Annabel almost laughed. Could they not see the condition she was in? She cleared her throat. “No, I’m just not feeling well.”

Finn sat on the edge of her bed and examined her from afar. “Like what? Stomach thing? Flu?”

“Probably a cold, I guess.” Annabel could feel Alex’s gaze on her at her side. She glanced at him, then looked down, feeling silly. Now that she was saying it out loud, it sounded like a poor excuse. But she did have a fever, after all. She just didn’t want to start listing her symptoms.

Zack clasped his hands together. “You know what will make you feel better? Alcohol!” He grinned, as if proud of his solution. “Didn’t they used to give brandy to people when they were sick? We’ll make a special mix for your throat. Something with lemon and orange juice. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, I already have a headache…” Annabel said.

“Just take a couple of Tylenol. It’s like a hangover in advance,” Finn said with an encouraging smile. “One time, I went out clubbing with an ear infection and everything was fine. Actually felt better the next day, weirdly enough.”

“I don’t know guys, I won’t be much fun if—” Annabel was interrupted by a fierce tickle deep in her nose, spreading like wildfire. She ducked to her side, away from Alex. “Ehh’KSSHeeew! ‘KSSSHeeew!”

“Bless you,” the three boys said almost in unison.

“See?” Annabel said, pointing at her nose and sniffling. “You want me to sneeze all over you guys all night?”

Finn shrugged. “We’ll bring tissues. Whatever.”

Alex walked over to the bathroom and grabbed the toilet paper roll from the counter, then handed it to her. “Here.”

Annabel ripped a piece off and wiped her nose. “Thanks,” she said, sheepish.

Alex’s gaze paused on her for a few seconds before he turned to the other two. “Guys, she’s obviously sick. Let’s just go and let her sleep.”

“It’s just a cold,” Zack said. “She’s young and healthy. It’s nothing.” He got up and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Give it an hour, and if you’re not feeling better after a few shots, we’ll walk you home.”

Annabel considered it for a second, trying to fight the shivers. Maybe if she wore something warm and took a few shots, she wouldfeel better. Numb the pain a little, at least. While she pondered it, Finn laid down on top of her bed spread and locked eyes with the thermometer on her nightstand. He frowned and sat up, picking it up.

He looked at her, thermometer in hand. His voice softened. “It’s that bad, uh?”

Annabel blushed. Why did admitting that she had a fever feel so vulnerable? She looked down and nodded. “Kinda.”

Zack looked at the thermometer, then back at Annabel. He narrowed his eyes and put a hand on her forehead. “Ooof,” he said, a hint of concern slipping in his tone.

Finn got up. “Let me see,” he said, walking up to her and placing his own hand on her forehead. His eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, you need to be in bed,” Zack finally said, guiding her back to bed. “Why didn’t you say you had a fever? Jesus, Anna.”

She shrugged, sitting on her mattress. “I don’t know. I just get fevers with colds. I guess it’s normal for me.”

“Fevers suck,” Finn said. “Last time I had one, I stayed in bed for two days and everything hurt.” He walked over to the front door. “We’ll miss you tonight, though.”

Zack followed. “Hope you feel better. We’ll text you all the crazy shit that’s going to happen so you don’t miss anything.” He followed Finn out of the apartment, leaving the door open for Alex.

Alex watched them walk by, then grabbed the roll of toilet paper on the counter where Annabel had left it. He brought it over to her nightstand and gave her a sad smile. “Do you need anything?”

Annabel shook her head, relieved that she was going to be able to stay in bed. “I’ll be okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a second, then nodded. “Let us know if you want us to get you food later. I know I can never sleep when I have a fever.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. Her nose scrunched up, overtaken by another annoying prickle. “Ehh… Iihh’KSSSHHeeww!”

“Bless you.”

Zack’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Alex, you coming?”

Alex snickered. “I guess I should go.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Feel better, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

***

Annabel tried to sleep, but her fever and runny nose kept waking her up, leaving her floating halfway between dreams and reality. It was clear that she wasn’t going to get any rest in her state. She needed cold medicine.

It took her a long time to finally convince herself to get out of bed and go to the convenience store, but she managed to push the covers away and get up. She shivered, causing another tickle in her sensitive nose—it had only gotten worse in the hour since the boys had left. She ducked at the waist in an exhausting triple. “Ehh… Hehh’KSSSHeeeew! ‘KSSHHeeew! Hiihh’KSSHeeew!”

Just then, another knock sounded at the door. Annabel frowned and made her way to the door, cracking it open.

It was Alex. Alone.

“Bless you,” he said with a shy grin.

Annabel let him in. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with the guys?”

He shrugged, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might need this.” He showed her a plastic bag filled with tea, tissue boxes, ramen, cough drops and—she gasped—cold medicine.

Alex chuckled. “So I was right. You don’t have any medicine, do you?”

Annabel laughed. “How did you know?”

“Your nightstand. You only had a thermometer on there. When I’m sick, I take Nyquil everywhere I go.” He handed her the bag. “And I wanted to make sure you had tissues instead of toilet paper. Your nose will thank me.”

Annabel touched her chapped nose, smiling. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He stood there for a second, as if not knowing what to say. “I’ll uh—I’ll let you rest.”

Before he could go, Annabel put her hand on his elbow. “Wait. Do you want to—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, her nose scrunching up yet again, her eyes fluttering. She spun around and sneezed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hehh’KSSHH! Ht’Ksshht!” She turned back around, blinking away the tears and laughing. “Sorry!”

Alex laughed, too. “Bless you.” He held her gaze, then looked down. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh—I was just wondering if—maybe if you’d like to watch a movie with me. I don’t think I can sleep until the medicine kicks in.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted saying them. Of course he didn’t want to watch a movie with her. This was Friday night. What kind of college guy wanted to hang out with a sick, sneezy, nose-drippy girl on a Friday night instead of getting drunk with his friends. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “I forgot that the guys are probably waiting for you. I guess I’m kind of loopy from the fever.”

Alex took a step forward and placed his hand on her forehead. The gesture was so gentle, so soft, that Annabel closed her eyes, appreciating the coldness of his palm on her hot skin.

“You are definitely burning up,” he half-whispered, frowning. “I was wondering if the guys were exaggerating. Guess not.”

Annabel bit her lip. “I’ll be okay after I take the medicine. You don’t have to stay.”

Alex removed his hand. “I do,” he blurted. “I mean, I do want to watch a movie with you. And stay.”

“Are you sure?” Annabel asked through her blossoming smile. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my cold?”

“Actually, I have a confession to make.” Alex led her to the bed and placed the content of his bag on her nightstand. “Last Friday, I kind of had a cold. It wasn’t as bad as yours, pretty minor, but… Zack convinced me to come out anyway and I—I think I might have given it to you. You drank out of my glass and I didn’t have time to stop you.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Annabel laughed. “I can’t believe Zack didn’t rat you out earlier. It would have been the perfect example of someone going clubbing with a cold and ‘being fine’ anyway.”

“He probably knew it was partly his fault that you’re sick and didn’t want to admit it.”

Annabel shook her head. “Well, you owe me a Friday night.” She got into bed and patted the spot next to her. “That means I get to pick the movies.”

Alex grabbed the throw blanket at her feet and draped it over her. “That sounds fair.” He walked over to the other side of the bed and settled next to her. “But when you fall asleep, I can’t guarantee I won’t change it.”

“Deal.”

After taking a dose of Nyquil, Annabel started the movie, snuggling under the blanket. She wondered what kind of crazy adventures Zack and Finn were getting themselves into. She expected to feel FOMO, but instead, she shot a glance at Alex next to her, and realized she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was Alex’s shoulder touching hers, but it felt like this was the start of a different kind of adventure. Maybe not alcohol-fueled, but Nyquil was pretty close.

All because they’d shared a not-so-secret cold.

And Annabel had a feeling it would be worth the fever. And the countless sneezes to come.

THE END

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol consumption, allusions to sex

A/N: so you know how last chapter i said there was going to be like 4 chapters left…sorry i lied. as much as it pains me to admit since i’m so attached to this little family, i feel this story is coming to its natural end and i don’t want to drag it out (i may do one-shots of this series in the future though!) that being said, this is the second to last chapter. i appreciate all of your continued support throughout this series <3

Masterlist

Chapter 36

You opened the front door to the house after your therapy appointment. You had been making a lot of progress.

Spencer and the kids used to go with you and then wait at the park across the street until you were done but you had decided that this time you could go alone. Spencer hugged you tightly before you left and said how proud of you he was, reminding you of your calming exercises for the waiting room, and to call him if you got too overwhelmed. Luckily, your anxiety had not gotten the better of you and your appointment went fine.

You could hear the opening notes to Golden by Harry Styles playing. Once the beat dropped, you heard Spencer say, “Okay, go babies, go!”

You rounded the corner to see Spencer conducting a dance party for the twins in their bouncy jumpers and Jo who was wearing her Rapunzel dress.

“Ollie,” Spencer crouched down to the rather stationary baby, “Look at your sisters! See, copy them! We’ll all bounce.”

While Ophelia was very audible and energetic, Ollie was more reserved. This concerned you and Spencer a bit because he would hardly cry and you had no idea what was going on with him or if he needed anything.

As Spencer backed up to start dancing as well, you pulled out your phone and hit record just in time to see Spencer accidentally bounce into the couch and trip and fall flat on his face.

Ollie giggled. Spencer shot up from the ground. Ollie had never done that before. Ophelia’s first laugh was a few weeks ago but nothing seemed to be funny enough for Ollie until his Daddy fell.

Spencer scrambled to get his phone, “Jo, can you record for Mommy? I’m going to fall again.”

You decided this was the time to make your presence known.

“That won’t be necessary,” you announced with a smile, ending the video you took.

“You heard?” Spencer beamed.

“Yep, got it on video too,” you walked over to the jumpers and lifted up Ollie, giving him a bunch of kisses, “You were really going to hurt yourself again just so I could have a video of our son laughing?”

“Absolutely, I was,” he grinned.

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled.

“You’re the one who fell in love with an idiot,” he replied.

“I guess that makes us both idiots then,” you sighed happily.

“But idiots in love,” he kissed you.

You blew a raspberry and tickled Ollie’s little belly and he started giggling hysterically again.

-

Spencer was with twins on the floor on a blanket doing some ‘tummy time’ while Jo sat on the couch watching cartoons.

“Why can’t me and the babies come with you and Mommy for dinner like we usually do?” Jo asked.

“Because a year ago today, Mommy and I got married so we want to go out to a fancy restaurant and celebrate our love for each other. But, we’ll go out together as a family soon again and Uncle Derek and Auntie Penelope will be watching you tonight.”

“Okay,” Jo instantly agreed.

You clicked down the stairs in your high heels, carefully holding the railing. Spencer stood to help and offered his hand to you for support.

You were dressed in a midi A-line black corset dress with a white floral design.

“You look absolutely stunning as usual, my love,” he kissed your hand.

“As do you, my husband of officially a year,” you beamed.

He kissed you on the lips this time as the door opened.

“Kids night!” Penelope exclaimed, running into the house with Derek in tow. “I brought board games, ice cream, and every Disney movie DVD I own.”

“Auntie Penelope!” Jo hugged her and then Derek.

Then, Penelope turned to you both, “What are you guys still doing here?”

“Emergency numbers are on the fridge. We’ll both have our phones on the whole time,” you repeated the information you had told them many times before as you were pushed out the door by Penelope.

“Oh, also recent development!” Spencer added as he tried to resist Derek’s pushing, “The twins are avid crawlers now so if you set them down for a second and look away, they’ll be gone.”

“Good to know. Enjoy your night, you two,” Derek winked as he shut the door.

“So where are we going?” you asked as you walked hand and hand to the car.

Spencer opened the passenger side door for you, “We are going to the restaurant where we had our first date, my dear,” he smiled.

-

Spencer had rented a private patio for the two of you with lit candles, fairy lights, and a bouquet of wildflowers similar to the one you carried down the aisle a year ago.

You gasped when you saw the set-up, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”

“I love you more, Mrs. Reid.”

You and Spencer ordered the exact same dishes that you got on your first date for maximum nostalgia.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about,” Spencer spoke mid-meal.

You set your fork down to show him he had your full attention.

“So I was thinking about what I want to do this summer. You’re off of work for the summer so we’ll both be home with the kids. I figured I should take up some sort of project to keep my mind stimulated,” he explained.

“Go on...” you took a sip of your wine.

“I think I want to become an author,” he stated.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. Any idea what genre?” you smiled softly.

“At first, I was thinking about something related to my time at the BAU but then I realized I’ve had enough of that as is and I don’t feel like reliving it. Now, I’m thinking more along the lines of fiction because during all my years of schooling, I never really got to explore my creative side. I think a kid’s book could be fun for me to write. And I could work on it whenever the kids were napping or at school,” he explained to you.

“Whatever makes you happy, love. I can’t wait to read what that beautiful brain of yours comes up with,” you grinned, “This also makes my gift for you even better.”

“Y/N, we agreed no gifts,” he rolled his eyes playfully.

“It’s just something small that made me think of you,” you pouted, reaching into your purse.

You handed him something wrapped in a thin layer of pale purple tissue paper. Inside was a beautiful leather journal. It had a quote inscribed on it.

‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken away from us; it is a gift’ -Dante Alighieri

“You just saw this and happened to think of me?” he asked, amused, “How is it customized with our initials and wedding date then?”

“Fine,” you relented, “I ordered it off Etsy a while ago.”

“Good thing I also didn’t listen to our agreement,” he smirked, “But mine isn’t as sentimental and it’s really a gift for us both.”

“I’ll love it just the same,” you assured him.

“We are not going home tonight. The fairy godmother volunteered her and Derek’s services all night so I booked us a room at a bed and breakfast and I already packed you a bag in the backseat of the car.”

You started stuffing pasta into your mouth, “Eat faster. I want to go as soon as possible.”

Spencer chuckled at your eagerness.

-

Spencer felt you trying to sneak out of bed to get your phone.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled at the loss of your warmth.

“I just want to check on the kids. This is our first night away from the twins,” you grabbed your phone, putting on Spencer’s button up, and facetiming Penelope.

She picked up on the second ring, “Hello, my lovely.”

“Hey, Pen. Are the kids behaving for you guys?”

“Yes. They’re all sleeping soundly now. Me and Derek are just binging episodes of The Bachelorette now.”

“That’s great to hear. No spoilers though!”

“How is your night going?” she inquired.

“It’s good, it’s good. Dinner was nice. The hotel is nice,” you tried to avoid the obvious.

“Y/N, your makeup is completely smudged and I can see the collar of Spencer’s shirt around your neck,” she replied.

You heard Derek laughing in the background, “Proud of you, lover boy.”

“Okay, we’ll see you in the morning,” Spencer hung up the phone for you.

“What did you do that for?”

“Round 2,” he smirked.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @doctorreiding @reidsfish

[quillsandtypos]

Smiling in the Background

Summary: Reggie discusses his parents divorce with sunset curve for the first time. The reader opens up to Reggie about their own experience.

Warnings: comfort angst and talk about divorce

Words: 2.4k

Pairings: none but could be interpreted as reggie x reader

...........................................

Reggie knew his place in the group. He was the funny but lovable dumbass. If you needed a laugh you came to him. He was used to being overlooked and underappreciated. But he knew that his friends didn’t feel that way about him, they were always there for him when he needed it, not that he did; but it was still nice to know that they had his back.

But as the boys, and Reggie, grew older things shifted out of place. At their core they still had similar morals and principles to their personalities, but the trauma that they had developed would become a part of them as well.

Alex was first to endure that kind of trauma; when his parents didn’t react well to him coming out, he was devastated. The guys of course had already known about him being gay for years. They comforted him when he came to band practice the next day crying because of his parents' words. The boys promised him that he always had a family with them, a family that accepted him.

Luke was the second. At first the band didn’t know exactly what happened. Luke wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions, and they knew his relationship with his parents wasn’t the greatest at the time, but they didn’t know exactly what happened until they accidentally walked in on him playing one day, completely in tears. Luke told them what had happened and the song that he was writing to cope. By the next week the three had gotten together to write the instrumental to the song. They surprised Luke with it, and it was enough to make him smile, even if it was only for a second.

It took Reggie a long while to even admit to himself what was happening in his world. Something like this couldn’t be happening to him. He was supposed to be the funny guy of the group. How could he be the safe and comforting grounds for everyone else to walk upon when he couldn’t walk upon the grounds himself? He didn’t tell the group for quite awhile, he didn’t want to bother them with his own problems; he knew Luke and Alex were dealing with their own shit.

But he didn’t need to tell him, they knew something was up, long before he did. Words were only spoken about it once. It was a beautiful summer day and they were practicing in the studio. The group was cracking jokes and smiling. Reggie was smiling too, but it was obvious to those that knew him well that it was fake.

“Reg?” spoke Alex.

He forced a smile, “Yeah?”

Alex looked worried, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally!” Reggie lied.

Alex gave him a knowing look and Reggie knew he couldn’t lie to one of his best friends.

He glanced down to avoid eye contact. “It’s kinda a long story,” he murmured.

Alex took a spot next to him on the couch. “I’ve got time, if you want to tell it,” he assured him.

By that point the other two had caught on to the more serious atmosphere, and had turned around to watch.

“Reg you know we’re here for you man, right?” Luke asked, as he gripped Reggie’s shoulder rather tightly.

“Yeah, yeah I know. I just don’t wanna bother you guys, you’re dealing with your own stuff anyways, you probably don’t need my stuff anyways right?” Reggie joked. He forced himself to laugh and smile but no one in the room bought it for a second. They all had somber faces and looked at him through worried eyes.

“Reggie, you are never a bother to us,” Alex reassured him.

Luke nodded.

“Yeah what he said,” Bobby agreed.

Reggie took a look at all of his friends' faces and decided that he would tell them. He told them about how it started off with arguing at night, but it was quiet enough that he could ignore it. Then it turned to comments during the day that they thought he wouldn’t notice, which he did. Then it was screaming so loud in the middle of the night that he could hear it upstairs even with a pillow over his head. He told them everything, and they listened to all of it. Occasionally nodding to let him know that they were still listening. When he was done talking his breath was shaky and there were still tears rolling down his cheeks.

Bobby offered him a tissue box that he gladly took.

After a few moments of silence and them watching him, he felt the need to break it.

“I’m still the funny guy though, so don’t any of you think you can take my place,” he playfully threatened. The group broke into small grins but they quickly faded.

“The funny guy can still be sad. Being funny doesn’t mean the absence of being human,” Alex consoled him.

“Besides, you’re so much more than the funny guy. You’re an amazing friend, a great bassist, and you’re one of the nicest people I know,” Luke continued. Other than when he was talking about his parents, Reggie didn’t think he had ever seen Luke look so serious.

“And you make a mean sandwich,” Bobby added. Alex lightly smacked his leg.

“Ow! I was just trying to make him smile,” Bobby defended himself.

Reggie genuinely laughed at that.

“Thanks guys,” Reggie said, as he looked at all of them.

From that point on it was a said but unsaid thing. Reggie never really talked about it, but the guys knew when the fighting had gotten especially bad that night. They always offered a listening ear but never pushed him. But when Reggie died, he didn’t know what would happen to his parents. He never brought it up, with Caleb and everything it seemed like an unimportant matter.

But when Julie introduced you to the band, that seemed like an important matter to him. Another alive human being could see them, even if they weren’t playing. You came to know all of them fairly well, but you clicked the most with Reggie. He’d sometimes come visit you at school, just to say hello only to poof back out a couple moments later. He’d just sit in your room as you did homework, occasionally interrupting your homework to ask you a question or two about the world nowadays; not that you minded, you enjoyed talking to him.

Today was one of those days, it had been a week or so since Caleb’s stamps had been removed, and you were grateful to even be having a conversation with him.

Reggie already knew you had divorced parents, you had mentioned it off handedly the second week he knew you. Everyone else seemed to brush passed it, but he continued to watch you for a moment, noticing the way you couldn’t make eye contact with him; the same thing he had done, all those years ago.

But it wasn’t until this moment that it was brought up again. You had said something about needing to pack to go to your mom’s house when he remembered.

“Oh right, you have divorced parents too,” he reminded himself.

You realized what he just said. “Wait, you’re parents are divorced?”

Then you realized what you had just said. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” you apologized.

“No it’s okay, truthfully I don’t really know,” he admitted.

You had a curious look on your face, but you said nothing, since it wasn’t any of your business.

He paused for a minute before continuing. “My parents always fought and they seemed to be having a lot of issues right before I died, but when we went to where my house used to be, my house wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know if they ever ended up getting a divorce or not, I just kinda assumed they had,” he explained.

You thought of something but hesitated slightly.

“What?” he asked.

You bit your lip. “Well do you want to know?”

You definitely had peaked his interest. “How could we know?”

“Well I mean it’s 2021, I’m sure we could find them on the internet or in a phone book somehow,” you nervously suggested.

“Sure, but can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you responded softly.

“Can you find it and just tell me? I don’t think I can take the searching around,” he admitted. He looked so fragile in that moment, like at any second he could break. You immediately agreed. You looked through google using his last name, sifting through anything you could find.

After about ten minutes of searching you managed to find some court proceedings with his last name on it.

“Was this their names?” you questioned as you showed him the names on the paper.

“Yeah,” Reggie responded.

You scrolled through the rest of the papers. You anxiously looked up at his depressed face. “Your parents got the divorce finalized five months after your death,” you concluded.

Reggie sighed, “I guess I was the thing keeping together.” He emphasized the was in his sentence.

You looked him in the eye with a sort of passion that could only be recreated by someone who had gone through similar pain. “Reggie, you can’t blame yourself like that. Divorces are between the parents, it has nothing to do with you.”

“And yet somehow it feels like we're the ones who get hurt the most doesn’t it?” he asked, as he turned to you.

You felt your eyes start to water, “Yeah, something like that,” you agreed.

“Why is it that way?” you wondered aloud.

He turned his body to face you.

“I just mean, why do parents act like we’re unaffected by it and that we don’t get any decisions on what happens to us in the matter, but we’re the ones who have to deal with choices they made,” you ranted.

“You wanna talk about what happened to you?” Reggie offered.

You took one look into his eyes, and you knew you couldn’t stop the flood gates from opening.

A few tears leaked out of your eyes. “It was several years ago, I should just be used to it,” you complained.

“Just because it happened in the past doesn’t mean the pain is in the past.” He looked a little impressed with himself with what he just said.

You smiled slightly at his face. “Yeah, I suppose your right.” You wiped off the tear running down your cheek.

He looked at you to continue.

“But there isn’t much to explain, I have one parent who is a bitch and the other isn’t bad,” you explained. You shakily laughed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I doubt that’s all of it,” Reggie spoke softly. You were vulnerable, and you hated vulnerability. But you knew that Reggie would keep this side of you a secret for as long as you needed him to, that’s what friends are for. And you also knew that he understood your situation better than anyone, he was in the same boat himself.

So you decided to tell him the whole story.

“When I was around thirteen I started noticing things were off, I wasn’t sure of what yet, but there were these little moments where I knew that the fight was getting worse,” you started.

“There were some moments where the events didn’t make sense. I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. There was a barrier coming into play and I didn’t know where it was, but I knew it was there,” you explained.

“I was young, but I knew that my childhood was coming to an end. As a kid you put your parents up on these pedestals, and then divorce hits, and things get uncovered and you realize no one is as high up as you believe them to be. Not that their marriage was ever completely stable anyways, but somethings become natural, no matter how bad they are for you.” Reggie looked at you with watery eyes, he really did get exactly what you went through.

“But as I got older they got worse, but when they told me they were getting a divorce it didn’t really surprise me. I knew they had been fighting for years, and it didn’t come as a shock to most people in my family, so I guess I wasn’t the only one who noticed.”

Reggie held a sad smile on his face for an instant, “They usually tend to know before the parents do.”

“Well they definitely did in my case, and to make matters worse they battled it out in court. Which meant that I had to battle it out in court,” you paused to collect your thoughts and wipe your nose.

“Well I didn’t actually go to the court but I had to fight my own parents to get equal time with the both of them,” you admitted.

“Y/n I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Reggie consoled you.

You squeezed your eyes shut to get the final tears to come out.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago, and I probably didn’t have it as bad as some people,” you reasoned.

He placed his hand on your knee. “A wise person once told me that even though someone’s suffering is worse, it doesn’t erase your own,” Reggie offered.

“That’s really smart, who said that?” you asked.

Reggie thought for a moment before breaking into a large grin. “No idea, but I think they had the right idea though.”

You laughed at that, though he wasn’t wrong, it was a good idea.

You placed your hand on his knee. “Thank you Reggie.”

He patted your leg, “Anytime y/n, anytime.”

“And you know I’m always here for you right?” you promised.

He looked like you had said the most obvious thing of all time. “Yeah, I can poof to you at any time.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Reg.”

His face grew serious again in acknowledgement. “Yes, I know.”

“So if you ever wanna go find your parents house, you know where to find me,” you offered.

“I will make sure to remember that.”

“Good, then I will see you tomorrow,” you told him, as you got up.

“Not if I see you first!” he yelled out at you.

“You’re a dork!” you yelled back, though you couldn’t deny the smile on your face that replaced the sad one from earlier.

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit Part 4

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Wow this one is a lot longer. Sorry this one took a while. I’m back at work, and then I’ll be back in school. As always, enjoy :) Gif not mine!

Warnings: kitten angst, date fluff, and brief mention of dog distress.

Thursday couldn’t come fast enough for either of you. Vet clinics were always busy during the summer no matter where in the country you were. People had more free time which they happened to spend outside with their pets. More people were bringing their dogs in for snake bites than you were used to back East. That said, you had never seen a dog or cat get bitten by a rattlesnake before, but you were already on your third one this week.

You were still texting Billie when you had the chance, but she was busier this week too so you didn’t usually hear back from her until after work. You were happy to hear that Mickey had been the first kitten to open his eyes on Tuesday and another couple had followed this morning. You were being bombarded with kitten pictures and questions as they got older, but you loved it. They looked so cute, and you were thrilled that Billie was enjoying their company.

She still had someone take care of them during the day, but at night you would usually get a kitten report and a picture of the entire family. Bit was being a little more receptive to taking care of Mickey again now that he was a little bigger, but she still didn’t pay him as much attention as the others. As soon as he was done nursing, he was usually moved meaning that Billie had to keep him around her a lot between feedings to keep him warm.

They didn’t have names yet, but Billie had told you she’d decide once they came in for their visit next week. Hopefully it would be a little easier to tell their sex at this point, but you weren’t optimistic since they would only be a little more than three weeks old. Usually you couldn’t do accurate sex determination until 5 weeks, but at the very least it would be another opportunity to see the kittens and Billie again.

Billie was just as busy as you were this week. Her producer had told her that she had a lot of ADR to do. A majority of her dialogue from the first few episodes needed to be recorded. These episodes had taken place in one of the noisiest buildings she’d ever filmed in. An old school for the mute ironically.

As a result, she’d been spending a lot of time running back and forth between the studio and home this week, and by the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around she was exhausted. She was excited for tomorrow night though. She’d already made a reservation at a restaurant she hoped you’d like. It was nicer than the café and definitely fitting for your first date because it was definitely a date.

Billie was distracted from her plans for tomorrow night by her assistant’s knock on the door. She had been taking her lunch break which was almost over when Michelle came to find her.

Billie turned with a smile assuming the blonde was just going to tell her it was time to get back to work. She hadn’t been expecting the stressed out look she wore. Billie hadn’t even considered what was actually wrong.

“What is it?”

Michelle shifted some of the things in her arms to one side so she could hold up her phone.

“Heather called. There’s been an accident with one of the kittens.”

You were just finishing lunch when Billie called you. You were sitting at your desk trying to finish up some records between eating when you hear your phone buzzing from under the pile of papers. When you realized that the continued buzzing meant someone’s trying to call you, the shifting of papers becomes slightly more frantic. You let most of them drop into your lap or on the floor before you manage to grab your phone. Seeing it’s Billie you smile before answering quickly.

“Hey, Billie, wh-?”

You don’t get to finish your sentence as Billie interrupts you in a frantic voice. You listen carefully while grabbing the nearest pen to take notes.

“Y/N, Heather called. Mickey fell from her pocket. She thinks he’s okay, but would you have time to see him?”

You don’t even bother looking at your schedule knowing that you’d make the time before telling Billie to bring him in. She hesitated slightly before mentioning that she couldn’t leave work and that Heather would be bringing him. You said that was fine before asking if she told you anything specifically about what had happened.

It sounded like he had been moving around more than expected and he’d just walked out of her pocket. She said it was only a few feet, but you said it was still a good idea to bring him in. You hung up with her after promising to give her a call once you took a look at him.

You quickly picked up your papers before putting Mickey on the schedule and heading downstairs to let someone know. Billie said that she was already on her way because she’d called from the car not sure of where to go, so she’d be here soon hopefully.

You get downstairs and see that most people are still on lunch. A few assistants are still on the clock, and the first one you see is on the phone. You go into the back and see that Erin is still eating lunch with another assistant, so you intend to continue your search for someone else when she sees you.

“Hey Dr. Y/L/N. What’s up?”

You decide to tell her because you have a feeling she wouldn’t mind cutting her lunch a little short. You’re not wrong and the brunette jumps up from her seat with a horrified look.

“What happened to the little Howard kitten?!”

You sigh as you explain the situation while Erin goes to the computer to clock back in. She then goes to the schedule and notices immediately that kitten 6 is now named.

“Aw his name’s Mickey. That’s so cute! So is she on her way?”

Erin follows you into the pharmacy as you nod in confirmation before you correct yourself.

“Actually, her pet sitter is bringing him in.”

You don’t miss how Erin visibly deflates at this news, and you feel bad for a second before she sighs in defeat.

“Aw well. They still have their regular kitten visits for me to fangirl over her.”

You barely hold back a laugh as you think about how Billie would respond to this. You have a feeling she’d like having a fan here at the office. Hell there are probably more.

“Have you watched any more of her show?”

The question surprises you but you try not to let it show as you mentally add up all the episodes of Billie’s show you’ve watched since your lunch on Saturday. You watched a couple a night if you weren’t too tired so that’s maybe 10 or so. You say this to Erin and she nods before asking a follow up question. You have no problem answering it because you have some time to kill, but you also don’t want to give anything away.

You hadn’t really considered how things would change at work if you started dating Billie. You doubted your paths would cross here other than when she brought her kittens. You didn’t expect random visits since this was a little out of her way, but you couldn’t be sure. You two hadn’t talked about that because well you hadn’t even gone on a real first date yet.

“Are you liking it? Have you seen the episode when she was in that asylum?”

You nod and open your mouth to respond when you hear the front door open. You hear a frantic voice and figure you know who it is. Erin picks up on this too and goes up front to go ahead and bring them to an exam room. She’d go in as soon as she did in case it was an emergency.

“Heather, can you tell me what happened?”

You felt bad for the younger woman. She was crying and barely calm enough to speak. You had a feeling she was terrified about getting fired or worse and unfortunately you couldn’t really reassure her of anything until you looked at Mickey.

The kitten was definitely bigger since you last saw him and that made you smile, but he was very sedate. He wasn’t bleeding and he had no obvious injuries, but as you carefully examined him, he definitely seemed off. You ignored the sound of Bit meowing from her carrier as Heather wipes her nose with a tissue before shaking her head.

“I was walking downstairs with him in my pocket like usual but before I got to the bottom of the stairs, I felt him fall out. I don’t—I don’t know how he did it, I didn’t feel him move or anything.”

You watch as the redhead begins to cry again and you rush to offer any reassurance you can at this point.

“Well he’s not bleeding so that’s a good sign. Do you know if he hit anything other than the ground? Did he roll down the stairs or anything like that?”

Heather shook her head before telling you that he’d just fallen out and then she saw him at the bottom of the stairs.

“He may have rolled down a few, I’m not sure. God is he going to be okay?”

You continue your exam not noting any abnormal heart rhythm or breathing patterns. You try to stand Mickey up but he definitely doesn’t want to do that. He whines slightly before falling back onto his stomach. You hear Heather mutter a curse before you come up with a plan.

“Has he nursed today, been normal otherwise?”

Heather just nods but she doesn’t look away from Mickey who is resting his head on the table, eyes closed.

“Yeah, completely normal.”

You nod before deciding to listen to him again, just to be sure. You take a minute, still not noticing anything abnormal before you share what you think.

“So the only thing I can appreciate on his exam is that he doesn’t want to stand up. His whining might be from pain, but it’s hard to tell. Does he usually make a lot of noise throughout the day?”

Heather just shakes her head and you nod before doing a couple of calculations in your head.

“Okay. Well there are a couple of things that we can do.”

You tell Heather that you can take x-rays to see if there is anything obviously broken from his fall. They could also just monitor him for the next few hours here before sending him home if nothing changes. The last and least favorable option would be to take him home and just see how he did.

Heather clearly didn’t want to do the last option as she shook her head and took a deep breath.

“No, I think I want to take x-rays to be sure, but I probably need to call Ms. Howard.”

You nod before mentioning that you promised to call her after the exam, and you don’t miss how Heather jumps on this opportunity. You don’t blame her for not wanting to talk to Billie right now. She’s probably upset and Heather’s clearly terrified. She’d buy Heather some time if that’s what she needed.

“You’ll call her?”

You nod before you look to the carrier that you assumed held all of the other kittens. That made sense. Leaving them home alone probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. God forbid something else happened.

“Of course. Just give me a few minutes and we’ll do whatever she wants. Erin’s going to take him back with us, you can wait in here if you like or the lobby.”

Heather just nods and thanks you before you retreat to the nearest phone. Erin is carefully cradling Mickey as she opens the door to the back to take him to treatment as you pick up the phone. You dial Billie’s number and wait for what feels like forever before someone you don’t recognize answers.

“Hello, this is Michelle, Ms. Howard’s assistant speaking.”

“Hi Michelle, I’m Dr. Y/L/N at Sunset clinic. I just finished looking at Mickey.”

You hear rustling in the background before hurried footsteps follow as Michelle quite possibly runs somewhere.

“Oh, you’re the vet! Great, just give me one second to find her.”

You just nod muttering ‘not a problem’ while you wait for Michelle to track Billie down. It doesn’t take long and you hear Michelle’s muffled voice saying that it’s you on the phone and Billie’s quick thank you before her voice is in your ear.

“Y/N, how is he?”

You relay what you’d told Heather to Billie and she is eerily quiet when you finish your explanation of the possible next steps. It isn’t until she speaks that you realized she jumped to worst case scenario.

“What will you have to do if he’s broken something?”

You try to figure out how to tell the most truth without getting into all of the possible complications.

“It would depend on what he broke, but I couldn’t get him to react to anything other than trying to make him stand. He was fine for everything else.”

Billie sighs and you swear you hear the flick of a lighter in the background. You don’t have to wait long for the medium to make her decision about what to do next. You’re not surprised by her decision at all. You know how much she adores Mickey.  

“Okay. You can go ahead and do x-rays, but is it possible for him to stay there for the rest of the day? I don’t want Heather to have to worry anymore about him.”

You nod because you were going to suggest keeping him here regardless. Not only was Heather really frazzled, but your techs here would be able to monitor him closely and bottle feed him.

“Of course, I’ll have my assistant take the x-rays while I go tell Heather.”

Billie sighs heavily before nodding in approval. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You smile briefly before hanging up and getting to work.  “Of course, Billie.”

Erin calls you into x-ray a couple of minutes later and you’re eternally grateful when you don’t see any broken bones. You look at the images taken thoroughly before you decide that there’s nothing concerning. Everything looks normal for a 2-week-old kitten. You’re relieved to get to tell Billie this, and you call her while holding Mickey in your lap.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi Billie. So good news, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary for him. No broken bones.”

Billie sighs in relief before taking a drag. “Thank goodness. You’ll still keep him there though?”

“Definitely. We’ll keep a close eye on him for you and you can pick him up at the end of the day.”

Billie doesn’t need to look at her schedule to know that it will be a long day, so she shakes her head.

“I’ll probably have Michelle pick him up. I’m going to be working late.”

After everything is arranged, you talk to Michelle again to get her information before hanging up. Lunch is officially over and your first afternoon appointment is here. You sigh before realizing that you need to get Mickey set up before talking to Heather. You suspect that Erin popped in and told her that everything was fine, so you take your time setting up a space for Mickey and talking to your techs about the plan.

Hopefully it will be an easy, uncomplicated afternoon for him.

Despite knowing that Mickey wasn’t in any immediate danger, it was difficult for Billie to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon. She’d called Heather to confirm that she was going home and would be able to stay late with the other kittens. She made sure to let her know that she wasn’t angry at her. Just thinking about how panicky she’d been during the conversation they’d had as she drove to the vet was enough to make Billie feel bad. Once she was satisfied that she’d calmed Heather’s nerves to the best of her ability, she tried to finish up everything that needed to be done today so she could go home and see Mickey.

She still had almost a full episode-worth of dialogue to record by the end of the day. Things were moving slowly because she had to rewatch all of the footage to time everything correctly. Billie supposed it wasn’t taking any more time than usual, she was just stressed.

Michelle had been nice enough to offer to call and check up on Mickey every so often, but you’d insisted that he would be fine. You’d promised to call if anything changed, so Billie tried to resist being an overbearing parent and refused to check in.

The blonde brought another cup of coffee into the recording booth Billie was in, and she shot the other woman a grateful look.

“Thank you, dear.”

Michelle just nodded with a small smile. “Of course. Is there anything else you need, Billie?”

The medium shakes her head before taking a long sip of coffee. She wished that she could have a cigarette, but that would have to wait until her next break. Which wasn’t going to be for a while.

“No, thank you, Michelle.”

The blonde leaves Billie alone in the booth for the next few minutes she has before she begins recording again. She takes a deep breath before looking back to the pages in front of her. This wouldn’t take too long, if she focused.

Billie didn’t even believe that lie by the time she started reading.

When you went to check on Mickey next, it was after your 3pm appointment. You’d gotten really busy and hadn’t been able to spare a glance at the kitten. You knew that your techs were taking good care of him, but you also felt obligated to watch over him as well. Not just because it was your job, but because you were worried. Mickey had a lot going against him. Being the runt, basically being rejected by Bit and now falling down the stairs.

He was a tough little guy for sure, but you just wanted to make sure that all of Billie’s love and attention wasn’t wasted. You had to make sure that this kitten made it. even if it meant checking on him every chance you got.

When you arrived to the back of treatment where he was being kept you smiled at the sight of him sleeping. He looked adorable.

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

You turn to see one of your techs watching you from where she’s cleaning instruments at the sink. You nod, not able to stop the smile on your face from growing wider as you watch him shift slightly in his sleep.

“He is. He’s gotten so big since I last saw him.”

Mina smiles as she finishes up what’s she doing before she comes over to stand next to you. You turn to her as she opens the door so you can get a good look at him.

“He’s been the perfect patient. He loved his formula and mostly just lies there. He was walking around a little while ago. If you can call it walking.”

You turn back to him with a smile glad to hear that he’s doing well. He opens his eyes a little at the sound of the door and makes the cutest mewling sound. As you watch him wake up more fully and wiggle around in his blankets you wonder how the hell Billie Dean is going to give him up.

“Here, doc. Did you want to feed him?”

Mina’s holding a small bottle filled with milk and you don’t hesitate to nod before taking it from her with a quiet thanks.

“He’s going to go fast if she brings him back here to be adopted out.”

You nod but otherwise say nothing because you have no doubt about this. Hell, if Billie doesn’t want him you’ll take him. Maybe.

You’re not sure Milo would like that.

After fawning over Mickey for a few minutes, you have to put him back in his bed when your next appointment arrives. You sigh as you look at the clock, it’s only 3:40. You’ve got almost three hours left of work at least. That doesn’t seem like much, but then you have the day off tomorrow and a whole day to prepare for your date with Billie.

As you make your way to the front of the clinic you remind yourself to figure out where you’ll be going sooner rather than later.

Billie Dean was finally done with work for the day. It was already 7 and getting home might take an hour with traffic. She was exhausted and ready to go home and sleep. Well first she had to check on the kittens of course. Mickey had been picked up and dropped off with Heather about 2 hours ago.

Michelle had called to tell her that Y/N had said that everything went well during his stay. He’d even walked around a little. Billie was thrilled to hear this and it took all of her self-control to not groan at the traffic she was already in.

While she sits stuck in traffic she thinks about your plans for tomorrow. Billie hadn’t told you where you were going yet, but she planned on calling you once she got home. Both to give you a heads up about tomorrow’s date but also to thank you. She was extremely grateful that you were able to see Mickey today and that you had been flexible. She knew it was your job, but she just felt better knowing that you were the one taking care of him. She knew that you wouldn’t lie to her.

By the time she got home, she was so tired she could fall asleep. She hadn’t realized how stressful it was dealing with work and worrying about the kittens until she stepped into her house and saw Heather sitting on the couch with Mickey in her lap.

“Ms. Howard.”

Billie just shook her head as she walked further into the room and gestured for the redhead to stand up. She did so, placing Mickey on the couch carefully—he was fast asleep before turning toward the older woman. She was ready to be yelled at, but when she was just pulled into a hug she was too stunned to react immediately. Eventually, when Billie squeezed a little harder, she realized that she had just been standing dumbly and finally hugged the medium back.

“Thank you for today. I’m sorry if you were worried about how I’d react.”

When Billie pulled away and immediately looked to Mickey, Heather moved out of the way so she could get to him. She was still a little on edge and felt like she at least needed to apologize again. She didn’t get very far though before Billie shook her head from where she was now sitting on the couch with Mickey on her lap.

“Still, I’m sorry I--.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetie. It’s okay, I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Heather sighs in defeat but doesn’t argue as she gathers her things to get ready to leave. She mentions how the other kittens are doing fine and she’d just seen them nursing. Billie smiles before she thanks Heather again and watches as she leaves through the front door.

Billie releases a sigh before she picks Mickey up carefully and inspects him. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She smiled as he opened his eyes and made a small sound that made Billie want to crush him in a hug. She didn’t of course, and she just stood up and headed upstairs to change so she could carry him around with her to find some dinner.

You are still in the office when Billie Dean texts you. You got a little behind with records today and you had a few more to get to before you could head home. The buzzing of your phone pulls you from thoughts of skin allergies and you turn in your chair to look for the device. You stand up only for it to fall to the ground, having forgotten that you’d put it on your lap. You sigh before you bend over to pick it up along with some of the papers you have scattered on the floor.

You’re usually very organized, but this week has been a little crazy and staying on top of things has been difficult. It is especially difficult to concentrate when you always have a certain blonde and her kittens on your mind. You unlock your phone and see that Billie’s asking if you’re still at work.

You sigh again because unfortunately you are at least for the next 20 minutes. If you’re lucky. You have two more records to write up, and one of them was a little involved. You say something brief to this effect and continue typing while you wait for her response.

Billie is wondering if you usually stay at work this late. It was 8 o clock and she was barely hanging on to consciousness. She wouldn’t be awake if it weren’t for the glass of wine and the dinner she was forcing herself to eat. She sat with Mickey beside her on a makeshift bed as she looked through emails on her computer. It was late and she wasn’t answering any of them now. She was mostly being a little creepy and seeing what she could find out about you.

It only seemed fair since you’d Googled her.

That said, there was a lot less on you than there was on her. Billie was able to find out where you went to school, and she saw your graduation pictures, but you weren’t really on social media. Your Facebook hadn’t been updated in months and nothing she found really told her anything more than you had on Saturday.

Except one thing.

Billie didn’t read it though. Billie wanted to hear about Y/N from her instead of the internet or any other means. She closed her computer when her phone beeped and when she saw your message, she realized that almost half an hour had passed since you’d told her you were still working.

We’re leaving now.

Attached to the text was a picture of Milo jumping up from where he stood next to you. You were holding up something that must have been a treat because Milo’s mouth was wide opened and headed straight for your hand. Billie considered calling you now, but figured you shouldn’t be distracted when you drive. Instead she sent you a text.

Let me know when you’re home? I’ll tell you where we’re going tomorrow.

Billie sees that you’re typing, and once she gets an ‘ok’ in response she puts her phone down and heads upstairs. She needs to put Mickey with Bit for a while and see if he’ll nurse. She also needed a cigarette and really didn’t want to smoke around Mickey. All of the cats really, but only Mickey was ever in her pocket.

The other cats were all getting so big. They were still tiny, but they were much bigger than when she’d found them under the deck just a couple of weeks ago. All of them had opened their eyes at this point, and a lot of the time she sees them they’re trying to crawl around. She hasn’t seen that any of them leave the laundry room, but if they do, Bit herds them all back to bed so she’s none the wiser.

Once Mickey is settled with his brothers and sisters, Billie showers and is already in bed by the time you get home.

You let Milo run inside first before you head to the living room and collapse on the couch. You know that you need to eat dinner, but you’re so tired that you can’t even fathom getting up right now. You roll onto your back before digging your phone out of your pocket.

I’m home. Do I get to know where we’re going now?

Almost as if she wants to hold you in suspense, it takes Billie almost 10 minutes to respond. Little did you know she was just checking on the cats one last time before leaving them to sleep. Luckily Bit had allowed all of the kittens to stay in bed with her during the night. It was only during the day, according to Heather, that Bit tries to push Mickey out onto the floor, if not move him to a different room altogether.

She arrives back to her bedroom to see that you’ve texted her. She smiles at your question before she finally tells you where she’s made reservations for tomorrow night.

You stare at your phone before you go to Google to figure out what restaurant this is. You really need to get out more. You see that it’s literally the fanciest restaurant you’ve never been to. You look at the menu because you have to plan ahead, and your eyes widen at the prices you see next to the dishes you’re not sure you can pronounce.

You hadn’t been super stressed about this date, only moderately stressed, but this just changed that.  You had never been treated to something like this, and despite the fact that it made you feel all sorts of dizzy, you weren’t sure you deserved it. You wondered how you could put this when another text message came in as you were still staring blankly at the menu.

If you don’t want to go there, I can change the reservation.

You quickly open the text preparing to deny this, but you stop. It’s not that you don’t want to go there. Sure it’s a little intimidating and you feel like you’ll stick out like a sore thumb, but the idea of going there with Billie is a little…exhilarating. You briefly look to your closet trying to think of what you’d wear before you make your decision.

You’ve been telling yourself to go outside of your comfort zone since you’d moved here. Honestly you hated the idea of doing so, but having someone that you trust with you…You knew Billie would make sure you were comfortable. Clearly, since she was already checking in with you. Finally you sighed with a small smile. You were touched that she was being so thoughtful already and decided to take this chance. How bad could it be if Billie was with you?

Thursday night finally arrives and after spending a whole day lounging around and anticipating tonight’s date it’s finally time. Your first date with Billie. Since you plan things down to the minute, you arrived to the restaurant a little early. You were grateful since traffic had been, well L.A traffic. You honestly hadn’t lived in a big city before and you getting used to there being so much traffic all the time. You pulled into the parking lot only to be directed to the valet. Right. That happened here.

You get out of the car and sigh as the night air hits you. This is going to be fine. It will be fun damn it. It will be. You continue to tell yourself this as you make your way inside. You can’t help but look around at the predictably decorated interior. You don’t pay it much mind as you wait until the hostess is free and looks to you with a smile.

“Hi, how are you? Do you have a reservation?”

You smile as you nod and mention that you are supposed to be meeting Billie Dean Howard. She shoots you a curious look, but once you give your name she nods and leads you further into the restaurant.

You walk past a lot of people and you swear you see a celebrity or two, but you’re not here for them. You’re looking around in search of a familiar blonde when you spot her from over the hostess’s shoulder. You smile at the sight of Billie Dean sitting at a booth waiting for you.

She’s wearing another silk blouse, but this time she’s also wearing a string of pearls. You nearly run into the hostess you’re too busy staring at the medium’s hair that is styled a little differently, but luckily you stop just in time.

You wait until she turns to leave before you move to sit across from Billie. You smile as you get situated before looking to Billie again.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

Billie taps her fingernails on the table, smiling as she watches you look to them before shaking her head.

“Not at all. I was trying to get here before you after all.”

You don’t have time to think about why this could be before Billie tells you. She’s smirking at your confused look but it soon turns flustered when she explains.

“I wanted to be able to watch you walk in.”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly at this and you shoot her a curious, teasing look.

“Well, was it worth it?”

Billie’s eyes light up, and you swear she looks impressed as she nods and shoots you a dazzling smile.

“More than. You look stunning, Y/N.”

You smile before taking a second chance to look at Billie and you blush harder when you see that her smile has turned to a smirk again.

“You too, Billie. You always look beautiful though.”

The medium scoffs and mutters something about that being nonsense. You don’t get a chance to argue with her before your waitress shows up. The tall blonde smiles at the two of you before handing each of you a menu.

“Good evening. My name’s Taylor and I’ll be your server for tonight. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

You had completely neglected to look at the drink menu, so you let Billie go first while you frantically searched through the list of drinks. You’d already decided that you were going to get something with alcohol. You were still a little tense and you knew that drinking tended to help you with this. As long as you didn’t overdo it.

So you ordered your favorite drink that wouldn’t get you more than a little tipsy before looking back across the table at Billie. You tried not to stare, but you just couldn’t believe what you saw. Part of you believed that if you closed your eyes, you’d find yourself back at your apartment realizing that this was all a dream. You weren’t sure how you got so lucky to attract the attention of someone like Billie Dean.

You were just grateful for Bit and her kittens bringing Billie to the clinic and into your life.

You’re still admiring the woman across from you when Taylor walks away. She looked back to you feeling herself want to smile again at your adoring look. She was accustomed to attracting attention. It came with the territory of being on television. She was used to people staring at her, fawning over her, and sometimes leering at her.

This wasn’t that though. You were looking at her with something that resembled awe, and that made her feel appreciated in a way she hadn’t for a long time. You weren’t with her tonight because of her money or her fame. You were after something else that Billie was quickly realizing, she was all too willing to give.

“You’re staring, sweetheart.”

You snap out of your trance and shoot Billie a shamefaced look. You mutter an apology that you don’t really mean. Well you didn’t mean to stare, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for appreciating Billie Dean. You wanted to make sure that you never stopped doing that.

“Sorry, I—I don’t have a good excuse. I’m just—I really need to thank Bit for having her kittens under your house.”

Billie laughs at this as Taylor comes back to set your drinks down. You both need a little more time to look over the menu, so the blonde leaves as you start to look for the dish you’d seen earlier today.

When you watch Billie pick up her glass of wine but not take a sip you look up from your menu with a frown. She’s smiling at you as she looks between you and your glass, and you quickly take the hint. You grab your glass too and hold it up with a grin.

“To our second date.”

Your smile disappears as your brows furrow in confusion. Billie has to stop herself from mentioning how cute it looks.

“Second?”

Billie can’t stop herself from laughing; however, as she nods in confirmation. She could practically see your internal struggle and had to ask.

“Yes, did you not count Saturday?”

You flushed at the thought of Saturday being a date, meaning that this dinner was not your first date. You shook your head before shrugging at the realization that you were just dumb. You’d been so damned stressed with first date jitters only for this to be the second date.

You were a mess sometimes.

“I just—wasn’t sure, I guess. Am now though.”

Billie smiled at you again before she clinked your glasses together and took a sip of her wine. She didn’t break eye contact with you and you took a long sip of your drink to hide how her watching you made you feel all hot and bothered.

“Good. It’s settled then.”

You just nod dumbly before returning your attention to the menu in an attempt to calm your racing heart. You found the dish that you’d been eying earlier before turning to Billie. You plan to ask her if she’s been here before when she beats you to it.

“You can, by the way.”

Now you’re really confused. You must have missed something. What had you just been talking about?

“What?”

The only response you had to what Billie Dean just said only made her smile wider. She shrugged as she opened her own menu, but didn’t really look at it. She was still watching you as she clarified her meaning.

“You can thank Bit, if you’d like. After this.”

Billie’s biting her lip to stop from laughing too loudly at how quickly your face turns red. She just can’t resist watching you flush so prettily at even the faintest suggestion. You just take a deep breath before muttering something that might be ‘dear god’ as you nod absentmindedly.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe—I mean—I haven’t seen the other kittens in forever.”

Billie Dean smiles victoriously before she decides to be merciful. She gives you a break as she changes the subject.

“Have you always wanted to be a vet?”

The abrupt change of subject surprises you despite how relieved you are. You’re not sure why you always act like such a prude around Billie. You’re not. It’s just the idea of that, doing any of that with the medium makes your head spin. If you think too much into it you might faint, so you are eager to answer Billie’s question and retreat from dangerous territory.

“No, definitely not. It wasn’t until the second year of college that I really committed to it.”  

Billie asks what influenced your decision, so you tried to explain it in the most concise way possible. You didn’t want to drone on or tell your entire life story. It’s just there wasn’t a one sentence answer to this. You’d gone from wanting to be a paleontologist to a marine biologist to a dentist (for the money), to a physical therapist before finally deciding on being a vet.

“When I was in high school, I went with my mom every weekend to visit my grandfather. I helped take care of him and everything and thought that’s what I wanted to do. It didn’t last too long though.”

You see from the way that Billie’s looking at you, that she has questions. You aren’t sure what she’s going to ask, but your waitress is back to take your orders before she gets the chance to. Billie fidgets slightly tapping her nails against the table while you order and it isn’t until you’re alone again that you consider what the cause might be.

Billie’s in the process of putting her hand back in her lap to stop herself from fidgeting when you speak up. You’re not sure you’re right, but you want to at least say this so Billie knows where you stand.

“Are you okay?”

Billie frowns in confusion not realizing that you’d caught onto her nervous tick until she sees how you’re studying her. Still she nods and tries to play it off, but you don’t let her dismiss you that easily.

“I’m fine, Y/N.”

You decide to take the risk.

“Are you sure because you look like you could use a cigarette, or at least a stronger drink. I wouldn’t mind either.”

Billie smiles wryly at this, laughing under her breath as she shakes her head. You just keep surprising her.

“Maybe, but I can only have one of those in here.”

That didn’t occur to you immediately, but a quick look around tells you that she’s probably right. You nod more to yourself than her before you take another sip of your drink.

“True.”

You sit in silence for a while before you realize that you hadn’t returned Billie’s question. You are curious to know the answer because honestly, you’re not sure what you could see Billie doing, other than her current job of course. There were so many possibilities.

“What about you? What did pre-medium Billie Dean want to do?”

Billie frowns as she considers this and you almost become worried before the medium merely shrugs her shoulders in response.

“I wanted to play tennis, but then my calling…called.”

You remember what you’d read about Billie becoming a medium at the age of 25. Then you think about 25-year-old Billie playing tennis. You’d never been a fan of the sport because you were terrible at it, but you definitely wouldn’t say no to watching Billie play.

“You played tennis?”

You’re really just asking for elaboration, but when Billie just smiles, you prompted her.

“Were you any good?”

Whether she realizes it or not, Billie Dean sits up a little straighter practically preening before she shoots you a cocky smile.

“I was unbeatable for a while.”

There are so many ways you could respond to this, but you settle on the teasing response that comes to mind first. You secretly just want to know if Billie still plays and if she’s as competitive as you think.

“You mean you’re not anymore?”

Billie sighs at the thought because she hasn’t played competitively in years. She’s been a little busy getting her career off the ground. It had been difficult for many reasons. First of all no one believed that she had this gift of speaking to the dead. She was quickly written off as nuts and proving them wrong took a lot more work than it would have if she’d been a man.

Luckily most of those struggles were behind her, and the worst she had to deal with was people asking her too personal questions because for some reason they felt like they had a right to know.

“It’s been years since I’ve played.”

You laugh before nodding in understanding. You’re going to have to find out more about Billie playing tennis later. For now, you’re going to behave and just let your imagination run wild.

“Did you play any sports?”

You try not to laugh at the fact that yes, you did, and it was not only the most stereotypically lesbian sport, but you also weren’t good at it. You definitely weren’t unbeatable like Billie. You shrug your shoulders before trying not to make 6 years of softball seem like a big deal. It wasn’t really. The team needed people and then you realized you liked it.

You ironically didn’t realize you were gay until you started crushing on someone on your team, but there was no way you were telling Billie that.

“I wasn’t that good. I just ran fast and occasionally caught things.”

Billie asked what position you’d played and you mentioned that you’d been catcher for a couple of years before you were moved to outfield. It had been a good and bad move. Good because being catcher stressed you out, but bad because your ADHD made it easier to zone out while you were standing in the outfield.

“It was mostly just running. A lot of running.”

Billie smiled at this as she considered what you’d told her recently about your dislike of running, and exercise in general.

“Did you lose your taste for it back then?”

You nod because it’s true. You definitely dislike running, but sometimes it’s the only thing that you can do to destress. Also Milo would never let you stop completely. He liked it too much. You say this and this reminds Billie of something she’s been meaning to ask. You mention your dog a lot and she feels bad that she’s never asked more about him.

“I never asked. Have you had him since he was a puppy?”

Without realizing it, you finish up your drink and sigh at the seemingly simple question. You hadn’t ever mentioned having Milo as a puppy because then you’d have to explain how you got him. Or rather from whom. However, it seemed like you weren’t going to be able to avoid talking about this anymore, so you just decided to be as honest as possible. Just without revealing too much of your baggage.

“Yeah, I actually got him from my ex. Her parents bred German Shepherds, and they said they couldn’t sell Milo because he was too small and sick.”

Billie frowned at the idea of this for a couple of reasons. She decided to focus on Milo for now because she was hopeful she would hear more about your ex later if you ever opened up to her about your past. For now, she wondered how anyone could want to abandon a puppy.

“That’s horrible.”

You just nodded because you remember how horribly your ex had put it when she’d told you. She’d been so nonchalant as if this sort of thing happened all of the time and that it was okay. That wasn’t quite the end of your relationship, but it was very close to it. Things just went downhill from that point.

“Yeah, it was. He had gotten sick and as a result became blind in one eye. They were just going to—well I’m not sure exactly what they would have done with him, but I jumped on the chance to adopt him.”

Billie smiles as you say this because she can tell just by how you talk about him that he’s your whole world. He’s your baby. Like how Mickey’s become hers.

“How long ago was this?”

You spent way too long talking about your dog and how the past two years had been for you. Your meal came while you were telling Billie the story of how Milo had gotten his head stuck in a wall and you two could barely thank Taylor you were so close to crying you were laughing so hard.

“I had left him for maybe an hour to run an errand and I come back to hear him screaming bloody murder.”

It had been terrifying to open the door and immediately hear him screaming in distress. You had honestly thought that he had hurt himself somehow despite how careful you’d been with cleaning your room.

“I thought he was dying I was so freaked out, then I see that he’s literally chewed through the wall into the hallway, but he got stuck in the second layer of drywall.”

Billie was laughing so hard she could barely choke out the only three words that came to mind. “Oh my god.”

You nod before rolling your eyes at the thought of how much damage the puppy had caused. He’d only been 5 months old at the time.

“I know. He broke a tooth and had to get stitches from thrashing. It was a mess.”

Billie’s wiping the tears from her eyes as she shakes her head in disbelief. He sounds like a handful, but she can’t wait to meet him. She says this and you smile before agreeing quickly. You know that Milo will love Billie. He honestly loves most people, but you’ve learned that he is a good judge of character.

You both took a moment to taste your food. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, and you had to force yourself not to stuff your face. You reach for your drink, only to realize it’s empty before you just grab your water. You’re not sure you want another one yet.

“So you never did tell me what it takes.”

Your attention returns to Billie who is shooting you a questioning look. You don’t realize what she’s talking about, but your frown of confusion prompts Billie to continue.

“You said that your belief in the supernatural depends on certain things. Do you care to elaborate on that?”

Your eyes light up in realization before you smile in response. Since you’d promised Billie that you’d explain this you’d been trying to figure out how to say it in a way that didn’t sound too generic. Sure you believed in the supernatural, but did you believe that contact with spirits was as common as it is portrayed in the media? Not at all.

You take another second to get your thoughts together before you tell Billie what you think. She just listens carefully nodding every now and then as you explain your views based on your limited understanding.

“I definitely believe, but—I don’t know. There are so many different representations of the supernatural that some of it seems farfetched. I guess, I just mean that if you told me that ghosts are around us all of the time, I’d need some proof before I believe you.”

Billie’s expression stayed neutral, but she mentally cursed herself for not wording this question better. She hadn’t anticipated you saying that because now what could she say in response? She didn’t want to tell you what she’d picked up on the first time she’d met you. That would certainly freak you out, and you didn’t want to get too personal too early into…whatever you two were heading towards.

Billie didn’t dwell on this too much fully realizing that she needed to respond to what you said. She wasn’t sure if you sensed her hesitation, but she just decided to default to her flirty nature.

“I’ll have to show you how it’s done sometime then.”

The innuendo is not wasted on you because Billie sees you flush slightly before nodding in agreement. You muttered something under your breath that resembled ‘sounds good’ before taking another bite of food. You may need that second drink after all.

About an hour later, you two had finished up dinner and dessert. Billie had kept her promise and paid before you could even open your mouth to argue. She hadn’t played fair because you’d been distracted and hadn’t noticed Taylor come up to the table with the check. Still, you didn’t get a chance to pout before Billie was shooting you a questioning look. It wasn’t teasing and you were a little surprised by this given what she asked. However, you had already made up your mind just moments after she’d asked you the first time.

“So, do you want to go see the kittens?”

Of course you did. You wanted to make sure that Mickey was okay, and check up on the other kittens as well. You wanted to check on Billie’s cats. That was the only reason why you wanted to go to her house. You had no ulterior motive whatsoever.

“Let’s do it.”

Part 5

[padfootagain]

A Very Rose Mistake (I)

Part 1: How It All Began

 Here we goooo!! New series! This is from a request from my 4.7k followers event, with the prompts 22 and 23 (I won't put them here, cause I don't want to spoil too much… you can check them on my post for the event if you want by doing a quick research.) by @paniconthepitch .

It's a fake-dating AU with the best friends to lovers trope, and it's gonna be a wile ride!!! There won't be any warnings in this fic except for some angst and tooth-rotting fluff, as usual for me :)

So, I hope you like it! I'm gonna structure the fic a little differently compared to what I usually do (even if it's nothing extraordinary), so tell me if you like this first chapter, so I know if you like how I've organized the fic!

Tell me what you think, please! I'm very excited and nervous to share the first chapter with all of you!

Oh, also, I don't like talking about the whole covid crisis in my fics (I write to mainly escape from it), so even though the fic happens this year, there isn't any virus around, so no one is breaking distancing rules or anything.

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count : 4516

                                                              I

                                                  Holmes Chapel

                                                         1999

 It was a warm summer in Northern England. Sun high and warm and skies bluer than blue.

Your parents were unboxing some of your stuff in your new home, but it was the afternoon, and the weather was way too nice for you to stay inside. Instead, despite your tiny body, you had managed to climb on top of the stone wall that enclosed your garden and separated it from the street. Just a little patch of grass on the front of the house, but it was nice. You looked at the cars driving across the street, a thin layer of sweat making your forehead glisten in the sun because of how warm it was. You could hear your parents' distant voices through the open window of the living room. The air smelled of gasoline and blossoming roses from your neighbours' house. From time to time, a dog barked in one of the tiny gardens further down the street.

You were eating an ice-cream, that your mother had prepared for you by putting it in a paper cup. Some of it was sticky on your chin, but you didn't mind. It was good, and you were having fun looking at the new neighbourhood.

A little boy pranced out of the house on your right, carrying a bag to put in the bin outside the house. He seemed to be around five years old, just like you.

As he saw you sitting on the low wall, a curious expression settled on his features, and he tilted his head in wonder. He had never seen you before, and it was very surprising, as he knew all the children living in the street, even the ones who were older than his sister.

He thus decided to walk over to you and investigate.

You beamed at him as he approached, hoping to make a new friend already. It was your first day in this town, you reckoned it would make a great start for the life in your new home.

"Hi!" You waved at him, and his cautious behaviour slightly faded as he smiled back at you.

"Hi. Who are you?" He asked bluntly, a frown wrinkling his round face, chubby cheeks turned pink by the heat, and a bundle of dark blonde hair getting messy as he pushed a few locks out of his green eyes.

"I'm Y/N. My parents and I are moving in this house. Do you live there?" You asked too, pointing at the house he had walked out of.

He nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with your answer.

"Yep," he answered, popping the p at the end. "Why are you alone?" he went on, a lisp making him trip over his words a little.

"My parents are cleaning stuff inside. And I don't have friends here yet."

Again, he nodded at your explanation.

You remembered your grand-mother's advice about making friends, and reckoned that if you wanted to make the little boy your first companion in the neighbourhood, you needed to offer him something. So, you handed him the rest of your ice-cream.

"Do you want some?" you asked with a bright smile.

The boy decided that he liked seeing you smile. You were missing a couple of baby teeth, and it was such a happy gesture that he wanted to make you laugh instead.

He remembered the joke that his sister had played on their cousin that had made the whole table laugh. He reckoned that it should do the trick.

So, instead of taking the ice cream you were offering him, he jumped up and pushed it against your face.

And indeed, your face covered in vanilla ice-cream was hilarious, and he exploded with laughter.

But you weren't laughing at all, as the boy laughed at you. Instead, hot tears started to form at the corner of your eyes, and you looked at the little boy with so much hurt and betrayal on your features that his laugh died in his throat as quickly as it had formed in the first place.

When you started to actually cry, he was panicking.

"Hey, don't cry," he said, as if asking for a favour. "I... I didn't want to make you cry. I thought it was funny."

But you just kept on crying, and he felt so terribly awful seeing you like this that he found himself on the verge of tears too. Your eyes were turning puffy and you were sniffing, and seemed so miserable... he didn't want to see that look on your face, ever. He liked your face too much, actually.

"I'm sorry. It was a joke. Don't cry. Is it because you dropped the rest of your ice-cream?"

You didn't answer, quietly crying still, and he rushed to his house, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. And you were even more miserable than before.

So much for making a friend...

You were about to go back inside, finding no fun in being out anymore and wanting to clean up your face when you saw him running out of the house again.

He was carrying what seemed to be a container full of ice-cream and a spoon.

"Here!" He handed you the two objects, struggling to catch his breath after his run. "You can have mine instead. I'm sorry you didn't find my joke funny. Please, don't cry anymore."

Hesitantly, you took the objects from him, awaiting a new trick, but none came. You opened the box to discover some chocolate ice-cream, as promised.

"I'm sorry. I don't have vanilla one. But maybe Mrs. Richard has some... she keeps this kind of stuff all the time for when her grand-children come visit... do you want me to check for you?"

He seemed earnest, and his green eyes were full of concern. But you shook your head, eating a spoonful of his ice-cream.

"It's good. Thank you," you quipped, making him beam up at you.

He noticed that you weren't crying anymore, but you were pouting still, and he didn't like that look on you either. He wondered what more could he do to make you properly smile again.

"Why did you do that in the first place though?" You asked, interrupting his train of thoughts as he considered running to his room to get his new toy, thinking that maybe if he let you borrow it, you would feel better. But only on the condition that you didn't put ice cream on the red plastic car, of course...

"My sister made that joke to our cousin once, and it made everybody laugh, so I thought it would make you laugh too. I don't know why you didn't think it was funny, I thought it was fun!"

"You're not the one who got covered in ice-cream," you answered with sadness in your voice.

He bit down on his lip, and sheepishly shook his head.

"No... You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I like your ice-cream better," you admitted, and he beamed at you again.

"It's some very good ice-cream! My favourite!"

"Mine too. Want to share?"

He enthusiastically nodded. Climbing on the wall by your side. He handed you the tissue his mother always forced him to have in his pocket at all times. Maybe she was right, it was handy.

You took it with a quiet thank you, trading the tissue against the spoon and you cleaned up your face while he ate some ice-cream too.

And as you looked at him again, you reckoned that maybe it wasn't too late to make a friend, after all.

But you couldn't be friends if you didn't know his name. That would be rude.

"What's your name?" You asked.

He swallowed his mouthful too fast, making his brain freeze and you laughed at the silly face he made as a reaction. He had chocolate all over his mouth, but you reckoned that it made him look even happier.

"Harry. I'm Harry."

                                                            II

                                                         Malibu

                                                         2020

 "What do you mean lying to your family about us? What do you mean you need a 'plus one'?"

You heaved a trembling sigh. You knew that you were asking an awful lot out of your best friend but you simply had no choice.

Your cousin's wedding was in two weeks, and if you went alone you would spend the entire day hearing about how sad it was that you were single, and everyone would try to plan a date fpr you with this cute colleague they had. It wasn't helping that you had decided to move back to England after you would complete your PhD in California. You could not even begin to think about the people at the wedding who would actually make a move on you as the night advanced and veins were slowly filled with more and more liquor.

No, you most definitely did not have the strength to go through this. And all you needed was a tiny lie to escape it all. One tiny lie that would last only for a day and you could actually enjoy the wedding instead of trying to escape from it. You liked your cousin, and knew she would be devastated if you didn't go, so you really had no choice at all.

And all your hopes of spending a decent day relied on your rockstar of a best friend.

Harry was frowning at you, sitting across from you around one of the tables of the Cafe Habana, his pink cocktail since long disregarded as he struggled to understand what was it exactly that you were asking from him.

It was unbelievably warm in Malibu, and your table outside was only salvaged by the weak breeze blowing from time to time. You were nervously fidgeting, your hands resting on the wooden table between you and Harry.

He rubbed his eyes and readjusted his sunglasses upon his head, his green eyes piercing right through you as you explained the situation one more time.

"I need you to accompany me to my cousin's weeding and pretend you're my boyfriend, so I will escape my family's disappointment and all the drunk single guests who will try to dance with me."

"You want us to pretend that we're together. Like... romantically together?"

"Yes."

"During your cousin's wedding. In front of your entire family?"

"Yes."

"And you think that I'm the best man for the job because...?"

"You're my best friend. You've known me basically all my life. You know me better than anyone else on this Earth, it won't be hard for you to pretend like you know all the useful details about me because you actually know them. You get along so well with my parents. Plus, you're an actor now too! Even if it's part-time... You'll do great! Consider it like a training exercise for your career in the movie industry."

"Absolutely the fuck not."

"Harry! Please! I need your help!"

"It's a terrible idea! No... no actually, it's worse than that. It's the worst idea I've ever heard! I can't pretend to be your boyfriend! In front of your whole family! I know your whole family!"

"Harry... please... I need your help, okay? You don't know how they are, it's going to be hell... Half of my family considers that I am a failure because I was not married by the age of 22, and the other half begins to think that the reason I am still single is that I am insane!"

"For their defence, you do sound a little bit crazy right now."

"HARRY!"

"Alright, alright... calm down," he mumbled, raising his hands before him in a gesture of peace. "I was just joking."

"Look, my family is... on that particular point, they're a pain in the arse. I need your help. I will not make it through the day without punching someone if I try to go on my own. And Cassie is so excited at the idea of me going to her wedding! And it's in Scotland! It's gonna be so pretty! Harry, please. It's just for one day."

He heaved a sigh, but you could read in the way that his eyes travelled back and forth from left and right and the way he tugged on his lower lip in between his fingers that he was hesitating.

It was all because of your cute little pout and sad eyes. He couldn't resist those. Never had been able to, even when the two of you were just five years old. Damn you and your adorable face…

"I'll let you eat all the cherries I get from my grandma's orchard this year," you offered, making him smile and shake his head at you.

But you read in his body language that you were winning.

"H, pretty please... just one day... one day... I'll go to all your shows for your next tour. I won't ever tell you again when I don't like one of your songs."

He laughed properly this time.

"Liar, you're too honest. You'll never manage to keep that up. That's why I like you so much."

"Okay... but I will go to your shows. And I'll give you cherries..."

He heaved a final sigh, but nodded this time.

"Alright, I'll do it," he agreed.

"YES!" you cried, jumping to your feet to walk around the table and hug Harry so tightly he could barely breathe. "I knew I could count on you!"

"I mean... if I get cherries..."

"As many as you want!"

You kissed his cheek, loud and ridiculously enthusiastic, making him force a wince to hide the way he longed to grin at the gesture instead.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he gently pushed you away and you sat back down into your own chair. "I have a few conditions though."

"Sure, fire away!"

"Rule number one: no kisses, nothing happens during the day."

"Of course! That would be frankly disgusting!" you teased him. "I'd never want to kiss you!"

"Hey! No need to turn it like that! Careful, or I'll change my mind!"

You rolled your eyes, but waited for him to go on, counting on his fingers.

"Rule number two: I won't sing or do any kind of performance at the wedding."

"She already has a band and everything, no worries. Besides, my aunt doesn't like your music, so she would never let that happen."

"That... was the second blow to my ego in the span of two minutes..."

"It's big enough, it can take it."

He playfully stuck his tongue out at you, and you replied with an adorable giggle.

"Rule number 3: if some elderly member of your family starts being all mushy about us, we drop the act and reveal the whole thing. This only stands as long as it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings."

"Sounds fair."

"And last but not least," he added, shooting you one of his annoyingly charming cheeky grins, "You can't fall in love with me for real."

You scoffed.

"As if! Don't get over yourself! You might have pretty dimples and a nice voice, but you're not half as charming as you might think."

"So… it's all safe! Deal?"

He offered you his open hand, and you shook it with a grin on your lips.

"Thanks, H. You're a real life-saviour."

 "HI!!!"

The sound of your cousin's happy shriek was so loud, you had to pull your phone away from your ear. It seemed safer to put it on speaker.

You were back at your place, alone, and had decided to call Cassie to let her know that you would attend her wedding, and would bring Harry along. You were cutting tomatoes to prepare a salad for diner whilst on the phone, the device set on speaker resting upon the counter by your side.

"Hi, Cass! How are you? How is the planning going?"

"It's almost ready! We've just found the flowers and they're perfect! But I wanted to call you actually, you haven't replied yet to the invitation. You're gonna come, right?"

"Of course, I'm coming. That's why I was calling right now. I just..." you cleared your voice before finishing your sentence, your heart rushing as you lied. "I just had to check if my boyfriend was available too, so I could come with him as my plus one. And he can come so..."

Cassie let out another cry full of excitement, interrupting you mid-sentence.

"Your boyfriend!? How come you've never mentioned him before?!"

"Hum... we like our privacy, let's say. But we'll have more time to talk about that at the wedding."

"Of course! We have a whole week to catch up!"

You frowned hard, feeling panic rise into your chest.

What did she mean by that?

"A week?"

"Well, of course! You're coming to the family event, right?"

"The family event?"

"Haven't you received my email?! For the whole week leading to the wedding it's gonna be our closest family members and friends in Scotland! We'll finish getting ready and have lots of fun! I've planned so many activities! You're coming to that, right?"

"I..."

"Oh dear, I can't wait to see you there! It's been ages! Did you really have to move to the States? I've already asked Amy to get your favourite pastries, I know how much you love those snacks. I can't wait to see you... so, you're arriving on Friday or Saturday then?"

You had to tell her the truth. Had to tell her that you had only asked Harry for one day and not a whole week. He was so busy these days working in the studio, there was no way he could clear a whole week for you being notified only a couple of weeks in advance. A weekend could be done but over a week?!

You heaved a sigh. You would have to spend the week on your own, but at least, the news of a boyfriend coming for the ceremony would ease your family's mind. You could still escape most of their terrible comments about your love life.

"I haven't booked my flight yet. Not sure if I'll arrive Friday or Saturday. I'll keep you updated. My boyfriend will be working though, so he can only come for the weekend of the wedding."

"Oh, of course, I understand. What does he do?"

"Hum... he's in the... music business."

She heaved a sigh.

"Oh, Y/N, please, tell me you didn't fall in love with a penniless drummer again, like you did in high school. Not again, sweetie."

You laughed at the memories, shaking your head.

"He's not a drummer. And he's not penniless either. It's Harry."

"HARRY?! Wait… You mean… HARRY HARRY?!"

"I don't even know anyone else called Harry," you laughed. "Yes, Harry Styles, from Holmes Chapel."

"I thought the two of you were just friends."

"Hmm… We… decided to give it a try."

"Wow… Oh. My. God… wait until your mum finds out. Have you told her yet?"

"No, not yet."

"She's gonna freak out."

"Why would she? She knows him! She likes him."

"As your friend, sure! As your boyfriend… Your dad will chop his head off."

"Yeah… I'm a bit worried about my dad."

"You'll have to tell me everything about it, but I have to run now... There is apparently an emergency with the napkins."

"Good luck with that. See you!"

"See you!"

"Hmm... H?"

"Hmm?" He looked up at you from the cup of tea he held in his hands, his long fingers encircling the porcelain to warm his hands.

It was a little chilly, or as chilly as an evening in early autumn could be in LA, at least. You were enjoying a quiet evening with him, spent in his garden. You sat in the grass, with stars and torchlights shedding just enough light for the two of you to keep on playing scrabble. You had stolen his multicolour cardigan when the sun had set and the breeze had turned colder. Harry wore one of his Treat People with Kindness sweaters.

In the distance, a siren rang and then passed Harry's neighbourhood. You could hear muffled laughter coming from children playing in a garden nearby.

It was quiet still, the whisper of the busy city shushed for the most part. Time seemed a little slower now, an effect of the night and the lack of constant busy flow of people around you.

"About my cousin's wedding I told you about the other day... have you booked your flight yet?"

He shook his head, blowing upon his too-warm beverage.

"I figured we should book the same flight," he answered.

"Oh no! I'll be going a week early."

"I thought you were only staying for the weekend," Harry frowned before taking a sip of warm tea.

You could have walked back inside to finish your game now that the weather was cooler. But it was such a precious moment you were sharing that you were too scared to break your bubble if you did move.

After all, evenings spent alone with Harry were too rare to be wasted away.

You didn't blame only his busy schedule and his numerous friends though, you were a busy bee yourself. Entering your last year of PhD and getting ready to write your thesis to become a doctor as an history major was a lot of work. You also had friends of your own that you enjoyed spending time with, and if Harry sometimes joined you at a bar, it just wasn't the same as spending time with only him.

So, you didn't ask him if you could move in the house when you shivered as the wind blew with more strength. Instead, you enjoyed the way his hands moved across the board as he placed his letters to form a new word, his fingers bare, for once not wearing any piece of jewellery.

"No, my cousin is actually inviting the close family a week in advance to spend a few days with us. She has apparently prepared tons of activities and stuff."

"Oh... shouldn't I go to that too, then? As your plus one?"

But you shook your head, a little embarrassed.

"No, I told her you might not be able to attend that but you would be here for the actual wedding. It's alright. You have enough work as it is."

"You're telling me that you're gonna get a whole week alone with your entire family?"

"Only the close circle but... yeah. It's alright though... they're not that bad. Just annoying with the whole 'being single and soon 30' thing."

Harry groaned.

"We're only 26, don't make me older than I am, I don't need a reminder."

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before he would ask another question.

"Won't they bother you for that week if you go alone?"

"I guess... they're probably gonna pretend like I'm not actually bringing anyone, criticize you a lot for not coming for the whole week, especially as you're a musician and they consider that you don't have a real job..."

"For their defence… I don't have a real job."

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn't refrain a smile.

"Anyway... as long as you come to the actual ceremony, I should be fine."

"Nah... that sounds horrid. I'll come with you to the whole thing."

"H..."

"It's alright! It doesn't bother me at all! Besides, I haven't seen your mum in a long time..."

His eyes grew round all of a sudden.

"Wait... we're gonna have to lie to your mum..."

"And to my dad."

His worried expression turned into one of fear.

"Oh fuck... your dad is going to kill me."

You laughed at him, but it was hard to hide your own fear at the idea of the two of you facing your father.

"Of course not! He likes you!"

"Likes me? Have you forgotten the closed-door incident that summer when we were 14? Cause I haven't... I thought he was going to strangle me or something..."

"We're not 14 anymore."

"Yeah, but we're going to tell him that I am really fucking his daughter this time. It's much worse..."

You couldn't refrain a bright wave of laughter, despite the genuine fear in Harry's eyes.

"It's not funny!"

"It is. It is kind of funny. Don't worry, he won't hurt you. You know my dad, lots of barking but no actual biting."

"What about when we mysteriously break up right after the wedding?"

"We'll just wait a few weeks before I break the news to them. I can even pretend that I'm the one who called it quits, if you'd like."

"I better hope so! Or I'm going to earn a good old sermon from my mum."

"Anne can be terrifying at times."

"That's because she's the sweetest the rest of the time. It's too rare, we can't get used seeing her angry at us."

"Hmm... I agree."

There was a short moment of silence while you played, placing letters on the board too and counting your points.

"So... when is your flight?"

"Friday in two weeks."

"Alright, I'd better check if there's some room left for me too then."

"Harry... you really don't have to do that..."

"I said I'd be your plus one for the event, and I will. It's alright. I'll come to the whole thing. But know that if your father ends up beating the shit out of me, you'll be the one responsible! If you weren't a broke student, I'd make you pay for my hospital bills too, but I'm not that cruel. The weight of my suffering and broken bones on your conscience will have to be enough."

You laughed, and he soon joined you, enjoying the way your happy features made crinkles appear at the corner of your eyes.

"Poor chuckaboo..."

"Oi! Don't start with that, lambkin!"

"Why not? You've been teasing me with that stupid nickname since we were 12, I can tease you with your own too!"

"Actually, they're pet names, not nicknames. Terms of endearment."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Dictionary."

"Well, I guess I should have the title, as I am properly kicking your pretty arse at scrabble right now, lambkin."

"Considering that my boxing skills are far superior to yours and that I could actually kick your pretty arse if I wanted to, I would tune the narcissist down a little bit, chuckaboo."

"You've always been a terrible loser."

"You're even worse than I am!"

"How could you know? I always win against you."

You threw a few letters at him in response, making him giggle in the most adorable way.

And as he struggled to calm down and stop his snickering, you reckoned that you truly were lucky to have a best friend like him.

And if he wanted to come with you to Scotland then... how could you say no? After all, you did need all the help you could get to survive this week with all your relatives.

After all, Harry would be there, pretending to be your boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

*********************************

Taglist : @emcchi @fishstick-knows @eldahae​

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[peaceoutofthepieces]

meet me in another universe

I wasn’t entirely sure whether to post this or not (and I had some trouble getting it finished), but in honour of ‘meeting’ @dreamy-slytherin a year ago, here’s a fic about five ways VDS could have met, and one way they do :)

~^~

1. Evak/Davenzi Style

Jens is only sitting on the toilet for about two minutes when he hears the footsteps and quiet cursing as someone rattles the door of his stall. He freezes, looking up from his phone with wide eyes. He supposes it’s someone looking to use the bathroom, but then he hears the ruffle of the tissue dispenser on the wall rather than the door in the stall next to him. 

He hesitates for a moment, then stands, stuffing his phone in his pocket and opening the door carefully. 

Surely enough, there’s a boy standing by the sinks, fiddling futilely at the empty box. Jens only has time to take in ratty converse, light-wash blue jeans and a matching denim jacket before the boy is turning and glancing at him. Jens’s breath gets caught up in his throat at the sight of striking blue eyes and bronze curls. 

He’s seen this boy, once. He had passed him in the courtyard earlier in the week, and the boy had met his gaze and continued walking, and Jens was left looking over his shoulder after him and wondering why. He thought it was the unfamiliar face. That could be the reason, now, that something curious and excited flutters in his stomach and urges him, this time, to interact. 

“Fuck, sorry, you’re looking for tissues,” he says. 

The boy only looks at him as Jens retreats into the stall long enough to tear off a strip of toilet paper. He comes out and hands it to the boy now stood stock still in the dim fluorescent lights, who takes it from him hesitantly. Jens only then notices the damp drips drying into the boy’s pink sweater. The weight of his eyes on the spot seems to be what snaps the other boy into motion, as he immediately begins dabbing at his clothes in an attempt to sop up the water. 

“Fountain mishap, or something more embarrassing?” Jens finds himself asking, leaning back against the sinks. 

“Uhm.” The boy glances up at him, cheeks tinted red. It’s cute. “Fountain. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Jens shakes his head, smiling, ignoring that this is his first time hearing the boy’s voice and that it’s accented and pretty. “Nah, I’ve been using it for years and it still acts up on me, don’t stress. You’re new.”

It isn’t a question, because now that Jens has heard him speak and the boy had admitted his confusion, it’s obvious. 

“That’s why I was supposed to be going to the group thing, but this didn’t feel like the best first impression.” He gestures at his sweater, where the stain has faded slightly but also spread in retaliation. 

Jens shrugs. “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you. They’re doing trust circles. Hand holding and all.”

When the boy looks at him curiously, Jens explains, “Whatever they’re doing in there is the reason I was in here.”

This earns him a huff of laughter, as the boy tosses his wad of tissue in the bin and glances at the door, then back at Jens. Jens pulls the joint from behind his ear and holds it up for the boy to see, raising his brows. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Jens simply heads out the door and nods for the boy to follow him. 

He leads them outside, and finally settles atop one of the tables in the courtyard with his feet on the bench. By the time the boy joins him, Jens has already lit the joint and taken a drag. The boy accepts it when Jens offers it to him and climbs up onto the table himself, shoulders curling against the cold as he brings the joint to his lips. 

“What’s your name?” 

The boy looks at him and passes the joint back, cheeks and nose red now. “Lucas.”

Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.

Jens lets the name settle for a second and then says, “I’m Jens.”

Lucas simply nods, but he’s smiling as he tucks his hands into his pockets and hugs his jacket tighter around himself. It’s obvious, looking at him, that he’s cold, but he radiates warmth all along Jens’s side. Jens allows himself to shift just an inch closer, imperceptibly, stretching a leg out as he does it in the hope that Lucas won’t notice. But Lucas remains unphased and silent, and Jens misses his gaze and his voice. 

“So, who roped you into Amber’s cult?” Jens asks. 

This time, Lucas’s laugh is full-bodied and beautiful, paired with a small but brilliant smile as he looks at Jens incredulously. “That would‘ve been Amber herself, but Luca was oddly more convincing. You know them well?”

Jens hums in confirmation, but doesn’t bother offering the story. Instead he says, “It only took me about thirty seconds to realise that’s why I should’ve known better.”

“Okay,” Lucas laughs again. “I feel kind of bad for skipping out. They’ve been very welcoming.”

“Are you in our year?” Jens questions. 

Lucas shakes his head. “Sixth.”

Jens furrows his brows, suddenly intrigued. “Transferring in your last year?”

Lucas simply shrugs. 

“From Amsterdam?” Jens guesses. 

“Utrecht,” Lucas corrects. Then, with a glint to his smile, “I’m on the run.”

Jens whistles. “Amber would’ve loved you sharing that in her party games. She’s gonna be so jealous I got the gossip first.”

Lucas heaves a sigh. “And, test failed. Now I’m going to have to kill you too and hide somewhere else.”

Jens starts laughing in the middle of a drag and chokes slightly, but it doesn’t deter him. He just coughs into his fist and lets his laughter continue, loud in his surprise, smile stretched so wide his cheeks might split. He shakes his head in amusement while Lucas tries to keep his expression stoic, though his lips twitch at the corners. “Come on, if I’d known it was a test I would’ve passed,” Jens protests. “Give me a second chance.”

After an intense staring contest, in which Lucas slowly loses his unimpressed gaze and Jens does his best to look pleading, Lucas is the one to cave. He looks away from Jens with another sigh, smile finally breaking out. “Fine. Since you shared.” Lucas gestures to the joint, and Jens grins and offers it to him again. 

Jens thinks the meeting might have been a good idea after all. 

2. Elu Style

Lucas shakes his head at Kes and Jayden’s antics, stretching his legs out in front of him and reclining back in the chair, meeting Liv’s pointed look and resisting the urge to offer her a mocking salute. He does, however, allow a smug smile, and Liv simply rolls her eyes and tunes back into the conversation between the girls. Lucas has already blocked them out, and Kes and Jayden gave up their complaining after a mere few minutes, so he hasn’t had to listen to them either. Instead he lets them all fade into a buzz, and only curiously looks around when the door opens again and more students trickle in. 

His heart jumps up and lodges itself in his throat. 

Amidst the miniature crowd is a tall boy with raven hair and bright brown eyes, whom Lucas has definitely never seen before at this school but is possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on. 

The boy sits at the edge of the row behind Lucas, caught in conversation with the girl sitting next to him. However, as he settles, he glances around. It’s possible this description of his actions is inaccurate, because in fact his eyes seem to go straight to Lucas’s without taking in any other aspect of the room. Lucas freezes as the boy’s smile seems to grow just slightly, and quickly looks away, focusing his attention back on Engel, who has now begun giving some sort of introduction. 

Lucas would be dishonest if he said he took in a word, but he hadn’t planned on it to begin with. He’d just thought it would be due to zoning out rather than an unexpected distraction. 

But he’s raptly focused on the rapid beat of his heart, and he can’t help throwing another glance over his shoulder. 

Throughout the whole meeting, it’s a repetitive process. Lucas glances over his shoulder and then away again, every time the boy meets his eyes and smiles wider and doesn’t avert his own gaze. Lucas’s cheeks are warm, the heat having crawled slowly up his neck and continuing to spread. He’s glad of the light tan he’d earned over the summer, hoping that it keeps the blush mostly secret. He doubts it, however, especially when he looks back to find the boy’s eyes already on him and his pulse rockets to a worrying speed. 

“—cas?” 

Lucas tunes back in as Kes elbows him, willing his blush down and letting out a hum. Jayden huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but the furrow of Kes’s brow belies his smile. “The girl, last night. What happened?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says, making Kes’s brows raise and Jayden make another noise of exasperation. “I mean, yeah, it was cool.”

Jayden leans in as Kes nods, expectant. “Did you get her number?”

Lucas murmurs a confirmation, and mostly blocks out their cheers and praises. He keeps his gaze on the girls, but still doesn’t know what they’re talking about, still only has one image fixed in his mind and his heartbeat loud in his ears. He glances over his shoulder one more time and the boy is no longer looking at him. 

He avoids glancing back for the rest of the meeting and is dismayed to realise the boy has already left by the time he shuffles out with Kes and Jayden. The only saving grace is that they seem not to have minded the meeting much, and don’t give Lucas any shit on their way to the gate, rather talking idly amidst themselves and leaving Lucas lost in his own head. They depart once they make it onto the dark street, both offering him their traditional handshake and a wave, and Lucas turns towards the bus-stop on his own. 

Lucas instantly recognises the lone figure beyond the stop, poised in front of the vending machine with his back to the street. The same boy from the meeting. He hesitates as he bypasses the bench and hovers a few feet away, leaving himself with a view of the boy’s side profile and the anxious tap of his fingers over his bag strap. He’s gazing at the vending machine in deep concentration, contemplating his options with more seriousness than Lucas has ever witnessed. 

After a moment, in which the boy fails to acknowledge him, Lucas clears his throat. “Twenty-one is the best, in my opinion,” he offers. 

He politely ignores the way the boy jumps, though has to purse his lips to stop a smile. The boy looks him over consideringly, then shrugs and slots some coins into the machine before pressing the buttons. The bar falls from the twenty-one rack and the boy repeats the process, watching the one remaining snack fall and then ducking down to dig them both out. 

Lucas watches the whole affair in awe and mild offence. 

Then the boy turns to him and raises one of the bars and his brows; a silent offering. Lucas simply stares at him, and the boy tosses him the chocolate without a word, and then nods towards the bench. 

There’s no reason not to, so Lucas follows with the bar clutched in his hands. 

They settle onto opposite ends of the cool seat. Lucas watches as the boy tears the wrapper and takes an experimental bite. He chews, looking out at the street rather than at Lucas, until he swallows and allows a nod. Then he turns to Lucas with the same smile as earlier and simply says, “Not bad.”

Lucas shrugs, letting a smile of his own surface and cataloguing the accent, rather than allowing himself to focus on the boy’s lips. He holds up his own bar and gives it a little wave. “When it’s free, it’s easy to enjoy even more.”

The boy huffs, accepting this with an amused nod before popping another square of chocolate in his mouth. The silence stretches in the time it takes him to swallow, and then he looks at Lucas with a squinty smile and says, “The meeting was kind of weird.”

“Yeah.” It’s Lucas’s turn to huff, his smile growing. “You’ll learn to expect that from Engel. Did you understand what the survey was about?”

“No,” the boy admits with a laugh. He tears the wrapper of his bar a little further and Lucas’s gaze is drawn to his hands. He shrugs and looks back up at Lucas. “Still, it’s cool.”

“The survey?” Lucas raises a brow. 

The boy huffs another laugh. “No, but the common room. It’s a good way to meet new people.”

Lucas absorbs this, then tests out his earlier deduction. “You’re new?”

“Started a couple of weeks ago,” the boy confirms. 

“Isn’t that a little weird?” Lucas asks. “Transferring a few months before graduation?”

The boy looks at him again, now with raised brows. “Do you just find everything weird?”

Lucas huffs, feeling some of his flush return, but he mimics the other’s expression. “Wasn’t it you calling the meeting weird first?”

The boy accepts this loss with a shrug, smiling at Lucas before setting a square of chocolate between his teeth. “I must be weird too, then.”

“I didn’t mean—“ Lucas begins the protest, but falters when he notices the amused glimmer in the boy’s gaze. Then he closes his eyes and lets out a breath, poking his tongue into his cheek in an attempt to control his smile. The boy laughs, and Lucas shakes his head. “No, I’m sure you’re great…”

He trails off, realising he hasn’t asked for the other’s name. Thankfully, the boy seems to understand, and simply says, “Jens.” He sets his now empty wrapper in his lap and brushes his hands off on his jeans, then holds one out towards Lucas. “I’m Jens.”

Lucas takes his hand somewhat cautiously, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat kick up again. He stashes the name away alongside the smile and the eyes and the accent. Then he returns, “Lucas.”

3. Crisana Style

Jens weaves his way through the crowd and towards the front door, where he’s immediately stopped by the bouncer. Jens holds up his free hand and whirls around to abandon his mostly-empty beer bottle on the nearest flat surface, then finally makes his way into the cooler air. He sucks in a breath and releases it on a sigh, moving along the side of the building to collapse on one of the benches. He leans back against the wall and lets out another sigh, closing his eyes in contentment as he enjoys the relatively silent surroundings. 

Then someone says, “Hey.”

Jens starts, blinking his eyes open and turning his head to the left to find a boy sitting next to him. At first, Jens is slightly dubious, because meeting a stranger sitting outside a club in the dark isn’t often a good outcome. But the boy is young, at least, around Jens’s own age as far as he can tell. His eyes are clear, not bloodshot or misty, though he does have a joint between his fingers. There’s an amused, curious curve to his lips as he watches Jens. Jens swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and manages, “Hey.”

The boy raises his brows at him, and Jens swallows and blinks all over again. “I’m Lucas,” the boy says, still watching Jens closely. Jens just keeps staring. “We have literature together?”

Jens’s lips part, and then recognition shines through the alcohol-induced haze. “Fuck, sorry, you’re the new guy.” Lucas huffs, but he’s still smiling and he nods in acknowledgment, flicking some ash off the end of the joint. Jens follows the movement, then returns to gazing at Lucas’s face, and he finds that he’s smiling back. It’s not that he’s been waiting for this opportunity, but, well, he might have spent some time those first few days staring across the room at the back of Lucas’s head and the occasional tilt of his side profile. He hasn’t made any attempts at connecting with Lucas himself, but he’d heard all the stories and felt all the same curiosity. He can’t deny that he’s a little excited, now, to get the opportunity to interact. “I’m Jens.”

Lucas simply raises his brows, his smile widening. “I know.”

It doesn’t make it easy to continue the conversation, but it sends a few rivulets of warmth flowing through Jens’s chest. It’s a curious feeling, and one that he doesn’t want to think much about. Instead he keeps staring at Lucas and watches as he brings the joint back to his lips, taking another drag. Lucas is dressed much more stylishly and a lot less conveniently than Jens. He’s shivering in his dark button-down and jeans, and his hair attempts to flutter out of the neat waves he has lain over his forehead. Jens compares it to his own usual hoodie while realising he’s staring, and then quickly looks away. 

He pats down his pockets, eventually finding the small bag in his jeans and pulling it out only to realise it’s empty. He blows out a sigh and stows the plastic away and hears another huff next to him. Lucas’s hand comes into his line of sight, joint held out in offering. “Here.”

Jens takes it gratefully, drawing a long inhale and then stiffening at Lucas’s sound of protest. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Lucas orders. “That’s the last of my home stash.”

Jens huffs in understanding, passing the joint back and ignoring the sparks of heat as Lucas’s fingers brush his. “And where’s that? You’re Dutch, right?”

Lucas nods. “I moved from Utrecht.” He flicks some more ash off the joint then hands it to Jens. 

This time, Jens takes a small puff and blows the smoke upward, letting it curl into the space between them. Now Lucas’s eyes appear hazy. Pretty. Jens rolls the joint between his fingers and takes another drag when Lucas simply leans back and watches him. Jens looks at him curiously. “Why’d you do that? Move in the middle of the year? It’s a little weird, no?”

He waits for an answer, but Lucas has already lost interest in him, diverting his gaze past Jens with a raised hand. “Wait, this song.”

He looks at Jens excitedly. Jens looks back, listening. He can faintly hear the music filtering through the open doorway, but he doesn’t recognise it. He purses his lips and shakes his head, admitting his confusion. Lucas’s jaw drops and he nudges his shoulder. “Come on. From Romeo and Juliet?” 

Jens slowly shakes his head again, biting down a smile as Lucas scoffs and snatches the joint back out of his hand. 

“Seriously? You’ve never seen it?” At Jens’s denial, Lucas’s smile turns teasing. “I can’t believe you take literature and you’re this uncultured.”

“Hey,” Jens protests, laughing slightly. Lucas’s eyes are very blue. He’s got a ring on the index finger of his right hand. Jens watches it glimmer as Lucas lifts his hand to his mouth for another drag. The joint has dwindled down so far his fingers are almost brushing his lips. “I’ve read Romeo and Juliet.” Plus, he knows Robbe has watched it, and he had sat through a scene or two, but he’d never felt a desire to watch the whole thing. It didn’t feel like his kind of film. He hadn’t thought it would be Lucas’s, either, but he doesn’t know how he’d know that in the first place. 

“Yeah, but everyone knows the Baz Luhrmann production is the best version.” Lucas points at him, both brows raised. “You have to watch it before you’re allowed to watch any other new film. Even just for this soundtrack. Look.”

Before Jens knows what’s happening, Lucas is grabbing his hand with the one still holding the joint and pulling it towards himself, pressing Jens’s palm to his own chest, over his heartbeat. Jens sucks in a breath. 

Lucas doesn’t notice, eyes bright as he continues speaking. “Do you ever get songs like that? Ones that just move you and you can’t even explain why?”

Jens can’t answer, simply watching Lucas with rapt attention. He’s focused on the soft fabric of Lucas’s shirt crinkling between his fingers, and the thump of Lucas’s heart against his hand, quick but not overly so. He’s focused on the sturdy plane of Lucas’s chest and the soft touch of Lucas’s hand. His own heartbeat is loud in his ears. 

Then Lucas lays his free hand over Jens’s chest, in the open gap of his hoodie, splaying slowly over his thin t-shirt. Jens holds his breath and looks up at Lucas’s smile. 

“See,” Lucas says softly. Jens half expects him to sound smug, but he doesn’t. He’s just quietly pleased, eyes flicking between Jens’s as if he’s searching for something. “It’s not just me. Your heart’s going faster than mine.”

Jens feels like he should protest. He can’t lie about his heartbeat, because it speeds up even further at Lucas’s touch, but he can explain that it isn’t about the music. He can’t even hear it any more. It has all whited out in favour of the sound of Lucas’s voice and his own pulse. Maybe he had drunk more than he’d thought, or Dutch weed is stronger, but he feels lightheaded and loose. Floaty. Still, he has enough sense to know he can’t tell Lucas the truth. That it has nothing to do with the music and everything to do with him, and his proximity, much closer than it had been when Jens first sat down. 

Instead of telling him any of this, Jens simply huffs again, but he’s unable to hide his grin. 

4. Nicotino Style

Lucas drums his fingers over his knee and glances away from Engel to his phone. The boy in his peripheral laughs at whatever Janna says, and Lucas purposefully doesn’t look at him, swallowing the desire and getting to his feet. He holds up his phone to the girls in apology and points towards the door, putting the phone to his ear and uttering a greeting. He keeps it up as he wanders down the hallway, trailing his fingers along the wall as he goes, talking nonsense until he makes it into the small radio room and gets the door closed behind him. Then he mutters a curse as a ‘goodbye’ and drops into the lone swivel chair, setting his phone on the table next to the microphone. 

He does a few slow rotations, taking in the small recording space with faint intrigue. He glances over the various buttons and tools as he completes his round, leaning forward and hovering his fingers over a few. He looks at the microphone in front of him and then picks up the headphones next to it, settling them over his ears. He leans forward hesitantly and speaks into the mic. “Testing, testing, one, two, three.”

As expected, nothing happens. He clears his throat and settles his arms across the tabletop. “Hallo,” he continues, smiling now. “This broadcast is coming to you from Radio Lieve. Today’s talk will be a lesson on how to grow weed from your closet, a highly recommended practice by our very own Engel Beekman, whom we thank. To start—“

He cuts himself off abruptly as the light flicks on across the window and he sees the boy from the meeting through the glass. He’s all dark hair and contrasting features; sharp jaw and nose, soft eyes and lips. They all morph with his smile, as he leans forward and raises his brows at Lucas. “Why did you stop?”

“Uhm,” Lucas says. His mind has gone blank. “I wasn’t recording, just...messing around.”

“Pity,” the boy sighs, sitting back. “I really wanted to see where that was going.” 

Lucas can’t help but respond to his smile. His lips curl up involuntarily even in his surprise. He has seen the boy around, but only once or twice, all within the past week. He doesn’t know why he’s never seen him before that, because he’s sure he would have noticed. Now, though, the accent feels like a hint. 

Lucas looks at the boy and the boy looks around the small space. “This place is actually kind of cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah, well, the place isn’t the problem,” Lucas explains. 

The boy laughs quietly. “What is, then?”

Lucas shrugs, slumping back and swiveling side to side in his chair as he thinks, letting his smile slip into a smirk. “Well, the food for one thing. I’m always up for something sweet, but that cake…” he trails off, grimacing, and earns himself a louder bout of laughter. 

“And the discipline guide,” the boy points out. “Scheduled bathroom breaks and a dress code? It’s a radio show.”

This time Lucas is the one who laughs. He doesn’t know why he expected to feel nerves. They are present, faintly, but only as a mild flutter in his stomach and sweat on his palms. Overall, he feels pleasantly surprised and mostly relaxed. He’d half thought someone so pretty would be more intimidating, but the boy looks the exact opposite in his cuffed jeans and worn-out hoodie. Especially with the grin on his face. 

He turns it past Lucas all of a sudden and brightens. “Is that the balcony?”

Lucas turns around and glances out the window behind him. “Uh, yeah, but I think it’s closed.”

The boy hums, pursing his lips and tilting his head to the side. “Do you think it also shows you how to break into that in this video they talked about?”

Lucas huffs as his smile spreads again. “Probably, but the wifi is terrible here.”

“My phone’s dead,” the boy admits, sighing. Then he raises his brows at Lucas, and holds up a blunt. “Shall we try anyway?”

Lucas raises his brows back and grins. 

There are more obstacles than he expects, but the most difficult part is definitely climbing through the broken gate. There’s only one bar taken out, and Lucas thinks if they both weren’t quite as thin, there’s no way they’d make it through. It’s a tight squeeze for the other boy purely due to his height, though he manages with considerably more grace than Lucas. Once they’re finally through, it’s only a matter of trekking up the stairwell and walking out onto the balcony with ease. 

The boy whistles as Lucas follows a few steps behind him, looking out at the view. “Damn, this is a pretty nice city.”

“Yeah,” Lucas agrees, vaguely impressed himself. “It’s probably better from up here.”

The boy shrugs and settles himself on the ground, reproducing his blunt and a lighter along with it. Lucas watches as he places the blunt between his lips and lights up, flame illuminating his face in a soft glow for just a second. He looks at Lucas as he’s tucking his lighter back into his pocket, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. “Do you already know Engel, then?”

“Kind of,” Lucas shrugs. “Mostly through my friend, Isa.”

The boy nods and passes him the blunt, which Lucas accepts with a quiet thanks. “You don’t seem overly excited about this radio thing, though.”

“It’s complicated,” Lucas admits. He takes a drag and it settles his racing heart a bit, but it can only help so much with the boy’s eyes still on him. “You can’t be that into it, either, if you’re hanging out here with me instead of in there.”

“Blame your friend, Isa,” the boy says with a laugh, before groaning as he tilts his head back. “I needed an extra-curricular and there wasn’t too many options. I figured if I could post dumb vlogs on YouTube I could speak on a school radio show.”

Lucas raises his brows and his eyes widen. He’s sure he looks ridiculous, can see it in the boy’s amused expression, but he can’t quite contain his shock or his desire to know more. “You post vlogs on YouTube? Who the hell are you and why don’t I know already?”

The boy laughs again. It’s an unfairly pretty sound. This time, Lucas thinks there’s a faint blush accompanying it. “I’m Jens,” he offers. “I lived in Belgium until a few weeks ago, so I wouldn’t expect you to know me.”

Lucas blinks. He’d already guessed as much, but it’s still strange to hear. “You moved mid-semester?”

“Yep,” Jens says. He steals the blunt out of Lucas’s hand. “I’m the talk of the town. Gotta say it’s a little disappointing you don’t know me, actually.”

“Plus you’re apparently internet famous,” Lucas says, lingering on Jens’s lips as he wraps them around the blunt. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised. That kind of beauty must have garnered some popularity, somewhere. 

Jens shakes his head, amused. “I wouldn’t say that,” he dismisses. “But you’re probably going to stalk me anyway now.”

“Absolutely,” Lucas confirms. Jens shakes his head again, laughs again, and Lucas feels the nerves dissipate into an old, familiar warmth, and instead of squashing it down, lets it spread along with his smile. 

5. Sobbe Style

Jens walks back towards the house and catches his first glimpse of the boy through the windows. He glances at Jens briefly through the glass, but doesn’t linger like Jens does. Jens keeps looking over his shoulder until he makes it to the door, and then he steps in just in time for the boy to turn around and look at him. They’d come back to the house Amber had rented previously for break, all the same crew with the addition of Senne, but definitely not this boy. This boy is unfamiliar and pretty and Jens would definitely have noticed if he was supposed to be standing in their kitchen. 

“Hey,” Jens says curiously. 

“Do you know where the sugar is?” the boy asks, ignoring him. “Or the coffee itself?”

Jens blinks. “Uhm.”

“Any food?” The boy huffs when Jens simply continues to stare at him. “Seriously, are you the manager or what?”

Jens is baffled, and he has no hope of hiding it. “What?”

The boy waves a hand, brows high on his forehead. “I made sure this place was a B&B. Honestly, how hard is it to stock a fridge at least? And what about the little free soaps?”

“Sorry—“ Jens starts. 

“Are you so careless of your guests that you don’t even provide bottled water?” the boy cuts him off, seeming genuinely incredulous. “Well?”

Jens parts his lips a few times before actually managing to speak, entirely confused and slightly irritated. “Sorry,” he repeats, “but who actually are you?”

The boy holds his stare for another minute and then breaks into a laugh, covering his face with his hand. He peeks at Jens through his fingers. “Oh my god, sorry.” He chuckles. “You really should’ve seen your face, though.” 

When Jens only continues to stare blankly, the boy sobers slightly and offers a hand. “Sorry. I’m Lucas.”

Jens carefully takes his hand and gives one shake, still feeling lost. “Jens.”

“Yeah,” Lucas smiles, then laughs again. “You probably forgot. I’m Sander’s friend. He told me he did this to Robbe last year, made a bet with me that I couldn’t pull it off with one of you guys, too.” Lucas shrugs. His grin appears only faintly apologetic. “So, sorry, you were just the unlucky target.”

Finally, the name rings a bell. Jens had forgotten that Sander invited anyone on this trip, because in his experience it was odd that Sander had any sort of attention span for anyone other than Robbe. But as Jens skims his gaze over Lucas, takes in the artfully ruffled hair and paint-stained clothing and old-fashioned converse, he kind of understands. 

“What makes you think Sander will believe you?” Jens finds himself asking, narrowing his eyes at Lucas in a somewhat teasing gesture. It’s the best way he knows to gain back some traction, here, and settle more firmly on his feet. 

Lucas is unfazed. “I have a trustworthy witness,” he says easily. 

Jens holds his challenging gaze for only a few seconds before relenting, tucking his hands into his pockets and matching Lucas’s leaning pose against the wall. “Your little act was weirdly convincing, I admit.”

Lucas offers a small smile and bow. Jens doesn’t think he has quite the dramatic flair of his friend, but he has some of the cheekiness, the sparkle and the daunting aura. There’s something inexplicably cool and instantly likable—qualities Jens himself has always envied. Lucas had seemed a little embarrassed after his stunt, but he doesn’t appear shy, instead holding a quiet confidence not unlike Robbe’s. 

“How do you know Sander?” Jens decides to question, because he really does get it but he also really doesn’t. 

He’s surprised when Lucas simply answers, “The Academy.”

Jens raises his brows. He hadn’t thought Lucas was older than him. “You’re in college?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says, faintly amused. “Not just any college, though. Art college.”

“Yeah,” Jens muses, “that’s much better.”

Lucas instantly flips him off, and Jens laughs and instantly decides that he likes this stranger. He supposes that’s a good thing, considering Lucas is to spend the next week with them, and Robbe would probably be pissed if Jens decided not to get along with Sander’s friends. He can’t help thinking none of them have to worry. He’s actually a little awed by Lucas’s small prank and the guts he had to break it out immediately. 

“I thought that meant I was supposed to be the pretentious one, but your hospitality is shit,” Lucas informs him. But he’s still grinning, so Jens thinks they’re probably okay. 

“Your little joke was very pretentious, don’t worry,” Jens reassures, although he’s not sure he means it. Nothing about Lucas seems overly cocky or irritating. Pretentious isn’t quite a word that fits. 

Lucas simply huffs another laugh and then makes his way around him. He grabs a denim jacket from the sofa and then opens the front door, beckoning Jens after him. “Alright, come on.”

Jens blinks, instantly falling back to his confused state. “Huh?” When Lucas simply raises his brows expectantly, Jens clarifies, “Where are we going?”

“You actually don’t have any sugar. Or water,” Lucas says. “We’re going to buy some.”

“But Sander—“

“Is still locked in that room and probably won’t be out for a while.” Lucas raises his brows pointedly as Jens tamps down a grimace. “Do you have anything better to do? Unless you want to stay around and listen, which,” Lucas pulls a face, and the start of a laugh bubbles out of Jens again. 

“Robbe’s my best friend, so, no thanks,” Jens explains, mimicking his expression. “I’m in the same boat as you.”

Lucas nods, pleased, like this is information he already knew. Jens supposes he probably did. “So?” Lucas presses. “You coming?”

Jens glances at the sofa, where he could spend the morning lazing around on his own until all the couples emerge and let Lucas wander about the town on his own. Then he looks back at Lucas and the stark blue of his eyes now paired with his denim jacket, still watching Jens back expectantly. 

Jens follows him out the door without another word. 

+1

Lucas is too lost in his own head to notice the person coming towards him until he collides with them. 

The breath is knocked out of him and he stumbles off his skateboard with a curse. Another low voice accompanies him, and the owner’s quick reflexes are the only thing that stops him from tumbling out into the street. A hand grips onto his shoulder and steadies him, and Lucas lets the weight ground him until gravity regains its hold on him.

“Shit, sorry,” Lucas says, finally looking up at the person he’d barelled into. His breath escapes him again at the sight. It’s a boy roughly his age, but with a few inches on him, as well as an overwhelming amount of beauty. There’s no other way to put it—Lucas has long ago begun to acknowledge the attractiveness of every male he meets, and he has no doubt that this boy is utterly gorgeous. 

It complicates all of his already messy thoughts. Especially since the boy still hasn’t released Lucas’s shoulder. 

He’s staring back at Lucas, skimming his gaze down his frame as if checking for injury. “I think neither of us were watching where we were going there,” the boy admits, laughing slightly as he meets Lucas’s eyes. “You okay?”

Lucas has to take a moment to gather his words. “Yeah,” he breathes. Then he clears his throat. “Thanks.”

The boy huffs and finally (sadly) drops his hand. “What, for almost running you over?” 

“No.” Lucas blinks, managing to shake himself out of it enough to smile. “No, I mean, for the hand.”

The boy nods, then tucks those hands in his pockets and curiously tilts his head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lucas nods, but the boy immediately continues, “I can’t find a way to make it up to you?”

“I thought it was a mutual collision,” Lucas points out, then immediately wants to smack himself. It’s not every day he sees a gorgeous boy, never mind bumps into one. Beyond that, this boy hadn’t immediately left, when he could have easily cursed Lucas out and left it at that. Instead he’s still talking, and offering more, and Lucas is stupid. He should not be trying to put the boy off. He has no idea what he is supposed to do. 

It doesn’t seem to matter, because the boy merely shrugs. “Yeah, but you looked more in need of a hand than me.”

Even Lucas isn’t stupid enough to argue with that. 

“Can I ask your name, at least?” the boy tries. 

That’s usually a good place to start, Lucas thinks. “Yeah, sorry. Lucas. You?”

“Jens.” 

Lucas tucks the information away with a nod. He almost expects Jens to offer his hand again, this time to shake, but instead he gets another curious tilt of the head. 

“Where were you headed?” Jens questions. 

“Uhm.” Lucas blanks. He isn’t out with a destination in mind—only the departure had felt necessary. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m not familiar with anywhere yet.”

“You’re not from here?” Jens questions. He doesn’t seem surprised, though, as if the answer is already obvious, which it probably is. Lucas shakes his head anyway. Jens actually seems pleased with the information. “Let me show you around a bit, then. Might at least stop you from taking down anyone else.”

Lucas thinks he should feel mildly offended, but he can only smile in response. “If you can show me somewhere with good desserts, I’ll fully consider you a life-saver.”

Jens accepts this challenge with a small laugh, and turns around on the street to face the way Lucas had been heading. He leans down to pick up his board and collects Lucas’s while he’s at it, passing it over to him after a brief damage check. “No bodies or boards seem to have been injured, so that’s something.”

“Internal damage, though,” Lucas finds himself arguing. “Wounded pride that can only be healed by the unhealthiest mound of ice cream.”

“Seriously?” Jens laughs again. “Okay, I can manage that.” 

They start down the street, and Lucas wonders if this is weird. He’d just crashed into Jens, and the boy is apparently taking him for ice cream. That’s not something strangers do, is it? Not even strangers in Belgium. Not anyone without an ulterior motive. He glances at Jens out of the side of his eye and tries a subtle examination, but it’s not as if he thinks Jens is dangerous. 

He honestly just can’t quite believe his luck. 

“Don’t freak out,” Jens huffs, and Lucas does his best not to blush. “I’ve seen you at school.”

Oh. “You have?”

Jens hums. “You’re in class with Robbe, right?”

Lucas is. The name instantly rings a bell, because Robbe is one of the few people that had bothered to introduce himself to Lucas over the past week. His first week adjusting to Antwerp. He nods. 

“He mentioned you,” Jens informs him. “Pointed you out one day by he lockers, but you disappeared before we could talk to you.” Jens smiles over at him. “I was hoping I’d get another opportunity.”

“You were?” Lucas asks, disbelieving. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t have Robbe having first access to all the gossip,” Jens laments. “That’s supposed to be my job.”

Lucas still doesn’t quite understand, but he knows how to joke. “So you’re inviting me for ice cream because you’re nosy?”

Jens nods seriously. “That is exactly it.”

They look at each other for a minute, walking slower, before they both crack up in a laugh. Lucas wonders if Jens is actually telling the truth and it just happens to be funny, or if he knows how to work a conversation to alleviate all awkwardness and tension. Either way, Lucas is grateful. He’s also slightly disappointed in himself, for being so unsure of his new surroundings that he’d prevented Jens from being able to meet him sooner. 

“I haven’t seen you around,” Lucas admits. He knows it’s the truth, because he would have remembered. “But I haven’t spoken to all that many people yet.”

Jens hums, frowning slightly. “It’s hard, moving this late, and especially after missing the first few weeks of the year. I’m sorry no one’s tried to make it easier for you.”

Lucas doesn’t bother mentioning that it’s probably his own fault. “Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I guess now someone is.” 

At this Jens grins, nodding in acknowledgement or acceptance; it might as well be admittance. Lucas decides that he doesn’t care, as long as it’s accompanied by that smile and Jens’s continued presence. 

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @flora-gray​

The Gift Exchange

(Rated T)

Erik was wrong. 

It was a rare occurrence, in Christine’s experience, but even geniuses don’t know everything about everything, and he certainly didn’t seem to know much about anything when it came to love. 

He had insisted that the distraction of a suitor would interfere with her studies — it had not. She hadn’t missed a single one of their covert lessons, but had continued to put in the endless hours of practice he demanded, with irreproachable focus and without complaint.

He had been adamant that a man of nobility could not be trusted to do right by her, yet here they were, six months on, an engagement ring on Christine’s finger and a gift in Raoul’s hands, carefully wrapped in bright red paper trimmed in gold.

After all those summers at the seaside, this was their first Christmas together, the first of what Raoul promised would be a lifetime of many. Christine chewed at her thumbnail — a nasty habit, Erik would say whenever he caught her — as her fiancé ripped open the paper, a smile twitching on her lips. 

“Oh, Christine!” Raoul exclaimed as he pulled a little ribbon-wrapped bundle from the box. The spicy-clean scent of peppermint filled the air. “Polkagris? Wherever did you find this?” He pulled a candy stick from the bundle, the glossy swirls of red and white glistening in the dressing room’s soft lamplight. “I haven’t had polkagris since we were children! I can’t believe you remembered how much I used to love them.” A smile beaming on his face, he tucked the candy back into the box and pulled her into an embrace. “Christine, you truly are the most thoughtful person I’ve ever known.”

“It’s just a little thing,” she replied, her cheeks glowing a warm rosy pink. “I remembered how you used to beg Papa for them, and I happened upon a candy shop run by a Swedish family.”

“Well, I’m afraid mine will seem rather uninspired compared to yours,” Raoul said, speaking up over the sound of rustling paper as he dug into the bag next to him, “but I do hope you’ll like it anyway. I’ve hardly been able to stand having to wait all week — I had to hide it away in a closet so I wouldn’t be tempted to give it to you early!” He placed a box on her lap and rubbed his hands together, nearly bouncing in his seat. 

The package was large and flat and covered in thick, heavy paper printed all over with shining silver arabesques, topped with an elaborately tied white satin bow. “It’s so beautifully wrapped, I almost don’t want to open it,” Christine said, trailing her fingers over the soft, shimmery ribbon before tugging it loose. Gingerly, she slid a nail around the edge to loosen the paper.

“You needn’t be so careful with it, I have plenty more of the stuff back at home. It’s all yours, if you like it so much,” Raoul laughed, his eyes lit up with anticipation.

“Good,” she smiled teasingly back at him. “Then I’ll expect you to wrap up everything you ever give me just like this from now on.” The paper fell away and she lifted the lid.

Layers of impossibly thin tissue paper covered the contents, and she peeled them back, one by one. 

On top was a fine linen handkerchief trimmed in lace, embellished with intricate embroidery. “It’s lovely Raoul!” Christine breathed, lifting it from the package and letting her fingers glide along the underside of the smooth fabric, all the while wondering vaguely if she’d ever stop feeling uncomfortable with such fine things. 

Raoul’s casual displays of wealth, though never snobbish, were evidence of the privilege he’d been raised with, so different from her early life of scraping by, of simple meals of bread and cheese and rough muslin against her skin. And even now, she was acutely aware of the gulf that lay between them. It was impossible not to, when she was occasionally mistaken for a shop girl while they strolled Le Bon Marché together, an experience he found much more amusing than she did. Even once they married and she went from Christine Daaé to Vicomtess de Chagny, she doubted she’d ever truly fit in amongst the fine ladies who’d been raised with finishing school and balls, who sat and enjoyed operas from velvet-lined boxes rather than performed them, sweating under the hot lights for a modest salary. And though Raoul was insistent that he loved her just as she was, that certainly didn’t seem to stop him from trying to outfit her like somebody else.

Unfolding the handkerchief which likely cost more than her entire dress, Christine spread it open to admire its details. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous lace!” she gushed. “And are these our—” 

“Yes, our initials!” Raoul finished triumphantly. 

Christine’s brow furrowed. “Actually…” She brought the handkerchief up to her eyes and squinted at the letters. Her heartbeat began to quicken. “It says R, and...” She blinked, but the letter stubbornly stayed the same. “And...V.” 

“What? Let me see!” Raoul’s hand shot out and yanked the handkerchief from her slack fingers. Turning it over and over, he examined every inch of it, shaking his head. “There must have been some mistake! Perhaps the girl at the shop heard me wrong — I suppose the letters do sound the same.” He looked up at her, eyes anxious and searching. “I’m so sorry, my love, I can’t believe I didn’t notice! I can have it remade right away.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she said, her lips forming the words automatically. A formless sense of unease was slithering its way into the back of her mind, but, with a firm shove, she pushed the feeling away; there was no reason to let a simple mistake ruin their first Christmas. “Really,” she insisted, arranging her lips into a smile that was only a little forced.

Beneath the next layer of paper, enclosed in its own small, shallow box, was a pile of silk, white as snow and with that same incomparable look, as though it were delicate enough to melt under her fingertips. This new luxury unfurled as she raised it up between them, the folds falling, forming the shape of...a pair of ladies’ drawers?

The breath escaped from her lungs in a sharp gasp. Heat flamed at the edge of her ears as she dragged her eyes up to where her fiancé sat, stock still.

A red flush was creeping up from under his collar. 

His voice wavered. “That— that’s not a shawl?” 

“No, Raoul,” she replied evenly, despite the queasy fluttering in her stomach. “It is not.”

“Are those…?” He dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Yes, they are.”

“I—” Raoul squirmed in his seat. The flush was working its way up his neck, spreading across his face, leaving beads of sweat in its wake.  “It was meant to be a shawl. I would have never—” His words fell away and he looked up at her with pleading eyes.

“I know you wouldn’t have,” said Christine quickly. She jammed the drawers back into their box and shoved it all to the side, eager to leave the subject behind. 

And it was true, she could not think of a less likely thing for him to give her. Their relationship had been quite chaste, almost to the point of frustration, with nothing more than sweet, sinless kisses, always broken off far too soon. He’d never given any indication that he so much as even thought about what lay under her skirts, let alone considered the subject enough to buy her such intimate garments. The mistake would almost be funny in its outlandishness, if it weren’t so mortifying — and such an unpleasant reminder of her most secret insecurity: the fear that though he undoubtedly seemed to love her, perhaps he did not desire her. That perhaps he held her up against those lovely ladies of high society he’d been pushed for years to accept, with their bosoms spilling from their silk dresses and their ample hips swaying beneath their skirts, and found nothing inspiring about her waiflike frame. 

But no, he was just being a gentleman, wasn’t he? He wasn’t like the other men of the aristocracy, who took mistresses and visited brothels — no, no, he would never. Raoul, that sweet, brave boy from the salt-kissed seaside was now a respectful and honorable man, and he loved her for herself, not her body. There was nothing wrong with that.

But of course this was the last thing she wanted to be thinking about right now; Christine shook her head to fling away the thought and refocused the entirety of her attention back on the box in her lap. 

“Oh, look! There’s still something left,” she said, infusing her tone with much more enthusiasm than she felt, and she lifted a red velvet pouch from where it lay, heavy, at the bottom of the box. 

Raoul sprang forward. “Actually, why don’t you just give that back to me,” he said, his voice tight and trembling, reaching to take it from her hands. “This has turned out horribly so far, and I—”

“Darling, please.” Christine pulled the object out of his reach. “Certainly one of the three will be as you intended. Your luck can’t be that bad,” she laughed, though in the pit of her stomach sat a sour, sick feeling.

Grasping the pouch in one hand, she reached in with the other and slowly began to pull out a thick pillar of ivory, sculpted and polished, heavy as a candlestick — but not shaped like any candlestick she’d ever seen. It was too irregularly formed, the contours somehow too carnal, and her cheeks were already inexplicably burning before she’d even finished withdrawing it from its velvet enclosure. 

It couldn’t be… 

She’d heard that such things existed, but she never—

Too late she realized she should stop — not that she was sure she could have — but her hand kept moving, pulling the thing free from its covering to stand tall and proud in her clenched fist, absurdly large and luridly detailed — each vein, each curve of ivory flesh on display as she held it high, an obscene trophy.

Not a sound could be heard in the room. Not even a breath — not from her, and not from Raoul, who was looking at her, slack-jawed, with complete and utter horror written in every line of his face.

A minute passed, and then time unfroze.

Gasping as though she’d surfaced from deep underwater, Christine’s fingers flew open, loosing their grip on the vile thing; it hit the carpet with a muffled thud. Then she was on her feet, groping blindly for her cloak and gloves.

Raoul didn’t move from his seat; pale and trembling, he sat staring at the now empty gift box. “I don’t understand...”

Christine rounded on him, hot tears pricking at her eyes. “You don’t understand?” That formless unease had now taken a sinister, serpentine form, snaking itself around her heart, which spasmed within its crushing coils. “What was all that, Raoul?”

“I don’t know! It doesn’t make any sense. I wrapped it myself — that wasn’t in there!” 

He stumbled to his feet, reaching for her hands; she pulled them away, pressing her clenched fists against her turning stomach. “What’s the explanation, then? Are you implying that the contents of the box were just magically replaced without you knowing?” 

“No of course not! I mean, I don’t think so…”

One desperate, near-hysterical sob wrenched itself from Christine’s throat, and she fell silent. The painful throbbing of her heart had ceased. That place within her chest was cooling, hardening until it was as cool and hard as the piece of ivory which lay on the carpet, that disgusting thing which forced her to admit the truth to herself, a truth she’d been trying to deny since the moment she saw those embroidered initials. 

How could she have been so stupid? This never could have worked out. He was highborn, she was practically a peasant. Perhaps he did love her, but likely it was a love born of nostalgia and pity, the love of a brother for his sister — and even if he had been willing to marry her, that kind of love isn’t the only kind men need. And perhaps...perhaps he really wasn’t different from other men, after all. 

Christine gathered her cloak and gloves into a bundle and shoved it under her arm. “Goodbye, Raoul,” she said with finality, and steeling herself, she turned her back on the man she thought she loved.

“Christine!” Raoul gripped her arm in a wide-eyed panic. “You can’t believe that I would ever give you such a thing!”

Shaking off his hand, she held her head high. “No, Raoul, I don’t believe you would.” She could not look at him, not if she wanted to hold onto the last scraps of her tattered pride. “Do you know what I believe?” Despite her best efforts, tears were beginning to leak from her eyes, making the words thick and strained. “I believe that gift was intended for another woman.”

“What?” he cried, nearly choking on the word. “No!” 

“The wrong initials,” she sobbed, no longer able to hold back the tide; bitter tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I may be naive, but I’m not stupid, Raoul! Who is she? How long has this been going on?” Christine tugged the gold and diamond band off her finger. “Is she wearing one of these, too?” she demanded, brandishing the ring in his face.

“Christine…” Tears welled in Raoul’s beautiful blue eyes, but she would not be swayed by the obvious ploy meant to prey on her sympathy.

She flung the little piece of gold at him, and it bounced off his chest and fell to the floor with a pathetic clink. 

“I should have listened to Erik!” she cried, and slammed the door behind her.

*****

Erik was right. 

But then again, he usually was. 

It was never going to work out between Christine and the boy; affairs between the nobility and the bourgeois rarely do, she had to know that. Really, it would be a mercy for it to end sooner rather than later. It was inevitable. And hadn’t he tried to warn her?

Still, he pretended surprise when she showed up at his door, red-eyed and sniffling, her ring finger blessedly bare.

Wordlessly, he brought her inside, wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down by the fire, brought her hot tea and let her pour out her heart — along with a steady stream of tears. Eventually, she slept, and Erik carried her to her room, tucking her into the bed he’d readied for her. He brushed the curls away from her face, now so hot and raw from crying, but no less beautiful.

He hated to see her in such pain, but someday she would understand, and she would have to agree that it was for the best. Erik always knew what was best for her.

Just like he knew that idiot boy would never notice a few feet of missing wrapping paper.